“So what I drank, that was flower wine?” he asked.
At the mention of it, a metallic taste flooded his mouth,
like pennies. Or blood.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a laugh. “It’s
harmless.”
“All I know about the lotus flower is that it’s
associated with Greek mythology.”
She turned her head in the water to look at him,
dark hair fanned out around her like a crown. “Very good!
I’m impressed. Dryope would approve.”
“Dryope?”
No answer. She was still floating on her back, but
something about the reflections on the surface of the water
made it appear that she was being lifted up. Hovering. She
smiled dreamily and kicked her feet, sending vibrations
through the lake that rippled around his body.
“I’m so glad you came here with me. I feel it’s
important to get to know someone away from the noise of
the city. How can you truly understand a person within the
stink of a bar, with people pressing on all sides of you?”
He didn’t reply but stood very still, unable to look
away from her hair. It was beginning to lengthen and curl
in Lovecraftian tentacle-shapes around her. They slithered
silently toward him in the water, ancient and sentient
things that could sense him; could maybe even hear his
thoughts, he realized.
He blinked and saw only her hair.
40