The stained black letters, in their carefully inked perfection, begin the rise from the novel. They strip themselves elegantly from crisped pages, holding their seeping limbs that cling desperately to their home. The letters glance from one to another, finding relatives and families in other words that were once read in eloquence and ease. Separating themselves from the chaos that was unintentionally established, a purpose begins the take hold in each syllable. One mission starts to become abundantly clear: form, and comfort.

Soon, the letters start to unite, lifting farther from the pages as they wrap around each other. Incredulous whispers of laughter are exchanged between them at the wonder of the situation. Birth and purpose, taking hold in these simple things, intertwines them instantaneously. They link together; the curves of the y’s attaching to the open embrace of the a’s; the robust capital G’s finding purchase with the tails of the Q’s. Letters form syllables that form words that feel, and the entities start to bind and stretch to create a body. Within minutes, these once paper bound souls are now conjoined to make something greater. As one, they form a crafted body. The body that has been so effortlessly comprised of ink stands strongly as each letter tightens its grasp on the one next to it.

A moment of bliss is maintained as each letter seems to scream “Look! We’ve created this!” The body is weightless, and yet, walks with firm diligence.

However, at the sound of a door sweeping open, the body folds, whisking into the dark corner to remain hidden. Fear rattles momentarily like a snake, but one look at the person who enters the room erases all feelings of terror. She rushes in - a broken girl allowing waterfalls to be twisted from her eyes. Lines of persistence faintly dance across her wrists and streaks of pain are embedded on her face as tears glide in succession.

The body of letters watches from the corner silently, taken aback by the delicate woman. In an unfamiliar effort, the body feels expression take its own face; letters slope downward and spaces are created between the ink where makeshift eyebrows furrow and the ends of stained black lines blur as staunch eyes soften.

Instantly, the body’s purpose is remembered - form, and comfort. With half of the mission complete, the resulting task shines brightly in clarity.

Shifting from the corner, the letters strain, push, and pull to move their unfamiliar limbs inch by inch. Alarmed, the girl whips around the find the body coming toward her. Tears freeze on her face and shock blankets her thoughts.

What a strange and beautiful creature, she can’t help but think. Despite its odd appearance, and despite its fleshless form, it is beautiful. It is whole and intelligent, and inexplicably wonderful.

Before she acknowledges her own actions, her left foot edges closer to it. Her heart has been hung on a hook within her chest, and her brain is tired from grief as it lies down to rest.

So she steps closer.

Simultaneously, the being shifts closer to her, each letter fighting to work together in harmony. After moments of movement suspended in time, the two are face to face. The girl looks the creature up and down, horrified and curious at such a manifestation. The being locks eyes on her own, finding depth in the oceans that are still spilling over. Its hand gently lifts, raising higher and higher, until it rests on the girl’s face, cradling her jaw and cheek in its literary palm. Hesitance is sketched on both of their faces, but purpose is inflamed in their souls. Effortlessly, the two lean in, and the letters whisper against the girl’s lips. She accepts the strange and beautiful oddity of the situation with peace and presses her lips into its. At the gentle contact, emotions begin to unfurl inside the girl. Like a dam that is made of glass, the pieces of her soul begin to shatter. The letters evoke colors and heart as the two beings’ lips are still intertwined, and tears eek helplessly from the corners of the girl’s eyes.

Delicately, the body breaks the kiss, leaning back so that their faces are mere breaths apart. She looks at it. At him? At this thing - a comfort that is holding her.

She wants to ask - scream - Why?, but its relevance seems to be lost.

Suddenly, she collapses into its arms, feeling her soul weep as spasms of anguish rack her body. It holds her, knowing her heart and love, and cradles her head like a child. Instinct is its home, and it plays on its own inked experiences to hold her, silently, just being there. Her tears glide against its shoulder, blurring the ink and smudging the defined lines of each punctuation mark and each letter. Its left hand moves slowly up and down her back, up and down, up and down, and its right hand remains on the back of her head.

There is security here, in this inked latibule. It’s a selcouth haven; one so unexpected and blissfully real. And as the girl clutches to the body, her heart and emotions surrendered with ease, she is more. She is more than the memories and the unforgiving truth. More than the stars that glisten with arrogance and the laughs that cut her deep. She is beautiful. She is loved.

I am safe, I am whole

In these pages, I shall sleep

Feeling letters warm my skin

Holding a soul that will weep