by Gill James
He took the lasagne out without oven gloves. I had noticed nothing like that in fifteen years.
"You've guessed," he said. "I'm not from these parts."
His eyes smiled. His human form dissolved. A handsome a silver-furred elf replaced it.
"Come, let me take you to Elgin, my home," he said.
We travelled through the stars.
"You'll never be the same again," he said. "Not now you've seen this."
Elgin was full of soft woods and singing waters. My in-laws welcomed me, but found me a curiosity. I grew homesick. He said we should return.
I awoke in a sweat. He slept on, breathing gently. I put my head on his chest. I heard no beat. I remembered Elginians had no heart. I traced my finger round the “E" tattooed on his groin. The silver hair sprouting all over his body came as no surprise.
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