Midnight In The Garden Of Dusk

 

“Are you sure?”

 

I paused, leaves brushing against my face, and tried to focus in on his voice.

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have come this far if I wasn’t.”

 

I felt him reach for my hand, clasp it tightly, and lead me further through the thicket of overgrowth and the trailing fingers of willow and birch. Something furred, sleek as a Siamese, brushed against my leg and I leant down to caress the bony arches of my nightly familiar. The cat daemon made to voice his opposition, but was hushed by a rustling of leaves and the reedy whispers of the other familiars. With a ghostly flutter of breath and the papery scent of powdered wings the huge monarch settled on my shoulder, feather comb feelers brushing my cheek.

 

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.” I replied, a little louder than necessary. I could almost hear, on the very edge of reasoning, the agitation in the rustle of leaves as the ferny mass that was his companion tried to dissuade him against this course of action. He was ignoring it.

 

Pulling me against his chest, he wrapped his strong, thin arms around me like the branches of an ivy, pressing his cheek against mine so he could whisper for my ears and mine alone, the familiars obediently backing away to give us space, one or two with soft noises of disapproval or hisses of reassurance.

 

“This is wrong.” He murmured. I shook my head a little, the tower wrapped in ivy quivering as the vine worked itself between the stones.

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is. I don’t mind. I can live with wrong. But you…”

“If you can live with it, so can I.”

“I don’t want to drag you down.”

You already have, I thought, pressing my forehead against his shoulder. You’ve worked yourself so far into everything I am that if someone tears you away now I’ll fall to pieces. I need you to survive, even if you are breaking me apart little by little.

 

“Stop it.” I mumbled, on the verge of tears. “Stop trying to protect me. I love you and I want you. I can’t change anymore.”

 

I could feel the leaves brushing against me. I could feel the green closing in, surrounding us, protecting us, smothering us. The tree branches lacing together to form a netted roof, the ferns wrapping us in a soft cocoon like silk spiders with their itching claws, our weight slowly sinking into the deep, dewy moss.

 

“Do you think we’ll die?” I asked, my fingertips brushing against those of the dark forest around us. I felt more than saw his grin, an expression I knew all too well.

 

“Well,” He replied, as his lips met mine. “Maybe just a little.”