I could not make it to Hallowed Cave and back in time. Not even if I flew on the wings of God himself. I could not battle cawlers and speleothem without Vincent. I had the overwhelming, despairing realization that perhaps I could do nothing at all without Vincent. Had I ever even existed without this true friend? What was my life before he came into it? What would it become if he left me?

I had no knowledge of my own shaking until the pyre took my hand in his and pulled me to kneel beside the almost Sleeping.

<<Take them>>, the pyre meant to me.

Take what? Take who?

I shook my head. I could not decipher riddles at such a time, in such a moment. I had never been more brutally afraid then right then, with Vincent’s eyes flickering and his skin paling and me perfectly, painfully helpless.

But the pyre, he guided my arm close to Vincent; then with his other hand, he opened the fading pyre’s jaws, revealing elongated fangs. Even in such a state, Vincent was ready.

<<Will you please>>? This intention came from Vincent. And I knew in the cavern of my heart that it was the last thing he would ever mean to me.

I would do anything. I would give anything. If it meant this string of senseless occurrences could be made sensible again. If it meant I could tell Vincent, with my wordless soul, how very much I adored him, and how sorry I was for always being so stubborn and so reckless. And that he could always be right from then on, if it meant he could stay with me.

Vincent’s fangs sunk into my wrists with not so much delicacy as I was accustomed to, for the rescued pyre had to help him along with some force, pushing my wrist upward into his bite. I flinched, wanting to pull away instinctively, but the pyre held my arm still for Vincent.

<<Breathe>>, he meant to me. <<And listen>>.

Episode 38: One Of The Stories Of A Pyre Once Called Vincent

I saw a young girl. She was my age and, if ever I was vibrant, she was all the stars put together.

Her skin—our skin, for I was not separate from her—was a luscious brown, smooth and deep like the bark of a black cherry tree after it had rained a long while. She was in some place I could never imagine. The air was hot and thick. Sweet. Like a thousand flowers blooming at once. When I moved, it was as if honey trailed along my skin.

An ocean roared at my ankles. White foam sprayed my wooly hair. So black and full, my hair. When it stood tall, it praised the high noon sun. The waves pummeled my body, rising to my hips with each swell and crashing into me. It stung, but I laughed loudly, stumbling forward with each blow.