Those who were taken...
They never came back, dragged beneath the waves never to return.
Their haunting screams were a symbol of their horrific deaths.
Like shadows they lay in wait, the deep blue waters hiding them from view.
With sharp claws they...
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Atlas' eyes trace every one of Cally's features, all the way to the smallest detail. A small, button nose splattered with freckles centered between high, smooth cheekbones. A few spots of acne are dotted on her cheeks, even some scars from previous ones, but Atlas doesn't mind that. They are a part of her just as much as the rest of her body.
More freckles are on her forehead--nine of them--just above her eyebrows. He finds the little speckles her most endearing feature. Dark lashes lay still on her cheeks, vivid grey eyes hidden beneath. Thin brows rest above them, wild an unkempt.
His hand delicately traces down her neck, stopping to rest at her collarbones. Her smooth skin feels like velvet beneath his fingertips. He runs his open palm over her shoulder and down her arm, threading his fingers with hers.
He lays himself gently next to her, pulling her close and resting her head against his chest. He should be asleep right now. Cally will be angry if she finds out he stayed awake again. But how could he? How could he sleep away the time he has with her?
He holds her as tightly as he can without waking her, wishing more than anything that they could just stay like this forever. He would hold her for an eternity if he could, just the two of them alone on this island. He wishes he could stay as a man. He wishes he could give her all the things she wants in life. He wishes he could give her a home, a life, children.
But he can'tand that hurts worse than any pain he has ever had to endure. No matter how much she wishes to stay, he cannot give her what she wants--what she needs. Calliope deserves so much more than what he can offer.
More than anything, Atlas wanted to leave the tent and march out to the little raft he had built. He wanted to tear the thing to shreds, cast the pieces back into the sea, ensure that she would never leave him.
But what kind of man would that make him?
Who is he to take all that away from her? Calliope had a life waiting for her back home, a family to return to, a career to pursue. She has so much left to accomplish, and she can't possibly do that wasting away on an island.
She would soon hate Atlas, he knew that. It would never be fair to the girl to force her into staying, no matter how much she thought she wanted it. Her place was back home, among her people and very, very far from here.
Atlas' eyes began to sting. It was a foreign feeling, one he hardly recognized. Tears. After so many years of pushing away any emotions he every had, he had finally lost his control. He was crying. Atlas buried his face in her hair, suppressing his urge to sob. He wouldn't wake her. Not like this.
She has so much waiting for her, but what does he have? Nothing. Atlas has no family to return to, no life to await him, and no other possible chance of finding love. Before, he was completely content with his life, but now? Cally had opened his mind to so much more. She had told him of families, of husbands and wives, of education and culture and music. How could he possibly return to the sea when he knew what great wonders were truly out there?
