Claudia D. Christian

Estimated reading time: 3 – 4 minutes

Their forgotten innocence resurfaced in his mind like the scent of perfume, faint yet powerful. Narcissus brought the toy to his chest and embraced it the way he wished he could Lisette. How had it come to this? When did he lose sight of her? When did he stopped seeing Lisette’s joy and saw only her smiles?

He remembered the purity of that afternoon. They had come to the attic with mischief. Laughter and joy had given way to familiar games. Eventually, Narcissus had posed the suggestion of a new amusement.

“A game.” The whisper cracked with misery. It was always a game to him. Frivolity dictated worth to Narcissus to the point of cheapening delight’s original intent.

‘Perhaps if I had never suggested it we could be like we were then. It wouldn’t have been terrible. We could still be children, ones who would never see the eve of misbegotten adulthood.’

Flashed ankles had given way to exposed legs, loosened dress to discarded vest and shirt, until they both had stood naked. Their nudity, familiar after years of bathing and sleeping together, had become a foreign thing. Vulgar intensity replaced casual curiosity with alarming speed. Hunger transferred its attention from food to flesh. Narcissus had pushed Lisette to the ground with one hand. Her protests fell beneath his graceless charm and her body opened to his. Hours later they had left hand-in-hand to continue their play in their chamber below.

“And we left you here alone.” Tears dropped onto the abandoned toy. His shoulders, curved with vulnerability, shook as the muffled sobs spewed beyond his control. “I’m so, so sorry. I never thought of you again after having her. I was a despicable creature. Please, please forgive me.”

Narcissus shuffled forward, doll clutched in both arms. Tears blinded but his feet knew their destination. He buried his face against the pitiful shelter afforded by cloth. The putrid air sunk into his lungs, poisoning them against natural function.

‘It’s not her. It’s not her. It’s NOT her.’

A curious sound slithered into consciousness. Narcissus paused in his bitter pilgrimage. His hearing strained to isolate and contain it in a neat category of recognition. Insidious and constant, it reminded him a something small and furred. A tiny smile appeared. The noise belonged to a rodent. Where there was a rodent there was bound to be a cat.

Perhaps the horrid stench was due to a mountain of rats belonging to a very gluttonous cat?

Narcissus continued his pitiful shuffle with swallowed cries. He’d find the source of the rodent infestation, order a thorough trapping as well as a fresh fish for the efficient feline, and then continue his search for Lisette. He’d find her, give her back this precious doll, and then hold her in his lap for days. Afterwards, Narcissus would petition Nephilim to acknowledge Lisette not as his consort but his wife.

“And then everything will be back to normal. We’ll be happy again. Just us. No one else.”

Green drew his attention. Narcissus wanted to laugh in relief. Lisette had already found the cat. She probably couldn’t hear him because her attention was so focused it. Perhaps Lisette had heard the commotion in the attic and being the brave, headstrong girl she was she had to investigate. She hadn’t come to him because of pique. No matter. That fight was over. Narcissus only hoped she hadn’t cried for long at seeing the poor dead rats.

Narcissus lifted his head with her precious name on his lips. What he saw stripped him of speech and reason.