6. Six o Clock

That night, as she had done many nights ever since she'd found out the truth, she'd sat on her vanity, knees gathered to her chest, staring at candle light flickering for hours to no end, until all the wax had melted into puddles, wick burned entirely out of existence. Then she'd lit another, and another, just watching the flames flicker until she"d fallen asleep just like that, on the chair, her head resting on top of her knees, staring at his letters piling on top of one another on her table.

They started with: Miss me already?

The next day. You will have to leave your room.Your lilies look like they need water.

And the next. I've watered your lilies, you cruel Reaper.

And the very next. You must miss me. Surely you miss me.

Then again, the very next. Let me see you. Fine, let Tommy see you.

And another. Come out of that damn home and glare at me, shout at me, come out and throw rocks at me, and tell me every single thing you hate about me, just come out. Please. I can let you throw stuff at Tommy, too, if you'd like. PS: Your lilies are looking a little sad. Are their stems supposed to be bending like that?

Her eyes started drifting shut, lulled by the flame, a drunken smile etched on her face from the last letter he'd sent her and the glances she'd stolen outside of her garden these past few days of the terrifying God who'd been overwatering her lilies. She did not know if it was the faint candlelight or the exhaust she'd been feeling lately or if she'd simply gotten drunk on the silly words on the very last letter: I might have overwatered your lilies. They're looking a little odd.

"Just go lay in bed already, Silene. You can't keep sleeping like that forever."

Her eyes popped open, and she stared at the flame, leaning in to whisper, "You did not speak, you're a candle."

"No," the same voice said, now from behind her. "But I did."

She almost dropped from her chair when she spun in his direction so fast she got dizzy. Gabriel stepped forward as if to catch her, his hands freezing merely inches away from her body before he pulled back, fingers curling into tight fists as they returned to his side.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her hand flying to her throat out of instinct, to make sure the scarf was there, hiding her scar—a scar he'd already known about.

"There is something I can't stop thinking about," he said, circling her room and stopping to inspect a bunch of little trinkets she had carved out of wood back when pottery had been a miss. Five hundred years was a long time. One could not have too many hobbies. Or make enough carved figurines, so there were…a lot…everywhere, almost annoyingly like glitter speckles. She was a hoarder, and so what.

"Like what?" she asked, looking down at herself to make sure her pyjamas were not askew while he wasn't paying attention.

"You," he admitted, leaning against her vanity, right there, not even a foot from her. "And it doesn't help that you won't let me see you."

She was hoping to the stars her cold corpse could not blush because she might have…would have. "You can't come into my home like this."

He moved to her window, trailing his fingers down the curtains she'd made, pinching the trimming between his fingers, and for some reason smiling down at it. "The door was open."

"The door is always open." No one came to her home.

"Maybe you should start closing it," he said, reaching for a vase filled with a bunch of roses she'd made out of copper wire, and grabbing one, studying the detailed work that had gone into shaping the second kind of flower that could never wilt by her touch. "How does everything you touch turn out so perfect? The garden, the home, the clothes, the little paintings on the walls, these," he said, taking a figurine and turning to look at the rest of her room with a strange sort of awe. "Everything on here."

A little flustered laughter left her, and she looked away from him, narrowing her eyes on the mirror and scrutinising the unusual flush on her cheeks. "They're not perfect."

"One day," he started, his voice languid, "I watched you sit on a wood stump just outside your home, holding a pair of trousers nearly shredded and a threaded needle in your hand. If I had not been so distracted by how happy you looked doing something so menial, I might have been able to find out the secret to how you made them look brand new."

Her insides gripped in a fist. "They were my brother's," she said, smiling while hot tears rimmed her eyes at the memory he'd just invoked. "He'd always tear them up in the mines. I couldn't wait for him to get home to show him how I'd fixed them. He'd call me a witch and haul me around until I'd admit I possessed magic he wasn't aware of."

"Why were you outside that day? You barely left your home, and it was wintertime. Why did you sit in the cold?"

All of the sudden she felt overtaken by a sense of hollowness. "It was easier to run," she muttered. "He was home, my father. Not drunk enough. Somehow, his worst evil always came when he was sober. The kindest he was to me was always when he was drunk."

The wind blew her windowpanes back so hard the glass shattered against the wall, making her squeal and jump from her seat. The concept of weather did not really exist in Asphodel. There was no such thing as rain or wind or even really sun at all.

Her hand came to her startled chest, and she startled even more when she felt her heart bang against the breastbone. "Please leave now," she begged, starting to back away in her seat. Silene did not want to know what else his presence would cause to her or Asphodel.

"See me in the morning," he said, coming to stand right before her, and she sucked in a stuttering breath as she stared up at his face, carved out by so many shadows, suddenly so grave and terrifying under them.

"Why should I? Are there any more lies and secrets I should know about?"

"None was a lie or a secret. You've just never asked. You've never even let me get close to you. I can't even count the many ways you've avoided me."

"You're such a frustrating creature."

He smiled, and it melted the ice forming around her again. "Tell me that you will see me tomorrow."

"I don't like how you make me feel."

That smile started to slowly fall. "How do I make you feel?"

The most worthless form she had ever been. Human. And that was not even the worst part. "Go away, please," she said, turning to the mirror and starting to take the rollers off her hair. The actual terrifying part was that Silene might have enjoyed it. The very small things she was starting to feel. The things she had never really thought about. Every little reaction her body gave suddenly felt amplified. And she was breathing differently—she was breathing how she'd never breathed before.

"Why won't you talk to me, Silene?"

The way he said her name, how every letter left his lips bewitched the very air she inhaled, almost leaving her heaving. "I hate that I have to look up at you every time I do so," she lied.

He stepped close to her, almost making her drop from her chair again when he got down to his knees right there at her feet. "Now talk to me."

The stars had a wicked sense of humour—so wickedly cruel. How…why were they tempting her like this? Silene didn't wish to trust his intentions, she'd never had trusted his intentions even when she'd been alive. But she was finding it hard not to. Maybe, apart of her wanted to trust them. Maybe just this once. Just this once she wanted to try…to try how it felt—how it felt to be alive. What would go wrong? She was already dead. This was her best bet of ever knowing fully.

Reaching for a small shelf on her vanity, she pulled a piece of paper she had scribbled on, folded and unfolded about a thousand times, contemplating this very moment.

He raised a brow as he took it and unfolded it, reading its small content with his brows pulled together. "What is this?"

"My demands. For my time."

He lowered his head a little, looking like he was trying to hold back a smile before he asked, "Are you bargaining with me, Silene?"

"No, you're bargaining with me, Gabriel." She stood, now towering over him. "Do you accept them?"

His eyes drew closed, and head dropped forward, not even an inch away from resting against her stomach. "I do," he said, his breath brushing against the very thin sliver between her night shirt and trousers.

Silene felt her limbs weaken, grow as soft as tulip stems, almost buckling at his nearness. "You might wait downstairs while I get dressed. Also, get up now, your knees will leave a mark on my precious carpet."

He did as told, now towering again over her, nearer than he'd ever gotten to her, their faces so close she merely needed to raise herself on her toes to press her lips to his jaw. A thought that shook her awake quicker than a bucket of cold water and had her stumbling back for some space.

"There is a chair right here," he told her, bracing his hands on her chair and vanity, trapping her between his arms.

She grabbed a hairbrush and pressed the other end to his chest, pushing him back with it. "Out, Gabriel."

He looked down between them as he walked backwards towards her door. "Resorting to weaponry. Very unfair of you, my pretty ruin."

Frustrated breaths entered Silene's lungs. "Don't call me that."

"As you wish, my beautiful damnation."

Heat climbed up her neck, and she put a hand over it, hoping he'd not taken notice of what he'd done to her. "Not that either."

He stopped right at her bedroom doorstep, stretching his arms up and bracing both his hands on the top of the doorframe, reminding Silene just how massive of a man he was. "Tell me you've missed me."

"I haven't missed you."

"Tell me you were hoping I'd come to you."

"I have not," she might have lied.

"Tell me you don't hate me again."

"I think I'm starting to change my mind about that."

"Then tell me you do," he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth, the blue of his irises invaded entirely by his dark pupils until it remained a thin ring of sapphire. "I should probably tell you," he breathed, his chest rising and falling fast, "that I was hoping you'd call for me. I waited. I was going to wait, but something told me you might never call for me. Be cruel to me all you want, I've given you that right. But what cruelly have those poor flowers committed to you to leave them to wither without a drop of water?"

"They are watered only every two to three days. Even less here in Asphodel because we don't really have any sun."

His lips parted, and he slowly nodded. "I see. I might have killed your flowers."

"I know."

Gabriel looked a little stunned at her admission. "You should have stopped me."

"It was too funny."

"So, you were watching me."

Forcing her amusement away, she said, "Out, Gabriel."

His eyes gleamed as he backed away down her stairs, grinning and almost tripping because she was sure every ounce of his attention was on her. "You were watching me."

"You were in my garden. Intruding."

"And you were watching me."

She stared at the shop's display window, her mouth parted with fascination, eyes almost welling from excitement as she braced both hands on the glass barrier, trailing her fingers down the details on the white dresses on the mannequins.

Gabriel stepped beside her. She could feel his questioning gaze on her dripping down on her like warm wax as he silently watched her admire the wedding dresses, obeying to her first demand that he was to take her to visit a bridal store—breaking more of her rules of never stepping on human spaces yet again.

To her luck, he had not asked for any explanation for her demands, only had followed after her like some pup on a leash.

The store was strangely empty as they got inside, and she turned to him. "There is no one here."

He sat by a large sofa probably meant for guests, arms spread wide on the back rest. "Try some of them on."

She blinked, flustered. "I only wanted to see."

"The store is all ours for today. Try some and show me. I want to see."

Silene did not need to be told twice. She skimmed the long rows full of silk, lace and all kinds of dresses hung along the walls, stopping only to pull a few out and hang them over her arm.

She'd never undressed faster, her clothes discarded all over the changing room as she quickly stepped into the first dress, cursing when she realised she needed to be zipped in.

Peeking her head out of the changing room, she met his gaze and sighed. "I need help."

With a huge grin, he got up and stepped right behind her, gently pushing her hair to one side, careful not to touch her as he reached for the zipper and slowly pulled it up.

She couldn't look away from his reflection on the mirror before her when his eyes lifted to meet hers and then travelled down her body. She wanted to look away, to look at the dress that fit her as if it had been made for her. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't look away at all, too entranced by the way his blue irises turned molten at her sight.

"Why wedding dresses?" he asked, his fingers grazing the very ends of her long hair, curling around them, the sensation sending a shudder down her spine.

"I've always wanted to be a bride," she said, tracing the beads on her bodice. "When my father would drink too much, I would sneak and hide behind a grand oak by the temple in our village, watching brides walk down the long aisle to the sound of the chiming bells. I'd seen nothing more beautiful, it was entirely out of a dream. Like the fairies I'd read about when I was younger."

"Did you want to be married?"

Her bitter chuckle filled the empty hall, and she pressed a shaky hand to her mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to follow as memories of her old life returned. "Who would have wanted to marry me? My name was tainted with more than just poverty," she admitted. "People knew, you know. They all knew what was happening to me." They all knew what was being done to her. Some were their own wives, their own daughters and sons, their own parents. And instead of turning that scrutinising glare on their own kin, they had turned it on her. She'd been cast out, spit on, hit on, hated on, even denied any service by the villagers—if she'd been on fire, no one would have wasted a drop of water on her.

The tip of his finger traced the length of the silver zipper, the closest he could get to touching her. "And they've all paid for it."

Silene almost didn't hear his words because of how low his voice had gotten. "What did you say?" she asked, looking up at him, noticing the tight features, the shadows and the drowning eyes.

"Put your hair up."

She blinked fast. "Why?"

"Just do it."

Gabriel stood rooted there behind her as she did as he'd asked, pinning her long hair at the base of her neck, all too lost watching him watch her to realise that the scar on her neck was now all for him to see.

Only when his eyes in the reflection dropped down from hers did she realise.

A hand came to rest there under her neck. "Would you stop looking at me?"

"Gods and Fates have tried, and they both have failed to make me do so. But you can give it a try, too, my pretty desolation." He stepped even closer, his chest almost brushing her back but not quite so when he leaned into the naked crook of her neck and closed his eyes. "You smell like heaven."

Ignoring the chill that chased down her limbs, she said, "Didn't know the heavens had a smell."

"Mine does."

"Also didn't know you owned one. But then, you seem to own many things."

"I don't own her," he said, reaching for a veil and pinning it at the back of her head. "But she does own me."

"You're a pathetic God."

"You have no idea, Silene," he muttered, trailing the tips of his fingers down the long veil. "Are we keeping this one or will you try another one on for me?"

Her eyes went wide. "I can keep it?"

"Why not?"

She contemplated it for a moment, trying to bite her smile down as she studied herself in the mirror, the pretty high neckline decorated with pearls and sparkles and the long silky train that followed the curves of her body, floating and pooling down at her feet. She looked like one of the women from the human magazines. "Fine, thank you. Will you unzip me?"

"Keep it on."

A ridiculous laughter left her. "I'm not walking around in a wedding dress."

They stepped outside the shop and into the streets. Silene giggled at herself the whole time they walked, spinning in her dress and fluffing the veil around until a kid gasped and pointed straight at her. "Mommy! A princess!"

Ice cold water washed over her skin, her smile fading, and she almost hid behind Gabriel. "Why…why can he see me? He's not dead."

"Pretty things should be seen, Silene."

He'd made her visible. After five hundred years, humans could see her again. And that thought…did not scare her as much as she had thought it would. "I'm in a wedding dress. I look ridiculous."

"You look exquisite."

If her face had not gone red from embarrassment, it surely had done so from his frustrating words. "Gabriel."

"Yes, my Silene?" he asked, standing right in front of her and pulling the veil down her eyes. "There. Now no one can see you. You're invisible again. Now come."

How did he know how to soothe her so well? Even from before when he'd been just a flame in a candle. "The river is the other way around."

"We will make a stop somewhere else before."

"A stop? Where?"

A chapel stood before them after a few turns around the buildings and many pointed looks later. Small, hidden between two massive buildings like a tattered, forgotten book in a library shelf between brand new ones.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, studying the decor as he led her inside.

"You're in a wedding dress. It would be such a pity to waste all of it away," he said, backing away towards the altar lined with seats and standing right at the spot where the groom usually waited for the bride. "Walk to me, Silene," the odd God called for her.

Her heart had pooled down her stomach, pulsing so violently that she almost felt sick. "I can't…we can't."

"It's all pretend. It's all it can be anyway. Pretend. What's the worst that can happen?"

Silene could think of a thousand terrifying things that could happen if she did. Still, she took a step forward.

With a swift flick of his hand, the grand organ piano played the tune every human bride walked to in this realm. Another flick of his hand and white roses bloomed through the walls, over the benches, along the altar, hanging overhead into arches, their thorned vines twisting around anything and everything, turning the chapel into something of a sweet, perfumy dream. And as he raised his hand in her direction, beckoning her to him, a swift yet gentle wind swept across, snowflakes pouring out of the roof of the closed chapel, bright crystals gleaming as they fell on her dress, on the flowers and the red carpet. She smiled as the cold flakes touched her lips, coated her lashes, and turned the tip of her nose a little red, her cheeks probably, too.

She fixed her veil as she closed the distance between them, a bouquet of white flowers appearing in her hand, withering almost immediately from her touch. Despite it, this was the most magnificent thing she'd ever been part of, better than any daydream of hers.

He stood there, too, just like a dream, just in jeans and a black t-shirt instead of the ornate suit grooms usually wore. This time not faceless either.

"How did I do?" she asked, stepping in front of him.

He reached for her veil, lifting it over her head and looking at her somewhat stunned, his chest raising fast. His lips parted and then closed again a few times, and she waited for the words that didn't come for a long while.

She jokingly smacked him in the chest with her dried and dead bouquet, chuckling. "You aren't so dashing yourself, your great grandness."

He reached to pull a lifeless flower from her bouquet, the carnation coming to life immediately at his touch. Silene jumped a little when he tapped the tip of her nose with it. "Liar, liar. Pretty liar," he cooed, giving her one of his most charming grins and guiding the carnation he held over her cheek and then down her jaw, making her shiver and gasp, a puff of mist escaping from between her parted lips being kissed by flakes of snow.

He brought the flower down her chin, using it to gently lift her face up to him. "How do the vows go, my ruin?"

Silene did not wish to blink. Too scared it might all be just a dream, merely a dream. "All of them are different in every realm."

"Tell me your favourite."

She took a moment even though she knew them by heart, contemplating if she wanted to tell him such a precious secret. "Have my heart wounded, sick or scarred. In your hands not stolen or gifted but surrendered. Became a half when it met yours, so in the eyes of Gods let it become whole again," she said, dropping her gaze from his and blinking in at her surroundings. "I think that's how it goes."

The flower he held to her face brushed the skin down her neck, and down her chest that rose faster and faster each passing second. The petals pressed between her breasts, right where her heart was pulsing hard enough to make her feel faint. "No one," he said in an almost whisper, "no one deserves that heart. I forbid you to offer it to anyone."

She was sure each pulse jumped over the other, every beat erratic as she stared up at him. "No one would have it even if I gave it to them for free."

"Smart little creatures humans are. To know of their worth. But wretched, for what they don't deserve, they have sought to ruin."

With some convincing, he'd managed to bring her to sit at a cafe, her veil pulled back this time as she sat on the other side of the small table, standing stiffly and turning away flustered when people would send glances her way. With her hands folded on top of the table, she looked like a painting stolen from a gallery, one painted with such craft that there was no eye who could admire her properly.

A server lowered a teacup in front of her and then another before me. "Congratulations to the both of you!" the girl said.

Silene opened her mouth to speak but the server was gone.

"Drink your tea, Silene," he said, hiding his smile behind his teacup, trying not to gloat too much at the fact that whoever was looking at them thought of her as his—as his bride.

She grabbed a spoon, clutching it tightly in her hand and looking like she was contemplating throwing it at him.

"Put the spoon down, my ruin. You can do more damage without it should you wish to. Your words can bruise me better."

A flush stained her cheeks and ears, and she lowered her head, her hand closing around the teacup as she smiled down at it. Silene's eyes roamed around the cafe when she brought the cup to her lips and blew on the steam before taking a sip. "Never understood why people sit around like this. I guess it is nice having your tea made for you." She blinked at him when a long string of silence followed. "You haven't said a single word. Why did you even bring me here?"

"To stare at you and show you off."

Her lips parted, and she made to speak several times. He wondered why she was always looking for words in his presence.

"You're so beautiful, Silene. I wanted someone to think you're mine. Anyone. Even if only briefly."

Her hands let go of the teacup, returning to her lap, almost surrendered.

The server stopped at their table, a camera in her hand. "Could I take a picture of you?" She pointed to the wall where about a thousand other pictures of people drinking tea and coffee were plastered against. "For our wall. We've never had a bride come here. Let alone one that looks like you." The girl made a sound of awe as she studied Silene. "We would love to have you on our wall."

Silene shot him a panicked look, and when he nodded just once to assure her that all would be fine, she turned to the server, a careful smile upon her lips as she quietly said, "Of course."

Silene straightened her shoulder when the server lifted the camera to her face. Just as the flash snapped, her hazel eyes turned to him, silver lining them.

If she had not stolen enough of his breaths today, Gabriel stood there robbed of his very last one.

"Thank you!" the server chirped, waving over her shoulder at them.

"I'd like to go back," she said, standing, not looking at him anymore, not even a glance as they made their way to the boat that took her away from him every time. Not even a goodbye.

Sat at the edge of his bed, long past midnight, he stared at the new frame in his hand, running a finger down the picture he'd trapped in it, the most precious thing he now owned. First thing after he'd dropped her back to Asphodel, he'd returned to the cafe and asked for the photo. He could not even make himself look away ever since.

Sat there in her white dress, staring away from the camera, staring at him, the saddest yet happiest he'd ever seen her be.

"My taunting eidolon, my lovely apparition, my beautiful phantom," he murmured as a wet drop fell against the glass frame. "How many more nights must I mourn you?"