Chapter Text
Five for Silver.
Thomas has been catching the light lately.
He’d said something stupid and set both Chloe and Lana off in howls of laughter. Dove had missed it coming in, but being awash in their gaiety forces her to actually take their resident jester in. He is windswept. Gorgeous. His auburn hair no longer seems garish. Even his freckles are charming! Her brow wrinkles.
When did this happen? He seems almost… dateable like this.
It strikes like a left hook.
…Could she… date him?…
Dove knows Thomas swings her way because of all the exes he's had, still mooning over him to this day. They know how to fight and make up. He's very devoted to her brother, and that's needed in anybody she goes around with. They're already halfway to twenty-years-old. Bryce had cooled that fire, but they're running out of time here. She has got to start making moves herself.
The expectations for them all seeps from Wickwood stone- they're to thrive. They're to find their matches. They're to donate extravagantly for the honour of making these lasting connections. They're to jet in during reunions and one-up each other and-
Have pets or plants or something to brag about. To adore. Or… children.
Dove's mind slams down on that thought. But she has to remember carrying on their family falls solely on her. Andrew doesn't go past kissing, and she knows he's not the marrying kind. One wedding instead of two. Twice the pressure, then.
Their father doesn't want them doing anything they don't want. So maybe she can bow out of having children. She's got enough on her plate with Andrew- he'll always struggle a bit. Nothing wrong with that.
But.
She can get married. Dad will be pleased. He's always wanted to walk her down the aisle. Him and Mum never got married, so she can expect a flood of tears.
She watches Thomas and thinks: well. They don't have to get married. But she would like to know what his lips feel like.
There's nothing wrong with that.
Dove seeks Thomas out.
Thomas brightens at this. She starts getting his full weight. His unthinking commentary. His sharp tongue on the bad days. Dove can weather those black moods. Can anticipate the good- Has teased out lots from what he chooses to show– and what he doesn’t.
He admits to liking that about her. That she holds firm. That she's- she's so much fun. Dove loves that. Starts tilting in. Letting him bear her weight, too.
Closer proximity means she also gets his calloused fingers… Stained with clay and ink. Dusted with graphite and pastel. Leaving smears of paint on her clothes and her skin. Dove will never admit it, but… the mess of Thomas makes her blood sing. For every tendril of hair he tugs, for every bead of sweat he pulls from her, she thinks: I’m alive.
It's unremarkable, the day Dove finds herself in Thomas’ hands.
He tilts her just so. Owning the moment.
She lets it hit.
He must have noticed her glances. Her hovering. Her- her everything. Dove would be embarrassed, but- she'd wanted this.
Here. Now.
Thomas takes every inch between them. Bids her to tell him ‘no’. She challenges him– and he teases her– and she tells him to quit playing games. Then she tugs his chin up.
Thomas’ face is lit up from the sun. All the colours he uses on paper and canvas are there in his eyes. It’s about to happen. Adolescent fumbling, flushed cheeks. Ink and ash. She wonders if she will taste like spearmint. Cold and glittering. Diamonds and glaciers.
She wonders if he will ever let her know.
She’s not the only one with developments in her love life.
Lana has a revolving door of ‘chickadees’.
She plucks them from all over– the humanities. The arts. The hard sciences.
Girls who have their daddies wrapped around their little fingers- or their uncles, or their guardians. Girls who have never been told ‘no’… until Lana. They expect she’ll fold in to their whims. Why wouldn’t she? She should be meek and mild-mannered. That’s what their upbringings tell them. She should whisper sweet nothings in her ‘foreign tongue’ and be pliable and agreeable and–
It makes Dove laugh. Good ol’ Lana, always proving herself objectively correct. Opening minds while she’s at it. No one is quite doing it like her. Dove lets that comfort her.
Lana– her confidante.
They discuss the Thomas thing.
Lana doesn’t even gloat. She just spins her chair and sits in it backwards, forearms across the back. She wants to know if he drops his clown act when it’s serious. Whether he’s taking Dove fully into consideration, or if he’s viewing her as just another 'notch on the belt'. Also, they’re young. Wickwood has a strident sex education protocol, but-
No, no. Dove’s hands are up. She’s going to have sex after turning eighteen, thank-you-very-much. And as far as she knows, they’re all still virgins. No notch yet. Lana hums. That seems smart… especially considering how the student body features future politicians and military personnel and police. Not that Thomas would prove terrible or anything, but…
Better safe than sorry. She’s already been nudged onto the safe path by Bryce Kane. Winging around with his little murder of choughs. She can’t believe she’d ever imagined it, him and her. He is incompatible.
And rooks have been known to kill doves. He'd crush her spirit right out of her. Grind it beneath his buffed heel.
Her life could have ended in tragedy.
Lana wants to celebrate. Dove loves to dress up. So Lana spritzes perfume onto Dove’s wrists. Paints her over in beautiful palettes. Takes her into the theatre wing to try on the newest costumes. Commandeering an entire suite just for them.
Chloe gets voluntold to bring anything she can think of for Dove. She takes one look after depositing the newest bundle- then skedaddles with a significant look at Lana. 'Call me', she seems to mouth, but Dove thinks she's imagining things. She tries to invite her in, but Chloe has already vanished.
Lana helps her dress. Goes ahead and places her in front of an age-spotted, warped mirror.
They look at Dove’s reflection together.
"Silver," Lana quips. "You are not a supernatural creature."
Dove feels like a wonder instead. Adorned with ostrich feathers and real pearls and needlepoint lace.
Lana is fussing with the ostrich feather and humming some lullaby under her breath. Fluffing up Dove's hair, then twisting it up into a half updo. They both look, and Dove's breath catches. Fingers coming up to tuck Lana's hair back too so they can be side-by-side. Faces open to the light.
Lana's hair is slick and thick, defying taming attempts. Absorbing all light. Dove is absentmindedly rubbing the lock between her fingers, daydreaming.
Their eyes meet.
The text tone Dove set for Andrew starts skittering and buzzing in her jeans a dozen steps away. They both groan, and Lana fetches it out for her. He 'wants to talk'. Dove huffs. Rolls her eyes.
She draws the costume off her frame.
Lana graces her with a circlet of silver.
A wink: “For the fairest one of them all.”
Dove shoves her and goes to find Andrew.
Puberty hit them both.
She’s gotten willowy. Lithe.
Andrew has weight to his bones. His voice is deepening. Now there is the barest suggestion of facial hair. Now, when he’s turned away, he reminds her of Dad.
They used to mirror each other– temple-to-temple. His hair was longer when he was younger– hers shorter. Palm-to-palm. He’s set to hit a growth spurt. Tower over her and Thomas. Reach Bryce Kane’s height, maybe.
She sees him from across the green. Raises her hand– he catches the summons. For one moment, he is the Drew of old. Then a twist of light, and he’s a sleek stranger, aiming for her. Looking like Bryce Kane and his crowd of cowards. She shakes herself free of that, thinks: well, he would never be that.
He’s getting bumped about by the crush. But soon enough he slips through. Quiet and determined. And as Andrew envelops her with his scent and heat, she tilts in.
He always gets like this when he wants something. Dove stifles a sigh, then lets him hook his fingers around the back of her blazer so she can guide him towards the gardens. There's a half-forgotten bench, twined in vines and spiderweb. Tucked in where the hedge roses grow.
They were named after roses, once upon a time. Briar and Bristle.
He makes for a wretched sight. All shivery and sweaty, trying to bear up under her gaze. His eyes skipping away to land on anything but her. Dove rolls her eyes and shoves Andrew down onto the bench.
"Out with it."
"…Stop seeing Thomas."
Dove's head rocks back. It's an incredulous scoff: "Excuse me?"
Andrew mutters something. He's got his legs splayed out, heels digging into the dirt. Toes pointed towards the sky. So she starts kicking his feet, one after another. He does not even fight her off.
She subsides. "Say it again."
"I was…" Andrew shrinks his neck in. Blowing all the air out his cheeks. "I am, um."
Dove counsels her heart and breathing to slow. Stands there staring down at his shoes. They're smudged with paint. Thomas. She lets her gaze travel across him in a way she hasn't in- too long. His pants are an inch too short. His socks don't match. He's got a stray thread dangling off the black one. She can see his leg hair. Golden fuzz. Knobby knees, crushed in together.
Then he sprawls deeper in, back of his head thunking against the back of the bench. She takes in his hands. His arms. They're strong. Long and sinewy. Biceps showing beneath his blazer.
Adam's apple. Lips chapped and bitten to hell. Sharp cheekbones. A fringe, gracing his dark brows- His tortured gaze.
There's a heartflip at that. Her stomach hitting her toes.
She wants so badly to give in.
It's like ripping the moon from the sky, that urge. Like caging a bird. It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all she ever wants to do. It'd be storm clouds dissipating if she did. Andrew, light and easy. No friction, no expectation, no unending weight. She squeezes her eyes shut, nostrils flaring. Grinding her heels into the dust beneath them.
Say she does this. Where does that leave her?…
Say she cradles Thomas' face and tells him. Where does that leave him?…
…What would that matter to Andrew, if he gets what he wants here? What is she supposed to take from this? That he's wretched? Suffering? He wants his roommate back, he had him first, he's his-his-his? It might be he just- misses him. Misses her. Wants them back to how they were. Wickwood Tree and giddy giggles. Hide-and-seek. Palms layering across each other's eyes in a simulacrum of childhood: 'guess who' and 'guess what' and 'guess you got me-'
Dove slits her eyes, just enough to see.
Andrew is quiet. Watching her through his own haze of dark eyelashes. He knows if he stays still long enough, she'll finish the sentiment. She'll clear the way for him to get what he wants. All he has to do is show his hand. Be vulnerable. Reach down into Dove's chest to find her heart. Squeeze in in time with her heartbeat: 'mind-my-needs. here-right-here. please-for-me'.
Dove is ill with it.
She says carefully, "You know you and I, we'll always have time for each other. Don't you?…"
Andrew's chin tilts up. They are looking at each other.
Dove grows strident: "I'll spend more time with you. But I'm not giving up on Thomas."
It's a petulant breath: "Y'should."
"I shan't. He's a great friend. Also, you already live with him. You get his nighttime hours. There's so much he gives you already. For example-"
"-he doesn't-"
"-For example, I don't know if he's a late sleeper or if he prefers the window cracked open or if he never makes his bed. I don't know if your room is an absolute pig-sty, or if he keeps it clean. Are there drawings on the floor? Is there paint on the sheets?…" Dove's hands spread wide. "I won't know until he holidays with us. So. As it stands, we're sharing. So share."
There's a split-second sneer. A scoff disguised in a throat-clear. That isn't how the script goes. He waits her out, but she stands firm. The realization hits him. He slowly straightens, jaw grinding slow. Tossing his hair back so they can look each other in the eye.
There it is. That divine stare. An avenging force, battering into her walls. Presence swelling up like blood. Like this, he is their mother come again. Veins of ice. A snarl barely contained.
Dove tenses.
Animal instinct.
When they were children, he used to meltdown. Vivid and startling. He would set his fist through their kitchen door window, with its four little panes of glass. Put holes in the drywall. Send plates crashing down onto stone–
Everything their mother did, returned a thousandfold.
It only lasted half a summer. He managed to wrestle it all down, turn it into words instead. That was worse. She imagines him letting her know. What vile feelings will break out into open air? What will his eyes scream, looking through her? Will he hate her? Reach out to– clutch and pull?…
Dove shifts back a single step, dreaming of that cataclysm. Envisioning them spinning out.
No- she is well within her rights here. Wearing a circlet of silver- she lets that straighten her spine. Chin tilting up. No challenge, only resolution. He takes that in. A slow sweep from her toes to her crown, eyes lingering on that circlet. Narrowing as he thinks it through.
Dove breathes deep… and relaxes.
Andrew surprises her.
"Fine. We share."
They already do, but she won't argue. "Fine. Isn't that better?"
There's that unwilling flash of smile, twisting the corners of his lips. He needs to shave - it catches the light. He rolls his neck from side to side, shifting his shoulders. Reaching down to peel dried paint off his blazer. Scruffing a hand through his hair and straightening his tie and collar. Transforming into a Bryce Kane lookalike… then aiming a sheepish smile in her general direction that is pure Andrew.
It's a soft confession: "I've been trying to listen to myself more."
Dove blinks slow, satisfied. "Good."
Maybe he will listen to the kinder parts, too.
They're so different nowadays. Once, that would have terrified her. But she wants more. No longer consigned to Dove-and-Drew, Drew-and-Dove. He took that first step. She's taking the rest- and it's fine! It will be fine. Because she's right, they've got time for each other always. In whatever form it takes.
She's so happy that it hurts.
He leaves without saying goodbye. She does not mind. She took his rage. Bore up under the weight until it snapped.
And yet they are still here.
She can see it plain as day now.
Only photographs will remember.
It is a full breath of rising wonder:
“Don’t stop changing yourself.”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-
Six for Gold.
Sweet sixteen.
Lana refuses to let Dove deposit her satchels right away. So Dove spends the greeting assembly huffing in annoyance– and in exertion. She has a tonne of supplemental material she doesn’t trust the cloud to keep. Thomas gallantly offers to lug it around. Or at least stash it in his dorm room- Dove refuses with a kiss, just to watch him redden in delight.
By the time Lana lets her in, Dove draws in air to snip–
–then loses it all. The room is decorated to the nines. A miniature cake. Garlands and glitter. A banner, strung across the length of the wall– Lana breezily states Chloe made the cake. Thomas had strung the– Dove cuts her off by swinging her up and around. Squeezing tight-tight-tight, thankyou-thankyou-thankyou– and Lana beams.
Later, as Dove playfully fights off Lana’s frosting-smeared finger, she thinks: I could really mess with her here. So she takes Lana’s finger in her mouth and pops the frosting off, quick as she pleases. Grinning at the soundless gape Lana develops. Ha! Dove snaps Lana’s jaw shut. Tweaks her nose.
Lana mock-growls, sending Dove down into her bed for an impromptu tickle fight.
Dove fights valiantly. Lana relents and throws herself next to Dove. A half-hearted slapfight ensues, neither one quite ready to call it quits. They’ve got to get ready for class, but Dove is still riding the high of being uniquely celebrated. Helplessly smiling.
Dove finally draws a truce via pinky promise. Resting her head on Lana’s shoulder… watching the sunlight come in. She can keep it all. Keep this. Thomas. Lana and Chloe. Andrew. Yes.
Maybe dreams will come true, and this is the year it all coalesces. Maybe. Maybe…
Thomas takes her out to Wickwood Tree.
They tuck in together, and she tells him about their holiday. It invariably turns into Andrew-Andrew-Andrew, but he keeps coaxing her back onto her. Did she and their dad ever figure out plans for that science conference she might want to attend later on? Did Lana call her at weird hours? Chloe had been teasing Lana about it, nearly getting shoved off the bench for her troubles-
Did Dove like the way they pulled together and got the room just so?
Dove squeezes him, nodding. He's going on about the cake now- Chloe had him assist- and Dove gently interrupts to ask if Andrew had helped.
Dead silence. Thomas somehow avoiding her eyes. It's a muttered admittance: No, he did not want to help. He'd- wanted something done for him too. But without the others. Just- with Thomas. Dove stops breathing. She's on tenterhooks, waiting for him to go on.
He doesn't. Not at first. Sounds of the forest muscle in- birdsong and creatures in the undergrowth. The wind through the branches. Dove casts her eyes up in-case she needs to cry.
This isn't how this was supposed to go.
There is a tension now, a widening gulf between her-and-Thomas. He keeps going. Voice odd. Speaking of, Andrew called him a lot too. Wanted somebody there as he was falling asleep. Picked Thomas, because you know, they'd roomed together all this time, and…
Dove listens, eyes slit. Another old set of reactions, rearing up. She wants to apologize to Thomas for not getting Andrew sorted. She wants to apologize to Andrew for not being there for him like that- but she shouldn't have to. He's the one who pulled away first. She's just following suit. And anyway, their hours were different. She was up before dawn, running. In and out of the house on her various errands. Andrew had languished, staying up all night to work on his stories. And she remembers then, that she'd hear his voice late at night. Sleep-rough. Husky and carrying.
Laughing.
Dove fights off a cold shiver. Tells herself that what Thomas is saying is fine. She'd agreed to share him, after all. And it's- it might be odd, but Andrew has always been odd.
She decides it is fine.
She absolves Thomas.
He tastes like cinnamon and bluegrass. Like relief. He presses her back into cork and bark, hands and mouth frantic. She opens up, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Cupping the back of his neck. She's telling him it's okay, but it's- it's settling in.
A vague discontent. Rattling around in the back of her mind.
Andrew and Thomas.
Thomas and Andrew.
Dove hesitates… then puts it out of mind.
The academic year clamps down on all of them. There's extracurriculars to be maintained. Internships to chase down. Classes to juggle. Not one of them relaxes, because junior year is crucial. There's jockeying for limited resources, such as the best leftovers from the seniors, or the teachers who are mentoring said seniors, or the books and other materials already checked out by, well.
Dove determines that she'll get everything she must knocked out this year. That way, she'll be able to leave aside something for Chloe and her friends. Little tips and tricks- maybe a list of books reserved in their name. Some other treat that will give them a leg up from all the rest.
Wickwood is brutal, and Dove refuses to let it change her.
Her thirst grows ever larger. For knowledge. For cultivating her talents. For knowing how her friends tick.
Chloe is really getting into culinary arts and horticulture. She takes Dove back into restricted areas with a teasing finger to her lips- cavernous rooms full of heat and humidity. Industrial appliances. Sleek stainless steel. All the surfaces reflecting the light. Dove stands elbow-to-elbow with Chloe, watching her dice and strip and yank. Having a go at it too. Chloe feeds her delectable ingredients, nudging Dove into a new way of sensing. Her palate strengthens. She starts paying attention to how food is put together.
She sees Chloe with new eyes, too.
They spend a few weeks like that. Taking snatches of time where they can. Dove is determined to do this with everybody. Help them while she's at it, too.
Eventually they shift over to gardening.
It's a nice day when they first duck into one of the greenhouses. What Dove had felt climate-wise in the kitchens increases by twofold- it is like she is breathing in the jungle. Chloe takes her around, voice low. Pointing and plucking and pruning. She's got a real connection with the plants here, she says. Dove gathers the cuttings. Dips down to breathe in the scents of flowers and fruit. Smiling over at Chloe. Chloe lets the cuttings grow in Dove's arms, and Dove encases them all lovingly.
They run into Lana on the way to the compost heap, and Lana stumbles to a stop. Yanking out her phone to take several pictures of Dove from all angles. Then she's taking half the cuttings. Leaning in to whisper, 'Can I paint you?'
Dove's throat is dry suddenly. She nods.
As they wash up and head off, saying goodbye to Chloe- Dove realizes she has never sit down for Thomas.
They should change that, she thinks cheerfully. Forcefully shoving questions over the existence of Andrew-focused pieces away. If they do, it means nothing at all- friends draw friends all the time.
Look at what she and Lana are about to do.
It is fine.
It doesn't happen right away.
In fact, they wait until Friday.
That feeling Dove had gotten- the one about being a wonder- it renews. Both their beds are an explosion of color. Classes are done for the weekend. There's been some petition going around begging faculty to let the juniors go off-campus- and hopes are rising that it will be granted.
Turns out it won't be granted until half a month out from spring finals. But Dove and Lana don't know that. They're too preoccupied with getting Dove just right.
She wants to feel like herself. More than ever before. She doesn't want any spaces where Andrew can latch on and cling. She doesn't want to make room for him. She wants- she wants anyone at all to look at this recreation of her and not think to themselves: ah yes, one of the twins.
No, she wants them to see her. Only her.
And if there's anyone in the world who could grant that, it would be Lana.
Dove blinks hard. Fingertips grazing linen and cotton and silk. Oh- She tugs. It's a dress so blue her breath catches. It brings out the honey and russet tones of her hair. Causes her eyes to shine. She turns to Lana to say it's perfect, but Lana beats her to the punch.
Divine wonder, she teases, and Dove is caught on fire. Trembling and so red it is insane. Thankfully, Lana has already turned away. Hunting for accessories of charcoal and bronze. Digging through her jewelry box for teardrop earrings. A layered necklace-
Dove sits on the bare edge of the bed, pressing an absent hand to her chest. Rubbing in soothing circles. There's a brief flash of being ill as a tiny one. The smell of Vick's. Their mother, fingertips oily from it, murmuring well wishes into Dove's ear.
Dove's hand stills.
Lana turns to take her in, grinning. Brandishing all she's found.
And Dove smiles.
Chloe gets brought in to help frame the composition. She's got flowers and plant cuttings, fresh from the greenhouse. It gets floated that Thomas should join- then Chloe shoots that down with a playful grin. No, he'd drag her off and we'd never see her again.
Maybe, Dove thinks, forcing a smile. Submitting to their efforts to get everything perfect. Maybe he would be overtaken by want. Or maybe his artist brain would subsume the rest, and he'd be just as eager to commit her to ink and color as Lana is.
But if he was, he would have done it by now.
She banishes the thought and starts tilting her head and body at their urging. Chloe starts snapping photographs, and Lana starts up her sketches. They're chattering, gossiping, tossing compliments- Chloe already sat down for a portrait she'd ended up giving her girlfriend. As Lana starts teasing her over how red she is, Dove takes a deep breath.
There. She finally relaxes.
The sun is shading down into deep reds and oranges setting off everything. Chloe left to fetch them all dinner. Lana lapsed into that intense silence reserved to artists. Dark eyes tracking every bit of Dove and stripping away her vague embarrassment. There is no judgement in Lana's manner, only thoughtful assessment.
At some point they break to stretch. Drink water. Run through some exercises. And Lana takes Dove's hand and plays with her fingertips. Would she mind if Lana submitted this piece to Miss Poppy? Is that too much to ask?…
No, Dove says, burning with daring. She'd like people to see. Dove Perrault, more than a mere member of the lacrosse team. More than resident weirdo studier extraordinaire. More than- yeah, more than Andrew Perrault's pretty, put-together twin.
She could have all that and the rest: she could be someone who looks out of the canvas like she loves everything she sees. Like life is just starting for her.
Like this could be it all.
Dove's fingers tighten, and she interlaces their hands. Leaning in. Those two words come so easy.
Lana waves off the thanks, smiling. She'd had an art block, and Dove had just solved it. Really, it is her who should be thanking Dove. Dove brushes that sentiment away, grinning.
She feels wonderful.
She is Lana's plus-one to the gallery.
It's black tie attire because of course it is. Clusters of students gather and split. Forming and reforming like an murmuration of starlings. Glittering in the ambiance. Teachers drift and shift on the outskirts, greeting students and colleagues.
Lana gets called away. So Dove builds up a heaping plate of hors d'oeuvre- trying to keep her wrists from trembling. Now that they're here, she's- anxious.
Thomas comes through right on time. Dips in to kiss her below where the make-up blends in. She shivers and smiles. His fingertips land on the small of her back. He's learned etiquette despite claiming not to. Nodding to those who greet them. Firm handshakes to those who drift closer. Dove's eyelashes flutter.
He leans in and whispers how beautiful she is. She elbows him to fight off that wild flush.
He catches sight and tugs her over to the painting. Stands there looking at it. Vanishing into it- Dove gets sidetracked by others. Gushing in understated tones about Lana. Her process. How lucky she's been, to have her as a roommate- yes, they're in stiff competition. No, it does not influence their friendship in the least. She gets handed a pamphlet. She flips to the piece-
Dove Rising
She bites her tongue so she won't cry. Eyes rising to take Thomas in. He is singularly focused. It's like he's imprinting on it. He turns to take her in. Looking at her with new eyes- Dove, in gold and blue and grey.
He reaches for her. Kissing the edge of her fringe. The tip of her ear. "I gotta run. That alright?"
Dove nods, startled. Watching the crowd parts around him as he goes. Quiet and determined. She gets handed a sparkling something-or-other. She tips it back in one go.
Bryce Kane catches her in one of the darkened corridors. She was heading for the restrooms- he points her their way without comment.
Moody lighting casts him in shadow. He reeks of hidden flasks and burgeoning ugliness, laid over with a thin veneer of cologne. The night has loosened her tongue: "…What, no compliment?"
He laughs. "Dove, get real. What else is there to say?"
Dove squints, then goes to pass him. His eyes are on her. She twists to look- "What?"
"You deserve better."
"Oh, like you?" She does not want to have this conversation. If Lana or Chloe brought it up, that would be one thing. But him?
"No." He rolls his eyes, dropping down onto his haunches and bracing against the wall. Letting his head thunk against it a couple times. Air fills his frame, then he mutters, "You become someone's magnum opus, and you think I'm talking about me?…"
"…W-well." God, the make-up cannot cover how red she is.
He fishes the flask out, sounding contemplative. "I think they're fucking. There's nothing-"
"-wouldn't do that to me-"
"-wouldn't they?" Bryce spins the flask lid, tilting it to his lips. Watching her over its brim. "Dove, you're many things, but you've never been stupid."
"Andrew doesn't even-" She bites off the words. "No. You harass him. What am I even doing?"
"I think people should face their shit. What's the point of hiding? Mm? You lose time doing that. You lose your whole goddamn life doing that. Might as well…" He rolls a shoulder. "Might as well be you."
"There is nothing wrong with privacy! Maybe, I don't know, like. Even if people did 'face their shit' or 'live their truth', it wouldn't matter! You'd just be waiting in the wings to decimate them! God, you decimate them anyway. Half the GSA hates you. The other half refuses to deal with you and your posse-" She chokes herself quiet. Fingers rising up to touch her throat.
What is wrong with her!
Bryce Kane searches her out. Quiet. Then he shrugs. "That's just how it is. Think the real world isn't more of the same?" His teeth snap. "I'm preparing them. Hide, and you get clocked. Be loud? At least you were living in full before we come for you."
Dove rushes over three feet and kicks him. He bursts into wheezy chuckles. "Ah no, not Dove Perrault! Help, she's going to kill me!…" His voice drops into a rasp: "Ooh, I'm so endangered."
"Sod off." She skips back a couple steps, swaying. Glaring. "Don't know your game, but stop it. You hear me?"
He salutes her sardonically. Tilting more booze into his mouth. "Wish is my command."
"Gross," She tosses over her shoulder. Final volley- "Up yours, asshole-!"
His toast is the last thing she sees as she rounds the corner.
He was right. There's the restrooms. She goes and washes. Stares herself in the eye in silver. There's two mirrors, so she is reflected a hundred-thousand fold. She spins slowly between them all, tilting her chin up- dreaming of dresses of white and pretty black eyes.
She wants this night to last forever.
That art show opens up opportunities.
Her team puts her forth for team captain.
She is offered a part in a production of 'Our Town'.
She is officially given a slot for the science conference. Bryce Kane is the other- she makes a face at the news, but it's too good an opportunity to pass up. He promises to be good. Scout's honor. Then he gets serious and tells her he wouldn't screw this up just because he's a 'right asshole'.
Fine.
She asks her advisor why all this is happening now. Surely it's not just the painting. No, her advisor responds. The executive director took notice of her last name. Her disposition. The fact she's been keeping Thomas Rye under heel. Bryce Kane noticeably softens around her - and so does Lana Lang. All three have friction with the administration. It seems shallow, but that is how it operates here in Wickwood. Brutal, but there's not much to do but take advantage.
Dove takes that and runs with it.
She spends time with Chloe, running her through trig and calc. Giving her the low-down on what classes to take and which to avoid. Chloe will also be in honors classes, and she's grateful for the leg up. Dove had been planning to anyways, but those cuttings were the genesis of that painting. She is owed.
Speaking of, Lana has been busy these days- the painting opened up commission and marketing opportunities. She is in and out so much that Dove misses her. But she's in and out too.
Balancing it all.
She forgets her concerns about Thomas. She doesn't even have time to check in on Andrew either, but Chloe promises her she's been keeping him on track. Dove is grateful- and annoyed- that even now Andrew still needs so much.
They're inching ever closer to graduation. Next year marks the last- and now that she's getting involved with even more, she is unsure if she even wants to help Andrew. Or… live with him.
That's a terrible shock, once she lets it hit.
She goes out to their bench to sit with that. Blinking at the roses and wanting to cry. He'll need to live with someone-Thomas- and get a drip of revenue from their trust so he doesn't blow it all. She will have to discuss this with her father and his attorney. He'd been mildly surprised when she'd first put forth her plan to live with Andrew. He'd rather thought she'd live with her spouse, if she ever got one-
-and she'd ignored that. Drew-and-her, then her spouse, if she gets one. And no kids!… Their father had looked at her sidelong, and it's only now that she's realizing how- how much of a crutch that was. Her-and-Drew.
Dad had wanted her to start branching out. He said as much during a down moment, sometime over the holiday before Thomas. And she'd ignored that because it was layered between running and errands. Had just kissed his cheek and left.
He'd told her, voice careful and slow, what a mistake it is to build one's entire life around someone else. How badly it can all go if the other person isn't-
-kind, and caring, and true.
Obviously! Look at their mother!…
Dove squeezes her eyes shut and rubs the bridge of her nose. They've both got her blood running in their veins. So why is she able to soar when all he can do is flutter and break?
It hurts. It hurts.
It hurts even worse because-
Andrew never has been the sharing kind.
Means Thomas is going to have to make a choice.
Dove blinks up at the sky. Then she rises, dusting herself off. Turning to look at their bench. Lifting her eyes towards the general direction of Wickwood Tree.
There's so much they could lose.
For a moment, that's all she can see.
It’s a naked rasp: “Don’t stop wanting me.”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
Seven for a Secret Never to be Told.
Dove did not want to be right.
They're mere weeks from becoming rising seniors.
And Andrew… has been exerting himself. Spilling all his edges out into ink so Thomas can add color. Depth. Clarity. Weight. Get it all down on loose-leaf. Canvas. Thick-cut paper with ragged edges. Andrew wants them to make a collaborative project that will span their entire senior year. It'll involve everything they can muster. What they've learned in the classrooms. What they've found in the woods surrounding their school. At their beloved Wickwood Tree. What they've learned from each other.
Thomas starts getting pulled away from date nights.
There's a terrible clarity: Andrew is drawing battle lines.
Why? Dove wants to scream. We both have him, don't we!…
Lana and Chloe take it all in. Dark eyes that know too much.
Dove throws herself into her life with a vengeance.
Learning everything she can about theaturgy. Art. Cooking and business and botany and- everything. Everything. She wants to be well-rounded. But more than all that, she wants to give and give. To her fellow students. Her teachers. Her friends. Her dad. She wants to pay back everything that's been given. Wants to drink in everything the world has to offer. The library with its dozens and dozens of limited-edition collectibles and journals. The pretty green, the steady walls. Wickwood, brutal and lovely.
She slows to a stop sometimes, to take it all in.
For all she's gained, there's still loss on the horizon.
She knows she's bracing for an impact that may not come. Thomas still seeks her out. Kissing her so hot and slow… that the tension slips into something bolder and deeper.
But they keep it there. There's too much riding on grades and the group to ever screw.
And she wouldn't want to. Not when there's that terrible chemistry arcing between him and her brother. Their eyes always seeking each other out. Thomas constantly reaching back for Andrew's hand- in place of Dove. Both of them replacing her.
That's- fine. Andrew pulled away first. And he met Thomas first.
And he did share. For a while.
But this was all only meant to be a while, so.
So.
This is fine.
Lana takes a break from all her artsy things to take Dove to another GSA meeting. Chloe can't attend- she's got volleyball drills to do. Thomas and Andrew are also absent.
Dove leans against Lana absently, eyelids hooded. It's warm in the room, and she's- she's tired. And Lana is stable. Resting her chin on Dove's crown.
Bryce Kane gets brought up. Dove straightens. It seems his little reign of terror has devolved into a- a waiting game. Maybe even a full ceasefire. He's ripped into his minions too, enforcing an icy truce. Not one comment has been made. Zero retaliation for mere existence. No one's been tossed into a locker for- weeks!
Is he gay? Someone jokes thinly. What is happening here-
-we don't speculate, Miss Poppy reminds them sternly. But I will reach out to Chris Clemens, see if he can provide some insight. Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention…
They move on. Dove sinks down into a relief-induced stupor- did she break through to him? Is he still terrorizing her boyfriend and her brother? Even if he has stopped completely, well.
She will never thank him for this. He's just doing what he should have from the start.
Bryce Kane, with his wicked words. Bryce Kane, a blight upon their gatherings. Even so, this is a nice change. Lana shifts and squeezes Dove sidelong.
Dove sleepily thinks: this is a nice change, too.
They're two weeks out from finals. Most of the juniors are out on that long-promised off-campus trip. She and Lana have elected to stay behind and study.
Dinner is winding down when Thomas comes to fetch her. He is a ghost at their door. There's hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. He looks like- some Victorian waif living in an adolescent body, looking off-putting with his strong bones and strong spine. Slouching and maudlin. Restless.
She takes one look and knows.
Lana catches her hand out of sight. Squeezing down- and Dove squeezes back. She can already picture it: Lana clearing her schedule and fetching anyone still here. Like Chloe. Dove's lacrosse team. The nice drama folks. The GSA friends. The students from that science conference that she'd hit it off with. Making it so Dove is surrounded with so much love, she can no longer choke on this impending loss.
Dove wants to turn around so badly to meet Lana's eyes.
But if she does, she is lost to it all. So she interlinks their fingers for one long moment before pulling free. And as she trails Thomas across the green and towards the gardens, Dove wonders-
When did Lana stop bringing girls around? Is she happy being single? Dove will have to ask. She knows being single isn't the end of the world. She and Thomas taught each other a lot. But she has her friends and her studies. Her plans and her solitude. Life will go on.
She and Thomas will weather this because they are friends, too.
They are going to be just fine.
Wickwood Tree towers.
White bark, red leaves.
She leans back to look.
Could see their world-
-from its heavy crown.
"Dove."
She turns.
He's got his sketchbook in his hands. Trembling. His chin is trembling too. She could take the pain away by telling him she already knows. But they've got to face this head-on. He needs to be the one to say it.
He flips it open. There is just one drawing of him&her&him. Grief and love.
She comes close. Tracing the edge of her mouth. She looks resolute and sorrowful. Hair soft like feathers. She raises her hand to her own. It's silk beneath her touch. She closes her eyes and dreams of Lana.
"Seeing her exhibition made it clear. I didn't want to face it. I saw that composition and all I could think of was- love. 'Dove Rising'. God."
Dove does not want to face this either.
"I went back to the dorms, and- look. Look."
There is a rustle. Him flipping the page.
"I just- I couldn't draw you. 'nd I'm sorry for it. It kept turning into…"
Dove looks.
Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.
"…Drew." It's a slip in composure. Every drawing, every sketch, every smear of ash and ink screams love love love.
Her brother looks like a prince here. Like a king. Dressed in a mantle of greenery and glory.
It comes back to her.
It was years ago.
They had been stateside at a distant relative’s estate.
He’d built her a kingdom of clover and cork. Had set her upon a throne of sticks and leaves. Drawn a crown of columbine across her brow. Slipped a woven ring of fiddleheads onto her ring finger…
He’d tasted like spring.
Dry and cold.
It was just the once.
Silly little children, playacting at being adults. Puncturing the pageantry with giddy giggles. Their father wasn't around to hear. To correct them. But they didn't need correcting.
It never meant a thing.
"It will only be k-" God. It was only kissing for them too. Nothing changes but the shape of the body beneath Thomas. Nothing new except for the shape of the heart he holds.
But he knows. "That's alright."
"He will hurt you."
It's the barest penance. Brows upturning. "He already does."
But it's worth it, she can hear in the silence. How could it not be?
Dove shifts. Wanting to look away. "I hear Bryce Kane has called off his dogs."
Thomas slides forward a step. Searching her out. "Don't pretend. You're looking out for him even now. And me. You should curse me out. Beat my chest. Dove-"
"-you already have his nighttime hours. And most of his days. I'm sure he dreams of you. Did you know, over the holiday… whenever he laughed, I wondered. It was good that it was you. It is good that it is you. You'll treat him so well. I know it because you treated me well-"
"-Dove, God, stop." Then he’s cradling her, kissing her so soft and slow. And she wants to cry. Going airless from the heat building up in her cells. Crushing her composure. Ruthlessly extracting two tears.
He doesn’t acknowledge it except to catch them on his tongue. Rasping in her ear: “Friends, mate. No matter how it goes with him. Yeah? I’ll get this thing right. In each other's lives, please. I don't want to lose you to this.”
Doesn't want to- You should have thought of that first-and-how dare you-and-how could you-and-why would you scream in her head. He is losing her. He's losing her informality and her full weight. The romance-tinged inside jokes. Her fingers, tucking back his hair. Her lips on his. Glitter and diamonds. Glaciers and space. Being able to call her his.
He never did tell her what it was like, kissing her.
She supposes she will never know.
“Don’t go–” She screws her eyes shut. Stop it. Stop. She centers herself.
He’s waiting for her to look. Sinking sunlight dashing across his face–
Mate.
Wolves, thick-ruffed and standing tall. Heads tossed back, voices raised– letting the world know that distance is meaningless. Homing beacons and signal fires. Bonds that defy everything. There’s her out. Everything else is too loud. Too much. For a bare instant, it seems as if Andrew has her future caged in his fingers. Then it hits, over and over. A rising tide of anxiety-
She takes in a full breath as quietly as she can manage. Squeezing down on her trembling hands so they won't show. This is not the end of the world. She saw it coming. Felt it like coming rain. Ozone and an impending charge. Change. Another breath, let it out slow. Thomas is right. In each other's lives- and she wouldn't want it any other way.
“Psht. ‘Mate’.” It’s a thin rebuttal: “Don’t go taking our words.”
Thomas lets out a huff of laughter. Teeth gleaming as the tension snaps in two. “My bird.”
Unfair. She has to salvage this. For the good of the group. So she sketches her mouth across his. Aiming for kept composure still. There, how is that for mature? Amicable? Now she can send him into the arms of her brother with no one too hurt. It's better that way, and-
-Thomas destroys her.
“I’ll keep your words. You two are my heart. It’s a fair trade… my trouble and strife.” Then he’s gone, leaving her gasping in his wake.
Wife. Wife. Wife.
Oh.
She lets it wash over her.
They were never to marry. She knew that going in. She'd just wanted a- a taste of the windswept wilds. He'd put her in mind of- moors and lichen and that untameable sea. A lineage stretching back centuries. Surrounded by water. He had the wild inside him, just like bits and pieces of her.
Just like all of Andrew.
She doesn't know how Thomas could ever be caught. But if anyone could do it, it would be her brother.
Dove sniffs. Sniffs again. Chin tilting up to the sky so the wind can take her tears.
Right now, Lana is gathering everybody left. They'll wait for her to show, then meet in one of those distant wings that doubles as a common room. One of the ones the teachers supposedly don't know about- but absolutely do. Lana will throw the windows wide to let in the night air. The sound of crickets and frogs. Somebody will bring mead. Someone else will bring snacks. They'll order food from the kitchen using somebody's senior privileges. Play ping pong and watch movies. Dove is going to fall into Lana's arms to cry herself out later, once everybody is gone.
Lana is going to tease her about silly boys and silly Thomas Rye, voice all fond and indulgent, drying the tears. Then Dove will ask her what her post-graduation plans are. They've changed. They keep changing- but she will be brave. She will see if there's any room for her. If- wherever Lana lands, if she could come around. Her and Chloe and Lana, friends.
Her and Lana, ah-
Dove's eyes snap open.
She doesn't want to- face that just yet.
Instead, she wants to bring Lana back something in return.
Not just tragedy- but the sight of their world, spread out beneath her feet.
Dove is not only this surging pain. Already it's straining at her edges, wanting to flee.
It needs room to breathe. She can perch on the crown of Wickwood Tree, shout it all aloud. Give words to the winds and the wild. Let it get ripped out of her in ragged pulls until she is free and clear. Then she'll make her way back down into her life with her friends and her future.
It will be awkward come Monday. It will be awkward all the way through to the end of term. She hopes absently that they are decent. That they at least wait until school lets out. After all, Thomas is still going to come out to Australia to be with them. The tickets have been bought. Their schedules already shifted to accommodate him. Their father is pleased- well. That will be awkward too, watching him witness Thomas-the-Boyfriend go from one to the other. But he will manage.
Her lips half-tick up. She never did get Thomas at night, did she.
She looks up again. The sun is starting to curve and glow- sunset.
It is the golden hour.
It's perfect.
She peels her blazer off and ties it around her waist. Unbuttoning the first two buttons to breathe easier. Cuffing her sleeves past her elbows. She rolls down her skirt and adjusts her stockings. Her shoes look serviceable. Sturdy.
She chafes her hands and blows on them. Running through a series of stretches.
They'll reminisce about the friend group. She will tell Lana how beautiful it was from up there. Whisper all the colors of the sky as if- as if the beauty could transfer.
But she already knows it can.
Dove Rising.
They appear in her mind's eye.
Drew-and-her, side by side.
Thomas two steps ahead,
Lana abreast of them,
Chloe, one step behind…
That’s how it was meant to be…
…and this is how it changes.
It is okay. It will be fine.
Dove says it out loud:
"Just do not let go."
❧❦❧
Eight for a Wish.
It was unassuming, that branch.
Looked whole from the ground. The rock had been unobtrusive. Tucked into dirt and leaf. She would have gone her whole life without knowing it was there.
But that rock is what ended her life: a sickening intrusion. Roaring silence.
Darkness and pain.
.
.
.
“Little love.”
Dove aches. Every nerve ending screams. She cannot speak.
Cool hands upon her brow. A shift- a flicker, a minute tremor.
Just five more minutes, she thinks woozily. Dreams come- their father, singing in French as he cooks. Their mother, blowing smoke out the car window. Drew, pressing his feet into hers even when he doesn’t want touch.
Let’s stay… just like this.
"Dear Dove."
.
.
.
She falls.
It's an unending haze.
Dove doesn't make sense.
Nothing makes sense.
There is a- woman-being. A creature. Dove blinks hard. They're in a hollow- it feels like Wickwood, but far older than even their tree. She spins slowly, trying to take it all in. Milky sky, branches overflowing with all the colors of the world. Their bark is translucent. Sap runs through green-gold-grey. Silver-black. A claret red that hurts.
Dove raises her hand to her temple. It comes away gritty with a claret red that stings.
"What?…"
The woman-being-creature shifts and straightens. She-it? was lounging on a throne made of sticks and leaves. Clover drowning out its feet. There is a crown of columbine upon its brow. Fiddleheads adorning its clavicle. There is a mantle… of feather and bone.
It comes out fast: "You look like our mother."
There's a minute head-tilt. The creature, looming over Dove. It is so tall and all-encompassing Dove grows dizzy. Her temple is throbbing. The voice is Vivien's too, rough with cigarettes and hard times: "She was your first sorrow."
"Oh." Dove is scraping at the blood beneath her fingernails. Scrubbing it off her face. There's nothing she can do about her shirt, but… "Why do I feel so odd?"
The voice grows melodious. Strident: "Wickwood Timber took your first-blood and final-gasp. They left the rest to me."
Dove tries to think back. God but it hurts. The creature flicks both wrists, and a throne rises behind Dove. She sits, at a loss. "So… they summoned you?…"
"Sweet Dove, you called me to you." It holds up two fingers. "One for Sorrow, two for Joy."
Their mother used to read them bedtime stories featuring that rhyme. Would finish it off by singing them an old Counting Crows song, released when they were children. "'Curiosity, kitten, doesn't mean you're on your own-'"
"One for S-" Dove blinks hard. "Seven w-?"
"-seven wishes. Thirteen in all. You never got to the rest."
She never… Her brow wrinkles. Well why wouldn't she, she- she… she's thinking clearly now, gaze sharpening. Staring down at the backs of her hands. They're covered over with grit and grime. Smeared with blood and salt. Tears and sweat.
-Oh.
She's dead. She died. She's- she is dead. She's about to panic- to scream. But then Sorrow touches her, and pulls the anguish away. Calm washes over her. Acceptance.
Dove’s hands open. "I have nothing left to ask for."
"You desired… so much. Joy for others. No pain for you."
Dove stares at it. She doesn't even remember what she'd said. What was it? When did she- was it all for Andrew? Was it for that life she'll never see the culmination of? Was it for everybody she's loved- she'd wished for herself as well. Was it too often? Was it shallow? Did it mean anything past vague premonitions? It must. For Sorrow is here.
Fear climbs up her throat despite its influence. It will make her pay for making light of it. It will take the rest.
Dove Perrault will cease to exist.
She's babbling now. "I’m sorry I took so much. And it didn’t even-" She’s crying all of a sudden, great heaving barks of pain. "I shouldn’t have."
There are those hands. Cool to the touch. That mantle of feather and bone, surrounding her. "There is no misstep to be found here. No misdeed."
"I’m dead!" She gasps, gasps again. "If I’d been better-"
If she'd played this differently, would she even be here right now? She fell for love. Losing one and gaining another- and she'd died for her troubles. Died at sixteen, died as a junior, died in a country not her own. There is no more love-no more sunset-no more life. She cannot believe that it's finished. Not like this. She was supposed to have good food and good mead and good company. Pull Lana in and thank her for it all. Bitch about Thomas and Andrew until the tears carved her dry. Then she was going to wake up tomorrow morning determined to have the best day in her life.
Sorrow tilts her chin up, thumbing a tear away. "There is no slipping the noose. No sweet freedom… once my cousin comes calling."
Its- her cous- Dove's pupils dilate. Pale Rider, leave me be. Pale Rider, drive on. Come through when I can no longer bear the sweet burden of these- years… The unrealized years take note and weigh down on her. It's like she is mere bones sinking into ash. Sorrow bears her up.
"We empower each other. There is no me without her."
Dove croaks. Nods. Gets another tear thumbed away.
"It is not so for you."
A headache is begging to form. "Uh?"
"I never could be sure if you knew…" Sorrow contemplates. Then she gestures, her fingerpad tapping against Dove's temple. Her throat. Her heart. "You, without him."
There's a snap of wrath. "Well, yeah! He’s not exactly dead enough to be here…!"
Sorrow’s head tilts. Regarding Dove with eyes that mirror her own. Her mother’s. Silence reigns. Dove's ears ring. She wants to lay down and never rise. Sleep forever and hope the dreams are enough to sustain her. The trees pulse with their sap and life. Dove's gaze unfocuses. She is all the colors of everything.
Sorrow lets it sit.
Eventually, she intones, "His mind and soul suffers, despite the body yet living."
He's always been that way, Dove despairs. As it stands, he's probably ecstatic. Swapping spit with Thomas and keeping the blue at bay… for now. Who knows when they'll get news of her dead? Lana and company will raise the alarm. Text Thomas. Text her. She and Lana share location services still, from an off-campus field trip they'd taken. Lana will take charge. Follow the path with a few friends in tow. Dodge authorities and undergrowth until they stumble upon-
Wickwood Tree. Her final resting place.
God! She bet neither Thomas nor Andrew even felt her go.
She wrestles herself back to the present. "What, s-so he’s depressed? So! Is the sky blue? That’s s-so not the p-"
"They’ve woken Wickwood Timber in their grief. But they turn inward. They are not looking for you. They never will."
What? So they know? How long ago did she go?
The rest hits. 'Never…' Never looking for her. Never did, never will- Never.
Why? Why- God. Oh. Dove goes pale. Oh. They're probably letting her death shove them together even further. Andrew is probably licking Thomas' tears away as they speak. Saying, voice low, how it's just them two against the world now, no Dove to stop them.
It hurts. It hurts. Denial and heartbreak. It's a ragged shriek: "Why should they!"
"They should." Sorrow blinks slow. "For you are the reason for it all."
Dove Falling—
She curves in two, wheezing. How can this hurt so? She is dead. She has no heart, no lungs, no brain, no guts to feel it all. There shouldn't be a single way this could tear her apart like this, and yet-yet-yet.
It is thorns shredding the words as they escape: "Does anybody miss me for me?…"
Sorrow shifts, eyebrows raising. Looking at her as if she should know better. Pure Vivien in that moment. And maybe Dove should, but she's floundering and faltering and so unsure, suddenly, of anything. Her almost-lover should be tearing open the sky for her. And her brother should be rescuing her. Helping Thomas pull the sun from its path. Setting the world alight, just to see-
Their Eurydice.
They both should. Drew should. God! All those stories he'd told, only to come up empty. No knight, no sword, no shield. Dove is reeling.
"Do you desire to know?" Sorrow emits a long sigh: "Tell me, is that your next wish?…"
"No! I- I’d, my wish would be to do it all over again-"
It’s a slow headshake. "You cannot."
"I’d- I." Dove shifts back a step. Two. Then why is she even here? Is it to drown in Sorrow? She is already here. An offering set at her feet. It is a bare whisper. "I can’t?"
"Tell me. Just tell me. Say that you can. So?"
Thump.
“I’ll let go.”
Thu-thump.
“I’ll want it all.”
Thu-thump. Thu-
“I’ll keep changing.”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
“I’ll let everyone come and go.”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-
“I’ll be the best friend I can ever be.”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
“I’ll laugh for all my days. I will. I will.”
“Give me everything, Dove Épine Perrault.”
Thu-thump—thu-thump—thu-thump—thu-
“I will try to alleviate all the pain I’ve caused-“
“No. Try again. Try as many times as you like.”
Dove falls silent. She'd asked for so much. But maybe that is the point.
“Andrew’s pain isn’t mine. I know that now. I, I want the forest to sleep again. I want-“
“-I’m listening. I am here.”
It’s an absurd blurt: “Will I lose you?”
“No. You will not. Share it. I will make it so.”
Dove covers her face. Tilting in. And Sorrow pulls her in. Rocking her so slow, humming a lullaby only Dove’s bones remember. Dove feels like a child. Tucked up into the place where somebody else beats and breathes. Settling into their rhythm and knowing that it will all be alright. It will all be alright. It will all be…
Sorrow’s lullaby quiets.
Dove whispers, "I am sorry about the forest. I didn't mean to."
"The forest wants to protect you. Timber especially. It still remembers the flower crowns. Hide-and-seek. Bearing your happiness. Your body died fearful. Sad. Where else could that lead, but to me? It is different for the other two. But that is not our concern."
Dove lets that sit. Thinking it through. How long has it been? Will she come back to holes ripped in Wickwood stone? To dead faculty and students?
Will she come back to an intact Thomas and Drew?…
Does it even matter right now?
“I just want to live. And love. And be.”
That's- twelve wishes, without the first. Her breath catches.
And Sorrow decides: "I will take the last and grant the rest."
“Oh-!” Dove gasps."Are you sure-"
“Am so. Open your eyes, and you will see.”
Dove clutches her body to her. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you-“
It’s a twist of lavender. Lips cool on her forehead. “I’ll keep your dreams soothing. No monsters come to take you away.”
"Where will I be? When will I be?"
"October Country," comes the reply. "They must fix what was wrought. That, sweet Dove, is none of your concern. Timber will end what needs must. Promise me, love."
"Promise, I promise, I swear." It's a frantic burst of sound: “Will I see you? Please tell me I-“
“You will. The choice is yours.”
Dove is crying. Salt and agony.
And Sorrow washes it all away.
She falls.
.
.
.
"Dove-"
Thomas' arms are trying to capture all of Wickwood Timber. His lips are dry as it lands on cork and bark. The tree shifts in the wind- or maybe in recognition. She can see Chloe, laughing loud and long as some joke, bracelets catching the light. Bryce Kane, tilting his chin up at her, smiling inscrutably. Lana, tossing herself across the stage, crying 'tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow'- Drew is spinning Dove around, laughing. Fingers knitted tight. Coming in close to say:
"Let’s stay… just like this."
Dove cannot breathe for the wonder and sorrow of it.
“Dove?”
.
.
.
It's an unending haze.
Dove doesn't make sense.
Nothing makes sense.
"Dove, oh my god."
Dove comes to with a twitch. Forest floor.
Cold wind. Broken head.
…Ow.
Lana is in her space.
Gathering her up with trembling arms. "Dove? Is that…?"
Chloe is there then, falling to her knees and taking Dove's wrists. "Are you you?…"
Dove looks past their shoulders to see- Laurie Somebody. One of Bryce Kane's own. And there- is Bryce Kane himself. She squints. Surely she must be dreaming still. There is no way this is her greeting party. But she aches as if she is alive. Temple sporting claret red that burns and stings.
"What…? What's…"
Bryce Kane latches onto the back of Laurie's neck, dragging him forward. Laurie comes, face white in pain. There's a brace on his wrist- he's been wearing it for too long, if it's October now, Dove thinks faintly. He should have a doctor look at that-
"-hi," She says, dizzy. Etiquette is second nature at this point. "Laurie. Nice to meet you, I'm-"
"-seriously?" He laughs incredulously. Voice a bitterburn of derision.
Bryce rumbles and tosses him down at their feet. Chloe drills Bryce with a white-hot stare, but he has only eyes for Laurie and Dove. Voice a whiplash:
"Is it her?"
Laurie clears his throat. "Uh. Sorry, can I-"
Dove offers her hands. Cold fingers encounter the inside of Dove's wrist. Pressing directly down on the spot where he must ache endlessly. Searching her out. She blinks back, still at a loss. Still tied into Sorrow. Her body is screaming for rest. She can barely hold her eyes open.
"It's her."
Everyone visibly collapses with relief. There's Lana, shoving her forehead into Dove's throat. Already so many tears shed that it hurts-it hurts-it hurts.
She needs them all out of there. Bed. Home. She's so cold. "I don't think I can- walk?"
Laurie rips his hand off of her, rocking back on his haunches. "Don't ask me."
Lana shifts as if to pick her up, but Bryce is there. Offering his hand. "Let me."
"Straight to my-" Dove reaches up. "No funny business. Is it still my room-?"
"Um. I live there too," Chloe admits sheepishly. "I'll, um, give you your bed back."
"Cots exist," Laurie snarks from somewhere nearby. "Unless you two shack up. I'd assumed you already were."
Chloe's eyes widen in horror. Lana's arms only tighten. Dove takes Bryce's hand to pull them from the awkwardness. Eyes narrowed to try and prompt thought. "Faculty? Um. Students?"
"There's some Halloween bullshit happening," Laurie sighs. "Didn't realize how mad they are about that 'round here. There's no chaperones anywhere, not even for revelers." He casts his eyes across Dove, eyebrows rising. "You're safe until tomorrow. No cameras, remember?…"
Bryce's hand falls away.
Lana is hold her up, gentle. "Can you stand?"
"I'll be carried," Dove decides.
"Great," Laurie sighs. "Can I go?"
Bryce's hand comes up to latch around his neck again. He's getting dragged in until they're forehead-to-forehead. "No. I own you now."
Laurie's Adam's apple bobs. "Oh. How providential for me."
"You'll accompany us. Now come on. Dove-"
She's swaying in. "Don't fall in love."
There's a brief silence, then all of them are roaring with laughter. Bryce hoists her up, grinning- "No promises, Perrault-"
"Don't even joke-"
"-ha. Not to worry." He shifts her, bumping her up to a better position. Staring her in the eye. "Said you deserved better. Do you believe me now?…"
She perches her chin on his shoulder. Lana is behind them, arm tucked into Chloe's elbow. They're watching their steps, murmuring. Shellshocked but so happy. Laurie is somewhere ahead, bitching them all out in low tones. She wants to know why he's the weathervane for her supposed 'realness'. That's a question for later.
All she wants right now is to soak it all in. The forest leaning in, listening. The rough path that causes her to jostle and shift. Bryce, humming in concentration as he tries to keep her steady. Laurie's and Chloe's voices, and-
Lana-Lana-Lana.
Dove breathes. It tastes like Thomas. Maybe a little like the memory of Andrew, too. Her heart pulses and twinges. She casts her eyes up- there's Wickwood Timber's crown, towering above the canopy.
She'll bring Timber and Sorrow offerings. But later-
No more blood and ache now. No sweet-rotten pain.
No need for Sorrow, no, not yet.
They'll get her cleaned up. They'll face the rest tomorrow- what this means, Laurie-and-Bryce. Is this going to bond them? Another group of five- how odd, how strange-
And maybe she doesn't mind. People change, don't they.
Tomorrow, they'll settle logistics. She doesn't know if they'd found her- ah, dead body- in May. If it got interred back home. If she'd had a funeral- or if she's been missing since. They'll have to get it all sorted. Calls to both states. She is set to be an international incident, how exciting.
Maybe Thomas lied about leaving her in the forest. She hopes so. She doesn't want to lose access. She shifts her cheek and looks ahead- there's a fence now. She blinks hard- what?
"It went up after you left," Bryce murmurs. "But there's ways through. With you back, they may relax. But I don't know. Your brother and his fucking boyfriend keep stirring up shit out here. God knows why."
"Was I-?"
"…Yeah. Ambulance came and everything." And his arms tighten around her. Breathing going ragged around the edges.
Hers is too. She tucks into his neck and thinks: it's odd to be comforted by this. But she is. It's lightning-quick, feather-light. She risks a kiss to his throat. His hold becomes iron before he remembers. Easing up, breathing hard. Dove fights off the urge to cough. If she'd known he would react like this, she would have never given into that rush of fondness.
He is struggling to regain equilibrium, tone developing a bite. "Laurie was in the middle of mouthing off at me over stupid shit when he felt it. We ran into Chloe and Lana at the fenceline. Chloe had felt it too. Fucking plant people."
Dove's fingers dig into his shirt in a quelling gesture, and he subsides. Nuzzling her. A split-second kiss to her jaw. Two. Three- Dove clutches him. Bryce breathes her in. Her incompatible man.
"Don't waste this." He reminds her, pulling away finally and jerking his chin towards Lana. Eyebrows raising. "Well?"
God but he's impossible. "I won't-"
"-see that you don't." They're through the fence now. Empty green, grey in the dark. They're aiming for the dorms. Laurie wants to peel off again- he's too gay for this- but Lana catches him and hauls him on.
Dove lets her eyes close.
Lana.
She'll be tucked into- into Lana's bed soon enough. Bryce is telling Laurie and Chloe he wants food. They're going to go fetch some- Dove, are you hungry? Lana, are you-
They're not. Bryce sniffs. Fine then. The rest of them will clear out once Dove is good.
Three's a crowd, anyway. Laurie goes to protest- means they're the crowd- but Chloe eases down on his foot to silence him. Bryce Kane is still king of the roost, no matter how many new leaves he's turned.
Lana takes her into their attached bathroom- they've got a suite now. Four rooms- they sprung for the extra space. Dove is weirdly pleased. She gets deposited on the closed toilet. Dove searches out the corners of the room and wonders if Lana kept everything the Perraults didn't want. She imagines she did.
Lana is digging through the cabinet, muttering to herself. Bryce hovers in the bathroom doorway. Watching-
Dove finally invites him in properly. He crowds in beside Lana and promises every resource at his disposal. They'll get her through this. He tucks a wisp of her hair behind her ear. Tugging lightly just once before he gathers the other two and goes.
She is glad they didn't do anything. Dragging one boy through supposed self-growth was quite enough. And it's not like it stuck, now did it?
Though it seems as if Bryce Kane's did.
What an odd thought.
Lana extracts every bit of dead wood and darkness. Washes the blood and grit away. Dove is adrift.
Then Lana tilts Dove’s chin up. “Let it out.”
“There’s nothing–” Her voice collapses. How could it have been five months? Her world ended, and time marched on. Lost a love and then lost an entire life. What is left? Just another chance to get it all right. It's enough, she thinks. More than. There will be time enough to grieve later.
There is time.
Lana washes Dove's hair in the sink. It smells like sandalwood and thyme. Then she sits Dove down at one of the desks and braids Dove's hair. Fingers careful and slow. Dove stares at her hands and thinks: this is what it means to live. To be loved. To just- be…
Lana takes her hand once she's through. Dove stares at their interlinked fingers, avoiding the rest. Bloodied and broken, now made whole-
Sorrow and Joy.
She’s on her feet somehow. Surge of strength. Lana's eyes widen, then she is getting bullied back into her own bed. There’s glitter in there, Dove just knows it. She wants the mess. The reminder to stick to her hours later. She wants…
There's a twist, then Lana bears her down. Cradling her head so they won’t jostle or ache. Dove catches on– how goddamn gentle she is with her. When, Dove wants to ask. When did you start loving me like this?
On the heels of that, she cringes. She always took up space in her brother’s stead. Attracting the light and the heat to leave him in shadow. Then she got to where she could do it for herself. Lana had helped her with that. Never let her apologize. Never let her shrink away. Met her beat for beat.
Ah, no. She isn’t allowed.
“I wanted to do this better.” Lana’s voice is husky. Deep. “Weigh it all. Keep you and Thomas in mind. I thought maybe, after…” There's a ragged breath. "Maybe after summer. That I could- ask. Three months is enough time, I'd told myself. That's…"
Dove shoves herself into the corner. Trying to block the light– Lana is hovering over her, turning her back over. Gentle and firm.
"But you left, Dove. You were gone. So could you please- hear me out? I've been holding onto it for so long. But I-" Her throat works. "God, this is the wrong time to be doing this. Saying this-"
“-it’s just friendship.” Liar. “That’s all that was.” Liar– “That’s all this is–”
Liar liar, pants on–
“Okay.” Lana says, low. "I hear you. I'm sorry."
Dove breathes in and out. Closing her eyes. Sorrow bright in her mind. She can be brave, can't she? The GSA, the painting, the nudge from-
Herself. From Thomas, from Bryce Kane, of all people.
Another deep breath.
"Don't apologize. I actually- I wanted to do the same. My knee-jerk is to keep it all the same, but- I died." It's an incredulous burst of sound. "The whole point is that- that everything must change. So should I. S-so…"
Lana nods. Listening.
Dove isn't straight. She's not. It was a façade. She runs through it one final time before discarding it all. Dove Perrault: the Aussie who is not bent. The Aussie who does not dream of her pretty lovely roommate. The one who will never understand exactly how her beloved brother feels. Thomas isn't straight either. Maybe that's why he felt a little bit like home, too.
God, at this rate the only straight one around is Bryce. Maybe. Maybe.
It’s a relief, letting it go.
Ha. She really is a liar. So she looks Lana in the eye. "You’re just… good to me. You’re so…”
“It’s all I wanted.” Lana is leaning in. Intense. “All I want, is to be good to you. For you. I didn't know what that meant at first. I didn't, not until I-”
"-until you painted me. Thomas pointed it out. That's, um."
"Oh- I didn't want to be the reason you two, er-" Lana's hands land on either side of Dove. "'m sorry."
"No-" She doesn't want to talk about Thomas or Andrew. That's enough of that. "You're not. Don't be. Okay?"
"…Okay."
“Believe me. As for me, you were always going to be–” Dove bites her tongue. She’s getting ahead of herself here. Disappearing into somebody else to escape the ache of nonexistence, sort of… the ache of a break-up that's still so fresh in her mind. Five months for him, no time for her. She can't be doing this, especially when Lana cherishes her. Always has. But still. She deserves better.
“-oh. I can’t be doing this to you.”
Lana laughs. Laughs right in her face. Nudging her back down. “You think I don’t do this freely? If you want time, you’ll get it. If you want friendship, you’ve got it. I just want this past Wickwood. You hear me?…”
“What if this ruins–” Their friend group, flashing up unbidden in her mind’s eye. Andrew already ruined it. God. Dove wants to dry-heave.
“There is no ruining anything when it comes to you.”
Dove shudders. Pale and trembling. “I died-"
"You're just as real as me, Dove. I'll prove it."
One last protest: "Andrew–”
“–is still here. If it all spins out, I won’t turn my back on you. Not for him or anybody. Don’t fear that.” She traces a burning line up Dove’s arm. “Tell me, will you stay enrolled? If they sort it all out?…"
"'Course. Dad will make a donation to keep me here. Imagine the notoriety! Ha, you can take credit. Your painting was magic all along! Dove really did rise!"
Lana laughs again. Half-in wonder, half- in terror. "Was it?"
"Ah-" Dove shrugs, smiling. Later. She'll tell her later.
"What a thought. Well, awesome. I do need my sweetest competitor to keep her head in the game. Take us down the homestretch. Mm. Don't think dying gets you out of trying your hardest, by the way. I'll, ha. I’ll even be gracious. Smile down at you from the podium. Valedictorian medal bright on my ch–”
Dove lunges up to bite her chin. Revenge. Folly. Lana pins her. Deft and professional. Smiling. Then she sobers up–
"Dove. This really isn't the proper time for this. You were dead not two hours ago."
“I came back to life and this is all I could think about. Now we're here.” Chiding. Eyebrows raising… “As if life is proper.”
Lana’s smile is back. “Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, well. One last thing on the whole-" Lana pulls a face. "Thomas and um. Your brother thing. I, uh, we dropped them. Not that we're casting our lot in with the likes of Kane and Lennox-Hall. Uh. But-" She blinks, blinks again. "Well. They're not what they were."
"They're not," Dove says carefully. "What happened?"
"You changed the school, Dove. Kane and his crows are in open dialogue with the GSA. Clemens and Poppy mediating. So like in that way, there's like. A really good change, um. It started before you went and just kind of snowballed from there afterwards. Not that your d-death was worth that, it's not, I'm just. Silver linings?… Sorry, I am letting my mouth run."
Dove squints against a burgeoning headache. "That's a lot. We'll have to discuss later. Um. We'll figure out Kane and the rest. I am grateful to them. I adore Chloe to coming through like she always does. And- Lana…"
Lana tilts in. "Yeah?"
Dove’s eyes close. Inside jokes and late-night study jags and leaning against that beastly forest fence. She wishes she'd been around to encourage Andrew to just– go for it. Seen Thomas with him, so kind and sweet. Adjusting his edges to Andrew’s. Being just right for as long as they all live.
She won't have that, she doesn't think. They've- it's likely they've spun into angst and fable. In a two-man war with Timber and all the rest. Kings of a world that precludes her. She was a catalyst with no closure.
Well. Even if she hadn't promised Sorrow, she does not think she could rescue them. It's clear she won't reach them. So she'll leave that to the 'plant people', she guesses. Let Bryce Kane handle it. He doesn't want his school fucked-up any more than it is already.
None of them do.
Dove shifts her thinking.
Graduation. Valedictorian. Then– her and Lana, buying an estate somewhere stateside. Two houses, separated by a grand courtyard. Nettle and vine. A separate studio. Art and theatre. A track for her to run on…
Plenty of beds for friends and family. A roomy screened-in porch. Modern touches to mortar and stone. Dinners on white tablecloth. Half-filled glasses of summer-rich wine. Paitings on every wall between both places.
Maybe Chloe will live in the other house. Maybe it will be somebody else- or two. Smiling across the way, hands raised in greeting…
They could have it all.
Dove’s eyes open. It’s all there. She just needs to take one last step. A trust fall, hurtling off the highest cliff around–
Caught by loving arms.
Could she say it? She’d mean it for true, she knows. No longer have to hide it in… “better luck next time” and “you’re a great shot” and “I’m so proud”…
It rips out of her, stilted and lovely: “Love you. I do, I do. Don’t you know I… treasure you so?…”
Lana’s smile is everything. Dove is set alight.
“I do.”
“Don’t do anything you don’t want.” Dove leans in. “Promise me, Lana, okay.”
“Promise,” Lana murmurs, tilting her up. Skull piercing shining silver as she laughs. “Now kiss me.”
And Dove does.
Dove Perrault knows Sorrow by name.
It kept pace with her. Came in close. Whispering of love and joy–
It took her fear and washed it all away.
Twelve wishes to live again–
Sorrow knows she made it.