The memory drags me back under.
Shadow against skin. The press of teeth where my pulse lives.
Pleasure sharp enough to burn.
I reach for air that isn’t there and moan into the dark.
My Ether rises in thin, luminous threads, answering hunger with hunger.
Every pulse makes the silver dimmer.
I should be afraid of that, but all I feel is want.
Footsteps again. Closer.
I twist onto my side, half-asleep, half-remembering. Fingers—his fingers—draw patterns between my thighs.
My body trembles, chasing sensation that might be dream, might be memory, might be both.
The cushions slide beneath me. The air tastes sweet and metallic.
I come with a sound that isn’t mine, Ether flooding outward in black-rimmed light.
For a heartbeat the ghost’s face flares in that light—shock, awe, pain.
Then everything fades.
When I blink, he’s beside me. Real enough to cast a shadow.
Real enough that the cold from him feels like air after fire.
My hand lifts without thinking, reaching for warmth that isn’t here anymore.
But the ghost’s fingers brush mine instead.
Light bursts—silver threaded with black. Beautiful. Wrong.
It wraps around us like smoke, twining from my wrist to his.
He shudders, eyes going wide, mouth parting as if to speak.
No sound comes out—only a gasp that tears through the quiet like a prayer.
I feel something pull from me, something essential, and still I don’t let go.
The warmth fades first.
Then the light.
Then him.
He’s still holding my hand when the world starts to dim.
I can feel the tremor in his fingers, the slowing rhythm of his breath.
A thread hums between us—thin, alive, unfinished.
His voice finally finds me as everything tilts toward dark.
