Twelve months had gone by too fast. Callista turned down the lights and lit the candles. Twelve months since Bale had taken up residence. She had invited him of course, but as with anything she couldn’t say it had turned out how she expected.
Wiping her forehead she arranged his food on the plate, glad she didn’t have to taste it. She shuddered. It was his favourite and he’d asked her to make an effort. Well, insisted if she was honest.
She set the meal on the table and rearranged the knife, trying to get the setting just right.
It wasn’t that he was difficult to share space with, they barely passed in the night most of the time, like ships. Deserted, hollow ships.
Closing the curtains she changed out of her work clothes and sat down to wait. Outside the sun dropped and the candles flared, the only light in the room now.
She felt him slide like a mat of roots between her skin and muscles, a taste of marrow as she receded. Her vision faded to glimmers as he untied her from the optic nerves she once had sole use of.
There were benefits to the possession, and she had achieved much in the past year. Her bank account had never been healthier and her love life was much improved.
She hid, seed like, in some deep bone cavity while he scraped into her jaws, muscles and tear ducts.
The last thing to go was her hearing. She didn’t feel the blue bottles fluttering out of what used to be her mouth alone. Before sound went totally she heard the flies’ wings and the hopeless screech of the goat on the plate, still alive enough to know what was happening.