The deal was made. Ghostanza was going to make her white and smooth and all she had to do in return was let herself be pulled inside the long overdress once more.
It was black inside there, darker than Parassita’s fur when it was bunched between her hands. Hot too, pressed up against that fierce heart. At first Gilia thought she might struggle, but instead she went limp like Parassita used to when she was very little and Gilia held her by the neck and the bottom, and again on the night before Ghostanza left for Santa Giuliana, when she was still and lifeless.
Gilia still didn’t quite know how she had killed Parassita. She remembered being curled around her and staring straight into her eyes all glistening and beautiful. Above them the panelling made a shape of Santa Lucia and her plate flying up to heaven. Ghostanza was there too, floating face up with no fear of the water.
Gilia held Parassita tight. The smell of peaches drifted towards her from an unseen place, moist and sweet. Her breath grew short, and the terrible thirst that never seemed to leave her throat crawled up into her mouth. She closed her hands around Parassita’s skull, looked deep into her cornflower eyes, moist and clear.
Summer flavours.
If you pressed your fingers into them they would rise and rise again.