\nEleanora was in trouble again, though \u201cagain\u201d did not seem like the right word. It was more that she was constantly in trouble, and her mother\u2019s familiar lecture chased her from her home. She had hoped to be alone, but despite the darkness and the unseasonable chilliness, she was not the only one out on Poetto Beach.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWould you like some company?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe boy was blond, and Eleanora preferred brown or black hair, but she was really not supposed to prefer any boy at all. If her mother saw her smile at him it would set off another lecture, but her mother was not here, so she smiled.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI would love some company,\u201d said Eleanora.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe light of the moon reflected on the water, the only light out tonight. Eleanora still sat on her hands, just in case, though there was nothing she could do about her hair. It probably looked wet.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt probably looked like she had taken a midnight swim. She probably looked very romantic, and the thought put a damper on her almost rising mood.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou speak English very well,\u201d said the boy.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI speak many languages very well,\u201d said Eleanora. \u201cItalian, Sardinian, and some much older.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLatin?\u201d asked the boy.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNot Latin,\u201d said Eleanora.\n<\/p>\n
\nEven the name of the language left her mouth feeling singed. Which meant her mother was right.\n<\/p>\n
\nIf she kept slipping, there may be no coming back. Her mother said she had to stop kissing the boys, no matter how much she wanted them. Why did the boy have to initiate the kiss? Would it really make so much of a difference? Eleanora could not imagine that it would feel any different, that it would stop the changes taking place.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s so beautiful here,\u201d said the boy. \u201cI wish I could stay.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nEleanor wished that her smile was sharp spikes instead of these domesticated stubs that filled her mouth and demanded she abstain from raw flesh.\n<\/p>\n
\nHer sisters, her mother, her grandmothers, they used to be feared, even worshipped. They still had happiness in the past, they still had their men, but they also had freedom, and power, and blood and the night. They did not have to go to school, what was school to the Gianes? There was no education that could not be learned from dancing along the salt lakes, that could not be tasted in a young man\u2019s blood, or absorbed in his embrace. What was the world of mortals to a child who was neither fairy nor demon, a creature that walked the line between life and death, love and murder? Why did the generations that had gone before her deny Eleanora that pleasure?\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou could stay here a little longer,\u201d said Eleanora. \u201cSometimes just a little longer is enough to make everything feel okay.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe boy smiled and sat down on the sand next to her, and his body was warm, and she tried to want it, want it for her own selfish pleasure and her own feast, and not want it for company, for love, for family.\n<\/p>\n
\nThey were upsetting, intrusive thoughts.\n<\/p>\n
\nIf she were a true Giane, she would straddle him on this beach, she would tear out his heart, she would let his blood spray across her cheeks and breasts, and taste a salt like the ocean but richer. If she was a true Giane, she would push this boy away when he rested against her shoulder, like he did now, and flay him, expose him, devour him.\n<\/p>\n
\nEleanora told herself it was her mother\u2019s lecture still ringing in her ears that stopped her. She told herself it was not her own will, but a decision that had been made long before she was born; to be weak, to be companions, to be loved. She told herself that if she ran the wild hills, if she saw the boats of men intent on tearing her island upside down, she would not have given in to their charms. She would not have given up her wildness for their children.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe had nearly broken through, so many times, so close that her nails were already curving into claws, her hair was already matting into scales that hung in rough curls down her back, and maybe if she kissed another boy so deeply again, her teeth would break the skin of her lips and she could run on the sand as more creature than girl. A part of her, bred so deep, so long ago, held off, did not want that abandon, did not want that wildness, and Eleanora could not will it to quiet its appeal for love, for comfort, for domesticity.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut it did not matter what she wanted, because the boy\u2019s lips were her on hers, and his tongue was in her mouth. She did not initiate the kiss, but she could have pulled away. She could have, and she chose not to. Eleanora felt her mind filling with darkness and her mouth filling with spikes that did not break her own lips, but they did break the boy\u2019s tongue.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Eleanora was in trouble again, though \u201cagain\u201d did not seem like the right word. It was more that she was constantly in trouble, and her mother\u2019s familiar lecture chased her from her home. She had hoped to be alone, but despite the darkness and the unseasonable chilliness, she was not the only one out on …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":106117,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,19864],"tags":[19863],"class_list":["post-137457","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-32-summer-2019","tag-the-colored-lens-32-summer-2019","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137457","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/106117"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=137457"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137457\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":137458,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137457\/revisions\/137458"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=137457"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=137457"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=137457"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}