April.
Saturday, April 12
The girl stopped by again. It was raining. She only checked out one book this time: The Beginner’s Guide to Tarot: Reading and Understanding the Major Arcana. Must be a new hobby; fresh start for spring and all that. I feel lucky for once that I picked up a Saturday shift.
I think I saw her in my dream. It looked like her; it was her hair. Deep brown. Almost red. Loose waves and so much frizz, pulled up into a ponytail. The rest of it sits in front, framing her eyes wildly. She was wearing that dress she loves (I assume at least, she wears it so often)—the light purple, sleeveless one that goes way up her neck. Tiny blue flowers adorning it.
I hope she comes back soon—I mean, she does have to return the book—but I hope she talks to me again. I’m still thinking about what she said the first time I spoke to her.
“You look out of place here.”
What did she mean by that??? Weird tone to it too. Not suspicious but...intrigued, maybe. I need to know more.
She walked right up to me. In the dream, I mean. We were on a crowded street waiting for the light to cross. Pitch black night. Drizzling just a little. I saw her in front of me (her dress stood out against the dark) and she whipped around. Like she felt my stare. Gave me one of her own. It was piercing.
Nobody else here pays her much attention. I guess that’s fair. Nobody pays me much attention, either. I prefer it that way, I think, keeping to myself. I scared our poor intern the other day—I accidentally snuck up behind him in the morning while he was working the desk. I should probably apologize.
Wednesday, April 16
She finished that book fast. I asked her if she could give me a reading. She said she wanted more practice first. I said I wouldn’t mind being a test subject. She smiled, and said I deserved more “preparation” than that.
This time, she borrowed An Intermediate Study in Tarot: The Suits and Ranks. I suppose she’s serious about it. I finally asked if I could know her name. (She seemed pleased that I was so polite.) She said it’s Lilac. I told her that’s a lovely name. She didn’t ask mine in return, but I told her anyway. She didn’t say anything. Just gave a slight smile and nod.
I haven’t dreamt of her again, though I think about her quite often. How she thinks I look out of place. I don’t think she meant it as an insult—she stands out to me, too.
I wish I told her as much. Next time.
Monday, April 21
She was in my dream again last night. She hasn’t returned the book yet. She gave me a reading.
Six of Wands. Strength. Death.
She says this means beauty and transformation. A shift in power, maybe: Strength is all about controlling perception, and Death in this reading may mark the end of that. She seems perplexed by the Six of Wands; mutters something about youth. How, in combination with Strength, it may say something about manipulating the public with a sense of youthful beauty. I say that’s not entirely inaccurate. She asks, why?
I smile a little and she looks unsettled, but only slightly. Like she knows what I’m getting at. Like it intrigues her. Like it’s the reason she’s here at all. She pulls another card.
The Lovers. Real fucking subtle, subconscious. I raise an eyebrow.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I wake up before she can get it out.
I feel like I’m still dreaming. I miss her. I hope she stays for a while next time.
Tuesday, April 22
She came back. To the library. It’s storming today: thunder that shakes the building. She found me while I was restocking books in the 600s; all the way on the third floor. I asked her to come to the study room and read for me. Still she said she wasn’t ready. I said I didn’t care—I just wanted to talk.
She didn’t even look surprised.
I didn’t tell her about my dreams, just that I’d been thinking about her. That she stood out to me. Asked, that’s what she meant when she said I looked out of place, right? She said maybe. She said she was close to being ready to read for me.
She said it should be enlightening. Gave me that look that she wore in the dream. Slightly unsettled, but smiling still? She’s so difficult to read.
I want to touch her. Badly. I think she can tell. She says I look hungry. I say I am. It’s been a while. I need her. She knows. She knows. I think she needs me too. I hope I’m right.
Thursday, April 24
She didn’t even have a book to return; she’s still not ready.
I’m getting restless.
We went back to the study room to talk. I can hardly concentrate. Is she wearing perfume?
No. I can just smell her. Almost sickly-sweet. Lilac is a befitting name.
She said thank you. I like your name too, Mary. (The way she says it is delightful. Like she’s singing.) It’s almost too perfect.
I asked, what did she mean by that? Perfect how? She didn’t answer—simply met my eyes with hers. I hadn’t gotten a good look at them until now. Green on the inside with blue flames burning the edges. Her pupils are magnetic.
She checked out Advanced Methods in Tarot: Assembling a Reading and Arcane Forces in Motion.
I think I said that I hope her research goes smoothly.
She said it will. It has to.
Saturday, April 26
No work today. I wandered by the library, after the sun went down, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. She always comes on gloomier days or after dark. The days are getting longer, though. Summer is on its way.
She wasn’t there. Shame. I went to the grocery store and got a few vegetables for my trouble. There were lilacs out by the front, so I bought a small bush. Never been fond of flowers before; I suppose I hadn't bothered to look.
Her name has lived in my mind since the second she spoke it.
Monday, April 28
What did she even say today? Something about the moon. The twelfth?
She walked up to me in the reference section. I was dusting, I think.
She handed me an envelope. Told me not to open it.
I asked, when should I?
She said I wouldn’t have to, I was just keeping it safe. I tucked it away somewhere close.
Tuesday, April 29
I sent her an overdue notice today. The books aren’t really due back until Thursday. What am I doing??
I’ve had...fixations before, but she feels different. She’s burrowed into my thoughts. Gnawing on the neurons.
MAY.
Thursday, May 1
I asked her how much longer.
She was stopping by to return one of the books. Said she was sorry they were overdue, asked if she could renew the others. Checked out yet another one too. I can’t remember what. I asked again, how much longer?
She said only a few more days. The twelfth, remember? I nodded.
I can smell her so strongly. I’m utterly overwhelmed with lust. It takes all of my concentration to not act on it.
Was this a dream?
Nobody else can remember seeing her. Nobody ever does. When I asked her about the girl named Lilac, Hannah looked at me like I sprouted wings on my back.
The intern, Skylar, said he thought I lived here when he saw me packing up to go home today. I just laughed at that. I am usually here first and gone last.
Saturday, May 3
Another dream. Almost the same as last time.
Six of Wands. Strength. Death. Beauty and transformation. Power.
This time, the fourth card is the Queen of Swords. I ask what that means. Again, the dream ends before she can tell me.
Tuesday, May 6
I clocked in this morning and Jamie said I looked exhausted. Admittedly, I haven’t gotten much sleep. Every time I dream of her I spend the next few nights in a frenzy.
I checked out one of the tarot books she returned a few days ago. I’m not sure what I was looking for. I don’t know how she reads these things so quickly. Too dense in my opinion. (Listen to this: “Despite her considerable wetness[???], she is moderately cold and likely to have suffered Saturn’s chill.”) Maybe jumping into the intermediate one wasn’t my best idea.
There are a few notes here and there, but I’m realizing now I don’t know what her handwriting looks like. I went to the page for the Queen of Swords and didn’t see anything. I left a lilac petal there when I returned it.
Friday, May 9
She is everywhere but nowhere. The sun won’t go away lately. Good for the flowers maybe.
I miss seeing her. It hasn’t been that long, I know, but she appears wherever I look anyway. I swear I heard her giggling somewhere today. Hannah still thinks I'm making people up to fuck with her. I can’t even tell anymore.
Sunday, May 11
One more day. I haven’t seen her since the first.
It’s never been this bad before. Never this overwhelming. Too much. She’s assaulting all my senses. The fringes of my awareness buzz with her presence. Just out of reach.
There was a girl here today who looked like her. It confused me; I couldn’t smell her.
I want to taste her. It’s a craving now.
Monday, May 12
It’s tonight. She stopped by this morning. It was so foggy—I didn’t see her outside until she materialized at the door. Said she would be back later. My god. Practically a stench.
She’s wearing something new today. A long, layered, dark green skirt that flows like water. She paired it with a deep yellow (almost orange) button-up and a tan and white plaid sweater vest. The neckline is only slightly lower than the dress. Is she doing this on purpose?
I feel on the back foot. She said that’s the way she likes it. Did I even say that out loud?
***
She’s in the bathroom right now. She’s about to do the reading.
We went out to look at the sky. The stars were so beautiful.
I told her about my dreams. The dress I saw in the rain, the readings. She said not to tell her what the cards were. I looked at her and found her eyes—hungry, aching for something. She unbuttoned her shirt collar.
She asked if I could touch her.
What kind of touch?
Anything, please, but be gentle.
I placed my palm on her cheek. Warmth flowed into it. Almost painfully hot.
I dragged my fingers down. To the side of her neck. Slipped a pinky just underneath the collar.
She shivered. It’d been so long, I could tell. There was a visible electric spark as I pulled my hand away, and I found my skin had gone numb.
She asked for the envelope back. I pulled it out from my inside jacket pocket (just by my heart). She didn’t open it.
We went inside. I said I’d meet her here.
***
The reading starts the same way. Six of Wands. Strength. Death. Beauty and transformation. Power. She can tell I’ve seen it before. I look expectantly at the deck.
She draws two this time: the Four of Cups and the Hermit. I must look bewildered, because she giggles. I can’t help but smile at the sound.
The Hermit represents the self, she tells me. This change, the transformation, it’s happening in you. But the Four of Cups—you want that change. You’ve had enough stasis. She smiles slightly and asks, what were the two cards from my dream again?
The Lovers and the Queen of Swords.
She nods knowingly and explains, those two cards are about control. She pulls the envelope back out, slices it open with a fingernail—they’re practically talons—and reveals the cards. Something else slips out too: a miniscule petal that floats lazily to the floor. She pays it no mind.
She continues: it’s a desperate, cloying kind of control. The Queen of Swords typically represents someone logical, someone powerful, someone accustomed to seeing things clearly—but The Lovers is corrupting it. It’s blurring the Queen’s vision, blending her senses together.
My eyes are drawn to hers again. The blue in them is smoldering.
We’re on the train now. It’s practically empty, one old guy sitting way on the other end of the car. He doesn’t even seem real. I lay my head in her lap. She looks but doesn’t touch.
Do I still look out of place?
No, not anymore. You’re right where you should be.
I think I smiled.
She’s intoxicating.
***
We’re in her bed. I sink my teeth into her neck, finally.
She places a palm on the small of my back. I push deeper. Her nails dig into my flesh. Numbness emanates from the wounds.
She tastes even better than she smells. Sweet, but not overbearingly so. There’s a subtlety: a tart, slightly sour tinge. I want to savor her.
Her hand—no, something else—creeps upward.
Over my shoulders.
Wraps around my wrists.
Everything is hazy.
Stay still.
As if I can do anything else: my limbs are immobile. I can’t see what’s holding them. My mind is blanking.
Shhhhhh, let it.
I breathe out, deeply.
Come back to me.
I do. My teeth sink even further. Pulling something. It’s not blood. It’s thicker, more sour now. It steals the breath from my lungs and devours me in turn.
She gasps with pleasure. Digs her nails in deeper. The numbness changes, snaps to life, lights my body with its energy.
My legs are bound now, too. I keep draining; it only seems to invigorate her.
I sink. Not into her, but into my own awareness. My mind is a static charge—a zap of magnetism that pulses down my spinal cord.
I need her.
I need to be hers.
I need to be here. Forever.
Why?
The question floats in my periphery.
Why? She asks again.
I don’t know.
My vision darkens. Flickers.
Why? Answer me, please.
I slip. Notice where I am.
Shhhhhhhh. A finger over my mouth.
I struggle.
You want this, don’t you?
Do I?
You work so hard.
My legs move; are moved. Spread apart. I realize I’m nude.
How long have I been exposed?
Hush, down. Deeper.
I sink again. Vision doubles. Need.
Yes, that’s it—need.
I work so hard.
What is it that you need?
The static grows louder. More palpable.
Please?
Her voice is so difficult to resist. She asks so nicely. Gently.
Please, I want to know your desires. She touches my forehead. I feel a pinch. My skin thrums with warmth.
I need to be violated. I need to be treasured and displayed. I need to feed. Please. In every inch of my mind, I beg; to be consumed fully, or absolved, I don't know. I don't know. Please.
I don’t know where this comes from. It’s spilling out of me. But I know it’s true, in my deepest sense of self.
I need to be yours. I need to be yours. I need to be Yours.
I know, she says, and you already are.
I keep sinking. The hum is overwhelming my senses. I can smell the sparks popping from my body; the rust mixes with her sweetness. My vision goes completely—fizzles to blackness. I struggle again.
You’re safe.
I keep struggling. I hear a snap.
Calm. Longing still, but peacefully. What did I need so badly?
Contact all over my skin. Every inch touched, caressed, glided over. It crackles, buzzes in ecstasy.
The sensation grows more intense. Painful. Scratching. Pinching at my nerves. It burns. I am on fire, sinking into an abyss; it stretches down deeper than anything I’ve ever seen. Still flaring, I am in freefall. I need her. I need Her. I need Her. Her Her Her Her I am falling, sinking, plunging into what I now know is a pit—there is no hope of climbing out, nothing to do but accept my station:
I belong to Her. I feed only when She deems appropriate.
The burning subsides and I find myself floating instead of falling.
I am Her treasured possession. Nothing more.
My limbs: still bound but slacker.
She is my world, my everything.
And to think, you thought I would be yours. Her voice is overtaking my mind. She laughs—that infectious giggle—then goes silent.
My sight returns. She is an inch from my face. I probably look so small to Her.
You do.
Finally, She kisses me. It’s explosive. Her tongue dances through my lips and pulls back after just grazing mine. I lean in as far as She lets me. She pulls away. The further She gets, the more my vision blurs.
She is gone and I am truly alone.
Minutes or days pass.
She returns every once in a while to give me water. Food.
I try to reach out to her.
She snaps and I go still.
***
She let me feed again.
***
Her hands on my stomach. Kneading.
I breathe a sigh of pleasure.
She leans to my ear. Hold still.
A pierce. My skin dances with electricity. She drags a claw down the middle of my chest.
I squirm and my limbs restrict.
I said to hold still.
Yes Miss Lilac. I don’t remember when I started calling Her that.
A searing. My chest crackles, sizzles. I fight to keep still. She seems to delight in watching me.
Her name is scarred onto my skin.
***
Am I dreaming? I ask one day.
Does it feel like one?
***
My teeth belong in Her neck. She’s so sparing with it.
It wouldn’t be special, She says when I ask why I cannot have Her every night.
Then let me serve You in other ways.
Without a word She spreads my legs and enters me. My every nerve screams:
This- I-
Wh-
Lilac??
I ignore it.
She should use me however She needs.
***
It does, I say. Feel like a dream.
She grins, wide, toothy. Her eyes are so beautiful—those sparks of blue draw me into the chasms of her pupils—they welcome me now.