Lily breezes past the little desk in the corner of the flat, the random scattering of paperwork lifting as she does. She’s such an untidy person. So opposite to me. I think that’s what made us work so well together. As she steps past the tiny sofa, I notice her toenails are bright red. It’s not a colour I’m used to on her. I find it alluring. There’s so much I want to say, but so little I can.
Sometime during the rave, I’d realized exactly who I needed to call for help. It came as skin melded to skin, lips sucked lips, and I took in the vivid displays of dancing so frantic and chaotic it began to appear choreographed. There was beauty in chaos. The answer became clear, even without my brain consciously putting it together.
The feeling of jealousy was overwhelming, and hate would soon follow. I didn’t want to intervene in mortal life, but this squabble I had inserted myself into assured me I could no longer act as a spectator.
I tilted my head slightly, smirking. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have texted you, Atë.” I waved my hand dismissively before she could counter. “What or who helps you when you’re…feeling…ragey…unhinged…unbalanced?”
Throwing my head back, I glared at the ceiling and yelled, letting out every ounce of rage building within my essence. The sound vibrated off the walls. It felt as if thunder had shaken the brownstone, but I was so off-kilter it was hard to tell if that were real or imagined.