Page 73 of Souls We Rip

“And before?” I asked, getting closer to the Souls’ Mirror.

“Before, one thing happened that I would rather not show to you now,” he stated and turned to me, his eyes burning into my cheek.

“Would you stop looking at me like that, please?”

“No.”

I turned my head towards him, and warmth spread through my body. My eyes met his, and there were so many swirls in his eyes that I could spend an entire night trying to count them.

“Why is that?”

His nostrils flared. “Because you’re like the moon. I could watch it rise and go to sleep each time and never get bored.”

I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t say a word, because this was the first time a man complimented me for my appearance. And to have the Goat Man comparing me to the moon made my pulse quicken.

Seeing that I cannot speak, he continued. “Everything pales in front of it. Nothing seems more enchanting than the moon. It reigns over the sky better than any king or queen in this world.”

His hand grazed mine, and I almost leaned into his touch. But not long ago, I was in church, promising God that I would stray from the devil. Then, the devil asked me to stray from God. I was torn again between two worlds. Even if I forgive the Goat Man for any wrongdoing, I couldn’t split myself between the two.

I closed my eyes. “Why do you say such things, when you know how I am? To torment me? To mock me?”

He stepped away from the Mirror, and I heard rustling next to his bed. “No, I’ve learnt my lesson not to mock you.” I heard his laughter bubbling inside his throat. A rare sound. A precious sound.

“Yes. A bit late.”

He appeared again before me, this time wearing his cloak. “I should have learnt my lesson when you tamed my horse.” A smirk appeared on his lips.

“I didn’t tame him. I befriended him.” I felt my lips stretching, sharing this moment with him. “Something you might try once in a while.”

“I am not searching for friends, Ana. I survived centuries without them.”

“But you were never truly alone, were you?” I asked, sidestepping him. “You either had your horse with you or servants.”

“Good observation. I needed them,” he said, his tone dry.

“Hm.” I turned to the threshold, feeling that if I spent much time near him, I would burst. But before leaving him, I looked at the Goat Man over my shoulder. “We are not meant to spend time alone, Goat. As much as you despise the company.”

“I don’t despise yours,” came his reply, too quickly for me to find anything else to say. So instead, I walked away.

Whenever we didn’t hold the knife to our throats, we could be the thing he didn’t want and the thing that hurt me. Friends.

My fourth soul was in a village next to the Danube. I watched the celebration of St Little Mary’s Day. This village was close to the Iron Gates, the place where I had seen the true face of the Goat Man. The day my world turned upside down.

The settlement even had its own mill and bakery, which not many villages had at that time. The houses were nearer to each other, their alleyways filled with late summer flowers, their scent wild.

I didn’t take the skull with me so I could breathe the smell of the food. At the bottom of my soul, I was still a human from the countryside. The one who could forget pain, just by thinking about clouds.

The skull was an omen, reminding me of what I have done and what I would do.

In that village, a nedeie was taking place. A celebration was organised for the holiday.

Many people were milling around, their feet ready to prance. The smell of fasole with ciolan cooked in a cauldron reminded me that I have not eaten properly for two days.

The adults were engaged in a dance of hora, taking two steps to the right, one backwards and two to the left. Looking at their feet moving, hitting the dirt with their opinci or boots, I realised I missed this.

I hoped that, at least once, in this eternity of mine, I could dance in a hora.

The men wore a simple linen shirt, and their trousers were dusty. They were whistling, their high-pitched shouts heard over the valleys.