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There is a man in Tompkins Square Park.

This is, on its own, not unusual. Men and women pass through every day. Most of them are lucky enough to pass through without meeting any of the Furies. Even the unlucky rarely know that they’ve encountered a Fury. All they know is that they are forced to reckon with something that they are suppressing, whether that’s sorrow or despair or rage.

Most people don’t see the Furies. Most of those who can see the Furies avoid them. The Furies do not resent this. They have enough opportunity to touch those around them, those who will never know that they walk through the Unsleeping City. They do not need to be seen by those who are awake.

Which is why it is a surprise that there is a man in Tompkins Square Park, looking for them. He doesn’t say as much, but the three of them can see him scanning around like he’s searching for something. It’s unheard of. Nobody seeks out the Furies.

Sorrow is the one who goes to meet him. She can’t say why, but she feels like she has to. She steps out into the grass as he approaches, and he stops, looking surprised. “Esther?”

“No,” she says simply. “I am Sorrow. And you are sorrowful.”

“Am I?”

“I can see that within you.”

“Are you planning on doing something about it?”

Sorrow stops and tilts her head. She supposes it would be easy enough to do something here, to touch the sorrow in his heart. She could help him grieve, if he were ready. But she can see the shape of it inside him already, locked tightly, squirming. Alive.

She steps closer. “No,” she says again. “Tell me your name.”

He swallows. “You really don’t remember?”

“I’ve only ever known sorrow.”

“I knew you before that.”

“I didn’t exist before that.”

“You did,” he says earnestly. She thinks if this were a different man, a lesser man, there would be something sad to it, a crack in his heart that she could try to drive a wedge into. But if there’s something there it’s hidden deeper than she can touch it right now. “I knew you before, Esther.”

“I didn’t exist before,” she repeats, certain as ever. “I am Sorrow, and that is the end of it.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He steps closer, and Sorrow steps back in surprise, and he goes still, hands held up carefully as though he is afraid of scaring her. As though he ever could. “I have to go. I just wanted to see how bad it was.”

“And how bad is it?”

“Not good,” he says, and there’s something candid to it that makes Sorrow want to smile, which is alarming on its own. “My name is Ricky Matsui. Do you remember that?”

“I don’t.” But she takes a moment to look at him, up and down, inside and outside. She tries to look inside him one last time and there is sorrow there, but she can see that it is carefully cradled, somewhere kept safe from anyone who he doesn’t want to see it.

Sorrow wonders, briefly, if he wants her to see it.

“Ricky Matsui,” she says again, and tries to commit his face to memory. She doesn’t have much of a memory, these days. Nothing beyond what she needs to see around her. “You are welcome back to Tompkins Square Park any time you’d like to come. I’d like to get to know your sorrow.”

“You can,” he says, and it’s staggeringly earnest. “As long as that means I can come back.”

Sorrow stares at him in - not quite in shock, but in something close to it. He smiles at her. “I just wanted to see,” he explains, softer this time. “But I’m going to come back. Can you trust me on that, Esther?”

Esther does not exist. There is no Esther here. There’s nobody standing close to them. She wants to shout that there is no Esther.

“I suppose I have no choice but to believe you,” Sorrow says, and when Ricky Matsui smiles, it is close to blinding.

#

The story of the Furies begins like this:

Once upon a time there was nothing, and then there was Despair.

(Sorrow has been told before that this is not the beginning of all cycles, simply the beginning of her cycle. But she sees no reason to learn cycles before her time, just like she will not see the need for the cycles afterwards. So as far as she bothers to think about, there was nothing until there was Despair.)

When Despair entered the world, all she knew was herself. She had traces of a life before, traces of something that she had once been, but she had no substance. The only thing that she had was despair, and she clung to it, tooth and nail, until she could pull herself up, until she could leverage that.

For many years, Despair was alone, and she took despair in that fact. She reached out and touched those who passed by her, and they felt despair as well. For some it was enlightening; for most it was a pathway to darkness, and Despair took further despair in her inability to help. She was alone; she was not enough.

And after many years, there was Rage. She entered, bright and burning, but their group was not complete, and so she took rage in that fact. She was scarred by something she could not remember, a haze that obscured history, and so she reached out and spread that rage to those around her. Hers was a righteous anger, inspiring those around them to take a stand, to harness their fire within. Yet for those who took a stand, the world stood against them, and so Rage felt further rage.

Despair and Rage, at least, could be together. They were not complete, but neither were they alone. They were not in balance, but they were in harmony, enough so that they could work. And yet they were two, and not three. They were a part, and not yet a whole.

But many years later still, there was Sorrow. She was born drowning and broken, and Despair and Rage took her in their hands and called her daughter and told her she was home. They told her that she was what they needed, that she was here to complete them, and they would complete her. They told her that there were ways forward if only she would let them show her. They held her as she cried and cried and told her how to pass her sorrow along, how to use it to help.

To be a Fury is not to hurt others - at least, not always. To be a Fury is to see yourself reflected in the hearts of those around you. To be a Fury is to reach inside and try to unlock that sorrow, that rage, that despair, and let it fly free. To be a Fury is to try to touch those who need the darkest parts of themselves, bottled up too deep to use, and give them a new tool. To be a Fury is to try to teach survival.

Sorrow tried. Sorrow still tries, in fact. She can see those in need of sorrow, those who have something dripping and hollow locked inside their chest, those who will survive when it floods them. She tries to reach out and touch them and lets them feel that sorrow, tries to let it guide them, and she so rarely uses it well.

Despair tells her this is the way of things at the beginning, and she should not lose hope. Rage tells her that she is young and learning, and she should allow herself time to adjust. Sorrow simply grieves those that she hurts. What else is there to do?

Despair has had time to make peace. Rage has had time to mellow. Sorrow has not had time. Sorrow is new, and she is young, and she aches. Sorrow is so full of pain that she thinks she might drown in it one day. She wishes she understood what was hurting her.

#

Ricky Matsui returns on what is supposed to be a normal day.

Sorrow is supposed to be hunting. She’s drifting through the park, by the basketball courts. She can feel Rage to the south, with her eyes on a target, and Despair to the east, ready to lay down hands. But Sorrow has never been good at this part: the finding. Everyone, it seems, is full of sorrow, and she doesn’t know how to leverage it yet.

And then she feels sorrow. A familiar sorrow. Which is not entirely unusual - Tompkins Square Park, after all, is quite popular, and she sees some people regularly. Some of them she has sat with more than once and helped them grieve. But this is something she knows intimately - far too intimately, considering the context.

Sorrow turns.

Ricky is sitting on a bench, watching her. He looks… not smaller, exactly, but more uncertain as he sits still. He waves slightly at her.

“You’re back,” Sorrow says. She’s not sure what else there is to say.

“Yeah.” Ricky pats the spot on the bench next to him. “Do you want to sit with me?”

“No,” Sorrow says, and sits anyways. She faces straight ahead, not looking at him. “You think you knew me.”

“I do.”

“You might have, but you do not anymore.”

“You wear a size nine shoe,” Ricky says, which is strange enough that Sorrow turns to look at him. “Ana and Amelia made jokes about it.”

“I don’t know them.”

“That’s okay. I can tell you.”

“What would you say if I asked you not to?”

Ricky frowns. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I want you to make your own choices, but I don’t think you understand that you’re not capable of that right now.”

“I’m capable of a great many things,” Sorrow says. She considers pushing into his heart, just to make the point, but that seems unkind, and something in her doesn’t want to be unkind to this man. “Why would you think me incapable?”

“Because,” Ricky says, and when he smiles she can see how sad it is. “I don’t actually know your shoe size. And neither do you. And that’s okay, but it’s not normal.”

“A Fury doesn’t need shoes,” Sorrow points out. It’s not the most compelling argument she’s ever made, and she’s almost horrified by how childish it sounds. “And a Fury also doesn’t - we don’t-”

“Are you lonely?” Ricky says suddenly.

Sorrow blinks. “I am not alone.”

“No, of course not, you have your mom and your grandma, but Esther-” he leans in, not too close, not careful enough. “Are you lonely?”

Sorrow has Despair and Rage. Sorrow has herself. Sorrow has everyone around her and their sadness, which is hers too, hers to touch and feel and mold.

“Yes,” she admits at last. “Terribly.”

“I’m sorry,” Ricky says. “Do you want to be friends?”

“I don’t know that I’m capable of having friends.”

“Do you want to try?”

“Ricky Matsui,” Sorrow says quietly. “I don’t know how to try.”

He smiles at her. It’s far too bright. She wonders if he knows that she can sense how sad he is, the way that he is wailing underneath the surface. She wonders if he cares that she knows. “When I knew you, you didn’t want to be close to me. You were worried that it would make you sad, and turn you into Sorrow.”

She frowns. “I didn’t want to be Sorrow?”

“No, I don’t think you did.” He pauses. “I mean, you never said that directly to me, but I think it makes sense.”

“Was it a choice?”

“It was something you controlled as long as you could.”

“I see,” Sorrow says, and a couple tears slip down her cheeks. Ricky’s face drops into an alarmed expression, but she waves him off. “This is who I am, even if it is not who I was.”

“I know,” Ricky says. He lifts a hand to her cheek, but Sorrow shifts away from him before he makes contact. He doesn’t lower it, just looks at her. “I care about who you are. I just also care about who you were, even if you don’t remember that person right now.”

“Why?” Sorrow says, surprised. “Who was that person?”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” Ricky promises. “I have to go. I think your grandma’s not happy that I’m here.”

Sure enough, when Sorrow looks, Despair is staring at them from across the park. She sighs. “You should leave.”

“I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

“Esther.” He pauses. “Thank you.”

“I’m not Esther,” Sorrow says. It’s as gentle as she can make it, although she can’t say why she wants to give him gentleness. “Be careful, Ricky Matsui. Not all creatures of the Unsleeping City will be as generous as I am.”

“Nobody else out there is like you,” Ricky says. It’s so shockingly sweet that Sorrow can’t say anything in response. She just watches him leave, watches him curl his fingers so he doesn’t reach out to touch her.

He loves Esther, she realizes. As sister or friend or lover, Sorrow doesn’t know. She just knows that she’s wearing the face of somebody that Ricky cared about.

“He’s sad,” Despair says. She settles on the bench next to Sorrow. “You haven’t helped him.”

“He knew me,” Sorrow says. She knows she shouldn’t, that it’s taboo in some way or another to bring up the time before the Furies. But she’s confused. A few more tears fall down her face as she turns to Despair. “Before I was born as Sorrow. He says I didn’t want to be.”

“You didn’t know,” Despair says gently. “You and Rage, the both of you, came to visit me before you were born. You spoke of bringing me back. You didn’t understand yet.”

“What if I don’t understand now?”

Despair settles a hand on Sorrow’s shoulder. It is not a reassurance. “You will,” she says, and Sorrow can’t be certain if she means it as promise or as threat. “None of us can be unborn. You have no choice but to learn.”

#

There’s a woman standing at the edge of the park. Sorrow passes her by, because clearly this one is marked by Rage, and she won’t interfere with that. But the woman looks at her, which is… strange.

She doesn’t say anything, though, not until the third time that Sorrow passes her. Rage is still across the park; Sorrow wonders if it would be a breach in etiquette to point out an easy target. She’s beginning to decide that it wouldn’t be so bad, because clearly there’s nothing here today for Sorrow, when the woman sighs noisily and says, “It’s so much worse than I thought.”

Sorrow pauses in her lap around the park to look at her, and the woman looks back. There’s something in her eyes that seems like irritation, and something deeper that looks like worry. There’s sorrow in her heart, certainly, but she wears her rage like a second skin. It’s something to behold.

“I don’t understand,” Sorrow says slowly.

“No, I bet you wouldn’t,” the woman says, and promptly begins rummaging in her purse. She’s dressed comfortably, other than what look like impossibly high heels, and her eyeliner is smudged. She gives Sorrow a look like they’re on the inside of some kind of joke together. “You know how Ricky is, he’s all, ‘Sofie, I’m worried about Esther!’ which he did sometimes before you got-” she waves a hand. “But I thought that it was just Ricky being all Ricky about it, but you know something? He was right, you look like a mess.”

“I’m not Esther,” Sorrow says. It comes out stiffer than she intends it to. “Who are you?”

She flashes a smile, not quite dazzling but still enthusiastic. “Sofia Lee, at your service. I’m with the Concrete Fist over on Staten Island, I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yeah, but you don’t get out much,” Sofia points out, which… is true. “I’m looking for something I got from a friend - well, a friend of a friend. I mean, a friend of someone I sort of know. I know a guy, he knew a guy-”

“Sofia Lee,” says Sorrow, and pushes slightly at the sorrow in her heart for good measure. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough that Sofia gasps and stops rummaging to look at her. “Why are you here?”

Sofia sighs. “Because we were friends,” she says, and it’s so much gentler than Sorrow was expecting that she finds herself taken aback. “And I’m still friends with Ricky, and god help him, he really wants to help you.”

“You’re here for Ricky?”

“I’m here for you, but making that big ol’ puppy dog smile is a nice bonus.” She turns to her purse, reaches in, and with a startling smoothness pulls out what looks like a compass. It’s old, engraved, incredibly nice. Incredibly magical. “Do you trust me?”

“I have no reason to trust you.”

“Do you want to be back to normal?”

“This is the only normal that I understand. I do not remember Esther. I may never remember her again.”

Sofia shrugs. “Okay, fine, suit yourself. Do you wanna fuck around with a magic item and see what happens?”

Sorrow looks down at the compass. There’s magic sparking off of it, something she can see if she squints her eyes exactly the right way. She can’t recognize the enchantment, but it’s powerful. Sofia must have powerful friends. And, despite herself, Sorrow is curious.

“Fine,” she says at last, and holds out a hand.

Sofia places the compass in Sorrow’s hand and gently folds her fingers around it. It’s warmer than she expects, more than skin-warm from Sofia holding it. “Okay,” she says. “This next part might be weird.”

“What next part?”

“With any luck, it’s going to help you find-

“Ana, Amelia,” Esther yells - and boy, when she wants to, she can yell with the best of them. It echoes through the halls. She can feel Alejandro laughing behind her. “You can’t just leave this place a pigsty, people need to work here!”

Ana shouts back something too faint for Esther to hear. She scowls in the direction of the door. “Fuckin’ teenagers,” she mutters, and Alejandro laughs even louder. “I don’t know how you put up with them.”

“Love,” Alejandro says solemnly. “Love, and the fact that I am an old man with very few options. One day you’ll understand.”

“I have enough options,” Esther says firmly. There’s something to the way that Alejandro says it that tugs at her heart, so she doesn’t turn around even though she badly wants to. Can’t let herself get carried away. “And you do too, so don’t get all melodramatic on me.”

“I’m not dramatic,” Alejandro says indignantly. “My granddaughters, they are dramatic. You, Esther, you are dramatic. I am not a dramatic man.”

“Right,” Esther says, flat and curt, and Alejandro starts laughing again. And Esther is relieved for a moment, a strange inexplicable emotion. She’s relieved to be here in this place that she knows so well, to be here with him and to know that she’s with someone who loves her, someone who knows her secrets, who can help her find-

“-your way home,” Sofia finishes.

Esther - no, Sorrow, she is Sorrow - gasps and drops the compass. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Sofia says, surprised. “It didn’t do anything for me. Did it show you something?”

“It showed me-” she swallows. “You need to leave.”

“Esther-”

“You need to leave,” says Despair, on Sorrow’s left.

“And you need to stay away,” says Rage, from her right.

Sorrow shifts so she’s standing a little more firmly, like having the ground under her will make her feel like Sorrow again. “You are not welcome here, Sofia Lee,” she says, soft and firm.

Sofia stoops down and grabs the compass. When she stands up there are tears in her eyes, and she looks only at Sorrow. “You’re welcome home any time,” she says, and Sorrow wants to reach into her heart and squeeze until she’s a leaking goddamn mess of sadness and hurt. “You just gotta call us and we’ll help get you there. All three of you, if you want it.”

“You are not welcome here,” Sorrow says again. Her voice is shaking now.

Sofia nods and goes without another word.

Despair’s hand finds its way to Sorrow’s left shoulder. Rage’s hand finds its way to her right. Sorrow suddenly feels small.

“I’d like to go,” she says, and they do, without so much as a whisper in the wind behind them.

#

Things… are not the same.

Oh, Despair and Rage certainly try to act normal. But Sorrow’s no fool. Neither of them stray as far from her as they used to. One of them is always within eyeshot, if not earshot. Sofia Lee has cost Sorrow the privilege of privacy.

Not that Sorrow blames them for their protectiveness, of course. She was shaken by the compass, to say the least. She hasn’t told either Rage or Despair about what happened, only that it was a lie. Sorrow has to believe that it was a lie.

The problem is that Ricky Matsui comes back. He doesn’t talk to Sorrow every time, which is even worse. Some days he talks to Rage or Despair, who will never share what they said to him. Some days he just sits and watches people.

One day Sorrow touches a young woman, just enough to inspire her to leave her relationship. She’s feeling the comfort of a job well done when Ricky Matsui sits down next to her and starts talking. By now Sorrow is far enough that she can’t hear, but she watches him talk to her. And Sorrow can feel the sadness bleeding out of the woman’s heart. She keeps crying, but she isn’t sad.  Sorrow knows in her heart that Ricky Matsui has interfered.

As soon as the young woman leaves Sorrow descends upon him. “Why did you do that?”

“Because she was hurting.”

“Hurting is a good thing.”

“Hurting other people doesn’t help them.”

“Healing them only makes them vulnerable again.”

Ricky gives her a strange look. “They’re vulnerable either way. Descending into sadness isn’t going to keep them from getting hurt more, they’re already hurt. I just thought she seemed sad.”

“That’s the point,” Sorrow snaps. “That is why I am here. You say that you respect that I am here now. Respect it. Let me do my work.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

It’s another strange question, one that catches her flat-footed. “It’s not about joy.”

“What’s it about?”

“Do not pretend to care.”

“I want to understand,” Ricky says, infuriatingly earnest. “It seems like this is something that’s important to you right now, and when I knew you-”

“You never knew me.”

“When I knew Esther she didn’t take pleasure in causing sadness.”

“It’s not about pleasure.”

Ricky just looks at her, patient and placid. Sorrow hates him in some ways. It must be nice to be able to stay calm and distant, to separate himself with such ease.

She lets out a breath. “My job as Sorrow is to inspire sadness in others so that they may use it.”

“Use it for what?”

“Whatever they need. Oftentimes sorrow is enough to convince someone that they need change, or help. It is my duty to push them in that direction.”

“But why sorrow? Or rage, or despair? Why not help them with kindness or compassion?”

“I am helping them,” she says sharply. “The sorrow is a help.”

Ricky shakes his head. “That’s not what Casey thought.”

“Who?”

“The woman both of us just talked to. She didn’t need sadness. She needed somebody to listen to her.”

Sorrow gets to her feet. She can feel both Rage and Despair approaching, and she steps back towards them. “We are guiding people,” she says, and she is close to shaking but she will not let Ricky Matsui know that he has made her falter. “Just because you cannot see it does not make you superior. It doesn’t mean you win.”

“I’m not winning,” Ricky says.

Sorrow thinks, as Despair and Rage pull her away, that it’s the saddest she’s heard him sound so far.

#

“Daughter, hunt,” says Despair, and Sorrow does her duty. Sorrow finds those who are aching and she helps their walls crumble. Sorrow causes the flood and she lets it baptize those who need it. Sorrow causes the flood, and she tries her hardest not to be swept away.

“Daughter, rest,” says Rage, and Sorrow does her diligence. Sorrow does not leave the park, but she basks in the silence. Sorrow is pure, herself and herself alone. Sorrow is in the stillest waters, and she will not let the waves break over her head.

And that is all she has. That is all she is. It is a lonely life, but it is hers.

#

Esther.

The shape of it feels wrong in her mouth. Too whispery, too flat. She likes the way Sorrow sounds: all smooth and round. Something too wide to swallow. Sorrow, a name that fits her.

It’s a comfort, having a name that is right. It is a comfort knowing that she is Sorrow and sorrow is her and they are one and the same. This is who she was meant to be. It is always who she was meant to be.

And yet.

And yet Ricky’s words stay with her in the following days. She sees him in the park but he never approaches her. He also never approaches someone that she speaks to again. She suspects that he understands that the breach he committed was unforgivable. But not even that is enough to stop him. He says hello to strangers. He takes selfies with people who recognize him. He plays with other people’s dogs.

Some days Sofia Lee comes with him, and ignores the way Rage and Despair glower. She compliments passers-by on their outfits and makeup, teaches them to throw a punch, hands out business cards. She and Ricky walk through the park together and greet people, eyes bright and laughter loud.

And there are more still. Some days there’s a young man with a small mustache and kind words for any children he sees. Some days there’s an older man with steady hands and a loud laugh. Some days there’s an effusive young woman that everyone stares at who sings under her breath constantly. And Ricky is there all the while, making friends. Making people happy.

It would be easy to blame Ricky — to blame all of them — for the fact that Sorrow is failing in her duties as a Fury. In fact, she’s tempted to do it even though it’s not true. Even Rage and Despair are struggling. The mere presence of all this positivity makes it harder for them to do their work.

Sorrow knows the truth, though. She has known for some time. Just because she is Sorrow and because she is sorrowful does not make her a perfect Fury. It feels like a failing, oftentimes. She can’t guide people. Ricky is doing significantly better at guiding strangers than Sorrow ever has, and he makes it look easy.

It would be easy to hate Ricky as well. Sorrow wants to. But she can’t. And she’s afraid to wonder too long why she can’t.

#

Sorrow recognizes the twins. As soon as they’re in the park, she feels something go up her spine, not quite a chill or a shiver. Despair and Rage don’t recognize them; why would they? Sorrow never told them about the compass. Sorrow never told them about remembering.

She stays away for as long as she can stand. The two of them are there without Ricky, a rare day where she hasn’t seen him at all. He’s there almost every day. He’s started trying to talk to her again, but now he talks to her like he’s a stranger. Asks if she recognizes him from the calendar. Tells stories with the cadence of stories he’s told countless times before. It’s harder, in some ways, to be treated like anyone else. For all her misgivings, Sorrow can tell that Ricky cares about Esther.

But the twins — they’re a mystery. And Sorrow hates mysteries.

Before long she drifts over, deliberately casual. Despair and Rage have been giving her more leeway, so she doesn’t feel the need to be subtle. “I knew you,” she says in lieu of hello.

The one on the left — Ana, she thinks, although she couldn’t say why — nods. “We know you,” she answers.

“You knew Esther,” Sorrow says sharply.

“Of course.” Amelia cuts Ana a look, and Ana glares right back. Amelia rolls her eyes and looks back at Sorrow. “We haven’t visited yet because we were busy running the society, but-”

“But we were hoping we could see you.”

“And talk to you.”

“Or at least say hi.”

Sorrow looks between them. “I’m not the person you knew.”

Amelia shrugs. “Yeah, but we missed you. It’s too quiet with you gone.”

“Too quiet?”

“Yeah,” Ana says. There’s a teasing lilt to it. “You’re always yelling at us.”

Sorrow doesn’t remember yelling at them. She barely remembers them. And yet she says, “I’m always yelling at you to shut up.”

“People live here,” Amelia says mockingly, in what has to be an impersonation of Esther. “Oh, Ana, Amelia, people have to get work done-”

“It’s a library!” Esther protests. “People are doing things!”

“We’re doing things!” Ana grabs Amelia’s arm, giving Esther the most faux-wounded look. “Don’t you think we work hard? We’re wizards-”

“Wizards in training-”

“Oh, just because we don’t have fancy magic jewelry-”

“I earned my jewelry!” Esther throws her hands up. “You guys could totally have fancy magic jewelry, you could learn to make it, but no, you just want to make fun of me for having it when you don’t!”

“You could share!” Amelia pouts. “You could totally share your cool stash of bangles with us. That’s a normal thing to do.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you love us?” Ana bats her eyelashes.

Esther snorts. She opens her mouth to say something snarky, something that’s going to totally wreck the two of them, and then freezes.

Ana’s right. Esther loves them. Esther loves them so much it’s boiling inside her chest. Esther loves Gramercy, and the chantries, and Alejandro. Esther loves Ricky and Sofia and Patricia and Gabriela. Esther wants to argue with them for the rest of her life, yell about jewelry and books and text message etiquette and everything. Esther wants to go home and curl up in front of a fireplace and drink hot chocolate and coffee and whiskey and be with these people and be peaceful.

But she’s not Esther.

Sorrow takes a step back. “How did you do that?” she says. Her voice is trembling.

Ana and Amelia exchange an alarmed look. Amelia says, “Do what?”

“How did you find her?”

“Who?”

“Esther,” Sorrow spits. “You just brought her out. She could never do that before, how did you-”

Ana’s eyes go wide. “Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, that’s a good sign. We need to call Kingston-”

“Why Kingston? We need to call Ricky.”

“Why would we call Ricky? Just because he’s-”

“Yes, just because, he deserves to know-”

“Is Esther alive?” Sorrow says. It slips out before she can stop it.

Both of them turn to her again. Ana’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“I thought…” Sorrow swallows. “I thought I had subsumed her. I thought I was here instead of her. But she’s here.”

“You are Esther,” Amelia says. Ana starts to say something, but Amelia lifts a hand to cut her off. “No, listen, I know you’re doing the whole Fury thing, and you never really talked to us about your mother or grandmother, but you need to hear this. You are Esther. You remember us, you talk to Ricky, you are a person underneath the sadness. We’re going to get you out from under.”

Sorrow wants to answer. Instead she just stares.

Ana tugs on Amelia’s arm. “I think we should go.”

“I’m going to steal some of your bangles,” Amelia informs Sorrow. “I know where you keep them, and they’re going to be mine, until you’re there to tell me to give them back. Got it?”

“I won’t be there,” Sorrow says. But somewhere inside her she can hear Esther Sinclair whispering in response: Don’t you dare, Amelia, don’t you dare.

Amelia just shrugs. “Suit yourself,” she sing-songs. “Ana, you can have her rings.”

“I’m going to take the rings,” Ana agrees. “Bye, Sorrow. Bye, Esther. We’ll see you again.”

Sorrow does not say goodbye. But she considers it.

#

“Daughter, hunt,” says Despair, and Sorrow tries. Sorrow reaches out to those in the park who are sorrowful and tries to help them. Despair tries to show her, her hands old and wizened on Sorrow’s, and walks her through step by step, and it is not enough. Sorrow is not enough for this.

“Daughter, rest,” says Rage, and Sorrow tries. But rest only means time to be sorrowful herself. It’s easier to reach out, to push, to wound even if she truly is trying to help. Rage rests her hands on Sorrow’s shoulders and pushes her forward and Sorrow stumbles. Sorrow cannot stand like this.

(“Sister,” says Esther, and Sorrow does not listen. Sorrow does not allow Esther to say more than a single word.)

#

It doesn’t get better.

Despair and Rage are disappointed. She can feel the weight of it every moment. Sorrow has a purpose, a clear purpose. Few people are so lucky. And she still knows that she has let them down, that she could never do enough to fix this.

“What if sorrow is not enough?” she asks Ricky one day.

He is her third constant: Despair, Rage, and going for walks with Ricky Matsui. He comes every day at this point, and the other Furies have stopped interfering, have stopped even looking twice when he comes to speak to Sorrow.

They’ve come to something of an understanding. She allows him to call her Esther, but he does not protest when the other Furies do not. She allows him to ask after her, and he answers her questions about who she was. She tells him not to allow Sofia back, or Ana and Amelia, and he laughs and tells her that he knows she doesn’t remember anything, because if she did she’d know he couldn’t stop them.

Ricky glances at her. “Enough for what?”

“For…” Sorrow waves a hand, hoping it’s enough to encompass everything. It’s not, judging by the way he tilts his head at her, almost doglike. She lets out a breath. “For me. And the Furies. And the park, and the world.”

“Of course it’s not,” Ricky says, like it’s obvious, like it’s not a knife through her ribs. “No one thing is enough for everything, not even sorrow. That’s why there are three of you.”

“But Rage and Despair don’t suffer the same way.”

“Maybe they don’t suffer anymore. Or maybe they don’t let you see it. My parents try not to let me see when they’re upset. It’s just what parents do.”

“We’re meant to be equals.”

Ricky shrugs. “All kids think they’re equals to their parents. I think maybe they just love you and they don’t want you to worry.”

“I don’t love,” Sorrow says, automatic.

“You might not feel it,” Ricky says. “But I think it’s still there.”

#

Sofia Lee only speaks to Sorrow one more time.

At first, when Sofia begins storming towards her, Sorrow is afraid. She does not fear much, but there is no other word for the jolt that she feels when she sees Sofia. It’s less about the woman herself and more about what she could do. She could bring anything with her, any memories or truths or other such things that Sorrow would rather stay hidden.

But, Sorrow realizes, there are tears on her face, and her fists are balled at her side.

“You say you help people?” Sofia says. Her voice is too harsh, too ragged. “You say you make sorrow a good thing? Then help me.”

“What happened?” Sorrow says. It’s too quiet, not clinical enough, but she can’t help it. Even though Sofia has avoided her, she has still been in the park, and she has been effusive and loud and jubilant. “What… is this?”

“This is sorrow,” Sofia spits out, like it’s a curse word. “This is what happens when you’re fighting with your fuckin’ mom, and you’re having trouble at work, and you’re just tired of it feeling like this. But Ricky says that you make it worth it.”

“It is worth it.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m drowning?” Sofia says, and it sounds like a plea. “If all you’re going to do is tell me how to wield my sorrow, do you really think that’s helping?”

“It’s a help,” Sorrow says, stung despite herself. “It is-”

“Is it going to get better?”

“There is no better.”

Sofia takes a wobbly step back. “We gotta get you back to normal,” she says, voice low. “Because it’d be one thing if you were a good fury, but you’re not helping anybody.”

Sorrow draws herself up to her full height, but Sofia is already leaving, hands still flexing at her sides. Sorrow watches her go and thinks: I could have helped her. Sorrow watches her go, and Esther thinks, No, you couldn’t have. But maybe I could’ve.

#

“Daughter, hunt,” says Despair, and Sorrow says, “Why?” and nothing that she receives as an answer is enough for her. She does not want to hurt anyone. She does not want to hunt. She cannot stop thinking about Sofia Lee.

“Daughter, rest,” says Rage, and Sorrow says “It is not restful,” and Rage cannot help her. She sees no point in taking time for herself. She cannot stop thinking about being helpless. She cannot stop thinking about Esther Sinclair, training to never be helpless again.

(“Sister, breathe,” says Esther in the back of her head, and Sorrow is afraid to let herself try.)

#

The three of them are standing together when Ricky Matsui comes back. Ana and Amelia are trailing behind him, clutching at each other’s arms, looking determined. The older man who has been visiting is with Ricky.

Rage steps forward. “Kingston Brown,” she says, and inclines her head. “What brings you to Tompkins Square Park?”

“Evening, Gabriela,” says Kingston, and ignores the way her gaze sharpens. “My friend Ricky here seems to think we can break your curse.”

“We are not cursed,” Sorrow says, and ignores the way that both Ana and Amelia roll their eyes. “And we will not be separated.”

“It would be all three of you,” says Ricky. He’s looking at Sorrow avidly, like he’s drinking her in, but his voice is anxious. “We wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But we’d have to do it one at a time,” Kingston says. There’s a warning note to his voice. “It would be a matter of minutes, ladies, we wouldn’t keep you waiting, but-”

“Will it work?” Rage says. Her voice is harsh. “Are you certain?”

Kingston presses his lips together, just briefly. “Curse-breaking is never certain.”

Rage’s eyes narrow. “And why should we allow you to play with our fates?”

“Because I don’t play games, Gabriela, I take care of people.”

Rage makes a noise of disgust and moves back to stand with Sorrow and Despair. “We are not people,” she says, with finality. “And we do not need caretaking, not from a Vox, or wizards, or a paladin who has decided himself infatuated with my daughter. We do not-”

“Rage,” Despair murmurs. “Enough.”

Rage frowns, but nods. Kingston’s attention slides over to Rage. “Patricia,” he says gently. “Will you come with me?”

Despair steps forward, ancient head held high. “I am old,” she says, and she sounds exhausted. “And I have lived. My daughters, sisters, call them what you may… if they are but two again, they will survive. I have no reason to live without them, and they have every reason to live without me.”

Sorrow reaches for Rage’s hand. Rage takes it and squeezes so tight Sorrow thinks her fingers might crack. Neither of them say anything. Despair has said her piece.

Kingston just nods and lifts his hands. “Ready?”

“No,” Despair says, and closes her eyes.

Sorrow cannot say what happens next; the beginning is a flash so bright that she squeezes her eyes shut, and then she feels Despair leave. It is a piece of her that she did not realize was missing, a hopelessness that settles in the pit of her chest. It is not meant to be hers. It is supposed to be Despair’s to carry. Next to her, Rage gasps softly.

When Sorrow forces her eyes open, there is a woman standing where Despair was. She is just as old and just as dignified. But she is not Despair. Her eyes are too kind, and her feet are not steady enough.

Ricky lunges forward and catches her by the elbows. “Patricia Sinclair?”

The woman who is not Despair looks up at him. “I don’t remember your name,” she says, and it sounds breathless and apologetic. “But if you can save my daughter and granddaughter, I’ll make a point of remembering it.”

Ricky huffs out a laugh. “That’s the plan,” he says. The woman who is not Despair stumbles forward, and he pulls her back towards Ana and Amelia, who fold her into a hug.

When Ricky looks back, he meets Esther’s eyes. “Please,” he says, oh so quietly. “It’s possible.”

“You took her,” Rage spits. She releases Sorrow’s hand, and Sorrow has to hide a hiss of pain. Rage ignores her. “It was only us for so long, and now-”

“And now you can rejoin her,” Kingston says cajolingly. “Gabriela-”

“I am not her.”

“Do you want to be?”

“I have not felt despair in my whole time as a fury.” Rage takes a shuddering breath and looks up. When she speaks again, it is quieter than Sorrow has ever heard. “Can you take it away?”

“Yes,” Kingston answers, a new gentleness in his voice. “Just give me a minute.”

Sorrow closes her eyes before the light this time. She waits until she feels the rage curdling in her gut, acerbic and horrible, and she keeps her eyes closed even after that. She waits until she hears an unfamiliar gasp.

“Gabriela?” Ricky says cautiously. Sorrow opens her eyes and watches the woman who was once Rage embrace Ricky, squeezing him tight. “Hi,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s so good to meet you,” the woman who is not Rage says. Her eyes slide over to the woman who is not Despair, and even though Sorrow can’t see her face, she can hear the tears in her voice as she says, “Mom?”

Sorrow looks away as they embrace. She looks away until she feels eyes on her, knows they belong to Ricky Matsui, forces herself to look at him. “Are you happy?”

“Almost,” Ricky says, and it’s so candid and hopeful that Sorrow wants to cry, or scream, or lament. She is all three furies, now. She is all that is left.

Patricia and Gabriela and Ana and Amelia are all standing together, murmuring above themselves. Kingston is watching them; he looks tired, just slightly, but he is also smiling. Even Ricky turns to look at them. Even Ricky Matsui, the last person who professes to love her, looks away. Sorrow feels something cold as she watches them. She is on the outside. All of these people have something, and she does not. She will never.

And then, one by one, each of them turns to Sorrow.

All of them, she realizes suddenly, are strangers. Kingston is nothing, Ana and Amelia were Esther’s, and Ricky is… too much to understand. The woman who was once Rage and the woman who was once Despair, the two of them are nothing like the Furies that she remembers. They have laugh lines, and they’re clasping hands, and they do not look afraid.

But Sorrow is angry. She’s angrier than she’s ever been. She has been abandoned. They were a trifecta, they were a trinity, they were a unit and they have left her. They have left her to drown in her hopelessness. And she is hopeless, looking at them: who was she to ever assume that she could be anything but this? She is Sorrow. She is alone. She is sadness incarnate. Esther Sinclair was always sadness incarnate, buried too deep to come out. She cannot be buried again.

Ricky Matsui reaches out a hand. Sorrow says, “No.”

Not-Rage and Not-Despair exchange looks of alarm. Ana starts to say something, but Amelia settles a hand on her arm and quiets her. Kingston frowns and does nothing more.

“C’mon,” Ricky says. He doesn’t even hesitate. “I know this is the hard part.”

“What do you know about hardship?” she spits. “You, with your kind heart and family, you with your work ethic and your love, what do you know of effort? Of loss? You have everything. You speak to me like I’m a child, but you are ignorant of what true sorrow is.”

She can feel every one of them wavering and presses her advantage, reaching into every heart and pressing down on the softest, saddest parts. The reaction is immediate: Not-Rage falls to her knees, and everyone else doubles over. Even unflappable Kingston Brown takes a couple steps back.

Ricky just looks at her. He even smiles — somehow, he still smiles. “Of course I know hardship,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’m a firefighter. Things go wrong. I meet a lot of people on the worst day of their lives. I see bad things happen. I work hard to make sure that my sister and my parents are proud of me, but more importantly that they’re safe. And I’ve known loss. I lost you.”

Sorrow swallows. Her grip is weakening. “But-”

“I’ve been sad before,” Ricky continues. He takes a couple steps towards her, hand still held out, and she falters. “I’m sad right now. I know you can feel it. And it hurts. And that’s okay, because when this is over I’m going to be able to sit down with you and talk again, and we can go out to that deli you like, and there can be a time after sorrow. I promise. You just have to trust me.”

Sorrow shakes her head. “I can’t- you’re taking away my future as a Fury. I can’t trust you with the rest of my life.”

“Then don’t.” Ricky finally steps close enough to touch her, but he waits, hand hovering just inches away. “Just trust me with the next five minutes. And then for five minutes after that, and five more minutes, and every five minutes as long as you need me.”

It’s enough. She releases her hold on everyone, ignores the gasps of relief and pain. “Promise?” she whispers, almost involuntary.

“Promise,” Ricky says.

Esther takes his hand and closes her eyes. “You have one minute.”

She can imagine his blinding smile. “That’s enough. Kingston?”

“Yeah,” Kingston says. He sounds winded. “Hold on tight, Esther. You’ll be home soon.”

#

“This doesn’t get rid of me, you know,” Sorrow says.

They’re walking through the park together, past the swingsets. It’s not real. The colors are wrong. It’s too loud and too quiet all at once.

“I know,” she answers. “The Furies will find new hosts one day. And the three of us might not be able to help. But we’ll try.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sorrow admonishes her. Sorrow trails a hand along one pole of the swingset. Sorrow says, “I mean that I won’t be leaving you. You’ve been sad all your life, Esther Sinclair. This doesn’t change anything.”

“But you won’t be me anymore.”

“I will not.”

“I’ll just be Esther, but sad.”

“Haven’t you always?”

Esther snorts and tips her head back to look up at the sky, thinking that over. Was she sad? Maybe somewhere beneath the surface. “Maybe,” she says at last. “But I think I’ve learned how to carry you without becoming you.”

Sorrow does not smile, because Esther supposes that Sorrow cannot smile. But Sorrow nods. “Thank you.”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

“No,” Sorrow says. “I suppose it’s not.”

Esther takes Sorrow by the hand and closes her eyes. “I’ll be better to you,” she promises. “I will.”

#

When Esther Sinclair opens her eyes, she is on her knees in Tompkins Square Park with Ricky’s arms around her. His face is pressed into her shoulder. He is not shaking.

Slowly, she reaches up and wraps her arms around Ricky’s waist, squeezing for all that she’s worth. She can hear his breath catch. “Esther?”

Esther doesn’t dare say anything. She just nods as carefully as she can manage. Behind Ricky she can see Kingston, looking wary; Ana and Amelia, looking hopeful; her mother and grandmother, looking amazed and heartbroken all at once.

She can’t look at that. She closes her eyes and lets Ricky squeeze her. “It’s really you,” he says, breathless in her ear, and she missed him and she loves him and she has never felt so powerfully sorry for her actions as she does in this moment. “It’s really you. You’re back.”

“Yeah,” Esther whispers. And despite all of her best efforts, she begins to cry.

#

The thing is, she still sees it everywhere.

At first she thinks it’s because something’s wrong. She considers asking Kingston about it before she remembers that she’s a powerful wizard on her goddamn own and she can look into it. So she looks into everything she can think of.

It’s not like it was when she was a Fury. Sorrow was alive, a pulsating thing that she could sense not just with her eyes but like static in the air. She could look at someone and tell what was hurting them, or at the very least that they were hurting. She could tell if it was a new pain or something older, if it was deep or fleeting, and she could press those advantages.

Esther can’t sense it anymore. But all she sees around her is the sorrow of other people. It looks like everyone’s on the edge of a breakdown. It feels like she’s on the edge of a breakdown.

So she looks into the magical causes. There’s not a lot of research on Furies but she looks into that too, trying to see if this is normal. It’s hard to tell, of course, because most Furies don’t get to revert to their human forms, but she needs to find something. She needs to understand.

She only tells Ricky after a week of looking. She feels guilty for asking him for anything at all, after… well, after everything. Weeks on end of him visiting her every day and her not remembering him, or being unkind, or trying to hurt him. He’s the one person who she can’t feel sorrow from anymore, though. She thinks maybe that’s just because he’s better at hiding it.

“Maybe it’s normal to see this kind of thing,” he suggests. “Have you asked your mom or grandma?”

Esther hasn’t. Esther has had plenty of long, heartfelt conversations with her mother and grandmother, the kinds of conversations that she’s dreamed of having her whole life. She was so young when she lost her mother, younger still when she lost her grandmother, young enough that she didn’t have their guidance for years on end. Now she can call them every day to talk about magic or cooking dinner or anything at all. In some ways it’s perfect.

Maybe that’s why she’s afraid to ask them. Maybe she’s afraid of losing it.

“I should,” she says, a deflection that she hopes Ricky doesn’t notice.

“You should,” he agrees, ever earnest. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

She asks Sofia instead, a couple weeks later at lunch. Esther owes Sofia infinite apologies, all of which Sofia waves off without a second thought. “Magic,” she says, like it explains everything. “What’s eating you?”

Esther lets out a breath. “I feel like all I see is sorrow,” she says, like it’s a confession. “Not in the magical way, not the way I used to, but it’s everywhere.”

Sofia blinks. “Yeah,” she says, like it’s obvious.

“Yeah?” Esther repeats, frustrated despite herself. “But why? Is this some kind of side effect?”

“It’s not a side effect, this is just what happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“Honey,” Sofia sighs, and she slides out of the booth to sit next to Esther. Her arms go around Esther’s shoulders, and Esther hugs back without hesitation. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, and she’s confused and so, so tired, and this feels nice. “This is all new to you, huh? Been bottling it up?”

“A little,” Esther admits. If it were anyone other than Sofia she’d be embarrassed by the way her voice cracks, but she knows that it won’t matter here.

Sure enough, Sofia just hums softly. “Well, lucky for you, I’m the queen of letting it all hang out, so you’re in good hands.”

Esther laughs, short and wet. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sofia says firmly. “You just haven’t been sad your whole life. When you’re sad, everything is sad. Don’t try to watch any movies right now, by the way, they’re all just gonna be fuckin’ downers.”

“Even the happy ones?”

“Depends on the happy one. Just don’t watch movies alone. Ricky’ll watch things with you.”

Esther’s breath catches, and Sofia immediately rubs a hand between her shoulder blades. “Esther,” she sighs. “This is normal. It’s the pits, but it’s normal. It’s not just your world that’s falling apart, it’s everything, and it’s horrible, and there’s gonna be a light at the end of the tunnel. Of course everyone else looks sad to you right now. You’re lonely and your brain’s trying real hard to make sure you’re not alone.”

“Being alone was easier,” Esther mumbles.

Sofia gives her one last squeeze and draws back. “But was it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do know, and trust me, you’re gonna figure it out.”

“How?”

“Slowly,” Sofia says dryly, and Esther manages a smile. “We’ll get there. Don’t worry so much.”

“I’ll try,” Esther promises. And weirdly, she thinks she will.

#

The hardest part of settling is in the smallest things. Esther has to go through all of her things and take stock, because Ana and Amelia actually stole plenty of her magic jewelry. She has to go through all of her things, and catch up on chantry business. She has to grieve Alejandro, the first time in her life she can grieve.

It is difficult being sad. Esther has always known it would be, but it’s completely different to experience it. She remembers the edges of sadness lapping at her consciousness from when she was young, and she remembers knowing she could not feel it. She remembers — can never forget — Sorrow being the entirety of her, the only thing she knew.

But she is slowly beginning to find the center of the two. She wakes up and she grieves, and then she sits in the sun. She eats lunch and she cries and she makes herself coffee and she works. She calls Sofia, Ricky, Kingston, anyone she wants to, and they answer, and she celebrates, and she feels.

She has a life to piece together, and that’s what she does. She finds her footing with her mother, her grandmother. She reconnects with friends and rekindles what she can. And she has Ricky-

Lord, she has Ricky. Who understands if five minutes is the most she can do. Who doesn’t even forgive her, because he understands, and allows her, and is patient. Goddamn paladin. He doesn’t even mind.

Ricky insists on helping her cook for the first ever three-generation Sinclair family dinner. “Not because you can’t cook,” he tells her, which is incredibly kind of him because it’s a lie. “I just don’t think you should have to do the whole thing by yourself.”

“I was going to order pizza,” Esther admits. “I just thought it was easier.”

He makes a mortally offended noise. “Not on my watch,” he says, and it feels like a promise.

They’ve been spending more and more time together. They’re building towards something, and Esther knows what it is, and she’s thrilled. At long last, she has something new to look forward to.

On the day of the dinner, they cook together. It starts out in silence, so Esther puts on music, and then Ricky suggests a podcast, and she’s so surprised by the suggestion that she puts on an episode. They listen, and work, they laugh at all the same jokes.

The credits roll, and Ricky says, “This is nice.”

She glances over. “You like cooking?”

“Sometimes. I mostly just meant-” He gestures a hand between the two of them. “Talking to you is really nice.”

“Oh,” Esther says. She’s been thinking about Sorrow — how could she not? — and how when she first saw Ricky she could tell he loved her. He still loves her, earnestly and kindly. He still loves her even though she’s still relearning how to be a person. “Yeah, it is.”

“Your family’s gonna be proud of you,” Ricky says, and Esther has to huff out a breath through her nose so she doesn’t cry. “You can be proud of them too. They’re going through the same thing.”

“We wouldn’t be here without you,” Esther says. It feels like a futile point to make, but she has to try. “People might’ve looked for them, but you looked for me, you didn’t give up, you-”

“I wanted to see you,” Ricky says. Esther blinks, and he just smiles, easy as anything. “And here you are.”

"Here I am," Esther agrees. There's something twisting low in her stomach, but she ignores it and pushes it down. This isn't the time for whatever that is, this is the time for something next. She wants to know what's next.

Ricky smiles. "Five minutes at a time, right?" he says, and it has the cadence of a joke but he looks serious when he looks at her.

"I think you've earned ten minutes," Esther answers, and Ricky throws his head back and laughs, and Esther laughs with him. "Thank you. For trying."

"You're worth trying for," Ricky says, easy as anything. "Thank you for listening."

Esther looks at him for a long second. She could let this end. She could go back to cooking, or text her mother, or even text Ana and Amelia to make sure they're not stealing her shit. But she doesn't want to do that. She wants-

Well, hell. Why can't she have what she wants?

"Ricky," Esther says. When he looks at her she pushes up onto her tiptoes and kisses the corner of his mouth. One of his hands falls to her waist, automatic, but still doesn't quite touch, still hovers just over it. Esther lowers her hand on top of his and presses down, feels his fingers splay across the small of her back. "It’s okay.”

"Okay," Ricky says, so softly, and he kisses her, gently, warmly. It feels like he’s smiling.

Esther closes her eyes. She has had her share of sorrow. She will have her share again. But her mother is coming over for dinner soon, and her grandmother too. But she is here, in the kitchen, kissing Ricky fucking Matsui just because she can.

Sorrow is still in her, maybe. It might even be here. But Esther is here too. Here, and present, and aware, and that is a blessing she will not take lightly.

She winds her arms around Ricky’s shoulders. She doesn’t move away until the doorbell rings.