“You shouldn’t be here, Xiaoyu.”
She curls herself around me. “Please, get me out of here.”
Something is inside my chest. A weight, a presence pushing down hearing her weak, raspy voice.
Without another sound, I pick her up and her broken glasses. The trees tell me she is hurt—her legs bent at an irregular angle. My vines seek to comfort her, curling themselves around her limbs. They cradle her as the solid ground purrs in displeasure. It is unusual to me—for the earth to be so tender to somebody.
The night envelopes us, and starflies light our way to my abode. I am being led by my creatures. The journey is fraught with constrictors, panthers hunting for prey. After seeing what I did to the gecko, they knew better than to touch Xiaoyu.
She shivers in my arms, oblivious to the detached vine that wrapped itself around her broken ankle—holding it in place. The trees give way and before I know it, we have arrived.
The grass meet the soles of my feet, its dew absent. It cracks under my weight and it is painful to hear. All is dry. From the soil, barks decaying and peeling to the thinning canopy of leaves. They scream of thirst, of sustenance I can barely provide. I have been imprisoned so long that I have abandoned my dwelling.
My vision is gradually returning, and I see enough to know my platform is swathed with yellowing moss and vines. Like me, their only reprieve from the heat is the night. At least now, they can rest.
Xiaoyu makes a noise in my arms. For a moment, I am unsure how to ensconce her. I have never brought a woman here—let alone a human. I must have gone temporarily insane for bringing her here. Gently, I lay her in a patch of moss and move the dark curtain of hair away from her face.
They are thousands of ebony silk, and I cannot help it. I rub the tips of my fingers across them, through them. It feels cool until it begins to spark with static. With a mind of its own, my hand cups the back of her head. I cannot fathom how small she is when my fingers far extend the crown of her head like a grotesque headdress.
Xiaoyu. Zhao-yoo.Her name is the whisper in the air. A breeze that kisses and caresses. The wind learns her name, praises her, thanks her. Xiaoyu’s touch is another. Soft and healing, but painfully quizzical of my form. If I had not found it so amusing, I would have been disturbed at the way the trees giggled at her scrutiny of my slit earlier.
As she slumbers, I build her a large hammock. It is a bed of weaved petals suspended in the air by four Cinder trees. It is short enough that Xiaoyu can climb up without a problem. Although I am uncertain why I make it terribly wide and spacious for one as small as her.
Do I plan on laying with a human?
I shudder. Certainly not. Just the thought alone upsets my belly. My gums are sore from the growth—a result of rehydration, most likely. I lift Xiaoyu into my arms and secure her on the bedding. Though my vision is blurry, I know she looks exquisite against all the violet petals.
She groans again, rolling over and scratching at the vine wrapped around her ankle. It reminds me that I need to see to her injury. I sigh once more as I extract the vine. Running my hands over her skin, the wind tells me it will heal well as long as I restrict her ankle’s movements.
It is hard to give her a proper wrap with her pants in the way, so I slice them off. Throwing them far away from the swinging bed. I am already sweeping her skin before I realize my mistake. I cannot remember if there is a custom for this. Terra rarely wore coverings, so I am unfamiliar. When I undress her, I react differently. Like I have done something gravely wrong.
Shaking off the feeling, I dust off her spectacles and position them at the bridge of her nose. I notice that she has tiny hairs covering all over her body. Her legs are light, perhaps too thin at the way I can feel her jutting hipbones. I remove another piece of cloth covering the crux of her legs.
As I set her bones in place and wrap it with thicker, less abrasive vines, I focus my foggy vision elsewhere. My body hums with trepidation. I feel a trickle of sweat run down my temple. For a split second, I cave. My gaze flutters between her legs. I am not ignorant. I know the bodily functions of humans. During my trips across dreams, I’ve seen many fuck. I just haven’t seen one this up close.
Like a doomed sailor, I am drawn closer by curiosity. This, I am sure, is not allowed. Human customs would vilify this. Careful with my claws, I slide the fluff of hair up and find her slit. I almost gawk at how tiny it is. I must be mistaken.
And yet, the more I probe, the slicker she gets. I cannot explain how it feels. She is warm, wet, and welcoming. One knuckle slides into her, and she makes a noise deep in her throat. A sigh. A moan.
She adjusts and crosses her legs, shutting me away. Stiffly, I back away and lift my fingers that have been in her to my nose. Her musk lingers thickly in my veins, clogging me with nothing but greed. My tongue licks away the remnants of her wetness as I stare at her half-naked on the bed.
There it is again, that forbidden thrumming against my slit. They are pounding painfully, the cilia holding it together close to snapping. Out of six of them, one snaps loose.
My breath stops as her eyes flutter open.
Xiaoyu
I’m familiar with the saying “don’t cut your flowers to show someone you’re a gardener” all too well. In this dream, I am a whole bouquet of dead flowers. My thorny stems reach for shears, and I am dismembering myself. I have a dozen heads, and each one of them is snipped by blunt, rusty metal.
The bitter metallic taste seeps in like a disease. I can’t tell which eye I’m seeing through. I can simultaneously see me cutting myself, and seeing my many heads roll all over the floor, leaving bloody tracks.
A headless, skinny, naked body flops around. It clumsily and blindly collects all of my heads and impales them all on what looks like wooden chopsticks. It takes me a moment to realize that this body is mine. I see that birthmark on my rib. Feelings aren’t registering as fast as it should, while a large ominous figure appears in every corner of my multi-headed vision.
In a screaming chorus, I say, “Am I who you want me to be now, Mother?”
As my many heads screech that horrible song, I feel something in me. Somewhere lower, closer to my…pussy. Even in this dream, I cringe at the vulgar use of words. I’m not used to them. A bad word earned you a slap on the mouth. Sometimes it’s a hand, sometimes it’s a metal ruler.
I gasp as I see my set of eyes roll back. My nipples pucker, body loosening. Something feels good, and I don’t know where it’s coming from. The ghastly sight of my body and heads disappear, and the dark figure takes center stage.
