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Chapter 7: Questions in the Quiet
The bread was nearly gone. She had torn her piece into tiny crumbs, nibbling one after another as if it might turn sweeter if she stretched it long enough. The man with horns had eaten his silently, each bite neat and deliberate, like food was not for tasting but only for staying alive.
When Ari finished licking the last crumb from her finger, the silence grew too heavy. It pressed at her chest, made her legs kick restlessly against the stool legs. She couldn't hold her questions in anymore.
"Why are your eyes red?" she asked suddenly, tipping forward on her elbows. Her green eyes sparkled with curiosity, not fear. "Did you cry too much one time? 'Cause mine get red when I cry. Or maybe you didn't sleep? Nanny always said staying awake makes one eyes look like tomatoes."
His gaze flicked down to her, steady as stone. "They are always this way."
Ari gasped. "Always? Forever-ever?" She leaned close, squinting like she might see the secret hidden in the glow. "Does it hurt?"
"No."
She slumped back, puffing her cheeks. "You don't explain things very good."
The words tumbled out one after another, faster than his answers. "And your horns??" she pointed straight at them without hesitation, her finger wobbling like a compass needle. "Were you born with them? Or did someone stick them on you? They look heavy. Do they poke the pillow when you sleep?"
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Ari giggled at the silence, swinging her legs harder. "If I had horns, I'd hang ribbons on them. Pink ones. Maybe green. You'd look less grumpy with ribbons."
Something flickered across his face not anger, not quite amusement, just an expression caught between the two. She tilted her head, studying him as if she had discovered a crack in his stoned mask face.
"Why are your clothes all ripped?" she asked next, tugging at the hem of her nightgown for comparison. "Did you fight a dog? Or fall out of the sky?"
That made him pause. Just for a breath, his shoulders stilled. Then his voice came rough, low: "Something like that."
Her mouth formed a small circle. "Falling must've hurt. That's why you walk funny, isn't it?"
He didn't answer, but her words landed heavier than she knew. His steps had been heavy ever since but ever since the ground had risen up and broken him.
Ari hugged her knees up to her chest on the stool, her curls spilling over her arms. She studied him with the frankness only a child could keep. "Do demons eat bread? Or do you eat… bugs? Monsters in stories always eat bugs."
His red eyes sharpened at that word. "I told you. I am not a monster."
"But you're not just a man either," she reminded quickly, proud of remembering his own words. "So maybe demons eat both. Bread and bugs." She scrunched her nose, shuddering. "Ewww. Not candy though."
The thought of candy seemed to cheer her. She sat up straighter. "Do you want to try ice? It's my favorite. Ice is like… like cold glass, but you can crunch it. And it makes your tongue go brrrr." She stuck her tongue out and made the sound proudly.
He stared at her, silent again.
"You're boring," she declared, hopping off the stool and padding across the cold tiles barefoot. She tugged open the freezer door and stood on tiptoe to reach inside. A faint frost puffed into the air, and she pulled out a small piece of ice wrapped in a napkin. She held it up high. "See? Ice."
When he didn't take it, she shoved it into his palm herself, her little fingers curling his much larger ones shut around it. "Try. You can't say no to food you've never had."
His hand tightened around the napkin, not melting the frost, not moving at all. For a long moment he only looked at her,her stubborn little chin lifted, her green eyes too bright, too insistent.
"Eat," she said, mimicking his earlier command, her voice small but firm.
Against reason, against habit, he lifted the piece of ice to his mouth. It cracked against his teeth, sharp and cold. For the first time in ages, sensation startled him. His chest rose with a sharp breath.
Ari clapped her hands. "See! Good, right? Better than bread."
He swallowed slowly, the chill burning down his throat. "Strange."
"Strange is good." She nodded hard. "That means you like it."
Her certainty left no room for argument. She skipped back to her stool, satisfied like she had taught him something important.
The kitchen settled again. The hum of the fridge, the slow tick of the clock down the hall, the faint whistle of wind at the window. But it wasn't the same silence as before. This one was softer, thinner, like the questions and answers had stretched it apart.
She rested her chin on her knees, voice quieter now. "You can stay here, you know. The house is big. Nobody will mind. Nobody's here anymore."
The words slipped out as though they had always been waiting. She didn't say "please." She didn't beg. She simply said it like it was the most natural truth.
His chest tightened. He should have walked away hours ago. He should not have lingered, not with her chatter, not with her stubborn green eyes. But the way she offered him space without suspicion, without fear ,made him still.
She yawned, small and sudden, curling up tighter on the stool. Her lashes brushed her cheeks, her curls spilled over her knees. "Good night," she murmured, though she hadn't left the kitchen.
He watched her until her breaths grew steady, her head drooping against her arms. This child who offered ice as if it were treasure, who asked if horns poked pillows, who thought ribbons might chase away shadows.
The silence around her was different than the silence of the underworld. This one held warmth, even in an empty house.
He looked away, but the words she had spoken clung to him like an echo: You can stay here.
And though he had made no promise, his feet did not move to leave.... Still contemplating whether to stay or leave.....
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