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She could feel Signy nod behind her. “That’s good, because that would also be a paradox,” she said.

“How so?” Cora asked.

“Because I don’t think there is such a thing as ‘the future,’” Signy said. “I think the entire concept is misleading. There are things that have happened, and things that are happening now. By definition, whatever comes next is something that doesn’t exist. We haven’t made it happen yet. There is no future. There is only now.”

“That’s very rorqual of you,” Cora chuckled.

“Well, what can I say?” Signy wrapped her legs around Cora’s waist in order to double up the hug. “I learned from the best.”

Interstitial

Hello, Colibri.

Cora. Cora, of my love. Where have you been? And what is this?

What is what?

This pain. This gravity well. It fills the entire shape of you. You are compressed mass. The iron core that pulls rock and cloud into a single sphere. You are being devoured from the inside. What has happened?

A lot has happened, Colibri. I’m not sure where to start. I don’t know if I can.

Cora. I am of you. You must tell me. I cannot open to you like this and not know why you have frayed like damaged sails. Show me, now.

I open to you and I show you Otto’s corpse.

No.

I show you Otto’s corpse, cold and still beneath the blankets, circled in beloved company.

No, Cora, this is wrong.

I open to you and I show you the plants with secrets.

No.

I show you the plants with secrets, torn and discarded and burned.

No, Cora, this is wrong, this is very wrong.

I show you a box containing a forgotten pair of socks, a broken hairbrush, a computer, a phone.

No!

I show you a box containing a forgotten pair of socks, a broken hairbrush, a computer, a phone. She didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell me.

No, stop! Cora, stop!

I open to you and I show you my heart, bruised and broken. I show you the circles beneath my eyes, a stranger’s sunken face in the mirror. I let you feel my legs, my back, my shoulders—muscles stiff as metal, fibers fusing from lack of use as I lie in bed. I know you hate my hinges, but you asked, and I will show you how they crack when I make myself get up. I show you Signy lying beside me, likewise silent and empty. She is of my love, of my love and therefore I must fix this because what is love if not what drives you to slay the darkness. But I cannot be the strength I want to be for her. I am hollow, too.

This is not right, this is not right, this is not right.

He was old, Colibri. That much is the way of things.

The stars are old, and their absence would make my existence empty. Otto is of Signy’s love. She is of yours. You are of mine. We are a chain. I must bleed for Otto, too.

I understand.

And Twig was not old.