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Cordelia felt like a cold grey sunrise to her mother’s glorious sunset. She wished to be so much more - more than a dull wash of muted colours, a curious stretch of emptiness. It was like she was a ruined forest, bulldozed in her mother’s wake.
Perhaps it wasn’t all Fiona’s fault. It wasn’t like she saw her mother often, and to blame her feeling of hollow fragility – like at any moment she might shatter into a million pieces - on her mother’s mere existence wasn’t exactly fair. But nothing was fair when it came to her mother.
She’d done her share of time in a world where magic and voodoo were merely stories that could be shut between pages of books when they became too much. She’d learnt the things that children who had no idea how to divine the future in pebbles learnt. Bowlby teaches us that there is a critical period for attachment, and if an infant does not make an attachment within its first two years of life, it has potentially serious long term effects on future relationships. Her mother had hated her from the minute she gave birth to her – she blamed Cordelia for robbing her youth, scared of her own mortality as she looked upon that infantile face. Cordelia had no idea who looked after her as a baby – the thought of her mother changing a nappy was borderline humorous. It would never have happened. She remembered a couple of nannies she had before Fiona dropped her off at the academy. They were mostly stone faced, but the fees that Fiona paid them allowed them to loosen their cheeks into a half grin at times. So Cordelia supposed she was never taught how to love, although she wanted to desperately.
She’d clung to Myrtle when she’d first met her, tentatively gripping her hand, more affection in that clutch of fingers than her mother had ever bothered to spare her. She remembered the delicate touch of Myrtle’s other hand, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her expression was one Cordelia hadn’t seen upon a face before – pity and fondness. No one had ever deigned to be fond of her.
Myrtle was the first person she’d ever formed an attachment with – a healthy attachment, rather than what she felt for her mother: A constant desire to please, a constant desire for affection. She knew she was enough for Myrtle.
Myrtle turned into her anchor in the tumultuous sea of students that was the academy. Although the numbers started to wane, for a long time, she felt like a ghost trying to communicate with the living. She didn’t know exactly how to play with the other girls, how to smile, and joke and laugh. She learnt slowly. Others were patient with her though, inexplicably drawn to this little girl who rarely smiled – but when she did, it was genuine, and it was like watching the sun beams break through a crack in the clouds.
When she was fourteen, she fell in love with a girl with long brown hair. She kissed her up against the grand piano, her heart beating in her chest like it might crack her ribs. The other girl smelt like lavender, and when she broke Cordelia’s heart, Cordelia enchanted all the baskets of lavender in the house to smell – inexplicably to the other residents of the academy – like cinnamon. She cried herself to sleep just the once, wondering if love really was worth it, and for a brief moment before she fell asleep, she felt like she might understand her mother.
She woke up the next day to realise why it was better that she would never be like Fiona: her mother didn’t have memories of love. Cordelia could remember the edge of the piano digging into her back, and the way the girl’s soft lips felt on hers, and how she could kiss for hours on end because she was so completely enamoured with the fact that another person loved her back. She almost understood why people said it was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.
Almost .
She didn’t un-enchant the lavender baskets.
There was others after that. They came and went. Auntie Myrtle was always there for her, a hug waiting at the end of the toughest days.
She didn’t see her mother for years at a time.
Then there was Hank. He was different, because he was so simple. She’d loved and lost with a passionate ferocity, but Hank was calmer. Sweeter. His kisses were like cool water after the flames of the others. When he’d got down on one knee for her, the diamond catching the light of the full moon, she’d joined him on the floor, and nodded empathetically.
‘I do.’
~*~*~
And then there was Misty Day. Cordelia couldn’t see her when they’d first met, but the press of her calloused hand against Cordelia’s own soft one had felt right, in a way. In a way that made Cordelia want to keep hold of it, and never let go, because she wanted Misty close. When the sight allowed her to see Misty’s life, she saw nothing but a life that was full of compassion, of kindness. She felt a deep fondness for this girl who wanted to find her tribe. She saw the love that was in Misty’s heart, a damn near contagious amount of it, and withdrew her sight before she got too deep. She came back to reality gasping for breath.
After that, she and Misty worked together in the greenhouse. Misty was her eyes, and she would have found it infuriating had it been anyone else, but with Misty, it was strangely ok. She grew to love hearing her talk; the way her voice climbed an octave when she was rambling about Stevie Nicks, or her swamp, or the plants they were tending to. She loved her scent – fresh like the swamp, and newly fallen rain, sweet like lillies. And when Misty swaddled her in a shawl on a particularly cold night – despite her insistence that she wan’t shivering, she might have kept it, wadded up under her pillows. She found it comforting when she woke up in the night, opening her eyes after a particularly vivid nightmare, only to be met with perpetual darkness.
The thing she loved the most though, was how Misty could make her laugh. After a particularly intense story of how Misty had wrestled a gator because it had stolen a bar of chocolate from her (a rare delicacy in the swamp) Cordelia had thrown her head back and laughed so hard that Myrtle had come running to check that she was ok. She’d tried to reply, but she was laughing so much that she couldn’t get the words out, and she could hear Misty trying to gasp out that they were both fine, having found Cordelia’s giggling fit infectious.
~*~*~
The first time she saw Misty with her new eyes was in the greenhouse. Her back was turned to the entrance, her fingers sunk deep in the soil of a plant she was repotting and she was humming along to a Stevie song that only she could hear, as per usual. Cordelia drank her in – the layers of fine lace that she was wearing, and the mass of blonde curls that tumbled down her back, the small swing of her hips to the tune.
‘Misty.’
She whipped round, and her eyes found Cordelia’s mismatched ones. She broke into a grin that made Cordelia’s heart skip a beat. She needed that smile again and again.
‘Miss Cordelia, you got your eyes back!’ She bounded over, almost puppy like, and Cordelia could have sworn her damn heart had swollen up a size too big, as if she were the Grinch. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’ She grinned at her.
‘Let me see them properly.’ Misty placed a hand on either side of Cordelia’s head, gently pushing her hair back, so that she could look at them.
For a second, Cordelia stared down at the floor, and then looked up, meeting Misty’s eyes, biting her lip gently. She was so grateful to Myrtle that she could see again, because there was a tenderness in Misty’s kohl lined eyes that made her ache to stretch up and press a soft kiss against each eyelid. Her gaze fluttered to Misty’s lips, then back up to her eyes again. Misty breathed a quiet oh as she realised how close the two of them were standing. Then she moved her head fractionally closer, and Cordelia’s heart started to beat as fast as it had when she’d kissed the lavender scented girl.
Of course. Of course Madison would choose that time to walk in, the only time she had ever set foot inside the greenhouse.
‘Got anything I can smoke in here?’
Cordelia was torn between using her powers to throw Madison against a wall, and running a thumb over Misty’s cheeks, where she was having, for the first time, the pleasure of watching a blush bloom adorably across them.
~*~*~
It had been Misty who ran in to comfort her, the night she’d fallen out of bed. She lay there, shaking in her nightie on the cold wood, gasping as she tried to rid herself of the images that clouded her mind. Her mother, watching on as she failed again and again. She couldn’t keep everyone alive, she couldn’t keep everyone breathing, and her mother simply laughed as she watched Cordelia try to hold back the tide of blood.
‘Hey, hey, it’s ok.’ Misty’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her up so that she was sitting against the bed. ‘I’m here, I’ve got you.’
Frantically, Cordelia straddled Misty’s lap, and buried her face in Misty’s neck, sobbing gently. She wanted Misty to never let go. The Cajun stroked her back, running a thumb softly across her spine, and Cordelia could feel a warmth blossoming in her stomach, drying up the tears. They sat like that for a long time, breathing in sync, until Cordelia was lulled into a state of calmness.
‘I think we better get you back into bed,’ Misty suggested. ‘It’s cold as hell on this floor, I don’t want you crampin’ up.’
Cordelia shook her head minutely, and clung tighter. ‘I don’t want to let go of you.’ She whispered, and if her head hadn’t been right next to Misty’s ear, Misty probably wouldn’t have heard her.
‘I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want. But we wouldn’t want the academy to be left without a headmistress because she died of cold.’ Misty turned her head to briefly rest her chin on top of Cordelia’s head. ‘C’mon Miss Cordelia.’
Shakily, Cordelia got to her feet, and Misty helped guide her to bed, slipping in behind her, and pulling the duvet over them both. For a few seconds, she did was perfectly still, and then Cordelia felt the other girls arms wrap round her waist, cocooning her. She sighed gently, and closed her eyes, safe and warm in this nest of Misty and blankets.
~*~*~
The night Hank came back, the pair of them were in the greenhouse, working in an easy harmony. They’d fallen in sync with each other, understanding what the other wanted, passing tools and plants between them without the need of request. This was how Cordelia loved it, and then Hank had to go and knock the tranquillity on its head.
She didn’t love him anymore. His betrayal hadn’t broken her heart - it was merely as if he’d fallen out of it. She just couldn’t find a bone in her body that could be bothered to care about him, and she didn’t understand why she ever had. She needed him to understand that, and part of her really wanted him to hurt, to suffer for what he had done. More than anything though, she just wanted him gone.
She told Misty to stay when she’d suggested she’d leave. She couldn’t deal with Hank without her - Misty was a grounding force, something that made her feel normal, as if she was ok.
Hank left with his tail between his legs, and Cordelia hoped that would be the last she saw of him for a long time.
‘That – that was your ex-husband?’ Misty asked tentatively, as if she didn’t know if she was allowed to broach the subject.
Cordelia nodded. ‘Yeah. That was Hank.’
‘Did you love him?’
‘I guess, a while ago, I loved him as my heart was capable of loving him. Looking at him now though ¬kind of wonder why I wasted my time.’ She chuckled, and Misty joined in.
‘Pardon me sayin’ so, because I don’t know what happened, but you can do so much better.’ Misty gestured at her. ‘I mean, you’re gorgeous. Really stunning. Possibly the only thing your mother did a good job on, from what everyone’s been tellin’ me. And he’s. Well - gators have more personality than him.’
And suddenly, it was like everything clicked into place. It wasn’t just affection she felt for this girl who was passionate about Stevie Nicks and her swamp. She was in love, truly and completely, with Misty Day.
She held her hand out, like she had done on the day they’d met. Misty took it, entwining their fingers, and pressing the warmth of their palms together. She raised an eyebrow.
‘Shut up.’ Cordelia grinned, and tugged Misty close to her. She let go of Misty’s hand, and wrapped her arms round her hips instead. ‘I just-’
‘Yes?’ Misty grinned.
Cordelia screwed her eyes tight shut, and rested her forehead against Misty’s. ‘I love you.’
‘I know.’ Misty took one of Cordelia’s hands, and rested it on her chest. ‘You feel that? My heart’s beating just as fast as yours, an’ it’s because I love you too. There’s a lot coming, and really, we’re just two weirdos who love their plants, but I love you far more. I didn’t expect to find something as good as this when I found my tribe.’
And if Cordelia was holding back tears when she finally captured Misty’s lips with her own, nobody had to know. They kissed slowly, deeply, and each woman wrapped their arms tightly around the other, holding them close in the little world the two of them had made.