He seemed to want to know what she had meant, so dropping her hand, she said, “When I talk”—she pointed to herself—“Kallias is you and Daria is I. When Kallias talks, Daria is you; Kallias is I.” He seemed to understand so she continued. “And beautiful? Beautiful is when I think…” She paused, stopping herself. How to describe beautiful? “Beautiful is when I like what I see.” She gestured for see and tried to talk slow so he could get the I’s, but she wasn’t sure if it was enough so she added, “Like wow,” and exaggerated her face.
“I beautiful like wow,” he said, exaggerating right back.
She laughed. “The ‘wow’ for you is far better. Like wow!” She dragged it out quite a bit, allowing the vowel to really hold and he laughed.
“You beautiful like wow.” He didn’t hold it out like she did. Rather he said it softly, gently, intimately, and her heart thudded accordingly.
“You think so?” She blushed. Was it wrong towanthim tothink so? She wasn’t sure where bestiality ended, but surely if he could speak and talk like a man, it was alright.
Because she really,reallywanted him to think so.
CHAPTER 18
She started reading stories at some point that day. She did her best to act it out, standing, leaping, jumping, even changing tones and voices and making faces. And over the course of days, she was sword fighting pirates in the Caribbean, she was falling into the arms of princes turned into beasts, she was fighting off dragons, she was tragically in love, she was saving nations, and more.
She tried to pick stories where the humans were not so corrupted—for instance, she did not pick Hamlet or Macbeth though she loved them—and she tried not to pick ones where their fates were too awful—Oedipus or Pyramus and Thisbe for instance.
Maybe it was wrong to censor things for him, but she didn’t want him to think humans were too awful. Unfortunately, it knocked out quite a few of her favorite reads. She hadn’t realized how much she liked tragedy.
He started to spend even more time beside her. She had duties to attend to so she couldn’t spend every moment with him—or so she thought. But he lingered in the water when she worked on the exterior of the lighthouse or in the garden. He followed around from below while she circled it. He hovered nearby when she replaced a board in the dock. He was further out when she was tending the garden, far enough that the cliffs no longer obstructed their view. And in the evenings, when she went up to the tower, he waited until she lit the light, then would give her a wave before descending into the depths.
One morning, after seeing her fish, he started bringing fish. Then another day, it was mussels and another day, clams.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, but he just smiled so she said, “Thank you.”
At some point, she gave up on the books—for she had run out of anything but tragedies or theory—and just started creating her own. That was even more fun, she realized, as if she was creating worlds for only the two of them to share.
It was magical. It was perfect. And though she had not touched him again since that day she held his cheek, she didn’t care. Even if they stayed this way forever—as good friends—she was sure that would be enough for her. Her heart might still hammer in her chest at the sight of him, but at the end of the day, what she wanted was him, however she might have him.
“Stay,” he said one evening as the sun lingered above the horizon.
“I can’t,” she murmured. “I have to light the light. That’s my job.”
His lips puckered as if he didn’t like the answer.
“Then…come back.” His ruby eyes looked straight at her, so intense it was like they could pin her to the spot.
“If you insist,” she said.
“Is that yes?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry. Yes. I can come back.” He looked so serious and she wasn’t sure why. “I’ll come back.”
He nodded. “Good. I want show you something.”
“Toshow me something,” she murmured gently. He was picking it up so quickly and he didn’tseemto mind the little corrections.
“Okay. I wanttoshow you something. Is that okay?”
She nodded. “Is it okay when I correct you?” she asked. She didn’t really want to know—if the answer wasn’t yes and he felt annoyed by her, she was sure her heart would break—but perhaps it was better than him hating her. “I don’t mean to be mean.”
“I know. It helps. I like the help.”
“And I like you,” she said, the words coming out before she could stop them.
“And I like you more,” he said, pushing up a bit on the rock to brush up against her, his nose just grazing her upper arm. He lingered like that for a moment, his skin against hers, and her heart thundered at the gentleness of the touch. His face was so close to hers that she only had to bend down to meet it. So, so close.
“What if…what if I kiss you?” she asked, feeling her face instantaneously light up at the words.
