Sins On The Skin

XXXII: BONUS.

A couple of years or so in the future.

The call of a Siren invaded Nathan's ears under the guise of a whisper.

It was soft, her summon, born out of the screams of his greatest nightmares and the regrets they kept trapped beneath their auriferous tongues--stained with the blood of the Gods.

It was deceitful, created with the sole purpose of seducing him away from his lingering dreams and buried memories with the illusory promise of Ithaka.

"It's late," his Siren informed him, reminding him of the long hours that had written themselves onto the smooth skin beneath his cloud-tainted eyes and the bended ivory bones of his poorly-treated spine--ever the kind mistress. "Come back to bed."

"Later, I have papers to grade." He murmured in response as he gestured at the stack laid out neatly on his desk, mimicking her tone while repeating the same lie for what seemed to be the millionth time.

The papers in question sat unmarked, playing the part of the perfect excuse even as a thin layer of dust came to embrace them.

In truth, he had not even turned to look at them, preferring to gift his eyes to the four walls that kept him confined in his self imposed cage, in his eternal torment and doom.

It made one wonder, wonder if he had ever dared to step outside of the Inferno; if he had ever travelled across the Purgatory; if he had ever found himself in Paradise or if it had all been a creation of his mind.

The Siren standing by his side, provided proof of his travels but perhaps the angels had seen him for what he truly was--a trespasser--and returned him to his house of flames. Perhaps, that was the reason why his flesh sizzled each and every time he touched her; perhaps it was a reminder of the fact that he was doing something blasphemous.

"Then I will wait for you." 

Sirens were patient creatures, content in bidding their time and letting their victims fall into their open arms.

They didn't attack.

They didn't need to.

But she is not a Siren, he reminded himself soundlessly as his lips twitched with grim admiration, she is a muse.

"Gwen, you should be resting."

A shame he didn't know; Muses were not to be denied.

They weren't known for their patience.

"I can't." She informed him. Her refusal awoke disappointment in him judging by the twitch of his jaw but there was nothing inside of her willing to care, not a single bone, not a single blood vessel. "I can't sleep without you."

Nathan watched as her eyes abandoned his wretched form and fell onto the abandoned pile, the tilt of her full lips growing more and more bittersweet after each question she came across. An invading thought confessed the reason behind her expression.

Through these questions, she was seeing the man she'd loved; the man he didn't have the heart to tell her had been lost somewhere in the Aegean sea, a sacrifice to the waves to sate their hunger; the man he'd chosen to drown in order to save himself.

"Doesn't it bother you," she asked, stubbornly keeping her attention on the papers so as not to spare him. "The way people view art as though it was created for them, the way they tear it to pieces and desecrate it when it does not appeal to them?"