He crouched at the grassy edge of the clear water, scowling into the sparse mist and picking at pebbles underfoot. The boy’s mouth had taken on a permanent sickelike frown, a little moon whose horns were drawn downwards to the black earth. He began to skip stones on the placid water, listening to their satisfying plink-plink-plunks, when suddenly a gleam of a star and shadow on skin caught his eye, and his heart leapt into his throat like a staring fish after a dragonfly.
The girl stood waist-deep in the water, her long charcoal hair clasped into a wet nest at her neck with willow whips, the lack beading on her stomach, her small breasts, her arms, outstretched as thought she were trying to catch the moon in her arms like a child. Her eyes were shut; she did not see him. And so he watched her unabashedly, unable to move or to call to her, rooted to the mossy soil by the vision of her rising out of the night, pale as the gasp of a star’s breath - and the closed eyes, floating black and secretive in her ghostly face. His own breath would not come at all.
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