THE GHOST IN THE SHELL \\
"A gift," he confirms, stepping rhythmically on the treadle and listening to the flames roar. In truth, his fondness of the forge has much to do with how controlled it is: contained, stoked with precision to specific temperatures, and if Aamu had always favored tools with extended handles to keep him away from their hungry bite..? Well, no one would've faulted him for not wanting to be set afire and die horribly. But in his experience, heat does not cause as much damage as light does.
Still, catching fire would be pretty bad news.
Her response saddens him, in a way. You exist he wants to tell her. Surely that's enough? She exists, she tolerates him, she brings him joy simply by being in his life: is she so blind to her own worth?
Instead he smiles, patient, fond, wry. "Too bad that's not up to you to decide." To me, you have.
Then she pulls something out and holds out to him—a return gift? He feels like he hasn't done much to deserve a gift either, but he's not going to argue. Touched, he steps off the treadle to take it with reverent fingers. "Thank you, Mabel." Quiet, heartfelt. Aamu retreats to place it on the counter by the cradle of sand, instead taking the half-made sword and simply sliding it into the forge and letting it bake in the heat. "You first," he says with a nod towards the bundle in her lap, a slight, teasing smile playing on his face.
Still, catching fire would be pretty bad news.
Her response saddens him, in a way. You exist he wants to tell her. Surely that's enough? She exists, she tolerates him, she brings him joy simply by being in his life: is she so blind to her own worth?
Instead he smiles, patient, fond, wry. "Too bad that's not up to you to decide." To me, you have.
Then she pulls something out and holds out to him—a return gift? He feels like he hasn't done much to deserve a gift either, but he's not going to argue. Touched, he steps off the treadle to take it with reverent fingers. "Thank you, Mabel." Quiet, heartfelt. Aamu retreats to place it on the counter by the cradle of sand, instead taking the half-made sword and simply sliding it into the forge and letting it bake in the heat. "You first," he says with a nod towards the bundle in her lap, a slight, teasing smile playing on his face.
