The boy strode across the kitchen and wordlessly inspected my injury for a moment. I admired the pleasant variance of his pale complexion against the rich terra cotta that was mine. Then, before I could even gasp in surprise, he lifted my hand to his mouth and sucked away the blood.
It was all so intimate. The quick touch of his tongue against my skin, his body so close I could see his blond eyelashes reflecting the sunlight. It was too intimate, far too human for my monstrous heart to bear, and before I knew it, I had fallen in love with him.
Then he met Rosa, who was eager to hide her monster behind perfectly plaited hair. Of course he would choose her over me. My monster wouldn’t be stifled; my unruly hair was forever unkempt. Plus, everyone knew she’d make a beautiful bride.
Our friends and family celebrate my sister’s happy union with a feast and, when one of the vaqueros brings out his guitar, an impromptu fandango that continues long into the night. Mamá sits along the side, looking the part of the contented mother of the bride, with sweet Maria Elena perched at her side, happily nibbling on a piece of caramelized cajeta candy. As our neighbors dance, I can smell the sweet scent of mint leaves and freshly picked wildflowers that sprinkle the ground at her feet.
I watch it all with a feigned detachment that I’ve perfected over so many lifetimes. The voices painted with joy and elation. The skirts arching high into the air like fans in multitudes of colors. James makes a show of asking Maria Elena to dance. He swings her easily onto his shoulder and she is all laughter and mirth. For a moment, my sisters have everyone fooled, perhaps even themselves. For a moment, Maria Elena is simply an ordinary young girl, and Rosa the quintessential blushing bride. James leans down in passing and kisses me drily on the cheek. It is brotherly and fleeting and utterly heartbreaking, and I hide my hands behind my back and wish I had claws.
Hours later, when I sneak off into the shadows, I can still hear the mellifluous notes of a solitary guitarra. For reasons of which even I’m unsure, I persuade Maria Elena to come with me, coaxing her out of the bed Mamá just tucked her into moments before. I carry her on my back, and though her grip remains tight around my neck, I can tell she’s half asleep. With each of my burdened steps, her head bounces heavily on my shoulder. I hoist her higher as I make the ascent up a neighboring hill. My skirt snags in the spines of a nearby cactus and I yank it free, leaving a piece of the fabric trapped among the prickles. Trudging upward, I feel as if I’m walking straight into the night, as if I’m climbing into a bucket of dark water.
When we reach the top, I swing Maria Elena to the ground as gently as I can, and as we settle into the dirt, the dust becomes a cloud of grit and sand that irritates our eyes and gets stuck in our teeth. We look down at the ongoing party. The distance makes the lights appear dim and opaque, and suddenly it all seems so inconsequential and I am yet again nostalgic for the days of isolation and seclusion. When my sisters were my only companions. Up here, it seems we have only the stars, but even they seem small in the midst of that terrifying night sky, and it is then that I realize the reason I brought Maria Elena with me. I suppose even monsters can be afraid of the dark.
We wait there for a long while, with Maria Elena shivering against me, until a familiar form makes its way up the hill.
Rosa, still dressed in her bridal gown, is running late for her evening duties, but it is her wedding night. Perhaps she deserves this one luxury.
“Sisters,” she says upon recognizing Maria Elena and me, the monsters hiding in the shadows. Her voice is a lilting song against the harsh garble I use in my reply. It is the tongue of a past life, one that we spoke long ago when we looked like the horrors we are. As I speak, I hold out my hand, where a thread lies curled in my palm like the discarded skin of the rattlesnake James saved only hours before. The thread is a withered, transparent thing that resembles nothing of the virile man whose life it embodies. Maria Elena gasps at the sight of it.
Lifetimes ago, when our place was at the foot of the Tree of the World, the mortals believed that a snake encircled the earth, its teeth clamped down at the end of its tail. They believed that if it let go, the world would end.
Rosa’s eyes widen and she backs away from me, stumbling over her silk-clad feet in her haste to get away, as if it is truly a snake that I hold cupped in my hand. As if it is that snake whose appetite for its own tail controlled the fate of the world.
“No.” It is a simple answer. One said in a voice not of fear or defiance but of resolution. I don’t know how to respond; suddenly I know what it feels like when a small pebble collides with a mountain.
Maria Elena takes the thread from me. She strokes it lightly with her finger, and when she begins to hum, her voice is as sweet as a lullaby.