Jude
Somebody ought to corrupt me on the dance floor
And take me home
The moment she appears he forces his eyes to resist any urge to blink, relief caving his chest. Her love is cosmic and unending and he doesn’t deserve it but she calls him sweet anyway. Calls him hers. He leans into every glancing touch until he can fall into her embrace, long arms wrapping in return, clenching around woven stars and spacedust so he won’t risk his nails against her skin. Jude’s breath heaves like it’s meant to herald tears, but he can’t cry when she’s here at last. And take me home
“I’m sorry you had to feel it,” he croaks, sinking into the starlit sea of her eyes. Surely she can’t mean it so literally but maybe if he’d been better, smarter -
When she rises he follows in her wake as far as his knees, reverent at her feet like any marble statue or woven tapestry. Devotion alone seems hollow, but if she weighs it against his failures and finds it worthy, he won’t dare lift his voice to object. Not when she spins life itself between her fingers and places it into his hands. His very soul stirs with change, with connection, and he can only eke out a strangled, “Safrin.” Jude now struggles to know where to look - this comet-creature he can feel budding in his mind, or the goddess who bestowed it.
But the dragon slumbers, and Jude’s eyes snap to his herald as gravity pulls the world close. A severity to the choice that, to Jude, cannot be simpler in this moment.
“The vessel. Please. I can’t bear it, and I don’t want what I feel to immediately compete and bring me pain I’m already feeling.” It brings him shame to say it, to think he is torn in his devotion even now, but he resists averting his eyes. She has taken his shame and his heartbreak in hand without anger; hiding now would betray her graciousness.
Show me all my desires and dark sides
And pretend by night's end you won't leave me alone
And pretend by night's end you won't leave me alone
