Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Agatha frowned as her eyes opened. The forest was so much gentler now, lit by a tender moon instead of a dying sun. Quiet snippets of conversation drifted to her as she sat up.

“We did it,” she murmured, looking at her prince in awe, “we won.”

“We won,” he confirmed, blue eyes sparkling almost silver in the moonlight. Agatha stood, taking in the groups of heroes and students, all caring for one another regardless of Evers or Nevers, completed fairytales or no. She felt the corners of her lips curl upwards, felt a mad bubble of laughter rise in her throat. We did it!

The merriment died on her tongue. For there were two sombre figures by a tree, one in an iridescent green dress, the other in a black leather cat suit. Both dirty and dishevelled, and kneeling over something laid out between them. Agatha’s blood ran cold. Not something. Someone.

Her legs were moving before she’d even fully processed the scene before her, Tedros’ shout attracting attention, but she didn’t care. All she could see was the unmistakeable purple of that gown, the silver stiletto heels visible beneath it. She felt eyes on her, saw the survivors move out of her way or stop their conversations as she passed, but all Agatha could focus on was Sophie and Clarissa Dovey, kneeling there on the muddy ground with Lady Lesso between them. She half-ran towards them, stumbling on the uneven ground until Merlin caught her by the arm. She didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the Dean of Evil, lying with one hand clutched in both of Clarissa’s, her purple dress soaked in blood.

“Oh, no,” Agatha whispered. It was barely more than an exhalation of breath. Sophie was kneeling beside the Deans, motionless, her hands useless in her lap as Lady Lesso’s blood seeped into the ground around her, staining Clarissa’s dress. She didn’t seem to notice. Lady Lesso was wheezing shallowly, trying in vain to say something.

“Shhh,” it was Clarissa, reaching out a trembling hand to brush the hair away from an unnaturally pale cheek. “Just rest.”

Lady Lesso didn’t seem inclined to listen, turning her head to Sophie and taking a few more rasping breaths before finally asking, “What… made you… do it?” Sophie’s whole body shook—no longer a Queen of Evil or leader of an army. Just a scared little girl. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, so Lady Lesso continued, her voice weak and trembling, but so unusually kind. “Tell… me.”

Sophie took a deep, steadying breath, still shaking all over. “The same thing that made you turn your back on Evil, too,” she said; her voice barely above a whisper. She turned, and Agatha saw tears tracking silently down her face as she looked right at her and added, “a friend.”

Agatha’s eyes misted over as Lady Lesso took Sophie’s hand in one of hers, drawing her attention back, Clarissa still holding tight to her other. “The Old and the New together,” she whispered. “Both in good hands.”

Sophie let out a sob, her voice cracking as she spoke, “This is all my fault—”

“No,” said Lady Lesso, suddenly louder and forceful despite the obvious pain it caused her. She winced, drawing in a sharp breath and letting it out slowly in a shuddering sigh before continuing, “Never that. You’re my child. As much as my own son. You are loved, Sophie.” Her voice faltered, her eyes fluttering. “Always remember. You are loved—” her voice cut off with a horrid choking sound and she coughed, a vivid rivulet of crimson trickling from her lips.

Clarissa reached out again, thumb brushing it away as if that would fix the problem. “Lady Lesso, please—”

“Leonora.”

Lady Lesso looked up at her fellow Dean, leaning her head slightly into the hand on her cheek. “My name… it’s… Leonora.” And with a faint, uncharacteristically sincere smile at Clarissa Dovey, Lesso’s body went limp against her.

The forest was silent as the grave. Merlin released Agatha, crouching silently beside the body and passing his hands over Lesso’s unseeing eyes to close them forever.

“No,” Agatha knew this moment wasn’t about her, but she couldn’t stop herself. She lurched forward, falling beside Sophie on the ground as she repeated her protest. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Everyone was looking at her now. Everyone except Clarissa Dovey, still clutching the other Dean’s hand. Agatha felt Merlin’s arms around her, pulling her up and trying to take her away, but she fought against him, tears streaming down her face.

“We won!” the words ripped from her throat, painful and raw, “This isn’t how the story’s supposed to go!”

Merlin only held her tighter, his arm around her shoulders as he made her look at him. “Even the Good cannot save everyone, my dear. And that boy’s knife cut too deep for any healing spell.” His voice was so resigned, so calm, and so, so wrong.

Because Lesso had given up everything to help them. She’d risked her life day after day to spy for them—didn’t she deserve Ever After? Didn’t she deserve a happy ending? She certainly deserved better than this; to die on the forest floor from her own son’s blade.

“Make a wish!” Confused murmurings rustled around the forest, but Agatha’s eyes were trained solely on Dovey. She broke free of the wizard’s grasp, pushing him away and falling to her knees, finally drawing Clarissa’s attention. The Dean looked up as if she’d heard nothing that had been said since the word “Leonora,” and Agatha saw the silent, shell-shocked tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Make a wish,” Agatha repeated, and Clarissa’s lips trembled as they curled into a sad, wavering smile.

“I grant other people’s wishes, Agatha.” Her voice was so small, so dejected, and so unlike the kind and confident Dean that Agatha had known in the past. “I cannot make my own come true.”

“But I can,” Agatha pressed, feeling the weight of everyone else’s gaze upon her. “I’ve done it before—with the wish fish, and the gargoyle, and Sophie—all you have to do is make a wish. Please. Let me try. So many people have died—please let me try and bring one back.” Her voice was miraculously clear even as her eyes clouded with tears. “It can’t end like this. Too many people have died because of me—please, Professor. Let me try.”

For a moment, the forest was silent. Clarissa’s eyes drifted back to Lady Lesso’s face, smeared with blood and filth from her fight and yet, oddly peaceful. For a long, long moment, no one said anything, and Agatha thought Clarissa had simply dismissed her as an over-emotional schoolgirl. But then she spoke.

“I wish-” her voice cracked in a sob and she bowed her head, her whole body curling over Lady Lesso’s limp hand as she took a deep, shaking breath. “I wish that Lady Les-” her voice wavered and she paused again, brushing her fingertips over Lesso’s cheek. “Leonora,” and Dovey spoke the name with such reverence that Agatha almost felt that she shouldn’t be watching at all. “I wish that Leonora Lesso was still alive.”

And though she said it with such quiet conviction, it sounded more like a confession than a wish.

Still, Agatha focused on the words. She let them resonate inside her, closed her eyes as she felt them curl deep into her heart. A light began to spread from her skin, starting off low and brightening more and more, building until the forest was lit up as if the full force of the afternoon sun shone upon it. Everyone was forced to look away from the burning brightness, all but Clarissa, who shielded her eyes in Lady Lesso’s chest, curling around her protectively as the light engulfed them both.

And then, all at once, it faded, seeping into Lesso’s pale skin and leaving the forest once more under the shadowy light of the moon. Agatha opened her eyes. Clarissa sat up, holding Lesso’s hand between both of her own, clutching it to her heart as her eyes darted over the other Dean, desperately, searchingly.

“Leonora?” Her voice was choked with emotion—guilt, fear, grief and, most heart-breaking of all, a faint, hesitant glimmer of hope. The assembled crowd watched, no one moving or even daring to breathe too loudly lest they miss the first sign of life.

But Lady Lesso’s eyelids did not flutter open, and her hand remained limp in Clarissa’s. There was no rise or fall to her chest, and as the former Dean for Good collapsed across it with a broken sob, she could hear no heartbeat. The only movement was the slight fluttering of a few stray hairs in the almost non-existent breeze.

Agatha felt a lead weight settle in her stomach. It hadn’t worked. Merlin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, as if to tell her that, somehow, it wasn’t her fault—but even he could not bring himself to break the deafening silence. Not one person in the forest could, Ever or Never. It was as if a veil had been laid over them, silencing all sound, quelling all movement, leaving only the oppressive, grief-stricken stillness and Clarissa Dovey’s shaking shoulders.

That is, until Lady Lesso drew in a sudden, gasping breath.

Chapter Text

She felt a jolt of panic, as if she was falling from a great height. The world was dark, and she was full of feelings that her foggy mind couldn’t sort through. Pain lancing through her torso, arcing out from somewhere deep within her in spindly fingers of fire with every drawn out beat of her heart. There was a strange weight on her chest, too—something crushing her down, heavy and shaking as it pinned one of her arms against her own body, trapping it at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. A sharp, coppery tang filled her mouth, and her other limbs were so cold and stiff that she could barely feel them at all. The longer she tried to sort through these sensations, the faster her heart beat, and the more she felt a new burning, deep inside her chest. Breathe. The word floated through the fog of her mind and she recognised it as a command, but still, it took her another moment to attach an action to it.

Finally, her body co-operated, and she took in a great gasp of air. While it immediately made the burning inside her chest subside, it ripped painfully through her throat, and the movement only worsened the pain already crackling through her skin. She tried to focus on breathing more shallowly; a task made easier by the Weight suddenly disappearing off of her. She slowly realised that she could move, sensations creeping back into her body from the foggy blackness, and her eyelids fluttered open—a silver light piercing the darkness. She squinted, trying to keep her eyes open but unable to force herself to look out into the light. It was so much brighter than the dark had been, but—much like breathing—now that she knew there was something else, something more, she didn’t want to give it up.

“Leonora?” She winced slightly at the sudden sound, even though the voice was soft, and trembling, and so… hopeful, her mind supplied, after a moment of searching. She felt a strange mixture of feelings accompany the word, but they were too complex for her mind to decipher, so she simply waited for them to recede back into the dark. There would be time for the examination of feelings later—for now, she just wanted to see. She opened her eyes properly, finally adjusting to the blinding silver light. Although, it didn’t seem nearly as bright anymore, instead appearing to leech the colour from the world, leaving much of her surroundings in shadow. A part of her was grateful for that; it meant less to sort through.

There was a woman looking at her, dirt smeared across her face, but with twin tracks of clear skin running from the corner of each eye to her jaw. Her skin was dark, and she wore a beautiful green dress, catching the silver light and turning it a thousand different colours. She sat up to face the woman properly, immediately regretting the sudden movement when the pain in her chest worsened and the world briefly returned to the darkness, even with her eyes open. This time, though, the blackness dissolved on its own after a brief moment, fizzling away at the edges of her vision. The woman in the green dress was holding tightly onto a pale hand, and her gaze followed it to realise that the purple-clad arm was connected to her own body. She gave the fingers an experimental flex, and was greeted with a strange, tingling sensation in the hand, stronger where the woman was clutching it. She frowned; focusing on regaining control of the limb, but the woman followed her gaze to the hand and dropped it, hurriedly, as if she hadn’t meant to be holding it at all. The air felt cold on her skin.

“Lady Lesso!” this was a younger, higher voice, and it was followed by a new weight being thrown at her in a flurry of blonde hair. It caused a surge of pain in her chest and she instinctively pushed the form away, scrambling back a little. A girl looked at her with big, green eyes, smears of black running down her face as she blinked at her in wide-eyed shock and hurt and… and she felt a pang of something in return. The girl’s lip trembled and her shoulders hunched in on themselves a little, as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible without breaking eye-contact.

“Leon- Lesso?” it was the green-clad woman again, the one with the kind voice and beautiful features, now crumpled slightly in a frown. But in turning to look at her, she realised that it was not just the three of them in this silver-tinted woodland. They were in a forest full of people, all staring at her from the colourless shadows. An old man in a strange starry robe watched her with narrowed eyes, next to a weeping girl with dark skin and wild hair, and she shot to her feet as they both seemed to take her gaze as an invitation to come closer, stumbling away from their reaching hands as the world spun around her. Her breathing was coming faster now, eyes darting between the sea of faces, all dirty and cautious and staring right at her. She felt another jolt of pain and gasped, her hand instinctively clutching at the source. It felt sticky and damp, and she looked down to see her hand come away shining and red. Blood.

Panic gripped her. Blood was bad, she knew. Blood was very, very bad. She saw a glimpse of a boy with violet eyes and a vicious grin, wielding a bloody blade and she held up a hand to protect herself, jolting away from him, but the vision was gone in the same instant it appeared, accompanied by another wave of pain. She lurched forward, catching herself on a tree, coughing and retching, each movement sending wave after wave of pain through her.

“Someone find a healer!” Their shouts ricocheted inside her head, as everyone burst into motion around her, echoing the sentiment as she felt something thick catch in her throat. She spat it on the dirt in front of her, the coppery tang in her mouth getting stronger. It was a deep, sickening crimson.

Someone grabbed her arm but she yanked it out of their grasp, whirling to see the woman in green now standing beside her. She was almost a full head smaller than her, looking up at her with big, brown eyes. The sounds of the world fell away, the movements of other people blurring into nothingness as those beautiful doe-eyes searched her face, calming her panicked breathing. She brought one delicate brown hand up towards her face before stopping, hovering in the air halfway between them. “Leonora?”

But her gaze had drifted downwards, following the way the silvery light caught on the iridescent green of the woman’s dress. But it wasn’t all green. There was a dark stain that she hadn’t seen before—darker than mud. Her eyes caught on it, her mouth going dry. Even in the muted colours of this silvery, half-dark world, she could tell what it was that covered this woman’s dress, what was smeared on her palms and seeping into her sleeves. Blood.

She ran.

Branches ripped at her skin and clothes, pain jolting through her body with every thundering step, but she wouldn’t stop. Not while she could still hear the shouts from behind her, could so clearly see that wicked knife and bloody dress in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t breathe, her muscles aching and lungs burning, drawing in gasping breaths that felt like broken glass in her throat. She still didn’t stop. She didn’t know where she was going, the silvery light throwing twisted shadows onto the ground, making it even harder for her to stumble her way through the gnarled chaos of the forest.

She heard a shout from close behind her and turned as she ran; trying to see who was closing on her, but her foot caught on something and she went tumbling forward with a yelp. The world spun in a confusing mess of half-visible shadows—sky, trees, ground, trees, sky, trees, ground—over and over again as she rolled down a steep incline, jostling her aching body this way and that, tearing at her skin until she finally jolted to a stop with a painful crack against the side of her head. She lay there on her back, breathing heavily, her head thudding dully in time with the pounding rhythm in her ears. The voices were much further away now, drowned out by her own heartbeat and panting breaths. She found that she liked this newfound quiet. It was comforting. Familiar.

She knew she should move, should get up, run further away and hide somewhere safe until all the voices and faces and feelings were just distant memories, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Maybe she simply couldn’t move at all. It was hard to tell. Her vision was fizzling out again at the edges, and she was so, so tired. She stared up at the blackness above her as the familiar darkness closed in, merging with silhouettes of leaves and branches hovering high above her head, both reaching out to smother the tiny pinpricks of beautiful light.

There was a muffled gasp from somewhere to her left, and the erratic scuffling sound of someone sliding on dead leaves and broken branches, trying not to fall, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. That writhing, panicky feeling that had consumed her since the moment she’d awoken was finally ebbing away, replaced by the fathomless darkness that had already taken her sight, and was slowly enveloping her mind in the soft embrace of sweet oblivion.

Chapter Text

Clarissa had kept busy. She had been very specific about it—organising the students, making sure the injured got treatment, setting up arrangements for and then actually holding Cinderella’s funeral, sending for a carriage to take Tedros back to Camelot next week… she had been busy. And if one of the many, many things on her to-do list was check up on the Dean of Evil, well, that was perfectly understandable. And if it was the task she did most frequently, finding every excuse to float past the private room off the infirmary that they’d given her so she’d be safe from the prying eyes of students, then it was only because she was so intent on doing her job well. This excuse did not seem anywhere near as convincing as she’d like it to be, but then again, no one had questioned her on it either, so perhaps she was in the clear.

No matter how many times she dropped by, though, Lady Lesso still wouldn’t wake up. Apparently this was not cause for concern. Apparently the fact that she’d almost died—no, had died, had been dead and lifeless in Clarissa’s arms only to be brought back by a wish of all things-

She stopped. Took a deep breath. Fixed her usual smile back onto her features and resumed the too-fast clicking of her heels down the marble hall.

They’d healed all of her physical wounds almost immediately—Clarissa had insisted on it—everything from the gaping slash across her torso to the scrapes and bruises she’d accumulated from hurtling through the forest. Even so, the ordeal Lesso had been through apparently warranted the six days of lying there, completely unconscious and unresponsive. Almost seven, now, she realised, looking out at the setting sun. It had been… strange, to say the least, going on as she had without her counterpart. Organising students from both schools had proved even more difficult than she’d expected, and the Evil teachers were of absolutely no help, most refusing to communicate with her beyond annoyed grunts and the occasional one-word response. Most of their former students were recovering like everyone else, but those that weren’t injured very quickly began running amuck, now given free reign of both castles since the barrier in Halfway Bay had seemingly dissipated with the School Master’s death. Just another thing on her to-do list. And yet here she was, for the twelfth time today, standing outside the door the Lady Lesso’s room.

She knocked, gently, smiling as she opened the door.

“Me again,” she said, in a voice full of the sing-song cheer she hadn’t felt in a long time. Lesso didn’t move. She tried not to be disappointed. “It’s getting dark,” she added to the silent room as she moved to close the curtains. The healers had insisted that talking might help Lesso wake; that she might somehow hear a familiar voice and be dragged up from the depths of wherever her mind had disappeared to. Clarissa still felt strange doing it, though—holding conversations with a woman who couldn’t talk back.

Not that it had stopped her. She’d informed Lesso of every decision she’d made, of every inconsequential detail of the efforts to rebuild the soul of the school, to fix what had been broken by Rafal time and time again over the last few years. With the curtains closed, she lit the lamp beside Lesso’s bed, bathing the room in a soft, orange glow, before settling into the armchair she’d become far to accustomed to sitting in.

“I’ve told the students that they’ll have another three weeks before classes resume. Maybe longer, depending on how everything goes.” No one had really known what to do—while most of the teachers were physically unharmed, the emotional toll that had been taken on the Good staff after being frozen under the school was not something to be taken lightly. Not to mention that the general dislike and mistrust that had always existed between the two schools had blossomed into a full blown hatred after the teachers of Evil had submitted to Rafal’s reign of terror—and that was to say nothing of the effect the past year had had on the students. Time was needed to figure out what to do, that much was certain. But they could only wait so long…

“I knew you wouldn’t like the idea. They still have to face the Woods soon enough, but…” she took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “I couldn’t think of anything better,” she admitted, to the silent room. “You would have had another idea. A way to move forward. And I’ll listen—I promise I will. But you have to wake up, Lesso. I-” she felt tears welling up in her eyes as she looked at her sleeping friend, and she didn’t try to stop them from falling and she reached out and took a limp, pale hand in hers. It was cold to the touch, and she had to watch the steady rising and falling of her friend’s chest, listening to the gentle sound of her breathing to convince herself that it was merely another of the Dean’s quirks leeching the heat from her palms instead of something more sinister. “I need you to wake up. Please. I can’t keep doing this on my own. I can’t-” her voice caught in her throat and she bowed her head, taking deep breaths to calm herself. “I have to go,” she said, eventually, in a steadier voice. She stood; releasing Lesso’s hand and brushing imaginary dust off her skirts as she failed to fight the inexplicable urge to explain herself. “There’s a meeting with the other Good teachers… I’ll be back.” She got to the doorway before she stopped, turning to catch one last glimpse of her friend. “I’ll be back.”

She wished she’d stayed. Apparently the Evil staff had found out about the meeting and decided that, whatever it was about, they wanted to be present. Of course, politely requesting an invitation would have been far too much to ask, so they’d decided to lie in wait, hiding behind the bookshelves to quite literally ambush the teachers of Good. Thanks to her slightly delayed arrival (she was not late—the Good were never late) all of this was relayed to Clarissa through a series of overlapping and, at times, completely unintelligible shouts from the entire furious group that she somehow managed to piece together into a series of events. By the time she’d actually entered the library, they’d all seemed about ten seconds away from starting another war right then and there, so the process of getting them to explain, somewhat coherently, what was going on took the better part of an hour. She already had a headache, and the actual content of the meeting hadn’t even begun.

“I think it would be best,” she started, mustering her most cheerful voice after an uncomfortably long period of silence wherein both sides glared at each other like misbehaving schoolchildren, “if the Good staff stay now for our planned meeting, and we hold a second, separate meeting later on in the week to discuss the other… issues that have arisen here today. How does that sound?”

Apparently it sounded terrible, but substantially less terrible than any of the other ideas that had been presented if the general murmur of acquiescence was anything to go by. One by one, the Evil teachers filed out of the room, and she was almost certain she didn’t imagine the general feeling of relief that seemed to flood through the remaining occupants when the door finally closed on them. She sunk gratefully into her chair, and several of the others followed suit, Clarissa taking the brief reprieve of silence to try and rid herself of her growing headache by massaging her temples.

The quiet was very quickly shattered by some bitterly muttered words; “I don’t know why you’ve let them stay this long.”

It was Rumi Espada, the boys’ Professor of Weapons Training, who only seemed to become aware he’d said the sentence out loud when he received silent looks of astonishment from several of the teachers. “All due respect to you, of course, Dean Dovey,” he added hastily, clearing his throat and sitting up a little straighter, “I’m sure you have your reasons, it’s just that- I mean, well-”

“They sided against us,” this was the Professor of Chivalry; Aleksander Lukas. If there were ever two teachers that would agree with one another, no matter the situation, it was the pair of them—they were practically inseparable. “If we can’t trust our co-workers not to quite literally stab us in the back, then how can we possibly be expected to run a school with them?”

“Yes, precisely! Thank you, Aleksander,” Rumi added, shooting his friend a grateful glance.

“It wasn’t so long ago,” said Uma, before the two could garner any more support, “that the pair of you were fighting against these hallowed halls. Or have you forgotten the School for Boys so quickly?” they didn’t respond to this, but at least had the decency to look embarrassed, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Emma Anemone, however, was not so easily quelled. “That’s not the same and you know it—they fought against Evelyn Sader, and you of all people should remember what a necessary fight that was!”

“Of course I remember! It is precisely my memory of being thrown out of this school by that woman that has me fighting now to save other teachers from that same fate!”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once, Yuba’s grumbling “The Good give second chances,” contrasting with Emma’s shrill “the Evil don’t deserve them!”; Aleksander’s soft “you didn’t deserve to be thrown out, Uma; they do,” being completely overshadowed by Pollux’s nasal whining and whimpering, just agreeing with the loudest voice; all combining into a horrific cacophony of sound that made Clarissa’s head pound. How had this gotten so out of control? And how on earth was she supposed to rein them all in without making a significant number of enemies in the process—either most of the teachers here, or the entire Evil staff? What would Lesso do?

Both her spiralling thoughts and the heated debate—if frenzied shrieking could be called a debate—were cut short by the library door slamming open, revealing a very worried-looking Agatha, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as she realised what she’d walked into.

“Uh, Professor Dovey? The healers sent me; they need you right away.” Clarissa’s heart hammered, mouth going dry as she lurched up out of her seat and tried not to panic. There were only two reasons the healers would send for her, but if they sent a student in their stead then that meant that they were all needed for something, and if they were all needed then-

Her spiralling thoughts were cut off by two words that stole the air from her lungs.

“She’s awake.”

Chapter Text

Clarissa’s heels clicked rapidly on echoing marble as she practically ran through the halls, Agatha and the rest of the staff all trying desperately to keep up. There were murmured questions from the other teachers, students all but leaping out of their way—students that should be in bed, a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her, even if she couldn’t bear to waste time reprimanding them—all she could focus on was Lesso. She’s awake. It was all she could think, over and over, her mind curiously empty of the whirling thoughts and worries that had been plaguing her of late. She’s awake. She turned left, then right, then left again, silently cursing the winding halls of Good that were currently keeping her away from her friend. She should have been there—she’d wanted to be there, to reassure her, to check that she was alright—and after the incident in the forest… Clarissa all but flung open the door to Lesso’s room, Agatha barrelling into her back as she stopped dead on the threshold.

Lesso was not only awake, but she was up, her outstretched hand glowing violet with magic. Specifically, the magic that was pinning the healers halfway up the wall opposite the bed, all three of them gasping for breath as she glared at them, baring her teeth in a distinctly… un-Lesso-like fashion. She was breathing hard, back pressed against the curtained windows like a caged animal, and her head snapped to the door when it opened. The side table had been over turned, the blankets were haphazardly hanging half off the bed, and tiny shards of broken glass were sitting in a pool of water, seeping slowly across the floor. Clarissa registered all of this in the blink of an eye, before Lesso’s gaze locked on hers, eyes widening in recognition.

The brief pause was enough for Clarissa to regain her senses. “Lady Lesso, what on earth do you think you’re doing? Put them down!” Lesso’s magic faltered, the violet glow flickering for a moment as her eyes darted between Clarissa and the healers. “Well? They are trying to help you, you obstinate witch.” Clarissa folded her arms, pursing her lips as she waited. Honestly, trust Lesso to wake up and immediately start causing more problems for her instead of helping. “Lesso!” she snapped, after a moment of stillness, and the violet glow vanished, dropping the healers to the floor. Clarissa breezed into the room with a deep breath and a rushed exhale, surveying the damage as Uma and Aleksander helped the healers to their feet.

Agatha squeaked as she finally had chance to take in the chaos of the room for herself. “It wasn’t this bad when I left, I swear!”

Yuba scoffed. “It was bad enough that they sent you instead coming themselves.”

Clarissa ignored them both.

“I know you loathe being in this castle, dear, but did you have to make such a mess?” she shook her head, waving a hand and sending a shimmering golden glow to coat the disrupted objects. The blankets straightened themselves out on the bed, the table picking itself up while the lamp floated back into position atop it, the crack in the glass lampshade healing itself as it did so before bathing the room in its soft orange glow as Clarissa’s golden magic faded away. She caught the newly re-formed glass of water mid-air before it could re-enact the tumble it had taken earlier, glittering particles of magic swirling around in it, as a final flurry of her power fluffed up the cushion on the armchair for good measure.

“Well,” she said, expectantly, turning to the healers who were clustered in the corner, regarding Lesso the same way a first-year prince might look at a dragon. It was true that the trio had been stretched to their limits over the past week—going from school nurses to battlefield medics quite literally overnight—but that was no excuse for neglecting their jobs. Even if she suspected their nerves were almost as frayed as hers. She shook her head, turning to Lesso, who was tracing a finger over the thin shimmering golden line on the lampshade; a scar left behind by her magical healing of the object.

“Lesso-dear, sit down, would you? You’re making them nervous.” Lesso looked up at her, her eyebrows twitching together slightly into a frown, until Clarissa pointedly gestured to the bed with a flick of her wrist, raising an eyebrow at her counterpart’s reluctance. Finally, the woman sat, and Clarissa handed her the glass of water as she fluffed up the pillows to allow her to lean back against the headboard in comfort, talking all the while. “Honestly, trust you to make a meal out of everything—we only set you up here because your infirmary looked more like a morgue—and don’t get me started on that so-called nurse! Has she ever even heard of a bed-side manner? Besides, Evil’s castle hasn’t been quite right since Rafal—though I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t fix… sit back now, dear, and let them ask you whatever questions they have,” Lesso looked up at her, but she pre-empted the complaint, “and don’t look at me like that; the faster you do as they ask, the faster you’ll be out of here and back in your own bed.”

Finally satisfied that Lesso was as comfortable as she could be in the Good castle, Clarissa looked expectantly up at the nurses once again, but there was a hesitant clearing of someone’s throat to her right.

“Clarissa-”

She held up a silencing finger in the direction of the interruption, her gaze still fixed on the healers. “Let them work, Emma.”

Mathilda—not the head healer, though her cheerful and professional demeanour even when dealing with the most difficult of the Never students had more than convinced Clarissa that she was deserving of the title—smiled gratefully, stepping forward after only the briefest hesitation.

“Right then. Lady Lesso, as Dean Dovey said, we’ll have you out of here as quickly as possible. We just need to check that there are no… lasting side effects, as it were.” Clarissa stiffened a little—no one had mentioned even the possibility of permanent side effects, and she had asked. Repeatedly. “Although, I think it would be best if we had a few less people in the room?” she glanced to where Uma, Aleksander and Emma were stood at the foot of the bed before adding, to Clarissa, “I’m sure Lady Lesso would prefer less of an audience.” She looked pointedly at the open doorway, then, and Clarissa followed her gaze to see a cluster of peering students and staff had gathered, all trying to subtlety get a look at the Dean of Evil. Clarissa immediately moved to block their already limited view, ushering the other staff out as she did so, but Isobel—the head healer—finally spoke up, stepping out from behind her notably younger and less experienced colleagues.

“Actually,” she began, trying desperately not to sound as nervous as she obviously was, “I would prefer that you stay, Professor. You seem to be the only one she’ll listen to, in case she gets… violent.” Her hand brushed her bruised throat as she threw a mistrustful glance at Lesso. “Again.”

Clarissa internally rolled her eyes. The way people responded to Lesso like she was some unpredictable villain was quite frankly ridiculous—at the end of the day, she was just a woman. A formidable one, yes—strict and elegant and staggeringly powerful—but a woman nonetheless. And she had always been Dean of a school, first and foremost. Though, if she was being entirely honest with herself, Clarissa would much prefer to stay as well. But students were trying to peer around the open door, and Mathilda was right—Lesso would hate an audience, especially one consisting of her students.

“I will be right back.” She directed this more to Lesso than the healers—her gaze momentarily catching on startling violet eyes—before making herself step away and into the main infirmary, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

She surveyed the group in front of her. The Good faculty had been joined by several students; namely, the band of grubby Nevers that tended to follow Sophie around wherever she went—though the girl herself was curiously absent. She hadn’t been seen ever since they’d returned to the school, now that Clarissa thought about it, and she silently thanked the Storian for small mercies. Clarissa pursed her lips in her classic look of disappointment, making a mental note of everyone she saw, and the fact that, out of all of them, only Agatha had the good grace to look guilty about their attempted eavesdropping and violation of the curfew. Before she could actually voice her disapproval, however, one of the Nevers spoke up.

“Is it true? Is she awake?” it was a chubby girl, eating something made of chocolate that looked like a strangely realistic roll of bandages.

“Can we see her?” asked an unsettlingly pale girl with a large black rat on her shoulder.

“What you can do is go to bed. This is neither the time nor place for students,” a few of them opened their mouths to protest, but this time, she was faster. “Unless you have been injured, I expect you to vacate the infirmary immediately. Yuba,” she turned to him, as the only teacher present with even a chance of being listened to by Nevers, “will you escort the Nevers back to their castle?”

“Come on then, you lot. Lady Lesso’ll still be here in the morning.” He began to herd the students away, but Agatha remained, alongside a scowling Never with a tattoo sprawling across her neck. Clarissa looked at her, pointedly, but she neglected to follow her classmates, instead leaning against a table with her arms folded. There’s always one.

“You can’t keep us out forever, you know.” Clarissa bristled at the girl’s tone, and the other Good staff watched her reaction carefully.

“Maybe we should-”

“No! I’m not leaving, Agatha. She’s keeping us out, and I want to know why.”

“Agatha,” Clarissa began, her tone a little brittle, but still dripping with forced cheer, “will you return to your room, please?” Agatha looked worriedly between Clarissa and the Never before nodding and hurrying away, only glancing back once before she disappeared out of sight.

“What now, Professor?” the girl poured all her sixteen years of barely contained rage into the word, and Clarissa was taken aback at just how venomous it sounded coming from her. “I’m not leaving ‘til I see her, and we both know you can’t make me.”

“I promise you, Hester, your Dean is perfectly safe,” it was Uma, attempting to diffuse the situation. Clarissa would have been grateful if it didn’t feel so pointed. Of course Uma knew the girl’s name—of course Uma could remain perfectly civil, without even a hint of restrained hostility or false cheer.

“Then why can’t I see her? Why is she here instead of in our castle? Why isn’t our castle fixed?” she was clearly worked up, and the small part of Clarissa’s mind that refused to stay focused was impressed at the loyalty Lesso managed to inspire, even when she’d barely regained consciousness. “Something is wrong, and I want to know what it is!

“Enough!” it was rare that Clarissa raised her voice, but it was effective enough to give even the Never pause. “It would take more than that boy to take Lady Lesso out of commission. She is just resting, and she will return to your school imminently, so-”

But the girl had stopped listening, her face contorting in anger. “‘That boy’? ‘That boy’? Don’t act like he’s nothing. Don’t you dare act like Aric was anything less than a monster. I know all about him, Professor,” she once again spat Clarissa’s title like an insult, barely pausing before continuing, “or have you forgotten that while you were under that stage; while you sat back and let Evelyn Sader do whatever she wanted to us, we had to deal with him first hand? He was our Dean for Evil’s sake! ‘That boy’ almost killed me last year, so don’t pretend that you know anything about him!” by the end she was not only screaming her words, but tears were in her eyes, and she furiously swiped them away. “You’re hiding something, and I will find out what it is. She is our Dean. Ours!”

And with that, she stormed out of the infirmary, slamming the doors behind her. Clarissa was more than a little glad it was currently empty of injured students; she could do without the extra headache of an explanation. She took a deep, steadying breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, but before she could send any of the shell-shocked Good teachers back to their own rooms for the night, a very worried-looking Bartholomew—the third healer—came out of Lesso’s room, nervously looking around before his eyes landed on Clarissa.

“Uh, Professor? Isobel sent me. She says someone needs to get Merlin. Right away.”

Chapter Text

“I’ll be back.”

It was that same kind voice that had been shining through the darkness, calling out to her over and over, smothering the silence with names she didn’t recognise and problems she couldn’t solve. And when the Voice left, she mourned its loss, feeling herself sink further into the depths of oblivion until she heard it again. There were other voices, sometimes, but they weren’t the Voice. They were dull, and blurred, and made her want to sink further into the blackness instead of pulling away from it. But whenever the Voice was there… The first time it had left, she’d worried she would never hear it again, despite the parting words. And yet, over and over, the Voice returned, spooling her mind back from whatever dark, silent waters had been pulling her under. Every time she heard it, she was more and more reluctant to sink back into them, replaying the melodic symphony of words over and over to keep herself afloat. And every time, before it went away…

“I’ll be back.”

But then the Voice had sounded so upset… instead of the comforting cheerful updates on things she’d never known, the Voice had been asking her, begging her to wake up. Waking up… that was something she could do. Wasn’t it? Hadn’t she done it before? In that strange forest that wasn’t quite real, filled with blood and dirt and people… but the Voice had been there, too. It had come from someone, then, someone she couldn’t quite picture. She struggled to sort through what had happened, if it had even happened, her mind either too clouded by the darkness and silence, or too preoccupied with the shining Voice to recall it. That forest had been bad, though; she knew that much. And if it was real, then she didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to be back there, and yet… and yet the Voice had said it needed her. She recognised the sharp breaths and long pauses, somewhere deep inside her, she knew that it meant the Voice was crying. She didn’t want the Voice to cry.

She kicked back against the encroaching darkness, reaching out for the light, for the Voice. She could feel something warm on her hand, but just as she tried to grab at it, the warmth retreated, seeping away before she could hold on to it.

“I’ll be back.”

And she tried, she really tried to reach out, to hold onto the Voice and stop it from leaving, to show that as much as the Voice needed her, she needed the Voice, too. She held that sentence in her mind, using it to pull herself up, up, up, using it to banish the darkness and the silence and wake up.

There was a soft sound, the sound that always came just before the Voice, and she felt a sudden surge of energy lurching through her body, and with an almighty effort, she wrenched her eyelids open. There was a person stood in the room, watching her with wide eyes. A person she didn’t know. She was young, with reddish-brown skin, and her black hair was in a short braid. A jolt of something ran through her, and she sat up, ignoring the pain that lanced through her torso and the strange, cottony-feeling inside her head and scrambling back as best she could on a bed that seemed to be trying to absorb her body into it.

“Lady Lesso!”

That was not the Voice.

She kicked at the covers pinning her in place, hurling them away from her as she half-rolled, half-fell off the squishy surface and stood. Or, rather, tried to stand—the darkness began reclaiming her vision, and the pain in her chest worsened, accompanied by a wave of nausea that made her double over, clutching at her stomach.

“Lady Lesso, I know this might be disorientating for you, but-” the woman was still talking but she didn’t care. She needed to find the Voice, needed to make sure it was okay-

She stumbled, hearing a bang and a crash as she blindly reached out for something to catch herself on, but the hard surface slipped from her fingers, the impact thudding through the floor under her bare feet. She blinked, rapidly, finally managing to dispel the darkness but finding the room darker than it was before, no longer bathed in soft orange light but rather slivers of silver coming from the wall beside her, and a pool of brighter, yellow light leaking from the doorway.

“What on earth is going on in- oh!” another woman burst in—older, with grey hair and wrinkled features that contorted into a frown as she took in the room. A boy was close behind her, his dark black skin contrasting with the white tunic and trousers that matched the ones worn by both of the women, and behind him, lingering in the doorway, a young girl—little more than a child—but oddly familiar. A grubby face flashed before her eyes, one with a crown on her head and surrounded by trees and looking down at her, coming closer—the girl had been in the forest, the forest had been real-

“Agatha, go and get Professor Dovey.” It was the young woman, but she spoke without turning her head, keeping her eyes on her instead of looking at the girl—Agatha, apparently—she must be; because she nodded and disappeared. The door closed behind her and the room felt smaller; it was so, so small and all three of the white-clad people were moving closer. Her back hit the wall, the fabric on it closing in around her just like the darkness, pulling her under, silencing the world and making it dark, so, so dark and she just wanted everything to stop and-

There was strange sensation in her chest, like something wild being set free, then a loud crash and a gasp and the sounds of fabric rustling, people breathing but not normal breathing, and she realised that she’d closed her eyes. They were screwed shut so tightly that it hurt—nothing like the throbbing in her chest, or the aching in her limbs, or the pounding in her head—but this was a pain she could stop. She opened her eyes, slowly, carefully, and found the room was no longer so dark. There was a soft, violet light, something strangely familiar even though she was certain she’d never seen it before. And it was coming from her. Her arm was outstretched, and her hand was glowing with the strange colour, bathing the whole room in its comforting glow. She felt it coursing through her veins, a strange tangible connection that extended beyond her own body. She could feel it, feel three warm presences at her fingertips and yet, as she looked at her own pale hand, fingers flexed and pulsing with light, there was no one there.

Another strangled gasp made her look up, and she saw the three white-clad people, now as far away from her as they could be in the small room. They watched her with a familiar expression, all halfway up the wall with that same violet glow pulsing around them, pinning them there. They struggled, opening and closing their mouths with more of the harsh, gasping noises, and it looked like they couldn’t breathe. And looking at them, she knew with an icy certainty what that expression was. Fear.

Her own heart began to beat faster in her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything. The bed was large; the thick, heavy covers splayed across it and onto the floor. There was an armchair between it and the far wall, plush and piled high with cushions. The fabric behind her was no longer suffocating, and she could feel it’s softness on her skin, with a rougher texture accompanying the intricate patterns that adorned it. The room seemed like it should have been bright, but the colours looked strange in the eerie light cast by her hand, juddering shadows lurking in every corner. Worst of all, there was only one door—right beside the three figures. She’d have to go right past them to escape—escape, that was the word her mind kept going back to, over and over. That’s what she wanted, no, needed to do. She had to escape.

She didn’t get the chance.

The door flew open, slamming into the wall and she shied away from it, the glow of her hand brightening and the three others flinching as if she’d struck them. She pressed back into the fabric, her free hand crushing it into her fist, fearing its smothering caress less than whatever would barrel into the room with such force. But when she looked to the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. The woman was wearing a golden dress, sparkling in the violet light, and her equally golden curls were illuminated by the yellow glow from beyond the door. She was beautiful. It was the only word her mind could conjure, and she felt a strange tugging sensation in her chest—the soft, delicate features were stunning, yes, but so strangely, achingly familiar. Someone hit into the woman’s back, but she didn’t react or even stumble, and an indistinct crowd of other people formed behind her, shifting and moving around beyond the doorway, making it impossible to tell much about them. The woman looked around the room before her eyes landed on her, and her expression changed to… something.

Then she spoke. “Lady Lesso, what on earth do you think you’re doing? Put them down!” it was the Voice, there was no doubt about that—the Woman’s appearance matching it perfectly—but it sounded… different, somehow. The violet glow flickered, and she swallowed, thickly, looking between the Woman and the three people against the wall. She was… defending them? They’d been too close, too loud, but if the Woman was on their side… she’d thought the Voice was on her side. The Woman spoke again before she had time to decipher the situation.

“Well? They are trying to help you, you obstinate witch.” The Woman folded her arms, and she registered the insult without really understanding what it meant. It hurt. Not like the pain in her chest and her head and everywhere else, but it hurt somewhere… inside. As if it had somehow struck her in that strange, tangible space the violet light was coming from—somewhere real, and yet not there. “Lesso!”

The Voice wasn’t kind at all, now. It was the same sound, but completely different to the way it had pulled her mind together, had lifted her from the dark. It wasn’t soft, or gentle, and she felt that she’d done something wrong. She didn’t know what, but the way the Woman was looking at her… she didn’t like it, she wanted the feeling to stop, but she didn’t know how to make it go away. After a moment of faltering, the violet light vanished, the sensation of the three people at her fingertips leaving her as they fell to the floor, coughing and spluttering. She pulled her hand back into her body, holding it to her stomach and twisting her fingers into the fabric there as the Woman moved closer, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

Other people came in, too; detaching from the crowd, and talking to each other, or perhaps to the Woman, but her mind didn’t bother to follow what they were saying. The Woman looked around the space, getting smaller by the second as more people crowded in, but when she spoke, her voice was… closer to how it should be. Not gentle, not anymore, but closer to how she’d sounded when she was talking about the problems she was facing, more like the normal days in the darkness. And yet… the words were slightly too short, her tone slightly too stiff. Everything about it just slightly… wrong.

“I know you loathe being in this castle, dear, but did you have to make such a mess?” the Woman shook her head, waving a hand in front of her. A shimmering golden glow swirled out of her fingertips, floating around the room and coating some of the objects in it. She finally looked away from the Woman to watch as the blankets straightened themselves out, floating into perfect order on the bed. She stepped out of the way as the table beside her stood up all on its own, the object that had crashed from atop it drifting back into position, and the golden light filled the crack in its glass before it suddenly lit up, filling the room in a bright orange glow that made her squint. She reached out to touch the glittering line, and found the smooth surface warm beneath her hand. She paid no attention to the others, now, instead focused on the feeling of warmth seeping into her fingertips—it was different, she realised, between the smooth surface and the golden line. Both warm, but the line had a strange… buzzing to it, reaching out to that place inside of her that wasn’t quite real, the place that her own glowing light had come from, and she felt it rear up in answer, reaching out to touch the shining gold.

“Lesso-dear, sit down, would you? You’re making them nervous.” She looked up at the sound of the Voice, and found the Woman looking at her expectantly, though she couldn’t quite figure out why. She was holding a glass, now, and she raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she gestured to the bed with her free hand. She was struck with that same sense of familiarity that she couldn’t quite place, and it took her a moment to realise that the Woman wanted her to sit down. Slowly, she moved back to the strangely squishy bed, forcing herself to sit on it. The moment she did so, the Woman swept forward, handing her the glass and leaning half over her shoulder to reach the pillows behind her. She waited for that same sense of panic she’d felt earlier when the others had tried to come close, but it never came—a part of her even wanted to lean closer to the Woman, but she was moving and talking too fast to allow it.

“Honestly, trust you to make a meal out of everything—we only set you up here because your infirmary looked more like a morgue—and don’t get me started on that so-called nurse!” she allowed the Voice to fade into a pleasant background melody as she looked at the glass in her hand. There were those same glittering golden particles swirling around in it, and she watched them sparkle and catch the light as they spiralled in the clear liquid. Now that she was looking closely, she could see hundreds of spindly golden lines coating the outside of the glass—just like the thick one on the lamp. Before she had the chance to contemplate it further, the Woman’s hand was on her shoulder, the warmth radiating from her through the fabric, and she gently pushed her to lean back against the pillows.

“Sit back now, dear, and let them ask you whatever questions they have.” It was more comfortable than before, but still far too soft and smothering, too reminiscent of the darkness. Still, the Woman seemed to want her to stay there. As she looked up into soft, brown eyes, the Woman removed her hand and held it up with a single finger outstretched. “And don’t look at me like that; the faster you do as they ask, the faster you’ll be out of here and back in your own bed.”

The Woman looked away, and she followed her gaze to the group of people gathered by the far wall. They were all watching her—not only the three in white, but two others; a fair-faced woman with a flower in her black hair, and a blonde man with soft features. She drew her legs up to her chest, letting the long white nightgown hide her. It felt safer, to have her knees drawn up like that. There was still a crowd in the doorway, too; shifting and murmuring, and she noticed the girl from earlier at the front of it—Agatha, the young woman had called her—the one who had been in the forest…

The forest.

The others were talking but she couldn’t make sense of the words, she was still staring at the doorway but she couldn’t see it anymore. Her mind was back to someplace that still didn’t feel quite real, a place she’d hoped hadn’t been real at all. That’s why the Woman was so familiar—she wasn’t as kind now, but the Voice in the dark had been kinder, too. It was still her, though, of that she was certain. And she’d been there, in that terrible place, full of silver and dirt and blood, she’d been covered with blood—it had been on her hands, and her dress, and her cheek, even—dirt and blood had been everywhere, and it was on her, too, but that didn’t feel so wrong, it didn’t elicit the same twisting sensation deep inside her, because the Woman had seemed so kind but there’d been so much blood and blood was bad and—

And the Woman was leaving. The old woman in white stopped her after a few steps, but she was too far away, now, almost as far away as she could be. She’d sent the others away first, and was holding onto the door now; blocking the crowd from her view, but she needed the Woman to stay. The Woman couldn’t just leave, not until she understood—she needed to know why she’d been in the forest, and the darkness, and now here. Most importantly, she needed to know why she wasn’t as kind anymore, why her voice was fast and loud with clipped words instead of gentle ones.

But then the Woman looked back at her, and suddenly she was kind again. Her face was softer, and when she spoke it was the same voice that had pulled her up and out of the dark. “I will be right back.”

The air was knocked out of her lungs, and she felt that same golden warmth that had pulled her up from the dark, even as the Woman disappeared and shut the door behind her with a soft click.

Chapter Text

What followed was an unpleasant and incomprehensible series of questions. At least, she assumed they were questions. Sometimes they felt more like demands. The young woman spoke gently, and her voice was vaguely familiar from her days in the darkness—it had been one of the others she’d heard, besides the Voice—but it had been so far away then, distorted and strange, that it had taken her until now to recognise it. The older woman was harsher, snapping things at her that made her body tense, but she forced herself to stay where she was. The Woman had told her to sit here, and the Woman had said she’d be back. That was enough. The boy said nothing at all, instead contributing to the noise with the scratching of his quill against the notebook in his hand. It grated on her ear.

She had quickly stopped trying to make sense of what they were saying, instead watching the remaining golden particles drifting about the water in her hand as they dissolved, waiting for the Woman to return as she let their voices wash over her. Just as they had in the darkness. It was harder now, though; they were closer, and louder, and she could hear the actual words instead of just messy, distorted sounds.

Or, some of the words, at least. She was really trying not to focus on them, her headache only worsening with every syllable, but some words planted themselves firmly in her mind. “Why,” “what,” “forest,” “battle,” “son,” “Lesso,” “remember,”—that last one was said a lot, worming its way out of the blurring sentences and repeating itself, over and over again. And then there was shouting from outside, and she tensed at the voice, her hands balling up the fabric of her dress even as she felt an inexplicable urge to go towards it, her eyes fixing on the door as her spine straightened and her expression melted away. A strange calm washed over her as she listened to the indistinct sound of it; a young girl, probably around the same age as the girl that was here earlier, with the messy black hair. Agatha. That girl had been called Agatha. It felt important to remember things like that.

Then the shouting stopped, and she came back to herself; realising that the scratching of the quill had finally ceased, and the people in white were suddenly speaking quieter, as if they didn’t want her to hear. That completely pulled her out of whatever trance she’d slipped into, and she looked up to find the boy closing the door behind him. The younger woman had moved closer, stopping with her hands on the back of the armchair, but the older one stayed where she was, still glaring at her from the end of the bed. They were both watching her carefully, cautiously, even, as if…

The door opened again, and a woman swept in. The Woman. “What on earth do you need Merlin for?” she sounded angry, though this time it wasn’t directed at her, but instead towards the old women, who seemed to shrink under her scrutiny. It was so hard to focus on their words, she was so tired, and everything was so loud, but she tried. She wanted to hear, now, wanted to understand what the woman was saying, and why she was so unsettled.

“It was my idea to ask for him,” that was the younger woman, but she kept her gaze on her for a moment before actually turning towards the Woman. “I think his magical expertise would be useful.”

“Useful? She’s already awake! Not that he had any sort of hand in that…” she muttered the last part under her breath, taking a deep breath and letting it out in one sharp huff before continuing. “You were just supposed to ask some questions, write down whatever answers she gives you and then send her on her way!” she gave a sweeping motion towards the door at that, and it was only then that she realised the Woman hadn’t closed it behind her.

The crowd from earlier had disappeared, but there were still two women left, watching her carefully. One was wearing a huge, ruffled pink dress, with glittering jewels hanging from her neck and ears and wrists, even nestled in her hair. The other was the kind-faced woman that had come in to help the people in white, with a flower in her long black hair. The flower was a pale blue, matching the colour of her long dress with big, draping sleeves that was far more form-fitting than the pink-woman’s gown. They were both pretty, in the way that everyone seemed to be pretty, with perfect features and clothes and a strange air about them that for some reason set her on edge. And they had both been here earlier—she was fairly certain that the pink woman had been one of the people that had spoken to the Woman before she’d left. Their eyes met, and the pink woman’s expression changed to something… strange.

“That’s just it, Professor,” said the young woman, “she hasn’t given any answers.” Everyone else turned back to her, then, and she wrapped her arms around her legs, curling into a tighter ball. The women in the doorway frowned, the blue one murmuring something that she couldn’t hear.

“Lesso, what did I say about being cooperative?” she finally dragged her eyes away from the calculating stare of the pink woman, in time to see the Woman put her hands on gold-covered hips, pursing her lips are she looked at her. “Honestly! You are aware that you don’t have to be so difficult all of the time, aren’t you?” she dropped her gaze to the glass that was still in her hand, and it was only then that the Woman stopped, her ire dissipating in a matter of seconds. “Lesso-dear, are you quite well?”

She didn’t know what she was supposed to do in answer, but the Woman moved closer, her hands coming to hover delicately in front of her as she looked at her. There was such kindness, such concern in her face, and it was all she could do not to get completely lost in the dappled golden-brown of her eyes as they darted over her. She felt her muscles relax, and the Woman reached out a hand, so close to touching her shoulder she could feel the heat radiating off of her like a warm golden glow. But then the pink woman coughed, and the Woman suddenly stiffened and whirled back around to the other people in the room. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt her cheeks burning and was suddenly unable to meet their eyes.

“Clarissa-” this was the blue woman, but she was quickly cut off.

“What?” the Woman sounded angry again, tapping her foot on the floor in a fast rhythm. Tap-tap-tap-tap, filling her head, slamming against the inside of her skull. But she’d responded to that word—Clarissa. Was that her name? Like Agatha was the forest-girl’s? It was beautiful. It sounded right, somehow, fitting somewhere deep inside of her and filling a hole she hadn’t even realised existed, like it was something she’d always known, or was always supposed to know. Clarissa.

“Something’s clearly not right, Professor.” That was the young woman again, taking over from the blue one. “If we just wait for Merlin-”

The Woman scoffed, and then there was a warm arm linked through hers, and she was being pulled to her feet. Clarissa was pulling her up, drawing her into her side, and she was so warm. She leaned closer, pressing her whole side against her, and Clarissa didn’t seem to mind.

“When Merlin gets here—if he gets here—send him up to my rooms. Lady Lesso could do with a change of clothes and a hot bath before anyone tries to interrogate her any further.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“And why, pray tell, would that possibly be unwise, Professor Anemone?” the woman in pink looked surprised by Clarissa’s tone—they all did—and she looked away. Clarissa gave a satisfied little hm! noise, and began striding out of the room, arm still linked through hers, but her pace was too fast, and her legs were unsteady and aching, and she stumbled before they reached the door, holding tight to Clarissa’s arm as the water sloshed from the glass in her hand. Clarissa stopped, and everyone was looking at her strangely, and she felt her cheeks grow warm again. She looked to Clarissa—who was shorter than her, she realised, now that they were stood side by side—and received a concerned frown, but didn’t say anything as she gently took the glass, wordlessly handing it to the old woman before they continued out of the room at a much more manageable pace.

She’d thought the room had been bright. She’d thought the room had been loud. But here, outside the room, it was oh so much worse.

Clarissa’s shoes clicked on the stone floors, the sound bouncing off the walls and overlapping with previous steps, each one stabbing painfully at her ear. The seemingly endless halls they walked down were lit with lights so bright they made her eyes throb, reflecting off of the shiny walls and floors so that she couldn’t even avoid the glare by watching her bare feet pad along the cool stone, focusing all of her attention on not falling again. They didn’t pass any people though—that was one small mercy, the nauseatingly bright hallways being completely devoid of any more strangely pretty strangers in fancy clothes with unreadable expressions. Clarissa was talking the whole way, but she couldn’t follow it, too preoccupied with the ache in her legs and the pounding of her head to even try.

Then they reached a staircase, and Clarissa began to ascend it. Her thighs burned, and she could hardly breathe, leaning more and more heavily on Clarissa with every step on the endless climb, going up and up and up. Not for the first time since waking up, she thought back to the darkness. Clarissa’s pleasant chatter reminded her of it, her voice finally sounding just like she had in those days, back when things were simple and easy. Back when everything didn’t hurt—her head, her chest, her legs, her eyes…

After an eternity of climbing, they finally reached level ground, Clarissa not even seeming out of breath—still continuing her melodic chatter. They walked only a short distance until they reached a door—a deep emerald green, darker than most of the colours adorning the walls and doors they’d passed thus far—and it swung inward at the lightest touch from Clarissa’s hand. She was led through an office—warm, comforting, with a roaring fireplace and messy desk, the bright colours softer than they had been outside—and into a vast room. There was another fireplace in here, along with several puffy sofas and chairs, each piled high with multi-coloured cushions. The cold stone underfoot was replaced with plush carpet, and she sunk into it, flexing her aching toes gratefully. Clarissa’s pace slowed as they entered the room, her voice faltering as she released her arm, her newfound warmth quickly leeching away.

“The, um,” Clarissa cleared her throat, and as she returned her gaze to the woman beside her instead of the room around them, she could see a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks. “The bedroom is that way,” she followed her gesture to a door on the left wall, and Clarissa strode off towards it, her hands fluttering around her nervously as she continued. “Because that’s where the bathroom is, and my personal groom room and everything, of course…”

It took her a moment to realise she was supposed to follow, and Clarissa had already disappeared through the door by the time she began making her way towards it. She saw the edge of her golden dress disappearing through yet another door when she reached the next room, but instead of following further, she stopped, taking in the sparkling space she found herself in. There was a huge bed with what looked like hundreds of pillows piled up, matching the beautifully patterned green and gold blanket. It had light, golden curtains hanging around it, and the whole room seemed to glitter, every piece of furniture from the tables to the wall hangings glimmering gold. It felt somehow more… gentle, than the rest of the rooms had. Warmer, cosier, more… personal. It was like an extension of the golden woman herself, and as Clarissa’s voice floated pleasantly through the space, she did her best to listen as she took in the new room.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Lesso-dear; I didn’t think about how exhausted you must be, but I assure you, no one will breathe a word about what they saw today. And you’ll be back to your old self before Merlin even lays eyes on you—the old gossip—so no need to worry there either. Not that you would worry, of course, but I know how much your reputation means to you and—” she breezed back into the room, stopping mid-sentence as she saw her. Her face softened, and she looked just like she had in the forest, a face that truly fit the Voice that had comforted her in the darkness. Looking at her with those big, brown eyes that made her want to do something, anything to see Clarissa smile. She held out a trembling hand, taking a tentative step forward. “Lesso?”

Everyone kept saying that word—the people in white, the people in the forest, but especially Clarissa. But every time she tried to focus on it, she felt like she was being drawn back into the darkness, felt like it was engulfing her, body and mind. It was like every time someone said it, the very word itself dissolved into tendrils of darkness, reaching out for her with intangible claws, never quite letting her grasp it back. She wished she knew what it meant. It felt important.

Clarissa was looking at her, but she didn’t know what to do to make her smile, to stop the welling tears from leaving her eyes. “Leonora? Please, talk to me.”

Talk? That was what other people did, wasn’t it? What everyone had been doing, constantly, ever since she’d woken up. Talking was for other people. But she could talk too, couldn’t she? Could she? Clarissa wanted her to, Clarissa thought she could, thought she should. Looking at those big, sad eyes, so close but so, so far away… her mouth opened, but Clarissa was already turning away, pulling her hands into her body.

“Anyway, just go through there and the bath is ready for you,” she gestured to the door she’d come from, but her eyes were fixed on Clarissa’s back, willing her to turn back around. “The wardrobe in there is enchanted—it’ll give you whatever clothes you want, so you won’t have to put up with borrowing any of mine,” she laughed, then, but it sounded so forced, high and shrill and nothing like her voice should be; it was almost as if she was crying instead. She didn’t want Clarissa to cry, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to hear her really laugh. She wondered what it would be like to be the cause of it, to bring joy into the life of a woman like that—someone so kind, and soft, and strong, and sad.

“Clarissa,” the name slipped past her lips without her even thinking about it, and the woman whirled around with a sharp breath, stepping immediately closer, her eyes flickering over her face.

“Yes?” the tears had fallen, she realised, Clarissa was crying, her mouth slightly open and bottom lip trembling as she looked at her; brown eyes darting between both of her own.

She wanted to comfort her, but how could she? How could she make her feel better? How could she make her feel as safe and warm as Clarissa made her feel? She took a step closer and the words rose in her mind, the obvious words, the only words that mattered. The words that she’d heard, over and over in the dark, the ones that had kept her going, kept her reaching for the Voice. The words that had pulled her up and into this blinding world of light and noise and her. Her throat hurt, and it was hard to force herself to keep talking when she was so, so tired, but Clarissa’s eyes were full of such hope that she just had to keep going. She had to at least try.

The words were quiet, and breathy, her voice crackling like the logs in Clarissa’s seemingly endless fireplaces. They didn’t sound as soft or as comforting as they had when Clarissa had said them, but still, the woman gave her a soft, quivering smile, choking back a sob in response.

“I’ll be back.”

Chapter Text

The room beyond the door was hot, uncomfortably so, with tendrils of steam curling upwards from the huge pool in the centre. And it did look like a pool; half set into the floor in the middle of the room, large enough for at least four people to fit in it at once without ever touching one another. She wandered over to it, leaning down to dip a hand into the oily surface, and yanking it back almost immediately—not only was the water far too hot, almost burning her skin, but there were so many floral oils drifting about on the surface that the combination of scents made her gag. She stumbled back a step, wiping her hand on her dress, and catching a glimpse of something moving on the far side of the room. Her heart jumped as she locked eyes with the figure, black hair coming loose from a long, messy braid down its back; the dark smudges under wide, bright violet eyes contrasting with unnaturally pale skin. They wore a long white dress—only fractionally paler than their flesh—that came down to brush against the tops of their bare feet. It took a moment of staring at this strange, frozen figure for her to realise that it wasn’t moving. That it took every breath in time with her own; pale, thin lips closing together just as she realised her own mouth was open. Panic was quickly replaced with embarrassment as the word came to her. Reflection.

She moved towards the image, looking more closely. Now she understood why everyone had been looking at her with such strange expressions—she wasn’t like them at all. While everyone she had seen thus far had been beautiful, with perfect skin and styled hair, and a general elegance about them that set her on edge in a way that she couldn’t quite articulate, she was… well. She wore the long dress with puffed up sleeves lined with lace and frills, but it was abundantly clear that she didn’t belong in it. It was more than evident she didn’t belong in this place, with its pastel halls and lights so bright they left spots dancing in her vision. Her skin was too pale, the circles under her eyes too dark, her hair too wild, curling out of the braid that was clearly supposed to contain it. And now that she was closer, she could see that what she had initially thought was merely a shadow on her face was actually a dark, swollen smear, an ugly brownish-greenish-purple that sent a jolt of pain through the skin when she touched it.

Her attention was pulled away from the unnerving reflection by the sound of tinkling bells, and little glowing figures—no taller than her longest finger—floated into the room. They swarmed around her, and began plucking at the laces of her dress, the ringing of the bells sounding less melodic and more grating by the second. She tried to swat them away, but they were nimble little things, dancing out of the path of her hand to pluck at a different part of the fabric—one moment at the high, lace collar, the next darting to a sleeve or pulling at the back, loosening it everywhere they went. After turning this way and that, trying to keep them all in her sights and as far away from her as possible, she finally made contact, sending a pink one hurtling across the room just as one of the others finished unlacing her dress, the fabric falling soundlessly to the floor. The others immediately swirled away, hovering around their fallen friend, but the little creatures made her feel supremely uneasy, especially when they had been so close to her. She turned away from them, trying to block out their incessant jingling, and her eyes caught on the newly revealed skin in the mirror. If she’d thought the ugly mark on her forehead was bad, then the rest of her was…

There was more bruises littering her arms and legs, some swollen, some mere discolouration of the skin, but they bothered her far less than the multitude of raised, pale lines crisscrossing her flesh. They were on her arms, her legs, her stomach… everywhere. Some were short and thin, others larger and more raised—some were grouped in clusters and others carved a lonely path over her skin. Some even crossed over each other, making her skin rise in uneven lumps of scar tissue at every intersection. But the worst was along her torso.

A huge, slashing line, jagged and pink and painful. It was exactly where the pulsing pain had been coming from, ever since she woke up, and her finger slowly came up to touch it, making the barest contact and yet sending another wave of pain through her. She turned, slowly, examining the map of lines and seeing worse ones on her back—huge and jagged, crossing one another, more healed than the one on her front, but some of them not by much. She finally allowed her head to turn with her body, and found herself facing the glowing creatures again. They were all watching her, too, and she suddenly felt a wave of something bubble up inside her. How dare they watch her like this? They took her clothes, left her naked and defenceless, and now they were just floating there, watching her, as if… as if they pitied her.

The thought of it let something loose inside her, and her mouth twisted and she ran at them, a primal noise ripping its way from her throat as her hand began to glow again. She swatted at the creatures, every jingling dodge they made only fuelling the burning feeling inside of her, only making her hit at them harder, making her hate them. She’d managed to freeze some of the infernal things in place, her violet glow replacing their glittering ones, before the door slammed open and she finally registered that, beyond the rushing in her ears and the incessant jingling of the creatures, there’d been an insistent knocking on the door.

“What on earth is going on in– oh!” Clarissa cut herself off as she took in the room—scattered creatures, some barely able to rise from the ground, some frozen mid-air, one even clutched in her own fist.

The burning feeling drained out of her and the violet glow faded, releasing her hold on the creatures. Clarissa’s eyes fell on her and widened, her cheeks turning a bright reddish-pink as she immediately looked away, instead focusing on scooping up the creatures and ushering those that could still fly out of the room. The one in her hand took the opportunity to bite her, and she let go immediately, flinging it away from her and clutching her injured hand to her chest.

Clarissa still refused to look at her, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. The creatures had caused this mess, not her. It was their fault. So why was Clarissa once again taking the side of the things that had attacked her? Having removed all of the creatures, Clarissa took out a bottle of something from a cupboard, placing it on the edge of the pool as she spoke, her voice higher and more hesitant than it had been earlier.

“This should soothe the bite. It numbs things… I won’t bore you with the details, but just, put some of it into the water before you get in. There are towels over there,” she gestured vaguely to the other side of the room, “and I’ll um—I’ll be outside if you-” she stumbled slightly, clearing her throat before continuing, “if you need me.” And with that, she disappeared back through the door, not looking in her direction once before closing it behind her.

Alone again, she made her way back to the water, finding it was now at least a more bearable temperature, and stepped carefully into it after emptying a good amount of the bottle onto the surface. The water stung her in many places—it seemed the creatures had bitten her all over, not that she’d felt it at the time—and she drew in a sharp breath, finding the pain oddly… calming, as it settled within her.

She thought back to the other people she’d seen thus far. No one had had so much as a hair out of place, wearing fine clothes and moving so… gracefully. They all fit seamlessly with the surroundings, too—everything perfectly in its place, nothing messy or cracked or broken. Apart from the things she’d broken. Even the little glowing creatures just felt right, somehow, blending seamlessly with the setting. Not her, though. All she’d done was make things worse—Clarissa had used her golden glow to fix the room that her glow had ruined, Clarissa had defended the people in white and helped the jingling creatures that she had attacked. Everyone had been looking at her like she was wrong and maybe… maybe they were right. She hadn’t seen so much as a bruise on anyone else, not one hair or frill or glittering jewel out of place. But she was covered with scratches and bruises and scars and bites, so much so that Clarissa hadn’t even been able to look at her.

No, she didn’t belong here at all.

She sunk lower into the water, letting the obnoxiously scented surface absorb her. She was so, so tired. Her aching limbs refused to move, even with the water stinging her skin, and she felt her eyes drift shut, returning her to the darkness. It felt like she was being weighed down, dragged under the slimy surface, but she didn’t have the energy to fight it. Her mind began drifting away, and all she could picture was the disgusted looks everyone had been giving her all day. Everyone here was so perfect, so picturesque, everyone was…

She jolted upright. Not everyone.

There had been one person who hadn’t looked at her with disgust, or anger, or confusion—not once. She’d looked… concerned. The girl from the forest. Agatha. She’d been pretty, yes, but her hair had been messy and her clothes were rumpled. She hadn’t had that same, jarring grace, she’d moved like a person instead of… whatever everyone else here was. Even Clarissa moved with that strange grace, not quite normal, not quite human. And then there was the other girl, the one she hadn’t seen, the one that had been shouting from outside, with a rough voice and none of the calm, collected manners of everyone else. They were like her—they didn’t fit in this place any more than she did. She had to find them.

She splashed some of the water on her face, scrubbing it quickly over her head and body, refusing to allow herself to drift back into the darkness. Getting out of the pool, she noticed strange, black tendrils drifting through the water, swirling over the surface alongside the oils and bubbles. She frowned—perhaps it was just something else telling her that she wasn’t supposed to be here, some corruption that she’d left behind. The braid on her back slithered over her skin as it left the water, sticking to her flesh, heavy and dragging her backwards, pulling uncomfortably on her scalp. She hated it. She rifled through various drawers and cupboards until she found a pair of scissors, the blades glinting silver in the light. Perfect. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the thick, heavy rope and got to work.

The scissors wouldn’t really cut the braid, but she managed to saw through it well enough, the blades just about sharp enough to do the job. Finally, with a wet thwap, the whole thing came free, dropping to the floor behind her. Her head felt lighter, some of the pain she’d been warring with immediately subsiding—it felt like she could think. She found a gold, fluffy piece of fabric around where Clarissa had told her to look for towels, and wrapped herself in it, enjoying the softness on her bare skin. There was a smaller one, too, and she traced the golden, floral lettering sewn into the corner. It was a little hard to read, the letters swirly and intertwined with threaded foliage, but after a moment she deciphered it—C.D.

C for Clarissa? Probably. But then what did the D stand for? Did she have another name? Or was it something else? There was too much she didn’t understand about this place, or the people in it. She shook her head, dispelling the questions for now, and using the smaller towel to rub at what remained of her hair, trying to stop the little rivulets of water from running over her skin. When her hair felt dry enough, she straightened up, but the gold fabric was now stained an inky black on the side she’d used. She felt a pang of something at having obscured Clarissa’s golden lettering—the same feeling she’d had when Clarissa had been angry at her earlier, berating her for ruining the room and not doing what the people in white wanted. She dropped the offending item, turning instead to look at her discarded braid. The formerly black hair was now streaked with a brighter colour—a vibrant reddish-orange. She reached up and grabbed at one of the longer strands still attached to her head, pulling it down so she could see it—sure enough, it was that same bright colour, the black seeming to have come away on the towel. Another question to be answered later. If she was going to find the girls, she’d need better clothes than the uncomfortable dress she’d woken up in—that was her new priority. She rubbed the fluffy fabric over her skin until she was dry and discarded it alongside the smaller one, turning towards the other door in the room. Clarissa had mentioned a wardrobe; that had to be it.

She put her hand on the doorknob and twisted, but it didn’t open, instead warming beneath her hand as the surface began to glow. Violet light spread from the handle, replacing the delicate golden swirls that decorated the door with jagged lines that spiderwebbed out like cracks in a glass, before finally swinging inward. She raised an eyebrow as she padded into the room. When Clarissa had said wardrobe, her mind had conjured an image of a little cupboard made of wood, holding four, maybe five dresses on rickety hangers inside. This was not a wardrobe. This was an entire room of clothes. There was a whole wall dedicated to purple dresses—some long, some short, one poofy and covered with frills, most slim fitting with little to no decoration at all. They made her uneasy, but still drew her in with their strange familiarity. She ran her fingers over some of the simpler ones, trying to place the feeling… her mind flashed with an image of violet fabric stained and torn, the feeling of sticky crimson coating her skin. She gasped, stumbling back, her hand flying to the pain in her chest, but the vison was gone as soon as it appeared.

She turned away, assessing the rest of the clothes.

It didn’t take her long to assemble something she was happy with, layering fabric until every inch of her scarred skin was covered. Finally, she laced up the boots—all of the options had tall, pointed heels, and as she stood her arms flew out to use the wall for support, grasping at it as her feet wobbled from side to side. There was a soft, warm buzzing feeling in the room, and suddenly she saw an object that she could have sworn wasn’t there before. Still, she grabbed it gratefully, leaning her weight onto it instead of the unstable shoes. All the while she’d been avoiding the countless mirrored surfaces lining the space, not wanting to catch sight of the wide-eyed ghost from earlier. It didn’t matter, she told herself. What mattered was those two girls—she had to find them. And yet, as she left the supposed-wardrobe—finding that her feet seemed to know what they were doing if she didn’t think about it too much—she caught a glimpse of herself in the corner of her eye. She halted, turning towards that same glided frame that had shown her the ghost earlier.

She wasn’t a ghost anymore. Her skin was still pale, her eyes still lined with dark circles, but somehow the bright hair, curled and frizzing out around her head, made her look wild instead of weak. Feral. And with the simple, dark clothes having replaced the flimsy dress she was… intimidating. No longer a wide-eyed ghost, now she was… she was someone. She grinned, but it wasn’t Clarissa’s hesitant, faltering smile, not the kind smile of the younger woman in white. The look in her eyes was foreign and yet felt oh-so familiar. She looked terrifying. And she liked it. As she strode out of the room, the cane tapping on the floor in time with her steps, she suddenly felt a sense of purpose that she hadn’t felt since… since a voice in the darkness had asked her to wake up. She hadn’t failed then, and she would not fail now.

Chapter Text

Clarissa’s face was burning. She hadn’t really seen anything—just a flash of bare skin, the pile of fabric on the floor by the mirror—but still. It was the principal of the thing. Lady Lesso was her colleague, her confident, her… friend. But she’d gotten changed in front of other friends before—getting ready for balls or engagements or weddings and she’d never felt so… of course, no one had been entirely naked then, either. Why on earth Lesso hadn’t been wearing any undergarments was beyond her. Which was something else she shouldn’t be thinking about—the type of undergarments the other woman did or did not usually wear under that formidably form-fitting dress she favoured on school days. It certainly shouldn’t make her face heat or her heart pound or—

A knock at the door to her rooms startled her out of her spiralling thoughts. She retreated from the balcony, leaving the doors open to cool down her suddenly too-hot bedroom. She was just overwhelmed, that was all. She’d had a long and difficult day, and then with all the excitement around Lesso’s awakening… she just needed some sleep, she was certain. And then everything could go back to the way it was before. Nothing had changed that couldn’t be changed back—and they could all go on as they always had. Together.

Merlin was waiting for her on the other side of the door, looking significantly dishevelled and rather impatient. He didn’t wait to be invited in, instead brushing past her and looking about her living room with narrowed eyes that immediately set her on edge.

“Do come in, Merlin.” She said in her usually cheery voice, with only a hint of sarcasm beneath the words as she closed the door behind him. The old wizard took no notice.

“I was told I could find her here. She hasn’t run off, has she?”

She tried not to let her irritation at the question show. They way other people acted as though Lesso was some wild beast often got on her nerves, and today was certainly no exception. “She’s in the bath. I don’t see why this couldn’t have waited until morning—”

“Don’t you?” he rounded on her, suddenly fixing her with that beady-eyed stare instead of casting it around the room, and her spine straightened. “I was told her behaviour earlier was rather… unusual. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”

Clarissa pursed her lips, pacing across the room and closing her curtains against the night to avoid him seeing her displeasure. “Of course she wasn’t her usual self. She was stabbed, Merlin, she was dead. Killed by her own son before being resurrected—something none of us even thought was possible—then falling down a hill, hitting her head, almost dying again and being asleep for almost a week before waking up in an unfamiliar room surrounded by people she’s never even met.” She took a steadying breath, clutching the curtains in her hands. She’d been unaware just how much simply recounting the events would upset her, making her lip tremble and tears well as a painful lump formed in her throat. She willed her usual calm façade into place before turning back to face Merlin. “I think it’s understandable that she was a little out of sorts.”

“Yes,” he said, eyeing her carefully, “yes, of course. Completely understandable. So, may I…?” he made a slight move towards the door to her room, clearly intending to harass Lesso before she’d had even ten minutes to herself, but Clarissa cut him off before he could intrude any further.

“Wait for her here? Yes, of course you may, Merlin. Would you like some tea?”

~

Clarissa’s bedroom was dark and empty when she opened the bathroom door. The fire was low, barely more than embers, and the opposite wall was now agape, revealing elegantly carved golden balustrades lining a balcony. But it wasn’t the small table and chair set up there that caught her attention, nor the shining ball of silver hanging in the cloudless sky. She made her way carefully across the darkened space without any conscious thought, the cane in her hand tapping gently against the floor with each step, walking suddenly becoming second nature to her as her focus shifted to something else. Something bigger, something looming and terrible and inescapable. She stopped, finally, resting her free hand on the cool gold of the railing and looking out at… it.

The huge, hulking silhouette, all jagged towers and crumbling roofs, glaring back at her, drawing her close and making her heart pound all at once. It drained all other thoughts from her mind, the resolution and purpose of moments prior melting away from her just as quickly as it had come as she beheld the enormous beast before her. She couldn’t look away, even as her breath began to quicken, coming in short, sharp gasps. Whatever that place was… it felt wrong, somehow. She felt a familiar feeling clawing its way up her throat, but now she had the word for it. She’d seen it earlier, on the faces on the white-clothed trio. Fear. She didn’t like how it felt, how it gripped her chest, tightened her lungs—how her legs ached to get away and yet refused to move, leaving her rooted to the spot. Images flashed before her eyes, shifting, changing too fast for her to hold on to—violet eyes and wicked laughter, cruel hands and burning pain, and all the while that silhouette loomed over her, threatening to swallow her whole, getting closer and closer and—

There was a flash of violet light, but this time it wasn’t behind her eyes. A gust of freezing wind barrelled into her, pushing her backwards and slamming the doors shut on that horrible, ghoulish shadow with a resounding bang.

A commotion sounded from the next room, movement and voices, and she forced herself to breathe deeply, still facing the doors, her own pale reflection in the glass mostly obscuring the terrible shadowy beast that waited beyond it. She was fierce now, too; she remembered now that she could see herself. The wild hair, the dark clothes, the intricately carved whirls etched into the black wood of her cane. Something deep inside of her told her that she needed to be calm. That she needed to be fierce. Fear did not suit her. Fear was for other people. She would not be afraid—no one could ever see her afraid.

By the time the bedroom door opened, it seemed an eternity had passed. That roiling fear had faded, and a cold calmness had settled over her once again—just as it had when she’d heard that voice, shouting from behind a closed door.

“Leonora?” it was the Voice again. Clarissa’s voice. She did not let even that shake the cold certainty from her—she had a purpose now, one not even that shadowy monstrosity could steal from her. She could not afford to lose it again.

She turned, slowly, her movements taking on a slow, almost graceful quality. Not graceful like Clarissa, though—Clarissa had moved like she was dancing, like there was a slow, beautiful music to the world that no one else could hear. She did not move like Clarissa. She wasn’t graceful like a dancer. She was... she was a predator. Of that she was strangely certain. A slow, creeping smile spread across her lips as the word came to her, but her eyes didn’t move. Not like how Clarissa’s eyes had crumpled slightly in the corners when she smiled. She was not like Clarissa, in a thousand different ways. She’d already realised that, but this time it hurt less. This time, being different felt safer.

She took in the people as they took in her. Clarissa was in the same dress she’d been in before, but now she looked… different. She was looking at her differently, looking her up and down with… something. It was hard to tell, in the darkness. She hoped it wasn’t fear, though. She’d made the white-clothed people afraid, but now that she knew how it felt… she never wanted Clarissa to feel that way. There was another figure watching her, too. One she didn’t recognise. She pulled her gaze from Clarissa to look it up and down, once. Slowly. It felt right to be slow, now. Not like she was wading through the darkness, no, this slowness was different. Deliberate. Powerful. She liked feeling powerful. The other figure was a man with a long, silver beard, wearing a long, dark dress. He was oddly familiar, now that she looked at him. An image flashed up behind her eyes again, of that same long, silver beard in watery silver light. Dirty and unkempt, in that strange, nightmarish forest. He’d been there too. This time, though, she didn’t flinch away from the realisation. That cold calmness protected her, numbed her, and her body didn’t react to the jolt of fear in her chest when she thought of those strange, unconnected pictures behind her eyes. Her fingers tightened on the curved handle of the cane, her own nails digging into the side of her other hand. The feeling sharpened her, somehow—made her feel focused again.

“Are you alright?”

It was Clarissa, her voice small and hesitant. Without thinking, she inclined her head towards the golden woman, tilting the world as she looked at her and smiled wider, this time feeling her eyes crinkle, just a little. Clarissa’s lips parted slightly, and she let out a small rush of air. It didn’t seem like she was afraid. It seemed like she was happy. The man didn’t seem happy, though. She saw his head flick between them out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t look at him again. Her eyes were locked with Clarissa’s, bathed in that pale silver light.

“I think we’d all better sit down.”