I can help you, I say, reaching forward
With splayed fingers. My hands are cold
And you flinch when they touch your scalp.
Hush, I murmur, my breath hot against
Your blushing ear. Hush, you will warm me.

You do. My fingers come to life.
The joints crack and the skin turns from
Dun to light pink. My hands blush now.
The veins are sapphire blue, set off
By the soft red of rising blood.

I massage your scalp, pulling your long hair
Through my fingers. You flinch as I work through
The knots. It hurts, you mumble. It always hurts.
Hush, I whisper. I kiss your sharp shoulder blades.
Hush, it will only hurt as long as it hurts.
It needs to hurt to heal, you see.

Your skin is so soft, I think, my fingers sinking into your scalp.
Sinking in deep, under all that hair. You were hiding this.
I didn't think you had anything tender underneath,
But you're an oyster, and your insides are mucosal and soft.
Your shell is not too hard to crack, not with these nails.
They're good for prying things, people, open.

I can see where your roughness begins. The origin of each strand
Of wild black hair, the buried follicle softly visible under
The infantine translucence of your scalp.
I feel, and it's just like I thought.
Your fontanelle never closed. Your skull is split in two.
Your brain is right there, right there for me.

You scream. They always do. I don't mind.
We are out here in the wilderness, in my cabin,
And outside there is nothing but thickly falling snow.
No one will disturb us, and I can help you.
You're so soft, so tender. My mouth waters.
A strand of saliva, like spider's silk, connects us.

I kiss your left ear. I kiss your right ear.
You're crying now, and whimpering like a dying animal.
Hush, I tell you as my fingers sink in deeper.
Hush, do not fight me, I am not your enemy.
How could I be, when I already love you so much.

Witch, you grunt from between closed teeth, witch.
I laugh. You don't sound angry. I'm not.
This is not magic, I say. This is like holding hands.
My god, you whisper as the clock ticks behind us,
The only proof that time passes somewhere so remote
My god, you are killing me. You are killing me, woman!
I am not trying to, I whisper. Forgive me. I can help you.

It is slow this time. My fingers are nimble and slender
But you are special, my wolf-fur girl. You are tough.
Your skin is soft but the brain beneath is hard as oyster shell
I am chipping, chipping, chipping away at a lifetime of calcium
Deposits with nothing but my nails.

But I know they are sharp enough. They always have been.
If you were going to die, you would have died by now.
If you were going to leave, you would have left when I
Brushed your hair. That was the foundation of this excavation.
I needed a straight path, not a maze. No locked doors.
I needed you to accept the feeling of my hands on you.

You have. You're crying, but there is no blood. That's good.
I kiss your ear again. I trace its curvature with my tongue.
You shiver as you scream. I feel the shell crack and pull back,
Slowly, separating muscle from mussel shell. You grit your teeth.
Brave girl. I am so proud of you, I whisper. It is almost over now.

I pull the shell out through your fontanelle. I throw it into the fire
And let it char. Within a few hours it will be nothing but ash.
Then we will mix it in with fresh reindeer milk and rub it into your skin.
I will warm it up with my breath so it is not cold.
You will still shiver. My hands are not done with you yet.

Almost over, I whisper, throwing the last of the debris into the fire.
It blazes bright for a moment and then dies down. I smile.
Lean back, I say. Rest your head in my lap. This is it, I promise.
One last thing and you will be cured. Yes, it will hurt.

You do not scream. The bones close easily, leaving only a fine
Line to show they were ever parted. Whole now, I say.
It's over now, yes, it's over now. Your skull is closed.

I pull the skin back over the bone gently and sew it together
With my little finger and strands of your own hair.

I pull your other hair over it, and it's gone, nothing but knots again.
No one will know what's under there, I say. No one can tell.

You stay there, with your head in my lap, for a long time.
Witch, you whisper. It is not an indictment. You almost killed me.
But I didn't. I run my fingers across your forehead, your cheeks,
Your full lips. You let me slide them inside your mouth
And then you lazily suck the gore from the tired hands.
I let you wipe your mouth on mine. I don't mind the taste.

Lay down by the fire, I say, and get warm. Sleep.
I'll bring you the ashes and the milk. I'll brush your hair.
It will be better in the morning, and then you can go home

Lay down beside me, you say. You are trembling. Sleep.
You are tired from rummaging around inside of my head.
It's hard and dark in there, I know it is. It took something
Out of you, when you took something out of me.

So I lay down. I don't mind when you take off your clothes.
They were musty and wet with melting snow.
I do not take off my clothes, but I let you straddle me.
I let your hair fall over my face like a storm cloud, blocking out
The light of the fire and the white of the snow.

Your lips are chapped and cracking. The corners weep.
You weep. The shell has turned to ash, but that can wait.
I take your head in my hands and it still feels heavy,
Weighted down, but you say that's just because you're
Trying to kiss me again and I'm holding you still.

I let go. You reach forward with parted lips.
Your calloused fingers dig into my sides and I gasp.
Witch, you growl at me. I know what you are.
I know what you are, too. I held your brain in my hands.
Witch, you snarl, smiling wickedly. It is a call to the hunt.

When you next lift your mouth from mine to breathe,
I howl.