in which the story continues

i can see her, i can hear her, but i cannot reach her. i was made in the land of sun. she tells me the thrums are different now, there are two but they are mixed. their seduction is separate but the same. no longer do they make her feel sick inside. 

no, that is not right, she says. one makes her sick but the other, the other calms and comforts and says she understands about the thrums. the one that makes her safe envelops the girl. 

salt pearls leak and the girl tells me she and the safe one's seams are stitching themselves together. it is good. she tells me it fills that want. i hear her think the word love.

i cannot speak. i cannot touch. i am too far away. i hurt when i taste the salt. it’s wrong, it’s bitter.

she has been lured by a lifetime of promises, a change in the safe one's pitch. it's softer now, she says, it's kinder, it's true. i want her to hear me when i whisper, remember, you do not knit your seams together, you have lost your blood already. you know the thrums are separate but converge. there is not one without the other. 

she lies supine in the sun. she talks to me because there is no else although she does not know if i can hear. 

she thinks of the other, the other thrum, it smells of corpse and winter sweat. its seduction is not the same, it's sinister, it's sadness and nostalgia and need. it sucks all i have left and spits it at the safe one, she says. 

there is need from the vampire, as she calls it. the thrum feels of corpse and nostalgia and need. gravity. magnet. nostalgia the siren’s lure.

the thrums, they're not in harmony any more, they're separate they hurt it's noise but it's love.

i am screaming but she cannot hear.

she is screaming but she cannot hear herself.