Page 188 of Dare
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Flare
I wanted him. Always, I felt his mouth on mine, his arms around me, his breath caressing my skin.
Standing at the ocean’s edge, I watched the sway lap over the bank, mellow waves brushing the sand. My lips tilted up. In the past three years, I had seen countless seas and rivers and islands, but this peninsula was among the most peaceful bodies of water I’d ever beheld.
Usually, I launched myself into the abyss. I would skip through the waves, swim with stingrays, dodge jellyfish, and ride marlins. I would dance naked under the sun and bathe amid mangroves. I would leap and dive headfirst.
Tonight, I stood still and admired the view. The salty breeze winnowed through my sarong and illuminated the whorls—newly inked and metallic—climbing up my bare calves. Celestials glittered, dotting the black sea with specks of light. In this ambience, I remembered the last time I stood on another beach, at another time, with someone who’d branded himself into my heart. Closing my eyes, I felt his mark on me like a special type of ink. But instead of crying, I grinned.
No other landscape compared to an ocean at midnight, perfect for secrets. Tethered near a cluster of high grasses, my tidefarer awaited me. Because this beach wouldn’t stay empty once the sun rose, I needed to leave my signature and depart soon.
Gazing at the waves, I contemplated what to draw, what symbols to leave behind. Yet nothing came to me. Instead, my mind drifted to the memories that had arisen only moments ago, including all the things that had happened since the rainforest. Since my villain prince.
Flashbacks of the last few years replayed in my head …
***
On the boat with Poet and Briar, I spent my first hours—and after him, and after us—wanting it all back. The Phantom Wild had disappeared by then. From there, only water surrounded us, a sparkling world beneath a scalding sky. But that wasn’t enough, because the ocean wasn’t my home. I’d left my home behind, given up what had been mine—ours.
And maybe the rainforest was calling me to return, and maybe it wasn’t too late, so I changed my mind and dove over the side. My body crashed through the surface, the aquamarine sea drowning out Poet’s bellow and Briar’s shout and the new storm that had arrived without warning. I swam, not caring about the nearby presence of a predator in the depths, a swordlike nose cutting past me.
Instantly, a mesh of rope had ensnared my waist. The jester fished me out of the abyss and dragged my weight aboard. And in their arms, soaked and sobbing, I let Poet and Briar embrace me.
That’s when I felt it in my bones, in my throat, in my stomach. I felt an ache, an understanding. I’d hurled my body into the sea and lost my way. I’d been leaving my freedom behind without giving thought to my promise and what Jeryn had said. In one heartbroken moment, I had forgotten about the voice I could share beyond the horizon. Instead, I’d leaped into the arms of a wild ocean, with its sharks and sea monsters, desperate for reunion and willing to risk myself.
Because of that, I thought about living that one glorious year with a prince. And I realized there was a little madness there. It thrashed and thrived inside me, like it did in everyone else in this world.
Because love was madness. In this way—and many different ways—maybe everyone was a born soul.
In hindsight, I guessed it was a dangerous thing to do, to fly into that tempest, to need a person that much. To love him that much. But that feeling could also empower. My soul, filled with Jeryn, would give me strength no matter how far I traveled.
My memories were safe. So I had everything I needed.
The truth grew roots inside me, because I was somebody in this world. I’d always been and always would be. I was loved and gave love, had been cursed and blessed, by people and a legend and myself. In the rainforest and apart from it, I was somebody.
The jester, princess, and I met with Aire at a remote part of the wharf, near the abandoned boats where I’d first escaped. Under the blanket of night, we said our goodbyes and made a pledge. It wouldn’t end there. We would reunite again, because that’s what families did.
I sailed on, venturing to my purpose, my mission in Summer. I explored forgotten lagoons, mythical reefs, and sunken ships. I caught treasures and found prizes such as jeweled pods. When I braved markets with a hooded head—peddling my wares enabled me to survive—news circulated about The Phantom Wild, the Prince of Winter’s rescue, and his survival despite the fatal illnesses that infested the rainforest. Jeryn had done his part, and people cringed while speaking of our home. Coming from the Winter Prince, medical genius of this continent, his description of viruses amounted to scripture.
Even sand drifters refused to quest near the rainforest. And no one ever mentioned the ruins, knowledge of its existence remaining unknown.
Camping apart from the masses protected me. Though, sometimes I had to lodge in less secluded places, needing to refresh my supplies. One evening, I rested not far from a bustling village. There, I heard from other passing drifters about Jeryn publicly aligning himself with Poet and Briar. And my hopes took flight.
That night, I created my first sketch. Up until then, I’d needed time to reacquaint myself with Summer, to hear what the people were saying and learn how to respond. From there, I practiced my artwork, drafting as musicians and novelists and painters did.
Squatting in the sand, I drew the Fools Tower. From dusk till dawn, I depicted the prison’s height, its walls, and its spire. The images came to life, yet they didn’t make me bitter. Instead, my blood tingled with power.
Inside the shape, I wrote a word. Then I left the drawing there, and as my boat bobbed toward the next distant land, I watched a child skip from the road and onto the shore. She spotted what I’d done and called out to her parents, a pair in peasant garb emerging behind her, maybe on a morning walk. They joined her by the sketch and stared.
My heart soared. I wondered if they would bring other people to see it, long after I had left. And so I did this again and again.
Wherever I went, wherever I landed, I inlaid my visions into the coasts. I drew a chain of rope, a misty forest, a droplet of rain, a community dwelling in a wild castle, a society where all manner of people lived without slaves, without hatred, without suffering. Within those drawings, I communicated unwritten words about truth and lies, captives and captors, enemies and allies, nature and humans.
While I couldn’t tell the story of every born soul, because our fates and demons and passions were all unique, I could be a spark. If one person’s tale could inspire people to hear more tales from others, maybe countless lives and mindsets would change. And if a cold prince could learn to love instead of hate, and if a fiery captive could learn to forgive and love that prince back, maybe many other hearts could change.
Long ago, the world had painted me. And now I painted the world.