Chapter 4: Legato Interlude, Âme Damnée
Myra thought she couldn’t fall any further than she’d already had. And there were elements of that statement that were still true. She was the epitome of a sinner. There were no doubts about that. She indulged in all forms of finery; the finest clothes, foods, places, and gatherings, a woman could ask for. The highest of status and riches beyond her wildest dreams. When she wanted to eat, she ate. When she wanted to buy a new dress, she did. And when she wanted to kill, well, she did that too. Myra walked this Earth without a single care, knowing that not even God dare strike her down. It wasn’t ego or delusion that told her she was better than the average man, it was simply a fact.
She’d freed herself from the lengthy and heavy chains of society. No rule or convention would ever hold her down again. The only thing that defined her was her, herself. Self built and self created, old identities burnt in phoenix flame. She’d reformed her body, carving away at marble to reveal the true figure beneath. She’d shed the heavy cloak of other people’s morals and judgements. Now, she was a brand new woman, Myra Lucille Ariane. Nothing could ever tie her down again.
Until she heard the soulful warble of a little songbird.
Myra had always believed in her own power. She controlled her destiny, shaping it delicately with her own hands. Her own brushstrokes and words creating it bit by bit. Yet it couldn’t have been anything but fate that brought her to her songbird’s window that night. Only fate that left the balcony door cracked the tiniest bit open. Only fate that sent the wind that parted the curtains in front of it, allowing her a glimpse of the Eden waiting inside.
She was the tree. She was the apple. She was the snake. She was Adam. She was Eve. Heaven and Hell interwoven into one, a temptation that Myra could not resist yet forced to deny in fear of losing. Because one bite would not be enough. And she’d only get the slightest taste if she’d acted then. Myra wanted—no needed to glut herself on the songbird. She needed to swallow her whole. She needed to savor her bit by bit. She needed to keep her distance. She needed to be entwined with her. Two separate beings becoming one like it was always meant to be. Their meeting written in the stars. Yet they were never meant to be apart.
Myra thought she knew want. She thought she knew passion. She thought she knew the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. She thought she knew pleasure. She thought she knew pain. Yet everything, every experience faded in comparison to her. She hadn’t lived until that moment. She hadn’t been doomed to true damnation until that moment. While she thought she’d been eating the whole cake, she’d actually only been licking the icing from her fingertips.
Her heart ached with every moment spent apart. But even a glance filled her more than the richest of chocolates, held more flavor than the most complex of wines. Myra glutted herself but starved all the same. Her mind split under the pressure. She had never seen reality with such clarity.
Hellfire and blessing light. Myra burned, acceso! All for the songbird fluttering beyond her reach.
Did she want to put her in a cage? Or was she, herself, already trapped? Why couldn’t both be true? She decided on the spot, yes, that was the truth. Or were they both lies? In the end it didn’t matter. Because the only thing that mattered was her, Shiloh.
Myra couldn’t contain her shudder. Shiloh, her name the sweetest ambrosia and the bitterest poison. Myra would have Shiloh. And Shiloh would have Myra.
She had to be careful. She had to approach with caution. Little birds frightened easily. But her songbird was the strongest creature of all. So brave in the face of adversity. Surrounded by death but so filled with life. Still, still, still, she would be careful. She would be gentle. She wouldn’t come on too strong and send her flying away to another’s arms. Myra didn’t deserve Shiloh but she was the only one that came close.
Her songbird was getting closer now, brows furrowed cutely and lips turned into an adorable pout. Myra practically vibrated with excitement, breathing and heart rate picking up with every step she took. She stalked forward, splitting the crowd as easily as a knife through skin. Closer, closer, be gentle, be careful. She felt like a disobedient dog pulling on its leash. She felt like a tiger tracking its prey. They were barely a foot apart from one another. What would happen when they touched? Would they melt into each other? Mixing and congealing together like they were meant to? Or would it be like two galaxies coming into the other’s orbit? Reaching out in hopes of connection and salvation, only to be ripped and torn asunder by the other’s gravity? Myra didn’t know which one she hoped for more. Inches, an arm’s length apart. The time for thinking was over, there was only room for action. Or inaction.
The second option wasn’t truly an option. There was only one way forward. One answer. No choice. Myra stepped forward and struck her songbird down. They slammed together like the very plates of the Earth before bouncing apart. Shiloh fell back with a little cry that pulled at her heartstrings and lit her very blood aflame. She felt as though she would combust any second now. Being so close to the object of her affections was a blessing and curse too great to bear. Yet she found herself leaning down over her and offering a hand.
She was even more beautiful up close. Especially in her dazed confusion. Her skin dazzled like copper with a light brown hue that burned amber. Shiloh’s face scrunched up as she caught up with her surroundings, her chestnut mane bouncing as she tossed her head like a lion readying its mighty roar. Those curls reflected the sun like a lightcatcher, drawing Myra closer in. She was the moth to Shiloh’s flame. And when she finally opened those eyes, blinking and turning her head up at her, Myra swore her heart would stop.
She was perfection. Up this close she could see the way her nose was slightly crooked and all the nearly invisible thin scars dancing across her forehead and cheeks. The way her two front teeth had the tiniest gap between them. And the way those cognac eyes swirled, warming her quicker than any blanket, any fire, or any mug of tea or cocoa. It took every ounce of her being not to fall to her knees and begin worshiping her there on the street. To not lean down, pick her up, and steal her away. Instead, she kept her hand out and offered her the calmest grin she could.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there! Here, let me help you.”
Leave a Reply