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Dorothea stood facing the window. It was the end of another sunny day in the capital, and she was wearing a short top decorated with gold and pants in the style of Brigid. When she had first arrived, these clothes had taken her a while to get used to, but they felt like a second skin to her now, lighter and more colorful than the robes she’d worn in battle. She was awaiting Petra’s return from some minor political meeting which took longer than expected, and looked over the city, to the massive trees behind the houses, and the low sun touching the treetops. It was nice to have a moment of silence, a moment by herself. Though thinking about it, she would prefer Petra sharing it with her. She grew sick of the moment. Impatiently, she pressed one foot against the wall beneath the window, and leaned her head against the glass. Up until just a few minutes ago, she had been busy herself, writing a letter to Hubert to ask about everyone’s whereabouts. He was her main source of information, mainly because he always responded quickly and answered all her questions, other than Ferdinand who liked to describe all events in relation to his own achievements (apparently, he was prime minister now (though still not married)). So Dorothea was thankful for Hubert’s efforts to actually keep her informed about the bigger picture, though she was not entirely sure whether he did so by his own will or Edelgard’s. But she liked to imagine that he did still care about his former classmates and battle companions at least a little bit. Dorothea wondered if he had finally been able to find a companion, one that could perhaps strike a different chord than Edelgard. After all, his heart had managed to grow somewhat over the years, enough at least to notice people other than the one he was devoted to. But of course he wouldn’t tell her about that.
Sometimes she wished she could get a more... lively and elaborate description of her companions’ lives, but Edelgard had more than enough to worry about, Linhardt and Caspar had gone off traveling somewhere and did not care to inform others about their whereabouts, and Bernadetta... well, she wrote back, but it was hard to extract any concrete information from her writing. Therefore, Hubert’s scarcity and Ferdinand’s useless chatter were more or less her best bet for now, until she met all of them again in person, which she hoped would happen soon. If it was possible, she’d invite all of them to Brigid, especially Bernadetta who had been so fascinated with its nature. But right now they were all too immersed in their own lives and duties to be able to come visit without an occasion. Honestly though, Dorothea wondered what Bernie in particular was even doing these days. It had been a while since she’d heard anything from her.
She stared at the sun setting behind the trees. Two years had passed since she followed Petra to Brigid. At first, it had only been a visit, to experience the beauty of the princess’ homeland, and to support her with the negotiations and building of political connections that awaited her as the new ruler. But it just so happened — foreseeably, really — that Dorothea quickly fell under Brigid’s spell, and that the bond between the two of them steadily grew deeper than friendship. It progressed so naturally and fast Dorothea wondered how almost all her previous human relationships, friends included, had always been so rocky and complicated, when in contrast every minute with Petra felt light and true, and made her discover new bits of happiness. In the end, both of them had chosen each other mutually, and none of them knew when exactly. Though it couldn’t be called a choice so much as a realization.
Their bond had been there since they first consciously chose to spend time together at the academy. Still, until not too long ago, it wouldn’t have been wrong to call them strangers. Though they had been friends, perhaps lovers, they had still been mysteries to each other, unknowing of each other’s preferences, habits, and quirks. In Brigid, they started peeling off each other’s shells bit by bit... But soon they realized they had already seen each other’s cores long ago. They’d already known and loved each other’s hearts. Every time they interacted back then, they had both been troubled by their own fears, ambitions and hardships, but they had seen each other despite that. In conversation with each other, they could drop their acts — talk to each other instead of circling each other’s walls of defense. As if their burdens were irrelevant... no, in fact, it was the people shaped by those burdens that understood each other. And finally, after they realized their lives felt complete together, that’s when they started to learn about all the small details. And as both of them loved learning, they got to know each other quickly, and before they knew it they were not only connected by their inner needs, but they became the anchor and foundation of each others’ lives.
Of course, their extraordinary circumstances fueled the rapid growth of their relationship. Adjusting to life in Brigid — life next to the queen at that — had not been an easy path for Dorothea to take. Even after the war was over, neither of them would’ve called their life easy. Under different circumstances, the two of them might’ve taken longer to grow this close; but the more obstacles there were, the more they had to turn themselves inside out to move forward, and the more they got to know about how each other’s mind worked.
One day, not too long ago, there had been such a situation, where pent up pressure had led Dorothea to cut her hair in an impulse. It was the evening after a series of exhausting meetings, that had left her mostly by herself. When Petra finally entered their shared room at a late hour, she found her girlfriend sitting in front of the mirror with a knife in her hand, refining the bottom line of her hair slightly below the back of her head, while a pool of cherrywood brown spread at her feet. A few strands of long hair still fell around her face, but it barely covered her neck in the back. For a full minute, the queen could do nothing but stare at her. Sitting there, cutting her hair with no sound to be heard but the scratching of the blade, her girlfriend radiated complete serenity, to such an extent that her presence felt otherworldly. It seemed as if Dorothea had gone and the goddess herself had descended into her body, looking through the mirror at the mortal behind her back.
“Dorothea, your hair...” Petra finally came to speak, quite a bit surprised. It did not make sense to her why Dorothea would do such a thing, but then again, there were many things about Dorothea she still did not understand, and this was just one new thing amongst many others to add to the list. Still, she somehow felt this was odd, even amongst all those things. It was too impulsive, too aggressive for the Dorothea she knew, and way too reckless considering how much she had always cared for her hair, and still cared for Petra’s. After all, she was the one who washed and braided it for her every morning, while she was busy preparing for her daily tasks and meetings as queen of Brigid.
Two years after the war now, there were still many regulations to make, as well as relationships to establish and strengthen. Brigid was not yet fully stable in its position as independent territory, even though Petra’s efforts were paying off, moving them towards the future she fought for at a remarkably quick pace. Over time, it became clear to her that much of the strength she found every day came from Dorothea, who not only assisted with everyday tasks, but helped her relax when she was pushing herself too hard. At her wish, Dorothea also was the one who further taught her about the language and culture of Fódlan. Whenever there was free time, they practiced polite phrases and expressions, as well as how to speak more naturally. As of now, Petra had little to no problems expressing herself, though she was sometimes still confused at some of Dorothea’s ideas, or her actions. Now was one of those moments, as she looked at the long strands of thick, wavy hair on the ornamented floor.
“Petra!”, Dorothea exclaimed, cheerful as usual, but not looking up nor stopping her work. Something in her voice sounded alarming to Petra’s sharp instincts. As if something was missing. There was a hollowness in it that worried her for a moment, but she deliberately shook it off like a thin layer of dead skin, thinking she must be imagining it.
“Wait just a moment, I have almost finished.” Petra observed Dorothea’s skilled movements carefully. She was not doing this for the first time. As she ran her fingers through her now short hair and shook her head to get rid of loose ones, a change seemed to hush over her face and it brightened, her movements lost some of their deliberation and seemed lighter, as if a spell had just been lifted. She finally turned around, a coquette smile on her face. “Well, how do I look?” Petra stared at her for a moment, still taken aback, but before she could say something, Dorothea sighed lightly, almost playfully and said: “I know, I know, it doesn’t suit me. Not as well as my long hair, anyway. But I’m still happy I did it.”
Though Dorothea appeared cheerful, Petra still felt something setting her off. “Dorothea, is there something on your mind?” she asked, and immediately the spell seemed to be put back, and the shadow returned to her partner’s face. “You seem... there is...” Petra searched for a way to express what she felt. “There seems to be a darkness upon your spirit.” Having put it into words, she suddenly saw it even more clearly. Dorothea seemed weary, weighed down by something. Petra felt taken back to all those years ago at the academy, when a younger Dorothea had told her about her fruitless efforts to find a partner for a stable life. Back then, she had had the same trouble in her voice and demeanor, and the same shadow in her eyes. Petra, knowing and loving her, could tell, that she now had locked something inside her just as she did back then.
She was surprised, however, when it broke out, as if her concern had somehow made Dorothea realize the reason for her trouble: “You know”, she sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Until now, I felt like an impostor.” “An... impostor?” Petra asked. “Ah. Yes.” Dorothea said. “Somebody who pretends to be someone they are not. Let me explain.” She paused to collect her thoughts for a moment, putting the knife down next to the mirror. Somehow, she was breathing freer already, feeling she had found what had truly been weighing on her chest. Carefully, she expressed what she had been feeling for a while, but up until now hadn’t been able to lay a hand on: “At first, everything here was new and foreign and surprising. Brigid was strange to me, and I was a stranger to the people here. That was only natural. Then, I grew accustomed. I started braiding my hair and talking to others and learning the language. But recently, I noticed that... I still feel strange, even though I’m part of life here. I became aware that I am still the one who came from Fódlan, and... braiding my hair suddenly felt like I’m pretending to be one of you. But really, there is more to being a woman of Brigid than to braid your hair. Imitating it felt... wrong somehow. Like calling myself a woman of Brigid when I’m not.”
She laughed as if she was confused herself at what she was saying, but Petra, though she could not say why, had a feeling she understood. Looking at Dorothea with her hair done in Brigid style had always pleased her, because it connected the world she was born in, her world, with the person she had chosen to become another part of her life. At the monastery, before they had gone to war, they had sometimes matched their hair, and it had felt wonderful to have a piece of her home, which she had always been the only one to remember, to be loved and lived by another person with her. But it was different now that they were here. She knew adapting her own appearance had suddenly felt almost like a duty to Dorothea, in order to fit in and show her devotion to the culture. Many people had welcomed her reluctantly, or with suspicion. It had taken the woman from Fódlan a little while to earn their trust, but she had been prepared for that, and had never let a difference in culture stop her from being kind and understanding. In the evening, when they retreated to their room, her head had often fallen onto Petra’s shoulder, and she had been glad not to have to talk and observe and learn for a little while. But she found new energy every day, and gave as much as she could to be support to Petra, who needed it for her difficult task of leading Brigid to independence. Whenever they were free, they went out to explore the lands that Dorothea had never seen, and Petra had missed for a long time. Dorothea quickly learned to love Brigid, and the people there learned to love her. But she was a woman of Fódlan still, and Petra sometimes felt her growing uneasy when being treated as one of them.
“Somehow”, Dorothea said, cutting through her thoughts, “I feel more like a part of Brigid now that I did such a reckless thing.” She suddenly broke out laughing at the thought. It made Petra laugh, too. She felt as if she had just met another side of Dorothea, an impulsive, almost defiant one; one she liked a lot.
“You know”, her partner then said, serious again. And as she went on, her voice suddenly grew more and more reminiscent, as if she was descending alone into a lake of unknown depth: “I somehow started to feel like... I was taking something from you. The people of Brigid. By copying your hairstyle and your clothes and your way of speaking, when I have only been here for two years. I am still a visitor here, I know that. You are showing me your homeland; it is not my homeland. So I felt all that show I was making... it was not my place.” Suddenly, sadness broke out in her eyes as if a dam in her head was starting to leak and crumble under pressure. It had pent up without her noticing, and at once it was rising frighteningly high. Her heart felt like a small boat at its feet, tossed from side to side in the first leaks of the flood that threatened to tear it apart. And Dorothea was the dam and the boat at once, the one that was about to break, and the one that was about to be broken. After all, I don’t belong here, the water pushed against the holes. They bent. Then gently, two hands were there. They took hers and she froze.
“You are wrong.” Petra said sternly, with a fervency that hit her soul out of the water. She had squatted down in front of her, and held her hands firmly. Looking into her green eyes insistently, she put emphasis on every one of her next words: “Dorothea, you are not taking from us. We are giving all of this to you. We are treating you like one of us, because you are trusted. You have a place, in Brigid, with me, and everyone knows that.”
Dorothea stayed unusually silent as she stared through Petra’s eyes at the large door. She felt something amongst bubbling feelings of relief, confusion and gratitude, which after a few moments boiled down to a quiet smile.
“Dorothea”, Petra continued, and was interrupted. “Dor, call me Dor. It’s... not as long.” The queen of Brigid was taken by surprise, but quickly found her way back and smiled. “If you prefer it, I’ll call you that.” She started again: “Dor...” and paused. Somehow it was hard to say. She was not used to nicknames. Saying it out loud felt like jumping a border, into a sea of intimacy when she did not know how to swim. She continued, shaking it off: “You do not need to worry. Nobody thinks you are taking from them, because you have always given respect to our culture. We are glad to share with you.” She squeezed her hands and smiled. “But, if you feel more harmony with Brigid with short hair, then I will like your short hair, too.”
Dorothea looked at her silently for a long while and a genuine, teary smile spread on her face. “You know, coming with you really was the best decision I could’ve made.”
That had been two months ago. Her hair was now a little longer again, but still too short to braid. Somehow, she felt more confident like this than she ever did before. Now, she was not the Dorothea from the academy who charmed everyone chasing after the dream of a rich marriage; nor was she the woman of Fódlan trying to be a woman of Brigid. She was a woman of Fódlan who had found in the princess of Brigid everything the male nobility she had been trying to date lacked, and followed said princess to her homeland to finally find her very own place next to her. She was support, messenger, still somewhat of a tourist, as well as eventual friend to many people she met. But no matter which role she played, she needed no validation other than knowing Petra wanted her to be there. She had reached the life she had aimed for, no, a life much better than that, and it was all a new journey from here. Right now, she was the best Dorothea she could be, free from what had held her down as victim of the nobility system and prejudice in the land she had been born in.
In some strange way, Brigid, even though she had only been there for two years, really was a home to her, because in Petra her heart had found a home. Petra was her place of comfort, strong and ambitious and genuinely hardworking she stood on her two quick feet, ready to shoulder all the battles of the world on her own, and carry them through to the end to her goal. It sometimes made her a lone fighter, but Dorothea greatly respected her for that inner strength. But what she marveled at most of all was the pure sincerity, sometimes bluntness Petra had in conversation with others - her fearlessness to be clumsy and make mistakes, and her ability to shamelessly speak her and others’ minds without breaching the boundaries of respect. She carried a sense of honor which, defining it in terms of earnestness and respect, Dorothea found to be equal to, if not greater than even Edelgard’s. If Petra loved Dorothea for being kind, then Dorothea loved Petra for being genuine.
“Brigid pride, huh”, the woman sighed reminiscently, made her way over to the bed and threw herself on it. She could almost not believe she was really here. That this, this of all places, was where she had ended up. She had fought to rise up, to escape the horrors of her past, believing her future to be amongst the nobility of Fódlan — but in fact, deep down she had always felt Fódlan didn’t hold a place for her at all. All she had wished for was a life finally free of fighting, but she had searched all in the wrong places. She shook her head at her younger self, who had continuously put up with the arrogance of the nobility she detested, unable to free herself from the paths the system had chained her to at birth. In the end, true nobility and peace had been next to her for the longest time, in the strange stalwart warrior from a land she had hardly ever heard people speak of. How lucky she had been to have that encounter. Setting out to Brigid had felt like finally being able to see those chains, and slide her hands out of them. She threw them in all those nobles’ faces as she stepped on the path to another future, a future not beneath, amongst or above them, but independent from them. How sweet that freedom was, and how easily it could’ve been missed... Her journey with Petra that lead her to where she was now felt too pure to have happened amongst all the fights and burdens. Sometimes, she felt as if Petra had just taken her wrist and pulled her out of the madness of conventions; but then she remembered that it was actually her who had first approached the princess. With her, more than with anyone else, she had never felt the need to act a certain way. A huge part of the reason for that was probably that Petra’s mind was free from noble prejudice, even now that she had become ruler. Dorothea could tell that she determined a person’s worth not by assumption, but by what she saw; and she always tried to see the truth. And so she had seen Dorothea’s truth, where others had recoiled from what they thought they knew she was. The only other person she could think of that looked through her like that was the professor; they, too, had no prejudice at all. But really, they had too many strange powers that honestly, she was sometimes a little too frightened by. Petra, on the other hand... must be one hell of a nightmare to her enemies, but to her, she was not the least bit intimidating. She put her at ease more than anyone, or anything else she’d ever encountered.
Curling into a ball on the bed, the brown-haired woman frowned at the thought of what would have become of her, had they not bonded. Inevitably, her proposal to Hubert struck her mind and she giggled. Well, if that had been how things played out... she honestly didn’t imagine it to be too bad a future. It might’ve been interesting, at least. She could not help but engulf in that fantasy for some time, imagining her and Hubert at Edelgard’s and the professor’s side. It felt more than absurd, though she genuinely wondered if they wouldn’t have been able to find something in each other. He was much more complex than she had thought him to be at first; ruthless for sure, but with a deeper emotional intelligence than he allowed others to see. Even now she was still interested in him, or should one call it intrigued by him... It was certainly not romantic interest, but rather curiosity in how that dark — and sometimes not so dark — mind of his worked. In any way, she could not deny that she missed him and Edelgard, and the rest of their companions. She was glad there was no reason to go to war alongside them anymore, but remembering their interactions, even the sad ones, made her smile.
She started to think that maybe for a short while, she did have a place in Fódlan, or rather a place in the eye of the hurricane that was breaking the steel ties of Fódlan. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how much of a home the group and their common aim had been to her. Perhaps the moment she joined the rebellion had truly been the moment she had broken her chains to the system, and what she finally freed herself from when she left the nation was only the burden left on her mind, the chains of her memories. Really, what a restless nomad she had been in that odyssey of a life... but at last she had settled, at least for some time. She had a base now from which to move forward.
The sun had almost completely set, and her last glow submerged the room in a deep orange sea. Dorothea swam in it, enjoying not having any thoughts for a short while. At peace, she was about to drift away completely, when she suddenly felt the sheets moving. Quietly and softly, a body moved close to her, two arms hugged her from behind, and finally a head leaned against her shoulder. Dorothea relaxed into Petra’s arms, the dark red afterglow of the sun kissing her through her eyelids. “How was it”, she mumbled, almost inaudibly.
Petra didn’t respond and instead started to play with her hair. She pulled at its tips softly. “So short.” She ran her fingers through and Dorothea shivered. “Well... sorry”, she hissed under accelerated breath as the fingers started to dance on the back of her neck. Then she froze as hot breath hit her sensitive skin. “I like it.” it whispered. “I’m the first one to see this Dorothea, and the first and only one to have her.” The lips hit her neck, and she could feel them moving as they repeated: “I like that.” The words hung between them, stuck in the hot air between their bodies. All was silent except for their breaths. Dorothea started to feel every part of her body, brimming with the need to move, but Petra’s clear voice unexpectedly broke the silence again, and in it was something that resembled a soft summer breeze. It took away all her tension at once, and replaced it with something warm and soothing. It was as if a new moment broke, one that required seriousness. The queen had turned her head away from her neck, and her words filled the room like a clean spring of water, so earnest that Dorothea felt she had thought about them well, and waited for the right moment to say them:
“When I came to the academy”, she began, “I thought I would return to Brigid all alone. I was prepared to defend against everyone, even my classmates. But you... came to my side. You had own goals, but still you always had support for me, too... You have a big heart, Dorothea. That you came back with me made me the happiest in my entire life.” She paused, and Dorothea breathed quietly, listening carefully. Petra’s voice was unusually soft when she continued: “All the money I have is for Brigid, and my fighting and my work is for Brigid, but I... am for you. And if you are for me... I mean with me, then I can give all those other things away. It’s easy to give them away. As long as I have your kindness, and our fun conversations.” Suddenly she chuckled. “And your body next to me.” she added playfully and tightened her grip around Dorothea’s waist.
“Mmmmh if you are for me, then I don’t need anything more”, the woman in her arms mumbled, smiling, and grabbed Petra’s hands, pulling her even closer so their bodies were pressed against each other.
“Then you should marry me.” Petra said.
Dorothea choked on her own spit, but she was allowed no time to react. What an absolutely Petra thing to do, was the only gasping thought she could make before she felt the weight on the bed shifting as Petra swung her leg over, and at once an athletic body weighed down on her stomach. She looked up, and met eyes that sparkled aggressively at her, and beneath them a smile whose cockiness would massacre Claude’s. She opened her mouth, but a finger was on her lip. Her breath cut off immediately. Petra’s smile grew more self-satisfied, if that was even possible. She liked throwing Dorothea off, then seeing her derailed like that. It was her second favorite thing, right after perfecting a difficult swords move. Though training could never give her a reward as sweet as this. Too sweet not to play around a little more. Sensually, she stroked the hair in her girlfriend’s face back and grabbed it, held it in her hand on the top of her head, and pinned her down with her eyes. You belong to me, they said.
Dorothea took a heavy breath. Goddess, she loved when Petra was possessive like that, but she forced herself to remember there was something else to think about. Before she could think about it, though, a tiny round shiny thing was suddenly put before her eyes, and threw her off completely again. She blinked, and focused. A golden ring. Petra was holding it in her face as if she was trying to feed it to her. The mood suddenly shifted and she could not help but to snort with laughter. This was ridiculous, so ridiculously blunt it could really only be done by Petra, that fearless, shameless queen of Brigid Petra.
“Isn’t that how you do these things in Fódlan?” That Petra now asked confidently, completely indifferent to her girlfriend’s amusement. “It... no, it is”, Dorothea replied, trying very hard not to break out laughing. Petra, who in fact did not like being made fun of, tightened her grip in her girlfriend’s hair, pulling her head back a bit. Then she leaned forward and their eyes met again. Their faces grew close. Very close. Dorothea held her breath, run over by Petra’s aggressiveness again, as well as the beautiful fierceness of her face, and the disgustingly attractive self-content of her expression.
“Marry me.” Petra whispered, dangerously softly. “Marry me, Dor.”
“T- that’s unfair, calling me that!” Dorothea called out highly agitated, in disbelief her girlfriend would shamelessly use her weakness against that nickname in such a way. She was trapped in a spiraling pool of her emotions, but with the biggest stupid smile on her face. Desperately, she mustered all her physical strength and rolled sideways, and Petra rolled with her and fell down next to her again. Finally able to breathe, Dorothea stared across the room and through the shape of the window, which she could barely make out in the almost complete blackness of the evening that had descended into night. “Marry...” she murmured to herself. It was hard to say after all. But hearing it from her own mouth she suddenly knew for sure she wouldn’t ever want to say it to anyone else but that woman next to her, who knew her, loved her, and showed her how addictive life could be. The woman she could admire and laugh about at the same time. The woman she loved. As Petra hugged her again, she huddled up against her. “Of course I will.” she whispered into her arms.
Petra said nothing more. A blissful smile was on her face as they lied silently for a while. But eventually she grew tired of the silence because it made her sleepy and she didn’t want to sleep, so following a spontaneous amusing thought she mumbled into her fiancée’s back: “Did you hear Bernadetta and Hubert married?” Her tone implied that she knew Dorothea didn’t hear. As expected, her fiancée jumped up immediately. “They... what.” she repeated and her voice fell so deep it sounded as if she wanted to summon Hubert with it. “I heard someone mention it today, but apparently it was about a month ago”, Petra went on, not hiding her amusement. Dorothea, meanwhile, sat up completely in disbelief. She was somehow not surprised Hubert had kept that from her, but she still couldn’t believe he had the heart not to mention it, not even with a single word. It was so like him that it ticked her off even more, but at the same time she couldn’t be angry at him being himself. “That... blockhead...” she cursed, actually very happy for him. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get invited to our wedding!” Sulking, she fell back down onto the bed, knowing she would, of course, invite him to the wedding. And he’d better come if he wanted to hear from her ever again.
“But it’s funny, isn’t it?” Petra said. “Him and Bernadetta.” “Mmh”, Dorothea replied after a moment of consideration. “But I think I can understand what they see in each other. They both have this wall around them, you know? They don’t open up easily. Maybe... they managed to see each other behind them. They’re both more perceptive than you’d think.”
“So... they’re a little bit like us.” Petra said, and Dorothea was once more surprised by how perceptive she, too, could be. “Yes”, she said. “Like us.” She smiled, and remembered when all of them had just met, most of them thinking they immediately knew who all of the others were, until step by step they discovered everyone’s hidden demons behind the surface. All of them, in some way, had seen a piece of truth of each other... And some of them, apparently, had found a piece of themselves, too. Dorothea was glad, truly glad — that the war had left all of them with something to move forward with. Though she was convinced she was the luckiest of them all.
Petra, too, thought a lot about their time at the academy, about the people they had been. Their dreams back then - or perhaps she should call them aspirations - and the roles they grew into. Did they align? “Hey, Dor”, she mumbled against Dorothea’s neck, curled around the other woman’s body again with both her arms holding it possessively. She felt soft hair tips tickle the top of her nose as she said: “I was thinking about when we first got closer, and I found something funny. You know, in the end, you will marry money.”
“Oh, Petra.” Dorothea chuckled, unable to prevent the stupid wide grin spreading on her face because her fiancée’s voice saying her nickname still made her heart do a backflip. Then she whispered, quietly and earnestly: “No. I won’t marry money. I’ll marry you. You made me forget about money.”
Petra had not expected those words. They put her heart in a weird place - It was beating fast just like in battle, but at the same time she felt more safe and relieved than she had ever thought possible. She, too, felt that some part of her had finally come to rest. She had been chosen not only by her fate. She had a place not only in her destiny. She had a home right there in that bed, in that woman’s heart. And Dorothea, too, had finally found a place she could call home. A home not for her body, or the face she had built for the public... No, Petra had given her something she had never even had the hope to search for: A home for her true, flawed, loving self.