The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Even the Cake was in Tiers
by Amanda Worthington

You can’t help what you’ve become, he’d said, voice gentle

Full of heartbreak and self-loathing and love

He’d reached out to caress her bare shoulder

Like the contact would bring absolution for his absence

The night she’d been bitten or scratched or stung

Or however she was made into this husk before him now

Pale and thin and wrung-out

.

She’d shrunk away from his touch

And he’d have let her drain every ounce of his blood

Endured the hard road of immortality

Or whatever curse disguised as a blessing

Waited on the other side

All in exchange for a smile, a kiss, a sigh

.

Once, they’d spoken of fleeing the busy-ness of their big city existence

Hiding out in the mountains of Alaska for awhile

But the idea of a midnight sun terrified her into silence

When he brought it up

He was quiet more often these days

Knew he should speak, but wasn’t sure what he should say

.

He was a pastry chef, not a shrink.

And naturally, that realization brought to mind cake

He baked while she slept

Had just lit the last of the candles

As rubbing sleep from her eyes, she came into the room

She blinked several times

Her lips pulled into a taut smile

As she beheld the love of her life

Dressed almost like he was playing at groom

.

“I’m not asking you to make me like you

But will you do the honor of this dance

And this cake that is the purest way

I can think of to love you the way I know how”

.

There were tears in his eyes as he reached out a hand

Drew her close, kissed her wan cheek

And she let herself be captured.

I heard this all secondhand

I don’t know if the cake was ever touched

Or if she let him join her forever

Or if they just forgot their plight for a night

I don’t know if they ever made it

To marvel at Mckinley’s height

Despite her saying she couldn’t bear it

.

I like to think he became linked with her the moment they touched

That their retreat into immortality was bloodless and refined

.

I think of them sometimes

When I’m layering the cake

That decades before

One of my ancestors taught his son

How to make.

.

Fiction © Copyright Amanda Worthington.
Image courtesy of Pixabay