Page 17 of Palingenesis

It is intriguing to observe; the fluttering hands and twirling fingers. From hip to waist, forehead to chest.

I wish to know these hand gestures.

I attempt to replicate the movements, yet it feels nothing like what I see on them.

Taking a small bite of my crumbling cookie, I cannot help but inch closer and risk edging myself into the light when the two disappear into the structure.

I yearn to follow.

The feeling hollows out in my stomach, snapping my spine straight as I retreat to the shadows, the haze thickening around me. It grows denser, filling in the gaps between my fingers and curling up my arm. Absently, I pet at the tail end of a tendril that forms.

Recognition strikes the back of my mind, my gaze flicking to the essence ringing my forearm, muting the color of my exposed skin in stripes.

“You are changing,” I mention as it pulses in response to my attention. “Interesting.”

It is not the first time that my essence has begun to expand past this physical form, slowly growing into something tangible. Controllable.

My jaw ticks but my grin stretches, the veins beneath my skin illuminating the longer I stay hidden. Close.

Finding my way around the housing hiding the him from me, I follow the pull that calls to me.

The newcomer.

A warmth expands at my back, reaching over my shoulders and trailing down my spine simultaneously. Like the touch of a lover, it engulfs me, leaving me shuddering.

“Must get closer.”

The fates, the universe, the gods whichever controlling entity is left must hear my plea and deem it worthy of being answered by showing me the newcomer through the front entrance of the bakery.

He’s conversing with another as I slip between the streetlamps, masked by the shadows. His shoulders are tight; lips spread in a cursory smile. It is pleasant, but something about it makes my head tilt.

This human … He is different than the rest and they do not give notice to it as he walks among them.

There is a light to him that I cannot look away from, though it is shrouded in a haze thicker than my smoke in full form.

Dampened.

Heavy.

He wears it like armor against those that come close to him—even the baker that knows his secret language.

I must learn these secrets.

Penetrate this shield and know what lies beneath.

Through the glass storefront, his blue gaze flicks my direction, as if he senses me. Squinting, but cannot see what hides in the dark.

I am covered, waiting, as he returns to his discussion among the mortals, exchanging pleasantries and shaking hands.

And then I receive a blessing in the form of his leaving the event. The human steps out of the structure once more, his gait sure as he walks the pavement, shoulders still tight to his ears.

There are mercies left to receive.

He’s alone, slowing upon the approach of what I assume is his vehicle, the device all humankind demented to now in his hand.

The occupation of his digits infuriates me. It should be crushed for distracting him from his ability to speak with his hands, never to steal his words again.

Admittedly, I enjoy that it lights up his face, showing me the blue of his irises behind his spectacles and casting deep shadows over his thin face. Hair from his head hangs over part of his forehead, kinked and ratty looking. Like he has spent too much time touching it, mussing it. Running talented hands through the strands until it raised from his scalp like a halo.