Chapter61
#Chapter61
Something changed after that spring morning. It was summer and the grass was the grass surrounding them as they laid the sheets up for drying in the sun. Sylvester threw some water on Nataniel's face and he ran, holding the lavenders in his arms. To Nataniel, it almost seemed that he could love something not monstrous. That he could plant white lavenders on snow. And he did.
He slipped them down everything he could touch or reach. The willowing boughs, the table vases, the windows, the bed, into his hair and Sylvester looked at him working in the gardens. They squeezed their hands into the warm earth, his golden skin brushing against the pink leaflets, fragile spring, twittering, fleeting and flying away from constantly not its light, but darkness. Dark but light, warm hands and cold skin.