He took my eyes.
"Because," he said, "Seeing doesn't give you Sight."
He put them in his pocket for safe keeping.
And now, I was under the influence of pure black. My skin prickled every time he spoke, I could feel the caress of every word vibrate into my cells.
"Listen quietly, my dear, and perhaps you'll come to know a small vestige of Truth."
I nodded, then gasped. My breath seemed to catch fire and blow out with every cycle. I was afloat in infinite vitality. There was a cool heat, radiating everywhere.
He poured me a cup of licorice tea. As I sipped, every droplet of that hot sweet liquid cast upon me a cataclysmic shudder, my heart leapt for the sounds of my swallows.
Silently, I gestured to him, hand reaching for his. As his flesh met mine, I gripped and pulled him toward me. I put my ear to his throat and listened for a rush of tea to drain, mouth to stomach, into his body. The sound of it washed through me like the blue light of falling water. The taste of it entered through my feet. He and I were an obit of stars, our own separate Earths.
It was then, I began to See.
