The sense of dustiness weighted in the air, like feeling bits of remaining sand in your socks. 

From a gloomy corner, you could see him, with his scales, and in one hand holding a feather, a look of intense delight opened like a fan across his face. 

Twanging, a sound like a harp, although one could not be discerned -  almost a pulse, a beat, or a fast. 

I knew the deal. If my heart were heavier than the feather, my soul would be devoured. The very thought sent a chill down my now non-existent spine. But still I could feel these things, why was that? 

“You need to love me” he said, a smile like a dark angel forming through the gloom. 

It was uncomfortable here too, the cold prickling contrasting with a sweaty pausing. I wanted it to hurry up and be done with.

“I do” I said, though I knew that was a lie. Did he?

My heart looked forlorn in his hands, and it may have been my imagination but I felt like it was still beating, it wasn’t ready to stop. 

It wasn’t ready to tell this truth.