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If Pearl were to dream, it would be of rapt aristocratic gazes, refracted and distorted through soap bubbles. Diamonds, on the best days, eyebrows raised, mouths open in astonishment, even the occasional hand reaching for a bubble.
She could make wonderful shapes with those bubbles, once upon a time—it was one of her only redeeming qualities—and she knew they were wonderful because of the ways these other, better Gems would look at them, smile. Then, Pearl would contort herself into shapes around them, spin them into patterns which would glimmer in the gentle light that always seemed to shine on that Sky Arena, and crowds of betters would watch. Pearl would find herself in the reflection of her situated in their eyes.
As it happens, Pearl doesn’t dream. She doesn’t know how. But that doesn’t matter— lately, everything feels like what she supposes a dream might: not entirely real, and fragile like a soap bubble, prone to popping if one twitch is out of place.
(And she is entirely out of place.)
But Pearl doesn’t need bubble similes to understand dreaming. She may not do it herself—indeed she may not sleep at all—but she’s familiar, after weeks on this strange planet, with the concept. When she’d first arrived she’d encountered some of the local organics—humans—who’d apparently come to the newly completed Gem settlement as volunteers. It had been what they called night—when this part of Earth was facing away from its sun, so it was dark, and the humans layed on the ground in what appeared to be small thermal pouches, unconscious.
“It’s weird, right?” someone said, as Pearl stood on the Warp Pad, gawking over them. “That they just shut-off like that for half the day?”
And when Pearl turned around, to see the owner of that voice, she’d nearly fallen over. Her hands flew to a salute. Her Lapis Lazuli.
“We don’t do that here.”
“Oh.” On second glance, Pearl realized that it wasn’t, in fact, her Lapis Lazuli. This Lapis had a form that was dressed differently--pants instead of a dress, adorned in various places with flecks of gold. Ostentations that her Lapis would never tolerate. But more importantly, this Lapis’s gemstone wasn’t visible from where Pearl stood frozen—it wasn’t on her torso. Was it on her back? Nonetheless, a Lapis…
The Lapis proceeded to tour Pearl around the settlement she had built with a Peridot and a Bismuth for Gems on Earth. Little Homeworld. And as Pearl trailed behind her, Gems poured out of their dwellings, Sapphires and Rubies and Quartzes, and others as well, all facets and cuts, some of them distorted or with odd hues. They were happy, it seemed, joking with one another, secure in who they were, wanting each other…
And suddenly the joy of the moment evaporated like a popped bubble. Pearl knew, intuitively, that she could never be among these Gems in this strange place. Tearing herself away from the Lapis required several attempts, but eventually she managed it. And when she did, she bolted away, out of the settlement and into the dark air.
If anyone called after her, Pearl didn’t hear it.
It’s weeks before she sees another Gem.
“Well, there you are!”
Pearl starts. She’d been sitting on the beach, some distance away from the human settlement, gazing out at the ocean with something like longing and enraptured by the way it had seemed to move itself, when the shadow of the other Gem appeared on the sand next to her, a formidable and looming presence.
For an instant, as she turns toward her, Pearl feels the urge to salute. But, scoffing at herself, she manages to suppress it just as quickly. (A Lapis was one thing, but even before, she would have never saluted another Pearl—even one who had belonged to a Diamond.)
“Do you know how long it took me to walk here from the nearest Warp Pad?!” the Pearl who had been Yellow Diamond’s demands. “And how long I was looking for you?”
“You were…looking for me?”
“Yes, well, Pin—that is, the Renegade—thought that I should talk to you, and once she gets an idea in her head, it’s easier not to argue with her.”
“The…The Renegade knows who I am?”
“She knows all of us, here. Especially Pearls.” She pauses, as though expecting a response, and when Pearl doesn’t provide, she prods her. “You used to dance.”
Pearl’s eyes skit away. “Did she tell you that?”
Yellow seems to take this question as a denial, and her voice rings out like an accusation. “I used to see you. My—that is, Yellow Diamond—would go to that colony specifically to watch you, and she hardly ever did that sort of thing, so there’s no use deny—”
“I know.” Pearl’s hand finds her gemstone, caresses it longingly, acutely aware of the sinking hole she feels inside it. It’s not new of course, this emptiness. But it’s gained strength since her so-called liberation, and she feels it more now than she has in millennia. “Yes. I used to dance.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of! I model! It’s…fun.”
“I’m not ashamed. I made them…I made the Diamonds happy.”
“How about you?” Yellow sits down beside her, softening, and Pearl feels her shoulders tense.
(To be this close to a Pearl who had served a Diamond, faithfully served a Diamond, had never left her side…to have such a Pearl sympathize with her…while she had…even the Gem she had been built for hadn’t even…)
Pearl blinks. “What?”
“The dancing—did it make you happy?”
“I don’t…I don’t think I understand.”
“Stars, I forgot how difficult this was.” Yellow pinches the bridge of her nose. “How did you feel when you were dancing.”
“How did I feel?”
“Yes…You know, in your gemstone. How did your pearl feel?”
“Well…” Pearl considers. “I suppose it depended.”
“On what?”
“On...well...on who was watching me. If they were smiling.” She pauses, as if waiting for the other Gem to respond—with a smirk, a condemnation. But she doesn’t. Instead, she raises an eyebrow, and says nothing, holds the silence. Eventually Pearl continues. “If it was a high-ranking Gem…like a Sapphire, or one of the Diamonds—they would come to watch, sometimes—if they seemed to enjoy it…then, I would feel a…a lurch in my gemstone that almost felt good.”
“Almost felt good?”
Pearl glances away. It’s embarrassing, shameful really, to admit that even the approval of the Diamonds hadn’t been enough for her—and even more shameful to admit it to this Pearl who had been built for a Diamond…
“Well, it doesn’t matter!” Yellow interjects, startling Pearl out of her thoughts. “The dancing itself—didn’t that make you feel something? Even if no one was watching?”
“I…If no one was watching, I…I didn’t do it.”
“Never?”
“Well, I suppose, occasionally to practice, but beyond that—”
“And how did that feel?”
“I…Well…” When Pearl practiced, she’d visualized the eyes on her when they weren’t there in person, tweaked her performance to what would make the Diamonds (the Lapises) whom she’d built in her mind’s eye the happiest. Her mind, her body...they never even factored into consideration. “I never thought about it.”
“Uch!” Yellow throws her hands up into the air, and Pearl starts. “No, I apologize,” continues Yellow. “It’s just…I was just like you when I first arrived on Earth, and it’s frustrating to see—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Yellow responds, brashly. And when she continues, there’s a trepidation, an awkwardness to her that Pearl had never seen from her—either from afar eons ago, or in these few moments they’ve been together up close—and certainly one that she had never imagined that a Diamond’s Pearl, built for perfection, would ever exhibit.
“When Era 3 first began,” Yellow continues. “When I got here, I didn’t comprehend it either, but the Renegade helped me to understand.” A swallow. She tenses, then grits her teeth and continues. “I…I was used to being invisible. My Dia—Yellow Diamond didn’t like frills, so…before…I existed primarily to be functional. That’s what made her happy. I wasn’t to be heard or seen more than I needed to be to complete the tasks that Yellow Diamond ordered me to complete, and I certainly didn’t exist to be watched or admired.” Another pause. “I didn’t know that that was something that I wanted. I didn’t know that I wanted anything at all. But I did. It was. And it wasn’t until I let myself be admired that I realized that…I’m me. I’m not just something someone—even a Diamond—owned. That I had wants and desires, outside of my Diamond’s. I’m a Gem too. I was—am—free.
“It’s different for you, I’d imagine, because you were looked at for so long. It was different for Blue, as well. In Era 1, Blue Diamond would often order her to dance and sing, so now that she knows how to want, she finds that that is not something she wishes to continue to do. But perhaps for you—”
“I was never ordered to dance.” Pearl finds her voice at last.
“What?”
“I was never ordered to dance. I…I was told to stay. My Lapis never…It was a great honor for a Lapis Lazuli to be given a Pearl, of course, but I wasn’t…I never…she brought me to the Sky Arena on that distant colony and told me I might as well stay there. And then she left.
“She used to carve wonderful things out of planets with water, I saw her do it sometimes. It was like a dance, she made the water dance, and she danced…” Longing creeps into Pearl’s voice. “And I had my bubble wand, so I thought…I…if I created something that was beautiful enough, if I created…if I carved myself into something beautiful enough…even if she didn’t want to bring me with her, I thought she’d come back to see me, and smile. Maybe I’d be able to make her happy, just for a moment…but she never…”
When Pearl looks up, Yellow’s eyes are watery, but when she speaks, her voice is resoundingly clear, even matter-of-fact. “I’d say it wasn’t your fault, but I know you wouldn’t believe me. You’re not there yet. But you will be.”
“How?!” It’s only in asking that Pearl realizes that she wants an answer, wants to get there, wants. She wants. This is itself a paradigm shift, and a big one. Pearl feels a lurch, something pulling at her gemstone, her eyes widen, she blinks…
Yellow seems to recognize the sensation, and she smirks. “You learn to want. Then you learn what you want. What you find fun. Then, after all of that, you finally realize that you’re you.”
“I…” But Pearl’s voice fades away, blends into and is shortly overpowered by the sounds of the ocean crashing down.
“I think,” her companion says. “If dancing with your bubbles made you feel good, or you think it could, you should try it again. And I think you should speak to Lapis Lazuli.”
Pearl’s head shoots up.
“Not that Lapis Lazuli. The rebel one, who helped build Little Homeworld. She…creates things. For herself. Have you met her?”
Pearl hesitates. Not only had she met her, she’d saluted her, been too intimidated to even speak, and then at the first sign of discomfort, she’d run from her company. But, if she wants (she wants!) to believe that she is whole and enough all on her own, then the best person to trust would be another Pearl, one who had come to that same understanding about herself. Even one who had belonged to a Diamond.
Even if that means facing a Lapis Lazuli again.
“Yes,” Pearl responds, finally. “I have.”
When Pearl enters the workshop with the same gossamer gait she always used to dance with, the Lapis doesn’t turn from her sculpture in acknowledgement. For an instant, Pearl presumes this is because she didn’t hear her, begins to muster the courage to announce herself, when, still not turning, the sardonic voice of the Gem before her speaks. “Took you long enough.”
Pearl freezes. For an instant, she moves to salute, but restraining herself, settles for pulling her arms to attention at her sides instead.
“Pearl—I mean, the yellow one—said you’d probably come,” Lapis continues, eyes still fixed on her sculpture. “She also told me what happened to you. Probably more than she should have, but that’s her for you.”
The Lapis chuckles with a note of bitterness, and a shiver runs through Pearl’s gem. “I gotta admit, it’s weird to think about a Lapis Lazuli with a Pearl. I don’t think I’d have wanted one either, even back before I knew that it was, ya know, wrong.”
Pearl’s gemstone lurches, aches, and she wants to reach up to grip it. But she’s in the presence of a Lapis, and she can’t…
“But.” Lapis sighs. “That doesn’t mean you deserved what happened to you. You didn’t. Just being left like that? It sucks. And it wasn’t your fault.”
Pearl’s jaw slackens. She feels herself gape.
As she does, two nearly identical shapes—wisps of water, perhaps?—begin to emerge from the stone that the Lapis is carving. “She also said,” Lapis continues. “That you probably wanted to make morp. Went on-and-on about the dancing, what you did with bubbles. Why.” More shapes appear in the slab of stone, a head? The beginnings of a torso? “Lapis Lazulis were built to destroy. On some level, me creating this stuff is a pretty Rebel thing to do. Which makes sense, I guess, because I am a Crystal Gem. That other Pearl was supposed to be invisible, and now she models so that everyone will look at her. Rebel move. But you—you were made to mimic that other Lapis, right? Make her happy? But a Lapis, as she was programmed, would never have created things, created herself, like you used to.”
It’s too much—Pearl already knows she is a failure, has been holding this truth in her gem for eons, but to hear it outloud, from a Lapis Lazuli’s lips…
“But you weren’t rebelling. You were trying to make her happy. Which means that, all that stuff you made, it all came from you. It was you." Another chunk of marble falls to the floor at the strike of Lapis’s mallet. “Sometimes, it’s not about building yourself into someone new, turning yourself into a rebel, creating yourself. It can be, for some of us. But sometimes, it’s just about finding the you that’s already in there.”
Lapis stands, sets down her mallet at the foot of the sculpture before her. It’s her, a self-portrait in three dimensions, steely gaze pointing forward, wings raised, a grin on her lips. (It’s her, a Lapis, not her Lapis, but this Lapis, an entity infinite all on her own.)
(Am…I…an entity infinite all on my own? The question settles on Pearl’s gem, dangerous, exhilarating, fluttery, crashing like waves…)
“I don’t like mirrors. This is easier.” Lapis turns to Pearl at last. “What do you think of my morp?”
“I think…” When Pearl finds her voice, it’s raspy from disuse and anxiety, but it grows in strength as she speaks. “That it matters more what you think.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Lapis smirks.
Pearl stands on the beach alone, bubble wand loose in her hand.
It’s night again on this part of the Earth, and the waves are more still now. Their sounds are quiet too, laps more than crashes.
The breeze hums.
Pearl breathes.
The bubbles appear from her wand as easily as they ever had. They float around her, catch the moonlight and the starlight, hang suspended in fantastical and fluid shapes. Then—slowly at first, but ever-gaining in speed—she begins to move with them, and they with her, and she twists—builds—herself into shapes around them.
And there is joy. Had there always been this joy, when she danced? Had she been so distracted by the eyes looking at her that she had never seen it?
This is, she realizes, an act of finding. A recovery of Eras-old creation that she’d buried so deep inside that hole in her gemstone that she’d forgotten it was there at all. A version of herself that she’d crafted in suffering, in a desperate hope to be wanted by the Gem for whom she’d been built—and one who had never left her, even if her Lapis had. She’d been buried, that self, and amidst so much else—programming and pain and fear—but she’d been there. Perhaps this is who she wants to be. And if she wants to, she can carve all the rest of that away. A dream that in this dreamlike Era, can cross the threshold into her personal reality...
Pearl gasps. The bubbles glisten at her fingertips. Pearl sways with them. Together, they spin.
In several hours, she will pace to Little Homeworld, and when she does, she will be welcomed. Gems of all facets and cuts and shades will pour out from their dwellings to greet her, gemstones glimmering in the pink glow of the rising sun. Even the human volunteers will smile at her as they wake, yawning and blinking, from their strange slumber. Pearl will feel these smiles and these greetings in her gemstone, not like a hole, but something else, something new and good and that she will have eons to explore.
They won’t make her feel whole, though. That will begin to happen earlier—is beginning now. Now, there is only her, toes in the sand, hands and eyes raised. She doesn’t think of tomorrow. In this moment, there’s nothing and no one to see beyond the bubbles but the stars, a limitless sky, a crowd of herself smiling over and over again in their nearly infinite reflections.