“I could never hate you.”

“You could. I could make you.” Yet finally, finally, his lips curled into a smile. It was a slow, heated smile; butter melting on hot toast, a square of sunlight through a window on a fall afternoon. With it his own godhood showed through the shell of this rascal, this backwoods carnie. Something burning and beautiful, so uncompromising that it evaporated everything it touched. Even the glimmer he allowed through made the air around them buckle and shimmer. Then again, her shadowy tendrils were reaching out too, curling around him. He saw then that he could annihilate her, and let himself be consumed. She could strangle him, he could impale her. Her shadows could choke all his bitterness and exhaustion, his shards of brilliance could pierce and rip to shreds all of her doubt and sorrow and longing. He smiled then, and it was a beautiful and terrible thing. He leaned down, pressed his lips to her ear, and blew these thoughts into her mind.