Page 82 of Black Reign

That feels like an intimacy and a betrayal at the same time.

GHOST: Busy?

I'm somewhere west of the Azores when the message arrives.

VESPER: Always.

GHOST: Mysterious.

VESPER: You like mysterious.

GHOST: Apparently I have terrible judgment.

Another night:

GHOST: Still considering the wedding?

VESPER: Perhaps.

GHOST: I hate that word.

VESPER: I know. That's why I use it.

And later, after enough wine to make me reckless:

VESPER: What if we meet and hate each other?

His answer takes longer than normal.

GHOST: Then at least I'll know what your eyes look like when you're disappointed.

I read that one for an embarrassingly long time.

My eyes.

Cornflower blue.

Not that he knows.

Ghost knows caramel hair.

Part of my mouth.

A shoulder.

Fragments.

That's all anyone gets unless I decide otherwise.

By the time I reach California, Vesper barely resembles the woman who steps onto land.

My black wig is straight as silk and cut just below my shoulders. Muddy brown contacts flatten my eyes into something forgettable. No orange-blossom oil. No jewelry. Nothing expensive.

I darken what needs darkening and dull what needs dulling.

Pretty attracts memory.

I don't want memory.