Of Shadows in Solstice

She jumped from the swing. The picture of it was so beautiful, so melancholic. Her indifferent eyes, her billowing shirt, her graceful leap, it almost looked like she was an angel. Her fingers caught on a strand of hair before she landed. She ran her hand through it. It seemed like it would feel like cool silk.

The swing dangled, back and forth. 

I turned around, heart thudding. It was as if I had seen something forbidden. Like when one sees the gray light filter though the gaps of the trees. A pure morning and the sharp smell of earth.

I closed my eyes, and I saw the sun rise behind her. The iron red warming her back. The orange-gold slipping past her neck into her collarbone. The honey yellow dipping off her hair. 

But I knew I'd never be able to see her in the sunlight. 

Then I opened my eyes and it was night. I looked at the sky. It was like water, rippling clouds and a dark sunset. It seemed to darken her. The swing swayed to a stop. She slipped into the shadow of it. 

She knew I had seen her. We weren't supposed to know each other. But I knew her. And she knew me. I waited for her at dusk. She waited for me at dawn.

I had never talked to her. Ghosts and gods weren't supposed to know each other. We couldn't exist side by side. If a god got too close, their blood would freeze. It was the aura of supposed death. 

I wished she would leave. It was doing both of us no good. To torture ourselves with hanging fruit. 

I put my head in my hands. They shone a pale blue. It was time to leave.

I stepped towards the clouds, feeling a chill pass through me. 

She was under the shadow of it, smiling