He’s skewering the meat but given that he has no fingers, it’s hard. I jump off the platform and take the skewer and meat from him.
“Let me do it,” I grumble.
“Mynatural form is not so agile.”He says apologetically. He sounds almost ashamed.
“Whatisthis natural form?”
“A void. I am nothing.”
“Why do you say that? Obviously youaresomething. Just not something you like.”
His violet eyes dim, and I see his form slump.“I am a god. I can take the form of other things, but I can never become it.”
“For a god, you sure do think very low of yourself. I thought they all had inflated egos?”
“Aaah, what makes you think that now? I am not human. I have no need for this thing you call ego.”
I roll my eyes at him and a term pops into my head. Where it comes from, I don’t know. It makes me giddy, though. I’m starting to remember.
“What—you’re gonna be a one-dimensional manic pixie dream girl and help me feel better about myself?” I sound scathing, so I tone it down. “You’re a god, you said so yourself. You should have depth there somewhere. You just don’t like people to know.”
“I feel attacked right now.”
“Well, I am. You deserve to be attacked after what you did to me.”
He sighs, looking away. I…actually feel terrible after he quiets down. I sit next to his smoky form, rethinking my words.
“Listen, I’m just swinging axes right now because I feel unsafe. I’m sorry if what I said was out of line.”
“You were never this rude. You were soft-spoken and polite.”
NowIfeel attacked. “Okay?”
“It’s not an attack.”He explains, his gaze meeting mine. Black smoke curls over my lap.“It’s a sobering thought, though. The conscious self cocoons itself to feel safe. You cut, shave your edges—harm yourself or others—to be acceptable. It makes you invisible to the others who will actually like the real you.”
I feel his touch on my thigh. “Are we talking about you or me?”
“You, of course.”He chuckles humorlessly.“I am a one-dimensional god. A manic monster dream guy.”
“Self-pity is such a turn-off.” Despite what I say, my heart clenches inside my chest. I’m breathless when he moves his form closer to mine. The part where his eyes are.
“Not self-pity. A shield.”
“Cut from the same cloth, you and I.”
For a second, his eyes swirl, glowing pink.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me.”
“And?”He challenges me.“What if I am?”
I roll my eyes again, but really, I am harboring butterflies in my stomach.
“Question…”he starts, poking the fire pit he made.“What is the thing you wish for the most in thistabula rasa? This blank slate?”
