Rowan didn't talk to her uncles as she came back for the night. She wrapped herself in the memories of that morning: the soft light of twilight, the onyx sea, Charlie's soulful blue eyes and her mysterious sorrow; all that and more replayed over and over like a broken record in her mind.
It was exhilarating, to have been well and truly alone with someone. To forget, for but a moment, the circumstances of her arrival. To step into a magical world where all which existed, all that had mattered were herself, Charlie, and the moment they shared.
Even now the memories comforted her, protected her like a cherished blanket: they muffled her dread, her shame, her fear; painted reality in softer and warmer colours.
Deep below the loveliness of it all something stirred.
More than Rowan had ever wanted anything, she craved that comfort. It was a desperate, morbid desire that snaked around the edge of her consciousness and slowly begun weaving its coils around her.
She needed to see Charlie again.
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The Artist And The Spectre
FantasyA story loosely inspired by When Marnie Was There (2014) because the author was so furious at the barefaced queerbaiting they chose to write their own story out of spite. If you like doomed yuri and sad, broken little girlfailures, mommy issues, wei...
