Rafito el Varado Had Never Been Much For Dating

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Rafito el Varado had never been much for dating. He moved through life like a wind-worn feather, drifting into conversations the way some people drift into dreams. But Seraphine Emberlake—radiant, ancient, and alarmingly composed—had looked at him with those glacial, world-old eyes and said, “You will join me for absinthe.”

It wasn’t really a question.
And Rafito, being the gallant wanderer he was, simply nodded.

Seraphine looked young, but her soul stretched back to mammoth days and firelit caves. Rafito had once read about the prehistoric Venus figures, and as she sat across from him at the little café table, he realized she carried that same gravity—soft, eternal, carved from myth. She had played every spring goddess humanity ever whispered about: Sumerian, Arcadian, Babylonian, and the nameless ones from before history bothered writing anything down.

Tonight she brought along the small pumpkin. Earlier it had been a handbag—well, technically masquerading as one—but once she set it on the table between their absinthe glasses, it shivered and relaxed into its true form: a fleshy, root-knotted little being with a quiet pulse, as though listening for some ancient equinox.

Rafito blinked. Seraphine smiled, as if this were nothing unusual.

⸻

Their conversation, overheard from a nearby table

Seraphine:
“You carry too much sorrow in your shoulders. Too much story, not enough anchor.”

Rafito:
“That’s from walking sideways through the world. I never know which direction is forward.”

Seraphine:
“Forward is a modern invention. Cycles are truer. Spring returns only because winter refuses to apologize.”

Rafito laughed softly.

Rafito:
“I knew I was out of my depth when you sat down.”

Seraphine:
“Depth is the only place worth drowning.”

The pumpkin made a tiny exhale. Rafito chose not to react.

Rafito:
“So why absinthe? And why me?”

Seraphine (leaning in):
“Because you ask the right questions. And because even gods enjoy surprises.”

The pumpkin blinked, glowing faintly.

Seraphine:
“He likes you, you know.”

Rafito:
“…He?”

Seraphine:
“He was a star once. Briefly.”

Rafito:
“Weren’t we all?”

She studied him with that 10,000-year gaze.

Seraphine:
“Perhaps you were. I’d like to find out.”

And Rafito felt the air shift—like a season opening just for him.