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Chapter Text

     It was some years ago she moved into the sleepy town of Belmoor, and no one knew where she came from or what she had done before in her life. Most assumed she was royalty of some sort: a princess, duchess, or baroness of some foreign country. This was assumed because she held herself with a grace and poise beyond the common citizen, as well as possessing a wealth they could only ever dream of. This wealth in full display as she resided in a decadent, crimson manor resting at the far-end of town, one towering in the distance from behind its expansive wrought iron fence.

     Even after years of residence, little was truly known of her. A few things had been picked up over time, though. Through the constant and endless parade of suitors, it became apparent she was one not easily impressed, especially by material things. That she was someone who was hard to make laugh or smile. Many things could be seen making her smile, like watching birds fluttering in the sky, but people rarely could.

     It was known she had a love of flowers, and possessed a green thumb in making life blossom to her touch. The large expanse of land between those iron fences and her crimson manor filled to the brim with a rainbow menagerie of flowers. Many flowers growing far longer than they seasonally should; blooming when they shouldn’t in the town’s climate; and all of them persisting in their beauty by her hand alone. For despite the grandeur of where she lived, not a living soul seemed to work on the grounds. The only person ever seen in her service was her carriage driver, but even he wore a porcelain mask which covered all his features.

     Clearest of anything known about her was her deep affection for cats. The town used to be filled to the brim with strays and ferals, but over the years they had all been taken into her fold. When one would look through her gates, they could see endless cats roaming those flower gardens. Some would say she must have had a hundred cats all to herself, and that there was no surer way to forever lose her favor than being cruel to one

     Beyond everything else, though—wealth, beauty, and mystery—it was her eyes that struck the deepest into the hearts of those who longed for her. For her eyes were the color of gold, shimmering like starlight, and seemed to hold a depth to them like the universe itself. That it felt like breathing in the bliss of life, and basking in the warmth of falling in love to have those eyes gaze into yours…or so it was spoken of. Spoken of like her name—Parisa Blackwillow—a name that fell from the lips of hopeless suitors and their broken-hearted love songs.

     One of those hopeless suitors, the young noble Benedict Lawson, was speaking to the town’s blacksmith, Isolde Tremain. Benedict was a scarecrow of a man, dressed prim and proper, with finely combed hair and mustache, and a top hat firmly on his head. This hat remained on instead of respectfully taken off, Isolde nodding as his eloquent voice kept droning on.

     Isolde was well known in the town for her amiability and gentleness, despite the harsh nature of the work she did. With a soft demeanor, strong ethics, and being in her mid-twenties, she had many qualities prime for those desiring a partner in marriage. Unlike Parisa, though, almost no suitors ever came knocking on her door. She very much knew the main cause of such was her appearance.

     As a child, a horse had violently kicked her while she was helping her father to put on horseshoes. The kick had crushed and broken bones across the left-side of her face, and had unleashed a torrent of blood that seemed to bathe the whole world around her red. She had been lucky to escape with her life and no damage to her mind, but great scars abounded across the left half of her face, which had healed malformed. Along with the striking scars of the incident, her left eye had gone blind, forever with an empty, glass-like stillness and murkiness to it, its pupil stuck in a perpetually undilated state, the eyelid stuck half-shut. The nerves and muscles damaged on that side of her face, terribly restricting any movement there: a sad sight for many to see the light in the half smile on her uninjured side, while the left half remained frozen down in a frown, creating an unsettling dissonance. Beyond that, the pinky and ring fingers on her left hand were almost completely missing, severed in a smithing accident only a few years prior. All in all, many did not seek one whom they couldn’t even slip a wedding ring on.

     Still, some suitors had tried, but most had quickly wilted away. She had a way of being very reclusive, and was much quieter when you talked with her in person outside of her work. Or that when she did speak, it was always so much more bumbled than the strong assurance in which she could explain all the details to crafting a work from metal.

     They tired her anyway, those that’d come knocking on her door, especially when she’d want to hold someone’s hand. They’d never take hold of her left hand, and when they’d take her right, there was always that subtle look of disgust that flickered onto their faces. Simply because her hands were hard, rough, and calloused from her work, not at all soft like they’d wanted. She loved soft hands—the sensation of silken skin—but there was no way to have those in her line of work, yet all her suitors always seemed to take it personally. Like her injuries were her fault, and she’d chosen them for herself.

     “Do you think you could make that for me?” Benedict asked Isolde, and she blinked, realizing her mind had been somewhere far away.

     She often daydreamed while working in the forge, but had the bad habit of sometimes falling into it with people around. It felt horrible in her, because she knew they thought she was spacing out because of something wrong with her head from the injury, thinking her mentally damaged.

     “What was it you wanted again?” she asked, unable to remember his words.

     “I was wondering if perhaps you could make me some golden horseshoes.”

     “Why in the world would you ever want golden horseshoes?”

     “To give to Parisa, of course!” Benedict huffed, and Isolde realized he must have already told her that. “It will be as a gift for the horses that draw her carriage, and it will show how thoughtful, caring, and considerate I am. It’ll set me apart from all those hollow men trying to win her with jewelry and flowers—she already has those.”

     “Golden horseshoes are an awful idea,” Isolde said, washing her face in a nearby water basin, trying to get some of the soot and grime away. “Gold is an incredibly soft metal, and as such, it’s a horrible choice for horseshoes. If you’re being thoughtful, just get her some normal ones. Steel is a thousand times better for the job than gold.”

     “You cannot go and give a woman like Parisa Blackwillow plain horseshoes!” he shouted like fact, Isolde amused by his furor. “Everyone wants to make her laugh…but they don’t want to be the one laughed at.”

     “I think it’d be a very nice thing to give her.”

     “Well, you’re a different kind of woman than Parisa is.”

     Isolde froze in place, face close to the water basin. The little nubs where her fingers used to be were burning into her vision, and she could see a hazy reflection of her face in the water: broken, mismatched, and so very filthy. Her ashen-black hair dry and twisted from all the forge’s smoke. She rose up, water dripping from her face, deep frown on her.

     “If you pay me, I’ll make whatever you want,” she said. “I was just giving my advice on the matter.”

     “Fine then.” Benedict crossed his arms, leaning against one of the support beams within the forge. “Other than horseshoes, tell me what kind of gift you would get Parisa? If you were a man trying to win her heart, how would you strike?”

     Isolde breathed in deep, her mind becoming light like it often did during her daydreaming sessions, falling into the dream of his question. She had never actually seen Parisa Blackwillow before. Isolde spent her days in the forge mostly, and they’d never crossed paths. All she had heard were the countless whispers, stories, and musings of love about her.

     Still, on nights when the moon was bright, Isolde could spend hours outside those gates of Parisa’s. She would stand outside and stare at the flowers and how they danced in the wind, watching the shifting shadows of the cats moving like magical beings.

     “The cats,” Isolde said, as if in answer to a riddle. “She loves those cats, so do something for them. Cats love bells. I can make them of all sizes, little balls they can bat around for fun. She must have close to a hundred cats, and they could use some fun toys. So I’d give her a hundred bells if I wanted to do something to truly impress her.”

     Benedict appeared to be seriously contemplating the idea for a moment, which made Isolde very happy in her answer. That joy, though, was shattered as he started laughing wildly, a wheezing cackle, something similar to how some of the other children would laugh after her face had first been broken. She never understood how they could find her pain so funny, and for so long the same joke played on and on…they loved to call her horseface for years.

     “You’d give her a bundle of bells for her cats?” Benedict said before bursting out laughing again. “This woman is like royalty! More than royalty…Parisa’s like some fiery, foreign goddess to behold, her golden eyes burning your very soul, and that’s what you’d offer at her shrine? It’s lucky you’re not a man, so you won’t have to know the pain of that outcome.”

     “I sure am lucky not to be a man,” she said with a half-crooked smile. “I’d be terrible with women, wouldn’t I?”

     “Probably just as terrible as you are with men!” Benedict kept cackling, his wheezing starting to sound like a horse’s neigh. “Have you ever even been kissed by anyone, little girl? Can you kiss with those crooked lips of yours?”

     Silently and swiftly, Isolde picked up her smithing hammer and slammed it full force into the support beam Benedict was leaning against, it crashing in a mere inch from his face. The hammer cracked and smashed straight into the wood, Benedict screaming like a child and jumping back, his eyes wide with fear.

     “I don’t want any job from you,” Isolde said, wiggling the hammer out from its place embedded into the beam. “You may take your business elsewhere.”

     “It was all in jest, you crazed woman! There’s no humor in that malformed heart of yours, is there? No wonder no man wants any part of you! And no woman would want you either if things were the other way around.” Benedict huffed, eyes stuck on the hammer, dusting off his top hat. “If I was your father, I would have put such an ugly and deformed creature as you out of your misery long ago. Too bad he died before he ever could.”

     He growled, then began to storm towards the exit. Isolde’s face contorted in anger, her arm raising up with the hammer and looking like she might fling it at him, but she froze in place. He exited the forge with her arm locked mid-air, hand trembling. Benedict Lawson was a gangly twig of a man, and her hammer would break bones. Not even for people as awful as him could she make her arm move to cause such pain.

     Soon the hammer fell from her hand, tumbling into the forge’s earthen floor, and the anger on her face dissolved first into quiet sadness, then into stinging anguish. Her face began to crumple, and before she could stop herself, she was crying. She hated crying because she’d always weep like a child: loud, violent, and painfully. The tears pushing out like little daggers, her hands trying to stop the floods, but the waters still flowing.

     It took her half an hour to stop crying, and after that she worked the next five hours straight, not even stopping when blisters formed on her hands, or even when they started to bleed. Her blood sliding out her gloves and sizzling upon the molten metal she was working with.

Chapter Text

     It was twilight when Isolde would finally step outside, her bloody and blistering hands messily bandaged, face and body covered over with soot and grime. Her hair was a filthy, twisted mess, and coughing loudly, the bones in her body all seemed to ache at once. She always felt tired and worn, every second of every day. Whether she didn’t work at all, or worked from morning until night, she’d feel that same weariness pervading every piece of her being.

     Focus drifting from her own pain, it began to shift to the world around her, and she immediately caught sight of something odd: there were people moving about the streets, heading towards the far-end of town. Many more souls than usual at such an hour of the day, and all heading in the same direction. A part of Isolde wanting to turn back inside and go to sleep, but another part of her was drifting towards what was happening.

     “You there!” she shouted out to one of the people walking along. “What is everyone doing?”

     “It’s Lady Parisa,” the man said. “She said she has an important announcement for the whole town, but especially to the young men, which has many excited for news involving her courtship. Maybe she’s finally chosen a suitor after all these years!”

     The man hurriedly went on, Isolde sighing, staring at the orange and purple hues filling the sky. It would be best for her to sleep, but she knew her heart would never let her. Never before had Parisa announced being in any place at a certain time. Never any moments Isolde could take to deliberately seek her out and finally see her. Perhaps if Isolde stayed home, it’d be years more before she could see the blessed angel they all talked of.

     “I better find out who’s been driving all the men crazy over the years,” she said with a sigh, heading towards the direction of the manor. “Besides, her flowers are always the most beautiful at twilight.”

     She breathed in deeply, already filling with the phantom scents of that glorious flower sea.

~

     Crowded a short distance from the gates were far more people than Isolde had anticipated. The crowd was mostly young men, but was also filled with curious and intrigued souls, and somehow in the large mass, Isolde had found herself pushed close to the front. She hadn’t cared about her appearance when she had started out, but grew to realize how out of place she seemed. All the men about her were dressed in their finest suits and garbs, cleaned and fancied up, while she looked like some street urchin.

     She turned around to head back and leave, but she barely made it a few feet before she could hear the creak of the wrought iron gates. Her mind was whispering to head back home, but something much louder yelled at her to stay. More than a voice inside, it felt like a rope was being wrapped around her waist, something forcefully dragging her back to where she had been standing.

     So Isolde turned around, and all in a moment it felt like her heart had fallen into a dream, tumbling through a different world and sending shivers throughout her whole body.

     Her heart had been sent into this different plane of existence from the sight of a woman standing in those opened gates—Parisa Blackwillow—those golden eyes of hers glittering in the orange hues of twilight. Isolde had always assumed the rumors to have been grossly exaggerated fluff, things said by foolish hearts in love, or by those consumed by greed and lust. Yet in that moment, Isolde found herself utterly breathless and captivated.

     Parisa stood tall, at level with or above most of the men in the town. Although her figure was sleek and lithe, she held an aura of precise power to her, like a wolf might have, a hunter quiet and dark. Dark like her dress of black lace and silk, like her wavy raven hair, which cascaded far down and past her waist. Against these shadows, a ruby necklace in the shape of a rose clung about her neck. There was a grace to her features as well, as if her cheeks, nose, and brow were carved from smooth marble as the radiant statues of goddesses could be. Soft, curving lips of a naturally sweet color, like a wave drawing your gaze. These things could catch anyone’s attention, but as with most people, everything else always started to fade in comparison to the sight of Parisa’s eyes: they were a pure golden color, and shimmered with brilliance in the light, both magically beautiful and unsettling to witness at the same time.

     It was a very long moment before Isolde even realized those golden eyes had turned to look directly into hers, the little breath she had left in her disappearing completely, heart turning into stone.

     “Give me a minute and I’ll explain why you’re all here,” Parisa said with a voice which soothed into Isolde’s ears: it felt fresh and earthy, like the flowers in the garden, with an accent Isolde couldn’t recognize. “But first…”

     Isolde found her feet rooted into the earth as Parisa walked up to her, those golden eyes seeming to stare through her very soul for a minute before Parisa reached down and softly took Isolde’s hands into hers. Isolde could breathe again after that, and had never felt anything quite as soft as the touch being given her.

     “You’re hurt,” Parisa said. “Are you okay?”

     “I’m sorry for looking like this,” Isolde said, dropping her gaze. “And I worked too hard, I suppose. Just some cuts and blisters, that’s all.”

     “Well, you shouldn’t work yourself too hard like this.” Those soft hands left Isolde, leaving a crushing absence in their place. “But do come see me some time, and I can help patch those up—I have some plants in my garden that’ll help heal your wounds quite nicely. I’m Parisa Blackwillow, by the way, but you probably already know that. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

     Parisa reached out her left hand as if for a handshake, Isolde looking down at it and reaching out her own hand, but then flinching and retracting it back a bit mid-air. Her gaze caught upon her own hand—bandaged, bloody, covered in soot, with its ugly nubs and harsh skin—then turned back to the soft grace of the one offered out to her, as smooth as a doll’s.

     Before Isolde could pull her hand completely out of reach, though, Parisa took it softly into her own, shaking it. Isolde closely watching Parisa’s face, but seeing no signs of disgust, pity, or mockery anywhere in her features.

     “I’m Isolde Tremain,” Isolde let fall from her mouth, only realizing as their hands were parting that it had been years since anyone had last touched that hand. “But I don’t know if I can take your offer. It’s cats, you see...”

     “What about them?” Parisa asked, eyebrow arching up.

     “I love them to death, and I think they’re the most marvelous and beautiful creatures…but ever since I was a child, I can’t be near them. It just gets hard to breathe whenever I’m close. So I’m sorry, I can’t come to see you about my hands.”

     “I understand.” Parisa nodded, starting to walk back. “I guess I’ll just have to visit you myself sometime, Isolde Tremain.”

     Isolde stood in place, barely blinking, feeling oddly out of herself and wispy. She couldn’t quite tell, but it looked like Parisa had given her a wink and a sliver of a smile. The girl with golden eyes, who barely talked to anyone, who almost never approached someone first, had walked up to her and taken her hands in her own. It raised a smile onto Isolde’s face, a smile that faded as she could feel her left side not rising up, her expression becoming a quiet melancholy.

     “The matter of this evening is in regard to the relentless suitors pursuing me,” Parisa began from back in front of the gates. “This town is truly lovely, but from the moment I’ve stepped in here, I’ve been showered in love songs, gifts, and lovers’ pleads. I am tired of it all, so I’ve decided to settle everything now.”

     Parisa clapped her hands, and out from one of the rose bushes a shadowy black cat came running like the wind. They were a small thing, rubbing at her legs, and with golden-colored eyes like Parisa’s. Around the cat’s neck was a ruby collar with a golden key hanging from it.

     “This is Roana,” Parisa said, stooping down low, happily petting the cat. “Around her neck is the key to the gates and the front doors of my manor. If you can get this key from around Roana’s neck, then my home is your home, and your name shall be my name.”

     Excited murmurs and whispers began to erupt all over in the crowd, a pulsing beat sounding off in Isolde’s heart, something so sweet and soothing to watching Parisa petting the cat. It was as if Parisa didn’t give a damn about all the crowd around her, the cat being more important.

     “Roana will be let out into the town sometime tonight,” Parisa said. “There is one rule, and that is that you can’t hurt her at all while trying to catch her. Believe me, I will know if any one of you has laid the smallest finger on her in your pursuits.” A smile grew onto Parisa’s face, a rare sight sending everyone’s hearts aglow as she picked up the cat and cradled them into her arms. “And that’s all I’ve come here to say. No one is to ever bother again with trying to court me, for the only one who shall own my heart will be the one to get this key.” Parisa flicked at the key on the cat’s collar, it twinkling in the last of the dying light. “There is no other way.”

     With those words, Parisa turned around and walked back into her grounds, the iron gates closing once more. After that, the crowd became a loud sea of raucous voices. Countless men were all proudly bragging about catching the cat, saying what an easy game it would be. Many already musing on having Parisa as their bride, reveling in their vulgar and crude speak on the matter.

     Isolde, though, kept staring off through the bars of the front gate, past the sea of flowers, and to the distant crimson doors that gave one entrance into the manor. Her heart was twisting inside of her as she couldn’t understand why she kept imagining what it’d be like to step through them.

Chapter Text

     Isolde tried to work the next day, but something was off in her. All her strikes weren’t landing straight or hard enough; the flames were either burning too hot or too cold; and she was messing up the timing with the metals, not removing them when needed. So after a morning of frustration and anger, she was left only with malformed work, none of it any good. She tried to blame her blistered and wounded hands, freshly reopened, or her lack of sleep, but deep inside she knew they weren’t the problems. Something else was haunting her, lingering deep in her heart. A part of her knew what it was too, but a stronger part of her held it back from being realized.

     Sitting worn and weary near the forge, a sudden noise entered her ears of metal clinging and crashing, and she twisted her head towards it. Something was rushing into her forge, at first appearing like a living shadow, before her eye widened—it was Roana. The cat’s fur was standing all on edge, and they seemed terribly frightened and tired, as if they had been running all morning.

     “Are you all right?” Isolde whispered, slowly getting onto her knees next to the cat. “Are bad people chasing you?” The cat’s eyes looked up into hers like they had understood her, and up close it was even more striking how much the creature’s eyes resembled their master’s, except for those diamond pupils. “Well, you can hide here with me if you want. Get yourself rested up from all those men that must be chasing you.” Roana began to purr, affectionately rubbing up against Isolde’s leg, Isolde petting the cat’s head softly. “You have beautiful eyes.”

     The cat started purring louder, then suddenly froze, dashing off and behind a barrel in the room. Shortly afterwards, Isolde could hear the trouncing of feet rushing her way, twisting around to see Benedict Lawson and some of his frequent cohorts barging into the room.

     “Did that damned cat come in here?” he demanded, and Isolde had to keep from laughing as she could see bright red scratches across his face and that of his friends. “I could’ve sworn it was around here.”

     “I think I would’ve noticed such a thing as that around me, seeing as I can’t breathe with cats near. Besides, cats wouldn’t like this environment, all hot and full of smoke. It must have outsmarted you…not like that would be a difficult task.”

     “That’s pretty pathetic coming from the girl with the broken head,” he spat out, her hand wrapping around her smithing hammer’s handle. “And that’s no ordinary cat, Parisa must have especially trained it!”

     “Sure, let’s make the cat magic so it’ll be easier for all you men to live with not being able to catch it.”

     “Well, at least we have a chance. Those mangled paws you call hands would never be quick enough to catch it. But I’ve wasted enough time with you. I’m pursuing a real woman, and I don’t see why I waste my breath talking to half of one.”

     All of them started laughing then before taking their leave of her, Isolde’s hand remaining tight around the hammer with a vice-like grip. When she saw Roana walking out towards her, though, her grip softened, anger falling away.

     “Never let yourself be caught by him, little one,” Isolde said. “I think you can understand me, and I think you want what’s best for your master too, so do whatever you can to end up being caught by a good person, all right?”

     Without warning, Roana jumped up onto Isolde’s lap, purring loudly, cuddling up warmly there. Something shook in her heart for a moment, before her fear calmed, happily petting the cat again and again. Her gaze sometimes drifting to the key around its neck, but always returning quickly to the cat.

     “You’re a very strange kitty,” Isolde said, leaning in close. “My throat doesn’t close up at all around you.” Her eyes began to waver, blinking, lightness in her head. “I always wanted a cat. When I was a little girl, I’d daydream about having one beside me in bed, purring next to me as I’d fall asleep.” Roana’s purring grew louder, almost becoming melodic, Isolde’s head drooping a bit. “Just something warm to hold so I wouldn’t be alone…”

     In a moment, Isolde’s eyes shut, falling into sleep as Roana kept gently purring and purring.

Chapter Text

     The sound of carriage wheels and horses braying awoke Isolde from her slumber, Roana no longer on her lap and nowhere in sight, the afternoon sun out in the sky.

     A knocking was sounding out from the front door, and Isolde rose, leaving the forge and entering the short ways to her adjacent house. She removed her workman’s gloves, wiping her face with an old rag as she walked, heading across the living quarters. Without a second thought, she opened the door, but then found her hand stuck in place as if it had been melded together with the handle.

     “Good afternoon, Isolde,” Parisa said from the other side, giving a slight bow, removing a velvet beret from her head: she was dressed in a fine black suit with long coattails to it that looked devilishly handsome on her, her hair neatly tied in a ponytail. “Would now be a good time to look at your hands?”

     “My hands?”

     “Yes, I told you I would look at them.” Parisa raised up a heavy leather case at her side, one that resembled the kind doctors carried their instruments within. “Unless you’d rather I’d come back another time?”

     “No, no, no, it’s all right.” Isolde forced her grip off the handle, stepping inside and offering the way in. “Welcome to my home. I know it’s not much, but it’s enough for me.”

     “It’s rare to find people who feel that way.” Parisa kept her hat off upon entering, sitting down at a cracked wooden table with only two chairs placed around it. “Humility is a treasure often undervalued.”

     “I wouldn’t call myself a humble person. I’d probably have a house just like yours if I could.”

     “Anyone would get what’s within their means, but you can tell humility by what one feels with what they have.”

     Parisa motioned with her hand for Isolde to sit at the table with her, Isolde taking a seat, but shifting about unsteadily. Isolde’s insides an unnerving flutter with Parisa so casually entering her home.

     “Tell me, Isolde, what do you feel when you look at my house?”

     Parisa began to unlatch her bag as Isolde sat still, sun streaming onto her, curiously watching all the movements on Parisa’s face, fascinated by them. Isolde’s mother used to tell faerie tales of beautiful people like Parisa, but they weren’t supposed to exist in real life.

     “It makes me happy,” Isolde said, wistfully remembering the flowers bathed in moonlight. “Something in me gets so peaceful inside whenever I look through those gates.”

     “I’m glad to hear that,” Parisa said, Isolde taken aback at seeing Parisa smiling wide at her, something sweet like a young girl’s instead of the striking woman in front of her. “Now please remove those bandages and I can work on your hands.”

     Parisa’s demeanor was so gentle that Isolde could only oblige her, slowly unwrapping all the bandages from about her hands. She grit her teeth hard, though, body tightening in disgust at the sight of her own hands: blistered, cut, calloused, and covered in filth. Like some wild animal’s paws instead of human hands.

     Before Isolde could apologize for their appearance, her heart dropped in her chest at the feeling of Parisa’s hands taking hers and gently pulling them closer.

     “I’m sorry my hands are so filthy…” Isolde said, looking out the window.

     “I think you have beautiful hands.” Isolde’s vision snapped back, Parisa pulling out a glass vial filled with a clear liquid, dabbing its contents onto a handkerchief. “You should not let yourself get hurt like this, though. It’s very foolish in the long run.”

     Parisa began to run the moist handkerchief along Isolde’s hands, and it had a cooling sensation like a cold stream in spring. Isolde’s face soon filling with wonder as it seemed to instantly wipe clean every last trace of dirt, soot, and grime, leaving only clear skin below. Isolde could wash her hands for twenty minutes straight and not get it all off, but Parisa kept moving the handkerchief gently about, washing everything away like it never was.

     “What do you mean my hands are beautiful?” Isolde asked, being clean not removing how rough her hands were, not growing back the splintered nails and missing fingers. “You don’t have to be kind out of courtesy.”

     “I’ve never done a single thing in my life out of courtesy. I’m quite a rude person in that way.” Parisa put the handkerchief aside, her soft thumb running across a string of callouses on Isolde’s hand. “They’re beautiful because they’re real hands: they’ve lived, they’ve worked, and they’re free from vanity.” Out of her bag, Parisa pulled out a small jar filled with a pinkish-red slime in it. “You should never trust a person with soft hands.”

     Silk. Isolde had never touched silk in all her life, but she knew that was what Parisa’s hands felt like touching hers.

     “But your hands are soft,” Isolde said, looking straight into those golden eyes.

     “Exactly.”

     Parisa winked, then giggled softly, unscrewing the lid to the jar with the strange slime in it. Isolde was breathless for a moment, but found herself feeling unusually calm and happy.

     “You’re far different than I always imagined,” Isolde said.

     “Hmmm…that’s right, isn’t it?” Parisa grimly sighed, such an unnatural sound coming from her as she scooped some of the slime out of the jar with her bare fingers. “They say I never smile, right? That I never laugh? That I can be as cold as ice while shining as bright as the sun?”

     “Things…things like that.”

     Isolde didn’t question when Parisa took her hands again, when she gently began to massage the slime onto her wounds and blisters. It smelt sweet, like flowers and berries, and fresh like spring air. It didn’t hurt to put on her, but rather made her hands feel warm and tingly.

     “Give an inch and they’ll take a mile,” Parisa continued, but Isolde immediately noticed a sharp drop in her tone to something melancholier. “Smile or laugh at a man, and he’ll think you want him. Be friendly, warm, or kind, you can’t do anything. They never just want to be nice…they never just want to know you…they always want something else. And the women too…” Parisa’s hands froze up for a moment, almost done covering the wounds, her grip tighter on Isolde. “They’re either trying to get something out of me like the men are, or they hate me. I can understand where they’re coming from, but it still hurts me. When all these men want to marry me, they all must feel like second choices in comparison. But it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose! Yet so many seem to think I am, to blame me for how those men feel. I can’t even smile at the girls either…because if I’m trying to be kind to them, they’ll think I’m mocking them somehow.”

     Parisa breathed in deeply, her hands sharply pulling away from Isolde. She shut her eyes for a long while, and when they opened again, their glitter was back, but something seemed to be lurking in the distance of them.

     “Do forgive that torrent of words, and I’m afraid you’ll have to let that sit for an hour,” Parisa said. “You can’t touch or hold anything in the meantime.”

     “Parisa…” Isolde started off quietly, her hands feeling so soft, and without a single drop of pain in them when they’d been aching for years. “Why don’t you just tell everyone how you feel? Just tell them that you don’t want any suitors?”

     “Because it wouldn’t change anything. Each man would think it meant everyone but him, and all the women would think I’m being full of myself.”

     “Then what’s this game for, with the cat? Will you really marry whoever gets that key?

     “My people are the old people, and our words have weight and depth to them, but no one will ever catch that cat. I’m afraid Roana is much too clever and smart for that.”

     “But what if someone did?”

     “They’d have to be a very special kind of person to do that, and I wouldn’t mind at least knowing a person like that a bit better.” Out of her bag, Parisa pulled out another clear vial of liquid and another jar of slime, and what looked like a pair of long, leather gloves. “There’s more of this moon water so you can clean your hands and face with, and more star jam if you hurt yourself again. I also made you these after seeing your hands.”

     Isolde’s eye widened, staring down as Parisa slid the gloves closer. Isolde looking closer and noticing that the left-hand glove had been put together with her missing fingers in mind so as to not have any loose parts to it.

     “I know these don’t look like much,” Parisa said, “but I’m quite skilled at crafting things. These ones should better keep you from getting blisters and cuts, and be kinder for your skin. I thought you could…” Shock overcame Parisa’s face, Isolde freezing up in fear at the sight of such sudden emotion. “Dear gods, did I do something wrong, Isolde?”

     “Of course not, nothing is wrong!”

     “Then are your hands not reacting very well? Are you in pain? If you’re in pain, please tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

     “Not at all. Why would you ever think that?”

     “Because you’re crying.”

     After those words, Isolde could feel one of those bitter tears slide down her lip and into her mouth. It was not the way they usually fell. They were always heavy and harsh, coming out in childish torrents…not cold, slow streams moving without her notice. She reached her hand up to wipe them away, but Parisa quickly grabbed her wrist before she could.

     “You mustn’t get this in your eyes,” Parisa said. “It would burn for hours.”

     “I see.” Isolde’s trembling hand moved away, her gaze turning out of sight of Parisa. She felt so small, weak, and pathetic across from her. Just a scarred, filthy mess, while Parisa was as pristine as a princess. “Thank you for everything, it means so much to me, but you really don’t have to stay here. You can get on to more important things.”

     “If you really want me to leave, I’ll go...but I was hoping I could stay for a while. Maybe wait this hour with you for your medicine to dry and make sure it’s all right.”

     “But why would you want to do that?” Isolde asked, turning her head up a bit, but seeing Parisa’s golden eyes staring sadly out the window.

     “Sometimes it can get to be a bit too much, that world out there. Sometimes I wish I could sit down and breathe more outside of my own home. Sit down, and just talk to someone…someone who talks with me not because they want to take something from me, but because they want to be around me. It’s been a very long time since I’ve talked to anyone at all. And I love all my children…I mean, my cats…but I’m human and they’re not.”

     “I’m afraid I’m not much good at talking…I’ve never been very good with people.”

     “You don’t need words to talk all the time. You just need somebody who’s there and who’s open, and you can have entire conversations with each other without a single word escaping either person’s lips. We can try it together if you want. You can just look out at the day with me, feel the sun on your skin, and we can share that same warmth together.”

     “I’ll try, I suppose,” Isolde said, chuckling a little, breathing in deeply as she turned towards the light, tears glittering. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at this either.”

     “Don’t worry, I’m not the best myself.”

     The sun felt warm that day, warmer than it had been in a long while, a gentle heat that didn’t oppress at all, but only brought peace into one’s heart. Isolde could feel her spirits starting to lift, even with the tears in her eyes, but glancing sideways at Parisa she could still see such an odd sadness to that face. There was a cold that didn’t seem to belong there, along with something else. Feelings to Parisa’s expression that felt so deeply close to Isolde, but that she couldn’t quite identify.

     “Can you tell me why you’re crying before we start watching the day?” Parisa asked, Isolde catching a glimpse of those golden eyes flickering to look at her but turning back at seeing her already watching.

     “Don’t laugh at me for it, but I think it’s because you’re being so kind to me. No one has given me any gifts in sixteen years.” Isolde tried to will the left side of her face to curl into a smile, but it just weakly twitched, unable to pull up. “I guess I’d forgotten what it feels like, that’s all, when someone does something kind for me.”

     “Why would I ever laugh at that? That’s not a silly reason to cry at all.” Isolde’s heart froze in her chest, breath slowing, as she could see tears starting to drop out from Parisa’s eyes, glimmering and shining unnaturally like diamonds. “It’s a perfectly good reason to cry.”

     Isolde was about to say something more, but something tugged in her heart, as if any more words would be wrong. She let herself stare a moment longer upon Parisa, then turned to join her in watching the day. The air was still in the room, and quiet beyond words: not a deafening silence, not a crushing one…but a silence that instead fell like a gentle blanket on all those present to it.

Chapter Text

     Isolde had never felt an hour pass quicker than the one she spent with Parisa. It felt too short a moment. She didn’t know what it was she heard in that silence, but there was something that had flowed so softly and freely between them that she hadn’t wanted it to end. As Parisa was packing her things, so Isolde wanted to tell her to wait, to stay and eat something with her, have some tea. Yet Isolde’s voice froze in her throat, and she remembered the bare scraps of food she had to offer.

     Soon they were walking outside where Parisa’s carriage rested: it was a pure ebon color, inlaid and emblazoned with intricate gold patterns all about it, and drawn by four snow white horses. All of it was so magical to Isolde, except for the driver, who unsettled her a bit. He was dressed in an impeccable black suit with a white bowtie and a tall top hat, but the featureless white mask he wore was haunting, especially because she couldn’t see his eyes behind it.

     “Thank you for letting me stay with you,” Parisa said, walking nearer the carriage doors. “I truly enjoyed the time we had together.”

     “I…I enjoyed it too.”

     “Would it be all right for me to stop in again soon? Check in and make sure your hands are reacting all right?”

     “Of course, that’d be lovely. Feel free to come by any time you like.”

     “I’m happy to hear that, I really am. Goodbye for now, Isolde.”

     “Goodbye, Parisa.”

     Seeing the door open to the carriage, Parisa making her way up its steps, something was fluttering in Isolde’s chest. It felt tight, along with something in her throat, and a feeling of fear was filling into her, but she didn’t know why. She glanced around, then froze on the horses, watching them trot their feet…catching a glimpse at their horseshoes to see how aged they were.

     “Wait, Parisa,” Isolde said, words forming into her for reasons she didn’t understand, Parisa twisting her head around, listening attentively. “I just noticed that your…your horses look like they could use some new shoes. You should bring them around sometime to be measured, and then I can forge you some new pairs, if you’d like.”

     The tightening feeling inside Isolde’s chest and throat only worsened, crushing in terribly at the sight of Parisa’s face: it was positively glowing, a glimmering smile blossoming there, those golden eyes sparkling so happily.

     “That’s so very kind and lovely of you,” Parisa said, her voice softer than before, her hand lightly touching her chest near her heart. “That would be wonderful, thank you so much.”

     The last thing Isolde saw was the smile still present on Parisa’s face as she turned around. It was an empty moment later when the carriage was gone, and Isolde was alone again. A creeping cold washed over everything right after Parisa left, like without her, there was a gaping hole of darkness where she had been the light.

     Isolde hurried herself inside, away from those feelings, slamming the door behind her and leaning heavily against it. Her heart was beating so hard and loud in her chest it hurt her, and it had never felt that way before around anyone else. Clutching her chest in pain, she noticed her hands again, her eyes having been entirely focused on the outside and Parisa for so long. She raised them into the light, overcome with wonder.

     All the cuts, blisters, and bruises were completely faded away, as if they were weeks old instead of a day. More than that, touching her skin, it felt softer than it had been in years.

     Her hands more like the ones she had as a child, gentle things that had been as soft as flower petals. She raised those petals up to her face, sliding them along her flesh, body sliding down the door at the same moment. As the flowers moved along all the contours of her face, so she started to cry again: not those beautifully silent tears she had cried with Parisa, but once more those child’s sobs that had followed her throughout her life.

~

     It was late in the night, deep in the witching hour, when something awoke Isolde from her sleep. It was a sudden pressure and weight upon her chest, which made her startle upwards, heart filled with fear. That fear, though, quickly faded as her sight adjusted to the dark in her room and could see Roana purring softly and melodically. The cat comfortably curled up on top of Isolde, their diamond gold eyes looking at her.

     “Hey there, pretty girl,” Isolde whispered, petting the cat’s head. “It’s nice to see you again. You tired? Don’t worry, you can stay here with me.” Isolde chuckled at the cat’s softness, pressing her face in close and giggling a bit. “If I got this close to any other cat, my whole chest would get tight, but you’re so soft, aren’t you?”

     Isolde sighed heavily, caressing the cat, snuggling in close before freezing in her actions. In the moonlight, the key around the cat’s neck shone with an ethereal light. It looked like something from another world, a wispy dream object. That if she were to touch it, it would pass through her fingers. Yet it didn’t, her fingers softly holding it between them, her thumb caressing its cold metal, the teeth of it, the curves of it.

     “What do you think she’d look like if I unlocked those doors and went walking in?” Isolde whispered to Roana. “Do you think she’d be smiling to see someone like me, or…?” Isolde raised up her left hand, clenching in and out the three fingers on it, before lowering them to her face, feeling all the disfigured contours of her scars. “She wouldn’t be smiling, she’d be terrified…or else laughing.” Isolde covered over her face, hand snapping away from the key. “Why am I even thinking things like this? If anyone ever found this out, they’d hate me.” She grit her teeth, breath painfully escaping out of her. “Why’d I ever look at your master! Now I’ll never be able to get her face out of my head…”

     Isolde could feel her breath rushing in and out faster, a pain spiraling into her head and heart, memories flooding in. Hands clawing from her face and over her ears, trying to block out the voices of the other children, the whispered words she’d hear from adults. When the wounds were still fresh was when Hell burned brightest: back when all the wrappings and bandages were removed, and half her face looked like a raw, open wound. Some of the other children would get angry to see her, throw stones at her, hit her with sticks and treat her like an animal. Others would laugh and tease her to no end. Yet the ones that’d hurt her the most were the ones that were afraid of her—the other children who’d back away or run from her approach. Ones who’d go crying at the sight of her…calling her a monster.

     Those memories crumbled as she felt something warm near her face, eyes opening again to see Roana standing closer to her, their soft, moist nose pressed against her. She could feel their warm little breaths, and they started to lick her cheek: it felt a bit rough, but at the same time, very ticklish, which Isolde couldn’t help but laugh from.

     “You are a beautiful soul, Roana,” Isolde said, gently wrapping her arms about the cat. “I see why Parisa trusts you, so please find someone who’ll make her happy. She looks so lonely, and I want to see her smile.” Isolde shut her eyes tight, holding onto the cat a bit too hard, but the cat seemed to enjoy being pulled closer, purring even louder. “Please stay with me tonight…”

     Roana kept purring, Isolde focusing all her being into that sound, using it as a lullaby to drown out the crying, screams, and mocking laughter of her childhood.

Chapter Text

     When Isolde awoke the next morning, Roana had left, but there was a warmth that remained with her from the cat’s presence. Still, the thought of yesterday lingered in her mind, and she moved quickly to occupy herself: firing up the forge, readying up her next orders. As she was about to set to work for the day, she forgot that she was wearing her old forging gloves, and sought to find Parisa’s. As she slipped the new pair on, she was surprised at how gentle and soft they felt, like the feeling of petting a cat.

     When she made her first strike down with her hammer upon burning steel, her whole body froze, not knowing what it had felt. Metal against metal was a terribly powerful force, one that could reverberate through the whole body, but especially one which crushed into the arm holding the hammer. Despite using her full force, it felt like she had struck a feather against the metal. She struck again, and still felt no sensation in her hand or arm or anywhere, but she knew the force was true from the piercing sound of metal ringing into her ears. She raised up her hands, twisting them over, looking closely at the gloves, but there was nothing about them that could explain what they were doing. It was a blacksmith’s dream to work on their passion and craft without the constant pain and wear it can put on oneself. Isolde humming to herself, working enthusiastically, for that treasure had been made just for her.

     It was the beginning of the afternoon when her focus would be disturbed by someone’s entrance into the forge, not having noticed all the hours that had passed, for they had been the easiest work in her whole life. The first time she didn’t feel worn and exhausted from work, but filled with a brimming energy.

     “Good afternoon, Isolde,” someone said from behind her.

     The sound of that voice, though, broke Isolde’s smile from her face, the brightness and energy in her fading.

     “What do you want, Benedict?” she asked, making sure to put the hammer down, not wanting to make another incident. “I told you I don’t want to do any work for you.”

     “Fine, fine,” he said, leaning against the forge wall and taking a bite of an apple. “I was just so shocked…I never realized you knew Parisa.”

     “I don’t know her,” Isolde said, keeping her back to him.

     “But we all saw her approach you the other day, and a little birdie told me she went to see you right here in your own home. That she stayed here for over an hour.”

     “So what?”

     “Well, dear Isolde, do you know how many people our lovely Parisa has visited in her time here?”

     “Like I said, I don’t know her, so I don’t know how many people she sees.”

     “She hasn’t seen anyone!” Isolde startled forward at an apple being thrown harshly into her back, angrily twisting toward Benedict who had scorn written across his face. “In all these years she’s never stepped in anyone’s house, and yet she spends an hour with an animal like you, when she’ll barely look at any of us for more than a glance? When she’ll barely look at me?” He started to run his finger along his collar, sweating from the forge’s heat, undoing some of the buttons of his shirt, smile crawling along his face. “That must be it! She must pity you. She thinks you’re some pathetic, ugly, and miserable creature, and that’s why she pays you any attention.”

     Normally, those words would have cut into her core, but something was different. She was floating in the sky, hearing that her circumstance was unique bursting sunlight into her.

     “If that were true,” Isolde said, stepping closer to him, her smile sliding up at seeing how much her forge made him sweat. “Then why doesn’t Parisa ever visit you?”

     “What do you mean by that?”

     “Well, you’re the one who said she pays special attention to pathetic, ugly, and miserable creatures, and you’re the most pathetic person I know.”

     “Oh my, little horseface has a spine today.” He chuckled, but something was broken about his smile, not as confident as usual. “How long will it last, though? You’ve been a blithering child your whole life…so you can be proud of yourself for now, but tomorrow you’ll be crying again.” Benedict sneered, flicking his finger across her nose. “Don’t go thinking you’re anything but horseshit, Isolde Tremain. By this time next week, Parisa won’t even remember who you are, and she will never look at something as disgusting as you again.”

     Benedict started laughing to himself, turning around and heading towards the door out. As he opened it up, though, his whole body froze, eyes going wide. His voice was caught in his throat, for on the other side of the door Parisa was standing, her gaze quaintly fixed on him, beret tucked under her arm.

     “Is this a customer?” Parisa asked, slipping by him. “Am I interrupting at all?”

     “Not at all, Parisa, he was just leaving,” Isolde answered.

     Benedict’s head creakingly turned to the side, looking like his heart had stopped in him. Pure bewilderment covering his features at the sight of Parisa started smiling widely at Isolde. When he saw her reach out and take Isolde’s hands into her own, his footing nearly collapsed beneath him.

     “I’m happy they fit you so well,” Parisa said, flipping Isolde’s hands around. “And how do they work? Do they feel all right?”

     “It’s the best my hands have felt in years, thank you so much for giving me these.” Isolde glanced over to Benedict, seeing his despair at hearing such words. “You really are too kind.”

     Though it was something she’d never have been brave enough to do while alone, something spurred her to do it while Benedict was watching. Her hands twisted around, and she held Parisa’s own, Isolde looking straight into those golden eyes and doing the best she could to convey her warmth and joy. To her surprise, Parisa’s smile lit up even more, those silken hands squeezing hers back, the sound of a slamming door ringing in both their ears.

     Shortly afterwards, Isolde felt her bravery extinguish. She had expected Parisa to let go very quickly, especially with her hands all covered in soot and grime, but Parisa held on. Soon the weight of that smile, those eyes, and her touch were all too much to bear. Isolde pulling her hands from Parisa’s grip more deliberately than she would have wanted to show.

     “Is something wrong?” Parisa asked, hearing those words sending shivers down Isolde’s spine.

     “I…I just don’t want your hands getting dirty, that’s all.” Isolde fiddled with her hands, finding it hard to look Parisa in the face. “So why are you here?”

     “I have the measurements for the horse’s hooves.” Parisa reached up her sleeve, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. “I wanted to spare you the trouble of measuring them yourself because you’re already doing this for me.”

     Isolde unfurled the paper, looking over all the measurements, nothing out of the ordinary compared to the hundreds she had made in her life. When her eyes went back up from the paper, there was a quiet to her heart, something off about Parisa. A familiar feeling in that Parisa looked anxious.

     “Isolde?” Parisa said, hands fiddling with one another. “Would it be all right for me to stay here for a while and watch you work?”

     “What…? I mean, why would you want that? It’s hot as hell in here, the sound is horrid, and I’m afraid I can get a bit lost in the work, so I wouldn’t be the best company.”

     “I know, but I’d love to see you work. We had a splendid time yesterday, and we didn’t have many words then either.”

     “If you want to, I wouldn’t mind having you around. It’s very lonely work, so this will be a unique experience to have you here. If you get too hot, though, please go to my house and wash your face with some cold water from the basin.”

     Isolde was befuddled by Parisa’s glittering smile, at why those golden eyes lit up at being told she could stay and watch. The forge was no place for someone like Parisa, filled with heat and filth and noise. At the same time, Isolde’s heart kept rising higher and higher in her chest, choking into her throat, butterflies filling her stomach.

     She set to work again, finding herself shaping the metal with a vigor and passion she hadn’t felt in years. Her whole body was electrified, and every strike of the hammer felt joyous. With each passing minute, she fell further into the work.

     Every so often she’d look at where Parisa sat. They were quick glances, but enough to see Parisa watching her work with what looked like complete fascination. That the way Parisa held herself and reacted to her working, it felt to Isolde as if she was playing beautiful music instead of forging metal. A delightful giggle even escaped from Parisa at one point as Isolde was unleashing a flurry of spark-filled strikes.

     “Isolde?” she heard Parisa say after a long time had passed, Isolde turning to see her rising from her seat. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I have to say what you’re doing is amazing! Crafting is such a beautiful art, and I can’t imagine doing what you do. You really must be so strong in order to do this every day.”

     “I’m really not that strong at all.”

     “Don’t be so modest!” Isolde’s eyes widened, those silken-soft hands of Parisa’s gently feeling along the flesh of her right arm. “No meat on you bones at all, just muscle. I bet your whole body is like that, working all day like this.” Isolde’s words were stuck in her throat, a heat building onto her face from feeling those fingers moving up and down her arm. “Why, I bet you’re strong enough to lift me up as easily as I lift my cats!” Parisa’s hands trickled down the arm, taking Isolde’s hand and placing it on her waist. “Come on then, now I have to see how easily you can do it.”

     “I wouldn’t want to get your dress dirty…”

     “I work in my garden all the time, and you think I care about getting dirty?” Parisa ran her hand across the soot on Isolde’s apron, then proceeded to playfully smear a dash of it onto her face. “Parisa Blackwillow isn’t some glass doll, so don’t you worry about getting her dirty…neither should you worry about breaking her from holding her too tight.”

     Parisa of all people was smiling at her, enjoying her company and the wretched environment of the forge. Even as her thoughts collided in confusion, Isolde felt her hand burning on that waist, the one she had been guided towards. A breath later, and Isolde moved her other hand to the opposite side.

     In one smooth motion Isolde lifted Parisa high into the air, Isolde not expecting her to be so light. Parisa had a lithe figure, but there was still a powerful strength emanating from her, and she was quite tall…yet Isolde lifted her like a child. The sound of the laughter coming from Parisa just like that: filled with the sweetness and joy of youth, smile glittering with such a simple innocence. It looked like the first time in Parisa’s life anyone had done it to her, so the joy was still pure.

     Isolde lowered her back down, hands sliding away from Parisa’s waist. The wonderment, confusion, bliss, and anxiety of it all finally slamming down into her chest in a flurry.

     “That was fun!” Parisa said with a clap of her hands. “I can see why children love it so much.”

     “Did your parents never lift you up like that?”

     Isolde’s heart clenched in horror, seeing the light fade from Parisa’s face and eyes, the smile dying down. A melancholy was seeping into Parisa, her smile trying to creep back up, but falling away again.

     “I…I never knew my parents,” Parisa said. “Back in the country I grew up in, little red-headed girls were abandoned all the time. Combined with my eyes and skin color, who would risk keeping me? That combination of features isn’t natural, so people thought I was cursed, or a monster…or even a witch.”

     “People would truly treat you like that just from some colors? And your…your hair isn’t even red.”

     “Just as there is ointment to heal wounds, so there is ointment to change your hair’s color. I doubt I’d be as welcomed here in this town if people saw my true colors.”

     “I think…” Isolde breathed in deeply, her mind painting over Parisa’s hair in fiery orange strokes. “I think you’d look beautiful with red hair. I mean, more beautiful than you already are.”

     “Do you really believe that?”

     “I do.”

     A smile began to creep back up Parisa’s face, her gaze dropping a little.

     “You know…” Parisa said, her hands sliding in front of her and fiddling together. “I never got hugged much either growing up, and seeing how strong you are, I bet you could give some nice hugs.”

     Isolde blinked a few times, Parisa’s gaze still hiding away from her.

     “Are you asking me for a hug…?” Isolde said.

     Parisa meekly nodded instead of speaking, Isolde left wondering why someone like her would get flustered over such a simple thing. Still, Isolde stepped forward, slipping her arms under Parisa’s and pulling her in close for a hug. As soon as she did that, Parisa’s arms latched around her too, hugging her back, pulling her in closer and tighter. Parisa’s arms did not feel soft about her, but tightly holding on, those hands deep in her back and feeling like a pair of gripping cat’s claws. Until then as well, Isolde never quite noticed how small she felt next to Parisa—the half-foot difference in their height feeling like a mountain. Isolde becoming overwhelmed with the sweet scent of flowers coming from Parisa, enamored with the softness of her body, like a pillow to rest upon after a weary day. And so warm. Someone that would be so peaceful to fall asleep upon, to fall asleep with, to keep holding on and on and on…

     Without warning, the hug was over, Parisa pulling away from it. Isolde wanted to say something more in response, but her words choked out at seeing tears streaming down Parisa’s face, slow and quiet like the night. At the same time, Parisa was smiling so sweetly, and the gold of her eyes took on a more brilliant color to them, blooming to life.

     “I’m terribly sorry,” Parisa said, wiping at her tears. “I do think it’s time for me to go.”

     “Did I do something wrong?”

     “Not at all, the farthest thing from it.” Parisa breathed in deeply, still wiping at the tears. “Anyway, could I be blessed to treat you to lunch tomorrow afternoon? I’m sure it will be a gorgeous day, and we can have tea in my garden. I’d love to have you, if you’d like.”

     “Of course I would.”

     “Then I’ll bring the carriage around at noon. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you then, Isolde.” Parisa leaned forward, a couple of tears on her face sliding off and onto Isolde’s face as she kissed Isolde’s forehead ever so softly. “And do enjoy the rest of your day.”

     Isolde was frozen in place and couldn’t reply—could only watch as Parisa left the room. For a few minutes afterwards, Isolde simply stared at the door, before reaching her hand up to her forehead and touching where she had been kissed. She brought the hand down, staring at it like the greatest curiosity in the world.

     “What just happened?” she couldn’t help but ask herself, as if an answer would come to her from speaking it aloud.

Chapter Text

     Isolde Tremain did not own a mirror. She had hated mirrors since the accident, but for once she wished she had one in that early morning light.

     She was using the moon water Parisa had given her to wipe clean her face from grime, but she couldn’t see if she got it all. She used rags from the water basin to try and wash as much as she could of her body too while in her tub: she remembered Parisa, so softly smelling of flowers, while she must have been a wretch of sweat and metal.

     After she cleaned herself the best she could and dressed into unsullied clothes, she looked down and felt a pang of disgust. Her clothes were so plain and simple. She didn’t own a single colorful dress: she never went out, after all, and they weren’t good for working in.

     She grit down on her teeth, silently screaming, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands.

     “Can’t there be one good thing about you?” she whispered bitterly to herself. “Can’t there be one pretty thing? One thing at all? You look like a pile of horseshit next to her.” Her hands moved to her face, burying into them, her mind flashing back to yesterday, of holding Parisa, hugging her, the kiss on her head. “It means nothing, you idiot, and it could never mean anything! Not from someone like her.”

     Before she was about to find herself slipping away, she heard the sound of scratching. Twisting her head, she could see that it was Roana at her window, the cat mewing and brushing against the glass as if asking to be let inside. Isolde quickly crossed the distance, opening the window and letting the cat inside.

     “Greetings, little Roana,” Isolde whispered, scratching under the cat’s chin. “Has anyone been kind to you today, or have they all just been chasing you around again?”

     The cat’s eyes lowered, head shaking a bit and looking like a “no.”

     “You’re a very smart cat, aren’t you?” Isolde said, playfully bopping their nose, snuggling in close. “I bet you can understand every word I’m saying, can’t you? And since you can hear me, I’ll let you know that I have to be going out right now, but you’re welcome to stay here.” The cat meowed, an inquisitive sounding thing, their large eyes staring into Isolde’s. “Your Lady Parisa has invited me to lunch, but I don’t have anything suitable to wear with someone like her. I’m going to drop by in town to find a dress.”

     The cat started purring louder, jumping down and rubbing softly against her legs before running over to the front door. It began walking around in circles near it, still purring loudly.

     “Do you want to leave already?” she asked Roana, opening up the door, but the cat sat in place with their purring. “Do you want to go with me?” After those words, the cat rubbed affectionately against Isolde’s leg, and she knelt down close to them. “I’m afraid it’d be far too dangerous for you, because everyone would be after you.” Isolde’s gaze dropped, focusing intensely on the key around the cat’s neck. “But maybe...” She reached down, feeling the key, her other hand at the collar undoing its bindings. “Maybe I can hold onto the key for a little while, so you can have some peace, all right? It’ll be our secret, and none of them will be the wiser while you’re walking with me.”

     The collar came loose into Isolde’s hands, and immediately there was a dropping feeling in her heart. It was one thing to look at the key, to touch it, but to actually feel the weight of it in her hands was surreal. It was so ornately intricate: made of glittering gold, with the key’s head being two cats with their backs to each other, tails raised in the shape of a heart. The cats’ eyes were inlaid with finely cut rubies, vine etchings along the neck of the key, while the teeth of the key looked like flower heads. It felt unnaturally warm as well, as if it held a heart’s heat inside it.

     She stuffed the collar and key into her pockets, the cat’s golden eyes staring up at her with a glint in them like their master’s.

     “Are you ready then, Roana?” she asked, still feeling the key’s warmth in her pocket.

     The cat did not purr or move against her, they simply meowed once, and headed out the door as if leading the way.

~

     Isolde had to keep herself from snickering throughout their walk about town. So many young men would come scurrying like beasts, rushing towards her, only to freeze up at seeing the cat had no collar or key about their neck. They’d look afraid at first, thinking someone else had already gotten the prize, but then they’d grow flustered and start walking away as if nothing had happened at all.

     “This is fun, isn’t it?” Isolde said to Roana, the cat rubbing against her leg. “That will show them for being so mean to you.”

     More than just people focusing on the cat, Isolde came to realize many were also staring at her as she passed by. She tried to tell herself it was because she didn’t get out much, but she knew the real reason. She usually never went out at that time of day—usually going out at the crack of dawn when getting things she needed—and all their eyes were focused on her face. So easy to see the disturbance, disgust, and even fear in them…as if her scars were some infectious disease instead of terrible injuries. They seemed so horrified at the thought of living like her, yet they regarded her so poorly. Something about that always curdled something inside Isolde’s stomach.

     “I’m not sad today,” Isolde said to Roana, leaning down and patting them. “They can judge me all they like, but none of them have ever set foot inside Parisa’s garden. I’ll be the first.”

     Isolde sighed, feeling her heart beating faster while thinking of Parisa, her body becoming lighter and tingling. Then a crashing thud in her heart appeared, a clenching in her throat.

     “But some things can never change, can they?” she muttered, finding the merchant she was looking for.

     Another stab came into Isolde’s heart as she saw the merchant woman’s eyes fill with disturbance at the sight of her. It still made Isolde want to cry most of the time, seeing people react that way, even as an adult. When she was a child, she would cry each time she saw someone get disgusted with her face, and it only made people treat her worse for some reason. So as an adult she had to hold back the tears each time, or else they’d just hate her more.

     “How can I help you today?” the merchant woman asked, trying to seem extra polite.

     “I’m looking for a tea gown. Something pretty and soft, light as a cloud. If any of that makes sense at all. I just want to look like a flower, I suppose.”

     “Oh, is it a courtship then, and you want to look your best?”

     Isolde’s blood froze at that question: the words alone had struck her, the doubting tone in the voice of the merchant not even registering.

     “Not at all,” Isolde said, wondering why her tongue was fumbling in itself. “It’s just a meal with a friend, but she’s quite a deal better dressed than I, and I don’t want to seem so out of place.”

     “That makes sense, yes, yes. Are you looking for simple or elegant? Subdued or colorful? And how much of a problem is money for you?”

     “Just one moment.” Isolde knelt next to Roana, turning her gaze away from the merchant. “Should I go with elegant, do you think she’d like that?” Roana purred, rubbing close to her. “And I suppose colorful too?” Roana kept purring, Isolde standing back up, the merchant looking at her with suspicious eyes. “And money isn’t a problem. I never buy anything for myself, so I have plenty to spare.”

     After hearing Isolde say that “money isn’t a problem,” the merchant’s face lit up again, becoming even more insincerely warm.

     “Do excuse me,” the merchant said. “I will get my measuring tools to see if we have something here that’s a match for you.”

     The woman went off behind her stall, Isolde sighing, staring off into the sky.

     “Do you think people wouldn’t hate me if I were rich?” she said to Roana. “If I had a house like Parisa’s, a carriage like hers, everything—would they stop looking at me the way they do? Or would it be the same? Is there nothing I can do to make them look at me like a person?” She breathed deeply, then let out a sigh. “Parisa doesn’t look at me that way, at least.” Roana started purring again, rubbing up close against Isolde. “Why her of all people…”

Chapter Text

     Isolde felt fake wearing the dress.

     Sitting in her little house, waiting for Parisa to arrive, it all felt wrong. Like the dress didn’t belong on someone like her. It was beautiful, a flowing and soft thing the color of roses intricately patterned with flowers of light gold and creeping vines to make her look like she was wearing a living bouquet.

     As her hands kept running through her hair, dragging across her face, she felt more like a flower with its petals torn off. Ugly, misshapen, and painful to look at. It was soft on her skin, gentle as the dresses she used to wear as a child, but that remembrance carved painfully into her as she thought of the pretty little girl she could never be again.

     A knocking at the door broke her thoughts, and she wished that Roana was with her—the cat had scurried off right after she’d put the key back on them. Each strike against the wood made her heart beat slower and harder. She could feel her legs trembling, uneven steps bringing her over. She was scared to see how those eyes would look at her dressed as she was, what would come swirling into those golden oceans.

     She swung the door open, unable to let the tension grow any stronger in her, and immediately her breath was taken away. Parisa was standing before her clothed not in a dress, but a suit...if it could be called that, for it seemed more like a uniform. It reminded Isolde of a military officer’s uniform, the ceremonial kind, used mainly to show off: golden buttons lining down the chest, intricate shoulder pads with golden tassel, shimmering golden embroidery along the edges, cufflinks, and a high collar. Uniforms like that were usually white or red in Isolde’s country, but Parisa’s uniform was as black as shadows. It made her look beyond regal, like both a prince and princess at the same time.

     While the shock was wearing off Isolde, something stranger struck into her heart: Parisa looked transfixed too, but not with the disgust Isolde had known all her life. Parisa’s eyes were trembling with light and warmth, and Isolde didn’t know how to put into words the emotions she was seeing.

     “Oh the Heavens, you look absolutely stunning!” Parisa said ecstatically, reaching down and taking hold of Isolde’s left hand, gently cupping it between hers. “You didn’t have to dress up just for me…but I’m so happy you did. You look like a princess, Isolde.”

     Isolde’s heart heaved in her chest, and a part of her wanted to start crying where she stood—nobody had said anything like that since she was child. She wanted to think Parisa was being polite, but it was too sincere from her mouth: no pity, no compassion, no sympathy, those poisons not searing through Parisa as they could through other people. Poisons that could burn as deep as cruelty sometimes in how much they made Isolde feel lesser than a normal human being.

     “Do you really mean that?” Isolde asked, her left hand not feeling misshapen or ugly when being held by Parisa.

     “What a silly thing to ask, of course I mean it.” Parisa’s hands departed from around hers, and to Isolde’s surprise, Parisa’s arm slipped under and interlocked with hers instead. “And you wouldn’t ask such things if you could see yourself right now.”

     “You’re much too kind…”

     “What nonsense,” Parisa said, leading them toward the carriage. “There’s no such thing as too much kindness.”

     Isolde blushed, embarrassed at herself for not being able to raise her voice up. To tell Parisa the same kind of things: to tell Parisa she was the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes on…like a field of blooming flowers in spring. Being next to her feeling like resting in that field enraptured in a blissful peace, the sun warm in a sky so impossibly blue.

     As Isolde was helped up the steps of the carriage, led inside of its dark-red velvet interior, the words were still stuck. Sitting on one side, Parisa on the other, whip crack, wheels turning, she didn’t know why the words were so impossibly heavy to get out of her throat.

     “You’re really beautiful too,” Isolde said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “And you…you look amazing in that uniform.”

     “Thank you,” Parisa replied, leaning in more attentively. “As much as I love a good dress, I do enjoy switching things around. That being said—suit, dress, or uniform—I think some trousers and a blouse are the most comfortable things to wear.”

     “Do you really wear that sometimes?” Isolde asked, lighting up at imagining someone as elegant as her wearing such simple things.

     “Quite often when I work the gardens. Dresses are too flowy and cumbersome for it, and suits are much too stiff. So I wear what’s comfortable. I bet all the boys’ heads would spin off their bodies if they saw me dressed like that, covered over in dirt and sweat.”

     “Then why not let them see you like that? It might make them bother you less if you show yourself as you really are.”

     “Sadly, it’s much too late for that.” Parisa sighed, peeking out the curtain of the carriage window, seeing the staring faces as they passed by. “I’ve never been a person here, but a prize, and this game with the key is a joke to myself. I’m something to be conquered by these people: they haven’t been fighting for me all these years, they’ve been fighting to be the one who gets to have me. I am a trophy to raise shining to the world, a medal of superiority to their fellow man.”

     “That’s horrid! It…it must be an awful way to live, with people treating you like that.”

     “It is awful.” Parisa peered away from the window, curtains shutting, her eyes intently focused on Isolde instead. “And that’s what makes company like yours so very pleasant. You’re the first person I’ve met here, that when I look in your eyes…you’re actually seeing me. The first person to look at me like I’m a human being instead of a thing.”

     “I can’t possibly be the first person to look at you like that,” Isolde said.

     Yet, belief started to sink into Isolde as she watched Parisa’s face. She saw the smile remain, but become heavier, something terribly sad to look at. A tremble in those golden eyes, the quick movements in that face, and a quaking in those gentle hands. Parisa was so small there in the moment, and it felt wrong for someone who usually loomed so much larger-than-life to fill Isolde’s heart with the same kind of clenching pain as looking at a child holding back tears.

     “Why do you even live here if nobody treats you right?” Isolde asked. “You seem like you have more than enough money to live anywhere in the world. You can find a place where people don’t look straight through you…a place where you’re a person, not some thing.”

     “Tell me, Isolde, do you think people would be kinder to you if you were to move somewhere else?”

     Shivers ran over Isolde’s body, skin tightening as she dropped back into reality, having forgotten for a time that anything was wrong with her at all. Her hand reached up, moving over the scarred half of her face.

     “I don’t think so,” she answered.

     “The problem is not place, the problem is people, and their desires and spite shall never cease to be. So here is as good a place as any, and I made it my home because I heard of all the cats. Cats are kind creatures. Rich or poor, ugly or beautiful, good or evil, they will nestle up warmly by your side as long as you are kind to them.” A smile broke onto Parisa’s face as she stood up and sat herself down next to Isolde on the other side. “Wouldn’t it be nice if people were like that? That if you’re kind to them, then they’ll always be kind to you?”

     “That would be a nice world to live in.”

     “But I suppose it’s not the one we get to have.”

     The carriage came to a halt, shaking up their balance for a moment, Isolde bumping into Parisa. She remained in place there, the soft tassels of Parisa’s shoulder pads a bit ticklish, her eye turning up to see Parisa smiling down at her.

     “I think we’re here now,” Parisa said, the muffled sound of the iron gates opening reaching their ears.

     As the carriage trotted forward again, Isolde sat up, opening the window curtain to reveal that marvelous dream of being inside the garden instead of outside. Glimpsing all those beautiful flowers without the cold, black iron of the gates cutting through her vision.

     “Where are all your cats?” Isolde asked, not seeing any of them roaming about the gardens.

     “You told me they make it hard for you to breathe,” Parisa said, moving ahead to open the carriage door, brilliant sunlight bursting in and illuminating her. “I made sure to round them all up and put them inside so there’d be no chance of anything bad happening to you.”

     “You did that for me?”

     “Of course I did, I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

     “But it must have taken forever to catch them all and put them inside.”

     “My cats are very well-behaved and listen to their mother, so it was no big hassle. But no amount of time would have been too much to spend to keep you safe.” Parisa’s hand reached out to Isolde, the fractured beams of sunlight brilliantly illuminating those golden eyes. “I do believe we’re just on time, so everything should be ready for us.”

     Unlike other moments, Isolde didn’t hesitate, her hand reaching out and firmly taking hold of the one offered her, Parisa’s hand reciprocating with the same force in its grasp.

     Isolde’s eyes glittered with the rainbow color of the gardens around her, senses overwhelmed with all its sweet scents: from the flowers, from the treats being laid down onto the table, to the refreshing warm breeze. Sitting in that place, she felt like a faerie queen, for the garden was like a magical world all its own.

     The two of them were situated deep in the garden, away any view through the fence and surrounded by flower bushes. There were several bird baths set up filled with sparkling water, where collared doves, robins, and starlings were quietly dipping their beaks in and out. The sun that perfect temperature one could sit in all day and never grow weary. White wicker chairs held them gently, their table the same material.

     Isolde was taking it all in with quiet awe, a teacup carefully held in her hands: it was made of porcelain, with a curved cat handle, and gold ornamentation.

     “Are you all right?” Parisa said. “You haven’t said anything in a few minutes now.”

     “I haven’t?” Isolde replied, feeling like it had only been a few seconds since she last spoken. “I’m terribly sorry.”

     “No need to be…it’s quite easy to lose yourself in this place. There are times I find myself walking in the morning, and by the time I blink my eyes, the sun is already setting in the sky. Beauty is such a panacea for life’s pains and troubles.”

     “Panacea?”

     “A cure all, so to say. A medicine that heals all ailments. Beauty, creation, and love…those are the only three things you need in the world to feed your heart and soul.”

     “And is there anything you love?”

     The words came out of Isolde’s mouth before she realized the weight of them, her hand fumbling with her teacup, a small bit of tea splashing onto the table. Parisa merely offered a quaint smile in response, turning and looking at the birds about their baths.

     “I love this garden,” Parisa said. “And I love my cats. I love the warm sun on my skin, the cool breath of night air in my lungs, and to have my eyes filled with the stars and infinity of this little universe we live in.” She placed her teacup back upon its saucer, turning towards the clouds. “But if you’re talking about human love, then I have no one. I’ve never known it at all.”

     “You’ve…you’ve never loved anyone?”

     “No one at all,” she said, another smile on her face with blurred emotions to it. “And no one has ever loved me in a meaningful way. Of course, all those people out in the town say they’re madly in love with me…but they aren’t. They’re infatuated. They’re lusting. They’re greedy. They’re deifying. With the wonder of everything I’ve had in this life, there is a bitterness in my heart because I have been witness to how sweet and perfectly wonderful human love is…and yet, it is a beauty I have not experienced. It may look like I’m in Paradise, but the Tree is not here, nor is the Apple, and what is Eden without its knowledge? Without a Serpent to seduce me?”

     Isolde felt a sinking in her heart because those golden eyes had moved to look straight into hers, and she knew she couldn’t just be silent. But they were heavy words…such familiar words and feelings, ones that snatched under her skin and dragged like barbed hooks. Old pains dragging up which clouded her mind and froze her tongue.

     “What kind of person would you want to fall in love with?” Isolde asked, her insides twisting at such a response.

     “It’s hard to say,” Parisa said. “I think I’ve just been waiting. That I’ll know them when I meet them, and that something will twist in my heart in remembrance of them. I’ll remember them like some long-forgotten dream, and I will feel like I know them, even though we’ve never met before. I’ve got quite a bit of a romantic in me, I’m afraid. I think I’ll just feel my whole being bloom to life whenever I’m around this person.”

     “That’s really beautiful.”

     “Such faerie tale ideals usually are, but they are never practical.” Parisa heavily sighed, eyes lowering, sipping her tea. “And there’s always the suffering of feeling that way for someone, and finding out they don’t feel the same for you.”

     “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about there, and I think anyone in the world could easily fall in love with you. Everything about you feels like it walked out of one of those faerie tales you mentioned.”

     “All that glitters is not gold, and I’ll let you in on a secret, Isolde Tremain, because I feel safe with you. But the truth is…I’m a coward. I’m a coward and a liar who runs and hides, because I’m afraid of so much in this world.”

     “I don’t understand what you mean.”

     “The only reason I live in this country is because I ran away from my old one and the people there. The reason I have these fences and this fortress of a house is because I want people to be kept out, to have my own little world.” Isolde’s breath drew quieter watching Parisa’s hand tremble while holding her teacup. “I’m afraid I only look perfect on the outside, and there are so, so many things about me that would make me quite unlovable to most people.”

     “What sort of things?”

     “I’m afraid I’m not brave enough to talk of that just yet.” Parisa’s trembling hand placed the teacup back down, splashes of tea spilling onto the table. “I like you quite a lot, and that’s not something I feel very often for people. As such, I’d like you to keep liking me…at least for a while longer.”

     Parisa tried to smile again, but it fell into a melancholy frown, her gaze stuck down at her lap, legs and arms fidgeting. It was haunting in a way to Isolde, and it stung something in her heart: Parisa seemed like an angel at first glance, but all those mortal cracks were over her. All that pain and insecurity Isolde could recognize as her own. The same dreams, fears, and aspirations. Such a tiredness that was creeping onto Parisa’s face with every second, a young woman turning older and older before Isolde’s eyes.

     Without another word, Isolde rose and pulled her seat next to Parisa’s. She sat back down beside her, then clasped both her hands around Parisa’s trembling one, the trembling quickly stopping. She held it softly, smoothly moving her hands back and forth on it. Soothing in Isolde’s heart was a cool gentleness, never before knowing how amazing it was to feel like a normal person around someone.

     “I know what you feel like,” Isolde said quietly. “Believe me, I know.”

     “I know,” Parisa said, softly focusing on the hands holding hers. “That’s what makes it so easy to be around you.” A smile began creeping up Parisa’s face again, youthfulness returning. “How about you, have you ever loved anyone?”

     “I loved my mother, and I loved my father. But if you mean that other kind of love, then no. I’ve never loved anyone.”

     “And why do you think that is?”

     “No one lets me get close enough to give me a chance to love them, I suppose. I know it’s there in me, but it’s missing anyone to give it to.”

     “And has anyone ever loved you?”

     “Why would they?” Isolde sighed, sad half smile on her face, while her hands still softly held Parisa’s. “I’m nothing more special than any other girl, but all of me is coarse and rough, and I’ve only got half a pretty face. Besides…look at my hand.” Both their eyes met upon their hands, Isolde moving the fingers on her left one. “I don’t even have a ring finger anymore. What kind of person would want an incomplete woman like me?”

     “Incomplete? What nonsense. You have a gentle soul and a kind heart, and you don’t know how incredibly rare and beautiful those things are. Those two things are what make a human truly complete, nothing else.

     “People can’t see your soul, though, and people can’t see your heart. They only see the outside.” Isolde pulled one of her hands away, motioning to her face. “And sadly, even if they do see my heart, my outside will always be what matters most to people.”

     Isolde started to slip her other hand away, but Parisa turned hers around, gripping tight Isolde’s and not letting it slip away.

     “Please don’t let go,” Parisa whispered. “I like the feeling of your hand. It’s so very warm and comforting…”

     At those words, Isolde stopped trying to pull away, a gentleness overcoming her. The two of them briefly locked eyes, then turned off together to watch the birds and the garden. Silence was starting to take root between them, but it was a beautiful silence, the kind that comes when you can dissolve into the day with somebody else. When there’s someone around you can talk to without needing words.

Chapter Text

     They had spent the next couple of hours with each other in complete, satisfied silence, before Parisa had stood up and took Isolde’s hand to show her more of the gardens. Never had a quicker passage of time flowed through Isolde. Not a single second aware within her, the sun rising and lowering without her realizing it. Parisa showing her every species of flower she could in those moments beyond time: speaking with an intense passion for each, knowing all their origins, scientific names, symbolic meanings, practical uses, and physical properties. Isolde adored the passion in which Parisa could discuss plants or the natural world, for it made Parisa feel more rooted down on the earth with her.

      In what had seemed too soon a time, it had become sunset, and the day had to end. Yet there was a moment before their parting that Isolde found pounding again and again into her rapidly beating heart. Parisa had grabbed her hand, eyes so bright, smile brimming, and said:

      “Can I please see you again tomorrow? I would love that so very much.”

      The tone in Parisa's voice kept thumping into Isolde’s heart: it was so joyously excited, but so very nervous. In her bed, Isolde couldn’t help but gleefully laugh to herself, sighing lightly. Shutting her eyes, she moved her hands slowly across her face, hands that had been held and touched over so much by Parisa…the person who never touched anyone. Never smiled for them. Never laughed for them. But smiles, laughter, and touch were all hers.

      “I’m not imagining it, am I?” she whispered to herself, pulling her pillow into her arms and clutching it tight, lamp-light flickering on the windowsill. “There is something. But…” She started to tremble a little, fingers digging deep into the pillow. “Maybe that’s just how people are with each other? Not like I’d know how normal people act.” There was a heavy rain outside pounding on the window, her eye focusing on the small flame in the lamp. “It’s been forever since we had a friend, and maybe nothing she’s doing means anything at all.”

      Isolde turned her head from left to right, the cramped room she slept in feeling like it was caving in around her, hazy in the firelight. Her left hand raised up to her ear, touching it as an almost silent ringing was reverberating there. The same kind of reverberation as metal striking metal.

      “Has it always been this quiet?”

      Against that quiet, a sound struck into her ears—that of a whining mew right outside her window. In a glimmer, she could see a reflection of golden eyes, and quickly moved up to the window, unlatching it. A moment later, Roana jumped in, soaking wet and looking like they were freezing.

      “You poor darling,” Isolde said, immediately scooping up the cat into her arms, not caring for the cold or wetness. “It must be so hard to rest with all those nasty people out there chasing you.”

      Isolde went back to the bed, slipping under the covers, Roana still in her arms and under the blankets too.

      “Don’t worry, you’re safe here, I’ll take care of you.” Roana started to purr again, a sound Isolde was growing to love, and that helped calm her heart when it would hurt. “Little one, can I ask you something?” The cat’s eyes flickered up attentively. “Do you think Parisa really likes me?”

      Roana started purring louder, then crawled up a bit from under the blankets, their small tongue licking the tip of Isolde’s nose. Isolde laughing from the ticklish feeling of that.

      “Thank you for the answer,” she said, kissing the cat’s head.

      She let out another sigh, watching the dying flame of her lamp, a smile on her face when she finally drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

      Isolde was awake, but there was something missing—there was no desire to work at all.

      No desire to start the forge, to shape the metal, or to strike the hammer. For over a decade of her life she’d been living out the same habits, day after day, but the thought of doing anything gnawed at her being in a way she couldn’t stand.

      She sat by the unlit forge, work gear on, hammer in hand, but remained deathly still. Her gaze was focused out the window to the outside world, staring at the blue sky above. When she was a little girl, she used to spend hours gazing at the sky imagining her arms transforming into wings and taking off into flight far above. Her mother used to pick her up and swirl her around in her arms high above, and it really felt like she was flying.

      A knocking sounded at her door, her heart skipping a beat, all the inaction and emptiness leaving her being. She rushed out of the forge and into her little home, heading towards the front door, swinging it open without hesitance. All the joy, though, left her being, falling into a stony silence at the sight of the person before her.

      “Good morning, Miss Tremain,” Benedict said with a curving smile, tipping his hat, two other men with him tipping their hats as well. “May we please come inside?”

      Benedict took a step forward, but Isolde’s arm shot out, blocking the entrance. The two men with Benedict flashed with anger, but Benedict kept up his slimy smile.

      “We’ll just stay out here then,” Benedict said. He took his hat fully off, clearing his throat, the smile on his face grotesque with how forced it was—Isolde felt even her crooked half-smile a prettier thing than his. “Could we have a minute of your time then?”

      “I have work to do, Benedict.”

      “Then could we buy a minute of your time?” Benedict pulled out a small bag from his pocket, undoing the string on it, and dumped a few gold coins into his palm. “It’s quite easy work to talk. You can buy yourself some more pretty dresses this way.”

      Isolde’s hair flared up on the back of her neck, a deep sinking in her heart. She did her best to keep her nerves under control, quickly and confidently snatching up the gold coins from his hands and stuffing them into her pocket.

      “Five minutes,” she said. “That’s all the time you get.”

      The men behind Benedict grumbled, but he waved a hand up, the two of them quieting down.

      “A little birdie told me that you’ve been getting rather close to our beloved Parisa,” he said. “A little birdie also told me that you were at her manor all day long.” His smile crept up wider, looking more unnatural, an ever-so-subtle twitch in his left eye. “And a little birdie told me you were walking around with a black, golden-eyed cat.”

      “And what exactly is your point with all of this?”

      Benedict chuckled, his smile softening into something less monstrous, snapping his fingers. One of the men behind handed him a fat satchel bag, Benedict undoing the string of it, then starting to pour the contents of it onto his hand. A rain of golden coins began to stack up onto his hand like a mountain, and he didn’t even appear to care when coins were falling off and into the mud below, his eyes just staring intent and unblinking into Isolde’s.

      “I will give you forty times what you see here,” he said, “if you give me the key from around that damned cat’s neck.” He chuckled some more, dropping the coins into his other hand, moving them back and forth in a taunting and teasing way. “You’re a young thing still, Isolde, but keep working like you do and your body will be broken in another ten years. What then? You’ll have no way of taking care of yourself, and no person by your side who can take care of you.” A chill bit into her soul at those words, the aches all over her body flaring up like wildfires. “With what I have to offer, you could live many, many years quite comfortably.” He stepped closer, the gold glittering, falling in the light. “You would finally have something that might make somebody want to be with you.”

      Watching the glimmer of the gold changing hands, it was odd to Isolde how dull it seemed: they said Parisa had golden eyes, but her eyes shimmered and shone a thousand times brighter than those grubby golden coins. Benedict’s words boiled in her, but at the same time a happiness grew deep in her heart.

      “That cat I was with is not Roana, I’m afraid,” she said. “And me and Parisa speak very little together of this whole affair. But even if I had the key in my pocket, I would never give it to you for all the gold on this earth. Never to a selfish, sniveling rat like you.”

      Benedict kept smiling, the men behind him growing very agitated, their fists clenching in and out. He stopped fiddling with the money, then slipped it into the satchel again, tucking it away at his side. He took a step forward, close to Isolde, his face a few inches from hers. She could feel the searing heat of his anger flowing from his face to hers, even if he wasn’t openly expressing it.

      “I do beg you to reconsider this path,” he spoke slowly, as if nailing his words in. “Your condescending tone of voice tells me that you can help me with this endeavor, and if I can’t spend this coin to get what I want from you. Well…” He poked his finger sharply into the left-side of her face, but she barely felt any of it against its numbness. “I could spend this money instead to make your life a living Hell instead, and it’s your choice how things turn out.”

      “You may be the sort to sell out your friends, but I’m not.” Her hand darted up harshly grabbing his and tearing it away from touching her face. “And I don’t give a damn about threats from a coward like you who doesn't even have the gall to make my life Hell himself, but talks of hiring others do it for him.”

      “You certainly are a dumb bitch,” he said, backing away and straightening his bow tie. “But I didn’t think you were this brain damaged. To refuse me, and to think Parisa Blackwillow is your friend. A sick whore on the street would make a lovelier ornament than you! Parisa is playing with you out of boredom. You are a toy, my dear, nothing more than a distraction to a woman who has everything and wants to try something different by hanging around with the little freak girl.”

      “Are you done talking yet? You used to make me cry when I was a little girl, but you’ve been saying the same things over and over again for the last fifteen years. It’s just pathetic…lazy even. And I do believe your five minutes are far more than up.”

      “Say all you like, Miss Tremain,” he said, tipping his hat. “But the moment we’re out of sight, you’re going to start blubbering like a child, for you know I’m right. Even before your face became a mess, you were always a whining little brat. A pathetic bitch crying for mommy at every second of the day. The burden of having a child like you is what drove your parents to their early graves.”

      “Why, Benedict?” she asked. “Why have you always been like this to me? Everyone else only started after the accident, but you were cruel to me even before then. What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?”

      “It’s not that I hate you, Isolde,” he said in an almost sing-song voice, starting to walk away. “It’s just that you make it too easy for me. It’s the feeling you get crushing a bug because you can or hanging some food out of reach of a starving animal. I don’t hate you, but it’s just so fun to see you writhe! Strength is simply the quality of not being ruled by fear, but that’s all you are—a scared little girl crying when people make fun of her face. So enjoy what time you have left with Parisa, for soon you’ll find there’s nothing sweet left in that stinking shit heap you call your life.”

      Isolde wanted to say more, to do more: to run up after him and send her fist flailing into his face until his bones broke, to spew out words so vile and sharp as to make him break down and cry. Yet she just stared on silently, grinding her teeth down, fists clenched, knowing she could never get him to cry with her words. All because she knew he’d never see her as anything else but an ugly, pathetic creature. If he saw her that way, then nothing she did could ever truly hurt him, for he’d always believe himself better than her.

      When Benedict and his men were far out of sight, she wanted to prove him wrong, to be strong, but she couldn’t stop herself. She simply collapsed onto her knees in her doorway, clutched herself tightly, and started to cry once more.

Chapter Text

      Isolde was sitting at her table wearing an old, simple dress of white, when she saw the carriage rolling up. Her heart didn’t leap with joy at Parisa’s coming, wishing inside that the carriage had never arrived. Isolde still felt so pathetic inside after Benedict’s visit, and she didn’t want Parisa to see that. That perhaps she had tricked an angel into seeing her in a way that no one else did, and if her true heart were to be seen, Parisa would be disgusted like all the rest.

      There was knocking upon the door, and Isolde moved towards it, quietly leaning her head against the frame, picturing Parisa on the other side. Her three fingers wrapped around the doorknob, her teeth nervously biting her lip.

      “Are you home, Isolde?” she heard Parisa call out from the other side, her heart sinking and body shivering at the sound of that voice. “Or are you working right now and can’t hear me in that noisy forge of yours?”

      Isolde took a deep breath in, calmed her body, then opened the door slowly.

      At the sight of Isolde, Parisa’s face lit up like the dawn, smile widening. She was wearing a walking dress, albeit one far higher-grade than Isolde’s: it was black and looked like it was made of silk, and she had a red sash wrapped around her waist, a straw hat with a rose tucked into it on top her head. She was positively glowing, and to Isolde’s surprise Parisa moved forward and gave her a quick hug.

      “It’s amazing how much more radiant you are every time I see you,” Parisa said with such a warmth it hurt Isolde more than if she had been insulted. “You are like a flower coming into bloom: each day another petal opens, and you are more beautiful than the last.”

      Isolde didn’t smile, though, only bitterly turned her head away, a heavy frown wearing onto her face. It was starting to hurt. It hadn’t before, but it felt wrong for someone so beautiful to talk to her like they were equals. Her whole body felt cold, tight, and out of place, her skin crawling, strangling her like a net.

      “Why do you keep saying those things about me when they aren’t true?” Isolde spoke quietly, still not looking back to Parisa. “You don’t have to lie to me, it’s all right, and it doesn’t offend me to say the truth…you don’t have to keep this act up.”

      “Tell me, do you think you’re ugly because you actually believe you are, or because people have been telling you that your whole life?”

      “I have eyes, and so does everyone else.”

      “And so do I.” Parisa took a step forward, kneeling in the area Isolde’s forlorn gaze was pointed. “So how about today I tell you the truth of how I see you? Not right now, but I promise to let you know all that’s in my heart.”

      Parisa started to rise, her hand trailing under Isolde’s chin and lifting her gaze up, a spark of happiness burning Isolde at the deep way Parisa held her gaze. At how wide and genuine Parisa’s smile was every time they were together.

      “Smile for me, won’t you?” Parisa said.

      “I hate my smile…it’s just as ugly as my face.”

      “I think you have a smile that could melt the coldest hearts, and it brings me joy every time I see such a wondrous thing.” Isolde couldn’t help herself as her smile slide up her face. “See, was that so hard?”

      “No,” Isolde said, heart sighing, keeping her gaze directly with Parisa again. “It wasn’t so hard at all.”

      “Well then,” Parisa said, making an exaggerated bow, extending her hand out towards Isolde. “Shall the lady be joining me today?”

      “Of course.”

      Isolde slipped her hand into Parisa’s, Parisa’s touch a resounding serenity and silent agony all at once.

~

      There were some dense woodlands some thirty-minutes from the town by carriage, and Isolde had long forgotten the beauty of the natural world. It had been too many years since she last left the town, and the whole ride to the woodlands her face was pressed close against the carriage window. Her expression filled with childish joy and wonder at passing green hills; at the sight of huge trees filled with vibrant leaves; at a sky wider and more expansive than ever seen in the town. The sparkle of lakes and rivers catching in her eyes, the wondrous glint of sun upon water like stars in the daylight.

      When they reached the forests of the woodlands, Isolde was left breathless by how beautiful it was. Her image of forests had been painted by all the faerie tales she had heard as a child: places full of twisting trees with sharp branches, dark and foreboding, with raw earth their floor. Yet the forest felt gentle, all the trees standing straight and unimposing, their leaves aflutter; the forest floor coated in soft grass, feeling like walking on clouds. The canopy above was not complete, the forest cut with intersecting beams of sunlight throughout, small patches of colorful plants and flowers sprouting here and there.

      They had been quiet for a while after stepping foot into the entrance of the forest, both taken with the forest’s beauty like a trance. Lost in that beauty, it wasn’t long before they could not see beyond the trees in any direction. The two walking side-by-side, nearly touching, a wearing down in the grass looking like a path.

      “These forests remind me of my old country,” Parisa said wistfully, snatching up a dandelion in bloom. “Almost all of them looked like this, but so little forests in this land do.”

      “Do you miss it much?”

      “I miss the forests, yes, but not the country. It was never home to me.”

      “And is this land home to you?”

      “No…I’ve never felt that way here either. Countless countries have failed to bring that peace to me.” Parisa stopped in her place, turning to face Isolde, moving the dandelion’s head close to Isolde’s lips. “But enough of that. Make a wish, won’t you? This is a magical place, and your wishes are more likely to come true here.”

      “Is that so?” Isolde shut her eyes, remaining silent for a moment before taking a deep breath in and blowing off all the dandelion seeds. “There, my wish has been made.”

      “And what did my Isolde wish for?”

      “I wished that you could find a place that feels like home.”

      Isolde had been smiling when she said those words, but the smile faltered as she looked at Parisa. Something was off in her eyes, they seemed a bit wide, trembling ever so slightly, and her hand dropped the dandelion stem. Those golden eyes then suddenly turned away, Parisa quietly cupping a hand over her mouth.

      “Did…did I say something wrong?” Isolde said, fear pumping into her veins.

      “Nothing at all!” Parisa said passionately. “It’s just that…why would you do that? Why would you make your wish for me when you barely know me?”

      “Because you looked so sad when talking about having a home.”

      “But aren’t you sad too?”

      “I am…but at least I feel at home.” Isolde knelt, snipping up a dandelion of her own and bringing it close to Parisa’s lips. “Now it’s your turn to make a wish.”

      Parisa calmed down, looking slightly more amused, glittering with a subtle but childish joy. In a breath, the dandelion seeds were blown away, flying off like a burst of snow.

      “And what did you wish for?” Isolde asked.

      “Well…my one is a bit of a secret.” She chuckled, playfully tapping her finger on Isolde’s nose. “But I’ll tell you if it happens to come true. And I wasn’t joking before, this forest really is a magical place.”

      “Is it now?” Isolde asked, filled with wonderment and peace at everything around her. “And will we be seeing any faeries today?”

      “I’m afraid someone like you can only see them during twilight, otherwise they exist in a realm beyond human eyes. Still, even if you can’t see them, they’re all around us with every step we take.”

      “But if we can’t see them, then how do you know they’re here?”

      “I said that you can’t see them.” Shivers ran down Isolde’s spine as she felt Parisa lean in close to her ear, lips nearly touching her flesh there. “I never said that I couldn’t.”

      Isolde twisted her head to look at Parisa and see what emotions were carved in her face, but froze up: she’d turned to face Parisa, but their faces were nearly touching, the tips of their noses brushing by each other. Oddly, Isolde felt that the same anxiety that was thundering into her heart was making its way into Parisa too. Odder still, while Isolde could control her anxiety, she watched Parisa be the one to grow wide-eyed and nervous, stepping quickly back. Isolde having felt the flustered heat of Parisa’s face radiating onto her before disconnecting.

      “Isolde,” Parisa said with such a soft inflection—Isolde’s name never sweeter from another’s lips—that it took her full attention. “Come along with me, there’s a special little place I want to show you.”

      Isolde moved to walk by Parisa’s side, and there was suddenly something different in the air. Parisa moved slowly, and with a downward gaze. Isolde finding all her words stumbling and crashing in her throat, wanting to say something to make Parisa feel at ease, but her own confusion kept growing inside at why Parisa would be nervous with someone like her. Isolde watching the other woman tremble, Parisa’s right hand shakily moving up and down the length of her left arm.

      All in a moment, Parisa stopped. She took a deep breath in, then everything else came to a halt. No trembles in any place, standing up tall and straight, and she turned to Isolde—a gaze and expression once more on her face so strong and self-assured it could create a shudder in anyone’s heart at the sight of it.

      “We’re here now,” she said, only her voice retaining any bit of the timidity that had been present so shortly before.

      Isolde twisted her head to look forward and was overcome with surprise: her focus had been so deep in watching Parisa, that she hadn’t noticed her surroundings. They had walked into a small clearing with no trees, one filled with brilliant and gleaming sunlight at full force, the sky a beautiful azure circled by the deep green tops of trees. In that place, unlike the sparse numbers to be found within the rest of the forest, it was teeming over with flowers. Oddly, they were all shut despite the sun directly shining on them.

      Walking past Parisa to the center of the clearing, Isolde noticed an odd growing of mushrooms: bright red and speckled white, sprouting in a perfect circle in a six-foot wide formation. It looked entirely unnatural, but at the same time, there seemed to be no signs anywhere that any person had deliberately planted them. Within the circle, Isolde felt an odd lightness of being growing, one that pumped through her blood and spread throughout her body. The feeling of drifting through the sky blanketing over her.

      “This place feels so quaint,” Isolde said, looking around herself: the forest only twenty feet away, but feeling so impossibly far from her. “But I can’t quite say why.”

      “It’s because this is the place in the forest the faeries love to congregate, of course. Their magic is strongest here.” In the full sunlight, Parisa’s eyes burst forth with a magic all their own, Parisa staring at Isolde’s face for the longest moment with a brimming smile. “And you can feel it because the faeries are taken with you.” Parisa started giggling like a child, excitedly clasping her hands together with a bounce. “You should see them all! They’re flocking to you like moths to a flame!”

      Isolde slowly looked around herself, but it was still only the two of them in the clearing. Parisa’s tone, though, wasn’t joking or playful, but filled with wonder. Looking closer as well, Isolde could see Parisa’s eyes shifting and moving all around as if focusing her attention to various objects.

      Any way things were, Parisa’s joy was infectious, and Isolde saw no reason to fight her magical assertions if they were bringing such warmth into the space they shared together.

      “And how come you can see them and I can’t?” Isolde asked. “Are they hiding from me and not from you?”

      “Oh, they love you…but these are pixies, brownies, and sprites, and they’re not strong enough to make themselves visible to normal humans like you. And me, I can see them because I was born with a special gift…these eyes.” Parisa waved a hand over her eyes, those golden orbs flickering between her fingers. “I was born with true-sight, Isolde Tremain, and that lets me see everything in this world as it really is, no illusions at all…and it’s why my eyes are gold. Not because it’s how the people are in my homeland, but because it’s the color of those who bear this gift.”

      “And why do you have this gift?” Isolde asked, cold creeping into her heart at hearing Parisa talk on such matters like simple facts.

      “I just do. Some of us in this world are born like this, a blessing of sorts from some force beyond us.”

      “And you’re being serious right now, aren’t you?” Isolde asked, tilting her head, still feeling like she was floating on clouds but that she might fall through them at any second.

      “I know it’s hard to believe in anything magical in a world like this,” Parisa said, stepping closer to Isolde, reaching out and quietly grabbing her hand. “But you’ve also been in this town your whole life, so keep an open heart, and let me show you a little of something real so you don’t think I’m quite so mad.”

      “I’d never think that of you,” Isolde said, clutching tighter to Parisa’s hand, exorcising the darker feelings creeping into her.

      “But you don’t really believe there are any faeries here either.”

      Parisa’s smile grew warmer, her free hand reaching out, softly stroking Isolde’s hair, then moving gently against her cheek. Isolde’s heart nearly collapsing as she saw Parisa’s face lean towards her lips, Parisa turning away at the last second to move close to Isolde’s ear.

      “Let me show you a little bit of the magic in this world,” Parisa whispered.

      Parisa stepped back, raising Isolde’s hand and kissing its top, Isolde’s mind still in a whirl. Parisa shut her eyes, clasped her hands tight together, and took on the solemnity one could find in prayer. She began to whisper something with a tone like a song’s, and in a language that Isolde had never heard before: it sounded similar to Latin, but in her bones it felt far older than that. Listening to that whispered song of words made Isolde feel as if her very soul was shivering…not from fear, but from joyous anticipation.

      Parisa’s eyes then opened, a flash of light seeming to glimmer in them like a falling star, a far greater warmth filling the air. As Isolde was about to speak, she froze up, looking all around her—the flowers in the clearing were beginning to open. Their beautiful petals unfurling with a speed unnatural to plants, and more like humans waking and stretching their arms in the morning. They were such odd things too, in shapes and colors she’d never seen before, making her lost for words on how to fathom them. It was like a living rainbow had blossomed, filling in the clearing with such radiant color it hurt Isolde’s heart from its sheer majesty.

      “How in all the world did you do that?” she asked in wonder, starting to question if she was in a dream or not.

      “That wasn’t me,” Parisa said. “I asked the pixies to do it for me. They almost never do it for me without a tithing, but they really wish for you to remain.” Parisa began to lower down like a feather, taking a seat on the earth among the flowers, her hand reaching up. “Won’t you sit with me?”

      Head light with wonder, Isolde let her heart drift into things as one does in dreams: she took Parisa’s hand, gently taking a place beside her. In that moment, in Isolde’s eyes, Parisa looked more beautiful than ever…the prettiest angel in all of Heaven and Earth, and Isolde wanted to tell her that more than anything else. Instead, the words shattered like glass once again, embedding into her throat.

      “Why do all the faeries like me?” Isolde said instead, every breath a quiet sigh.

      “Because the Fey love beautiful things above all,” Parisa said, plucking flowers and placing them on her lap. “So naturally they’d swarm around someone like you.”

      “Me?” Isolde happily laughed, shaking her head—each passing second filling her again with a greater peace than she had known before. “The faeries find someone like me beautiful?”

      “They find you amazingly beautiful,” Parisa said, still quietly picking flowers, a large bundle on her lap.

      “If they like beautiful things, then they must be flying all around you.” Isolde looked down, stroking one of the flowers, finding the glass unstick in her throat. “The whole forest of faeries must be gathered around you, for you’re probably the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen in all the world.”

      “That’s a lovely thought,” Parisa said, no longer picking the flowers, but starting to weave them together. “But the truth is, not even one sits on my shoulder. They’re too busy with you.”

      “Are you saying they think I’m more beautiful than you? While I might believe that faeries are real, the idea of any living thing in this world thinking I’m prettier than you is something that could never, ever be true.”

      Parisa stopped weaving, her face taking on a deep melancholy that stabbed deep into Isolde against the joyous dream of everything around them. The shivers returned to Parisa, that nervous quake, before again dissipating. Instead, the smile returned, eyes full of life, as she started to hum a soft song while weaving the flowers.

      “I think you’re far prettier than I am,” Parisa said, eyes focused on her flowers. “Someone like you is more beautiful than I could ever dream of being. The real joke is to think I am anywhere near where you are.”

      “I’ve told you that you don’t need to be kind to me to try and make me feel better. Even with how beautifully sweet you are, not even you can make those words seem like truth.”

      Parisa’s gaze shot up, Isolde taken aback by the tremble in those golden eyes, by that look of pure wonder. Parisa beginning to work again on weaving the flowers, but her eyes kept staring into Isolde’s without looking down at her work, something about that dual action almost hypnotic to Isolde.

      “Do you know what glamour is in the Fey world?” Parisa asked.

      “I’ve heard of it in faerie tales. It’s a magic they use to change their appearance and make themselves appear beautiful, right?”

      “That’s right. Whatever illusion they create, it’s what people perceive them as, but it’s not their real form. For us humans, our physical bodies are like their glamour.” Parisa’s eyes dropped, and held between her hands was a crown of flowers with all the colors of the rainbows woven into it. “Bodies aren’t who we are as people. Bodies are just another illusion. Our hearts and souls are who we truly are, but all of that is hidden and lost under this terrible illusion of the body.” Parisa crawled forward, Isolde’s heartbeat rapidly increasing as Parisa placed the flower crown on top of her head. “And I told you I’d tell you the truth of how I see you today.”

      Parisa sighed, clasping her hands together, gaze flickering away from looking directly at Isolde, shyly shrinking a bit. Her mouth opened, lips quivering, as if trying to form words but having them get stuck just as Isolde had.

      “What’s the truth?” Isolde asked, moving closer, her hand upon Parisa’s. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard everything that anyone has ever said to me, and you won’t hurt me with your words.”

      “To be honest,” Parisa said, eyes slowly turning back up, body still fidgeting. “You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

      That sentence was one that Isolde had truly never heard before. And those words, they did hurt her: like the pain of a sledgehammer crushing her chest, knocking all the air from her lungs and stopping her heart for a moment. The pain lingered afterwards, and instead of a blunt force, it became like a burning fire eating all her insides. She wondered for a moment if it was all a game, some torturous fun a rich girl was having with her. Yet the words only hurt so much because of how sincerely they had been spoken. Isolde’s peace becoming consumed by shock and confusion at seeing Parisa closing in more on herself, like a flower pulling all its petals inwards in hiding.

      “My eyes see through all the lies of this world and to the truth of things,” Parisa said. “And bodies are just another lie. When I look at someone, I’m not blinded by what they are on the outside, but I see clearly how beautiful or ugly their hearts and souls are. And…and there’s so much ugliness everywhere in the world…but when I saw you, it was so hard inside to keep calm, because it has been so long since I’ve seen anything so truly beautiful.”

      “I don’t understand…are you trying to tell me, that in your eyes, I look like someone like you?”

      “If you mean in terms of how people perceive my body, then yes, but a hundred times more so.”

      “Perceive your body?” Isolde tilted her head, and through all the confusion she could still see the deep discomfort and pain in Parisa. “Parisa, what do you think you look like?”

      Parisa clutched herself tightly, a wave of shivers overcoming her as her gaze fell to the ground. The light vanished from her eyes, her expression turning into a frozen sea. Her unblinking eyes locked in place, not even her chest appearing to move anymore, her breaths too light and infrequent.

      “I tell myself I’m not an evil person,” Parisa said, “but I have a tainted heart. I told you I’m a coward, and because of that I have done some truly terrible things that have stained my soul like a blight. To be honest, one of the reasons I hate interacting with suitors and people is because I can’t stand how they talk of me, and I can’t understand it either. When I look in a mirror, I have never seen the person you all talk about. I can weave physical body as beautiful as it can be to you people, but my eyes can’t shut off what they see in my heart and soul. I’m a twisted thing inside. A broken thing. Colorless. There’s no comparing the two of us against each other, because I’m nowhere near your level. You’d never look at me if you could see the true ugliness inside this soul of mine.”

      Isolde had never felt so strange in her entire life, to be filled with such a raging whirlpool of emotions both positive and negative she couldn’t even keep track of them all. Each one barging in and out of her heart as if thirsting to be the all-consuming feeling. But something did stand absolute: she could let herself believe in magic or faeries, but the idea of being beautiful…let alone more so than someone like Parisa…was refuted by all her heart. At the same time, the fear and pain she could see in Parisa could not be ignored, for it felt like looking into a mirror and having all her own insecurities staring right back at her.

      She scooted closer, gently guiding Parisa’s head to rest softly on her folded lap. She then began to stroke her hand through Parisa’s silken hair, her other hand plucking an odd blue, pink, and white petaled flower and tucking it behind Parisa’s ear, Parisa growing still. Those golden eyes looking the softest Isolde had ever seen them…like they were melting right into her heart, painting over all her insides with their brilliance.

      “You don’t believe any of this, do you?” Parisa said musingly, curling up on Isolde’s lap. “You probably think I’m insane.”

      “I don’t think you’re mad at all, and I believe you if you say there are faeries here. I believe you if you say there is magic.”

      “But you can’t believe how I see you?”

      “Not at all.”

      “And you can’t believe I’m just a misshapen thing inside at my core? All the beauty I might have had dulled by the ugliness of the things I’ve done?”

      “How can I when you’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever seen in all my life? You’re just like what an angel would look like. You’re just as kind and gentle as one too.”

      “Then we’re in quite the predicament, aren’t we?” Parisa said, her hand reaching up, fingers trickling along Isolde’s cheek. “We both see the other in a certain way, and we can’t accept how that person sees themself.” Parisa’s hand fell away, the two of them folding onto her stomach. “Did it hurt you for me to say those things?”

      “It hurts me to hear you call me the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, and it hurts me to hear you say I’m more beautiful than you are. Because I can’t feel those things as the truth…so they feel like mockeries instead. Like I want to run to a mirror to see who you’re talking about, and my heart would crush in on itself to look at my face and see how wrong your words are. But…” Isolde leaned down, touching her forehead to Parisa’s. “But if you want to call me beautiful, that’s all right. Just don’t compare me to truly beautiful things. I know there’s only good behind your words, but they still wound me.”

      “I’m sorry then for the pain I’ve caused you. To be honest, I thought you’d be glowing to hear such things, but I guess it’s easy for me when I can see it all. I get oblivious to what it’s like to live with all the veils in place, of how deeply rooted they are in most people’s lives. It’s hard for words alone to reveal the truth, but using just silly words…you are beautiful. I wish I could give you the power to see what I see, but at the same time, I’m terrified of letting you see me as well…”

      “I don’t think I need any magic to know that you have a beautiful heart and soul. That you’re kind, gentle, and warm, and that maybe you focus too much on the wrong things.”

      “Maybe I do. Maybe you do too.”

      Parisa reached up, her fingers gently trickling along Isolde’s face, Isolde trying not to shiver. Parisa’s hand cupping in place there, those golden eyes looking so sad.

      “Do you have many dreams for your life, Isolde?” Parisa asked.

      Her voice carried along on a breeze blowing by, both of their gazes shifting to a sea of clouds passing above that was interlacing their little clearing with snippets of dancing shadows.

      “When I was a kid, I used to have lots of dreams,” Isolde said. “But I don’t know if I have any anymore. The first dreams I had were of going on adventures like in the faerie tales. Finding treasure, fighting monsters, saving a kingdom or a princess. It broke my little heart when I found out none of it was real.” Isolde sighed, a cloud passing over that reminded her of a horse, smile fading a bit. “I used to dream of making things. Of writing those stories I loved, but my own versions, or painting the things I’d seen in them. But I found out I don’t have the words…and that there’s something missing in my heart that’s needed to make a painting come alive.” Her heart started beating faster in her chest…it had been so long since she talked that much uninterrupted about herself, since she’d talked of anything she used to want, her hand on Parisa’s slowly shifting about. “I used to dream about love. I’d think of things like true love’s kiss and love at first sight all through the night. I’d make up all these stories in my head of being a princess and being rescued by my true love, or being the one to go out and rescue mine. To take a sword and slay a dragon, and have my own happily ever after.”

      “You don’t dream of love anymore?” Parisa whispered.

      “As the years went by, I realized there is no love at first sight. That there is no true love, and love can’t transform us from ugly creatures into beautiful princesses. That if you look at me, I’m just the cursed beast in all those stories, where almost no one in the whole world could love them.”

      “But somebody always did love them, despite being monsters, and you’re nowhere near a monster. So if they can find love, why can’t you find love too?”

      Parisa’s touch was starting to burn her, so Isolde pulled away, putting some distance between them. Her eyes trembling, biting down hard on her bottom lip.

      “Because there’s something else in my heart!” Isolde continued. “Something that makes me different than other people…different in a way that was never in a single story my parents read to me. And this thing, it makes it almost impossible to find love. So I don’t dream of love anymore…because it hurts me too much.” Isolde breathed in deeply, trying to calm her heart, to not start crying and let Parisa see her that way. “It’s one of the things that hurts me the most in this life.”

      Isolde could hear a shifting, could feel that Parisa had moved closer, that those eyes were watching her.

      “But what if somebody was different in the same way that you are?” Parisa said. “Couldn’t that person love you?”

      “I don’t know…” Isolde muttered, shutting her eyes. “But I’ve never met anyone the same as me.”

      “The world is vast and wide, and you’ve only seen such a small snippet of it.”

      “Thinking there are people like me is dreaming. You call yourself a coward, but I’m a coward too! I don’t have the bravery to search for love…to live with the pain that comes with that journey. I’ll never have somebody to love because I’m love is for the bold.”

      Isolde clenched down on her teeth, grinding them in, her stomach tying into knots. It felt like if she had to talk for another minute, she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. That her heart and the way it felt would be too out in the open. Scared if Parisa truly had eyes that could see the truth of things, she’d see Isolde’s truth, see her truth and be revolted—that she’d run and hate her with all her core. If Parisa couldn’t see that burning truth, could still look at her so warmly, then her eyes were the same as Isolde’s, just seeing skin-deep. It was another torturous dream to think there was something more behind all those words and actions of Parisa’s.

      “Can we please just be quiet again,” Isolde forced out of her throat, shifting her back to Parisa. “I don’t feel like talking to you anymore.”

      “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, please don’t be upset…”

      That apology was like a knife: it sounded so wounded, like a child who had been unfairly berated by their parent and didn’t understand why. Isolde wanted to say something more, to not let a single negative feeling take root in Parisa’s heart, but she was too weak. She felt to speak another word would cause a flood of tears to sprout from her heart.

       So the two remained silent, but it wasn’t their usual beautiful silence: it was a crushing kind, and the silence had no language, but was built of walls. The silence creeping through everything, sapping away the warmth, peace, and magic around them. The dream ending, plummeting Isolde back down to earth again.

      That moment, too afraid to talk, head filled with images of Parisa resting miserably by her side, Isolde had never felt quite as disgusted with herself. That she was little more than a cowardly, pathetic little nothing, and she deserved all the agony in her life.

Chapter Text

      The silence did not waiver, and though the flowers remained in bloom, it felt like they had wilted away.

      There was a continual building of tension back towards how things had been, a horrid vacuum breaking apart and letting life back in, but each of the two would crumble into themselves whenever their hands were about to reach out and cross the gap. So the silence persisted on and on. Among the flowers. Walking back through the forest. In the carriage ride home.

      The silence remained into the night, long after they had parted, at nearly five in the morning where Isolde sat awake in her bed with it. She hadn’t slept at all, and though it was a warm night, she was shivering all over. Hands clawing at her hair, the silence choking into her throat, pulling at her eyes as it felt like she was crying, but there were no tears. After a lifetime of crying floods, that tearless weeping terrified her.

      “What is wrong with you?” she growled at herself. “Isn’t that everything you ever wanted? Isn’t that everything you dreamed of… she said all the things you wanted her to say.” She breathed in deeply, then harshly slapped herself across the face, teeth gritting as she beat her balled-up hands into her head. “You ruined the whole day for her. Why do you always have to be such a damned freak!”

      Her hands stopped beating against her skull, the fists opening up into palms which she buried her face in. If only a drop of rain would fall. If a strong wind could creak the walls of her home. Anything so it wouldn’t be so quiet—even the graveyard had the chirping of birds—but in that room, she had no such life. She couldn’t even hear her own breath because it had slowed down so much in her. It felt like she could stop breathing entirely and let herself slip away from the world.

      Then a sound came into the void. A scratching at the window. A quiet meow. Turning up her head, Isolde could see the faint glimmer of Roana’s golden eyes staring at her through the glass, and nothing else.

      Nothing else, until the key around their neck flickered into view against the dark.

      In that moment, despite the silence being broken, the sight of that key collapsed something deep in Isolde. In its place, a black hole tore through: the key the agony of taunting dreams and fantasies she’d always lived with, but could never have. Her mind clogging up, the room around unsteady as she dragged herself to the window and threw it open.

      “I don’t want you here tonight,” she said bitterly. “Just go away.” Roana kept sitting on the sill, their eyes so much like Parisa’s they cut Isolde’s heart like daggers. “I know you can understand me, so just leave me alone!”

      Roana gave a curious tilt of the head, and instead of jumping outside, proceeded to jump in with Isolde. That caused something to boil inside of Isolde’s blood, and a moment later something else came cutting into her—their purring. The silence had been around so long, that any noise felt like knives being driven into her ears. She shuddered at feeling Roana brushing about her legs, interweaving between them: the soft fur reminded her of Parisa’s touch, and it would be comforting any other night, but that night it was torture.

      “You damned creature,” she said, voice growing more unsteady. “Go bother some other person tonight and leave me to mine.” Yet the cat kept on purring, kept on moving against her. “Did you hear me, you dumb animal? Get your filthy, disgusting little body out of my house!”

      Even with the rage and pain behind her words, something about them fell flat. She was missing the sincerity needed to truly strike a killing blow, her words crumpling like paper tigers to anyone paying attention. Still, the cat did step back. They stopped their purring and rubbing, instead sitting in place and looking up at her like a statue.

      “You don’t think I’m being serious about leaving me alone?” Her whole body was tensing, breath getting heavier: a cat wouldn’t listen to her, like even an animal was better than her. “Maybe you’ll understand this better then, you damned mongrel!”

      Isolde’s hand tightened, whole body tensing, and she started to swing her fist right at Roana. But, with her fist a foot away from the cat, her whole arm buckled and froze in on itself. She started to tremble all over, shock and horror covering her face as she stared at her own hand so close to hitting the cat, a bile filling into her mouth at thinking of what she was about to do. Worst of all was Roana: the cat should have run, should have been startled, jumped back. Yet it was doing something else…it was pressed in close to the floor, ears lowered, eyes filled with fear, and shaking all over.

      Her fist slowly unfurled, Isolde falling to her knees, the bones resonating with a sharp pain against the wood. Her breathing was starting to rapidly increase, and tears began to rush out of her eyes and paint her face once more. Silence broken apart by the grating pain of her sobbing, the rest of her body collapsing onto the hard floor, curling up into a ball as she buried her face in her hands.

      “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” gurgled out between the sobbing. “I didn’t mean to. Please forgive me.” She kept trying to curl in tighter, to become smaller and smaller, and a part of her hoped she could curl into nothing. “I never want to hurt anyone or anything, but every part of me is so ugly. Every part inside and out! I don’t have a beautiful heart or mind or soul…they’re all the same as my face…the same as everything that’s ever been involved with me! Just ugly and wretched and horrible and…”

      The words stopped as she could feel something brushing against her again, soft fur close as she could hear purring filling her ears. Despite that sound feeling like Hell so short ago, the purring made her cry more wretchedly. Pulling her hands away, the cat’s face was close to hers, their purring starting to flow into her ears like a lullaby: their eyes so much like their master’s, even some of the magical shimmer from them sparkling about.

      “But why…?” Isolde asked, her hand timidly reaching out and petting the cat as gently as she could. “Why would you stay after I almost did that?”

      She almost felt like they would answer her, but instead they stepped closer, their rough tongue licking some of the tears off her face. That action started to cause Isolde to giggle at the sensations it was causing, the tears still coming down, but the sound of sobbing ending.

      She then curled around Roana, pulling the cat in close, cradling them within the nook and heat of her body like an egg in a bird’s nest. The lullaby of their purring was making her eyes heavier and heavier: where before they couldn’t shut, they felt like they were being pulled down beyond her control. She leaned forward, kissing Roana on the head, giving them another pet.

      “I swear I’ll never scare you like that again in all my life,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.” She sighed, her hand trickling from the cat, the fingers of her left hand quietly moving about the key. The sight of her missing ring finger burning into her eyes. “Goodnight, Roana.”

      There on the floor, curled up close with Roana, Isolde fell asleep…her hand still cradled softly about the key.

Chapter Text

      Isolde awoke the next morning shivering on the floor, sunlight streaming in through the window onto her face, a breeze blowing in from its open frame. Roana was gone again, and Isolde achingly remembered the worst of the day before. Rushing in beside the pain, though, was all the joy before the sky had turned dark. It became far clearer to her then that it had been one of the happiest moments of her life for a short while in the forest. Somehow, she let that get buried in her own misery.

      An urgency came over her as she jumped onto her feet, an electric pulse crackling through her heart. It was driving into her a desire to go bursting out her door and running all the way to Parisa’s manor. To apologize and make sure Parisa knew that how things turned out wasn’t her fault. To hug her, hold her, try to live the day out again anew. Isolde sighing and quietly swaying, something deep inside her hungering to have those eyes looking at her. Her heart thumping louder and louder in remembrance of Parisa’s smile and laughter.

      As she was twisting around intent on doing just that, she stopped. Something felt missing, and she stared down at her empty hands. She didn’t want to go running to Parisa with nothing to give: Parisa felt like a treasure always raining riches onto Isolde, and she wanted to give something back.

      Slipping on her boots and snatching up the gold coins she’d gotten from Benedict, she went running out into the day.

~

      Once Isolde got into the heart of the town, she realized how difficult an endeavor it would be to find a gift for Parisa. Parisa seemed to have everything in the world, so what could she give that could mean anything? Especially in a place like Belmoor, not known for its pomp in which she could find anything unique or eccentric. She could forge something herself, but that’d take too much time for the driving force in her heart that kept shouting: now, now, now, with every beat. Now, to see Parisa again. Now, to go running to her. Now, to drift into those eyes like she’s floating in the stars.

      Her search wasn’t aided by the people she encountered around her. The way they’d look at her was always a weight, but their stares were especially sharp that day: she was still wearing the dress from the day before, and she hadn’t been out in a dress for longer than she could remember. She felt it must be like seeing the sky turn green for most people—unnatural and out of place. That was whispering in her head at least, of how they were laughing at her wearing something so gentle. It might have crippled her on other days, but that day she didn’t give a damn what any of them thought, for they weren’t the ones that mattered.

      Yet, walking along with her hands still empty, it began to sink deeper in her heart. An army of suitors for years had never gotten any gifts of worth for Parisa, so what could she do in a day? As that despair was creeping across her mind, something came into view in the corner of her eye. It was an old man in a donkey-driven cart—looked like a merchant from another town—and her heart lit up at seeing the bursts of color overflowing out the back of the cart.

      She rushed over to the cart, the old man pulling to a halt as she eagerly looked over the flowers it carried, hoping and praying to find what she was looking for. Then, without control, she let out a happy laugh, pulling a bundle of flowers out. They were a pale-blue and white color, with strange petals which curled inward halfway through, making them look like a white sun with burning blue flames. They were the kind she was looking for, because they were a flower she didn’t see at all when she spent the day walking with Parisa in her gardens.

      “Excuse me,” Isolde said, happily skipping to the front. “How much are these flowers?”

      “Two copper will do from a lovely lady like you,” the old man said, giving a soft smile. “For yourself or for another?”

      “For another,” Isolde said, leaning in and seeing if they smelt as good as they looked, and they smelt like warm rain on early morning grass.

      “For a friend or for a lover?” the old man added playfully, but hearing the words spoken out loud dropped a boulder into Isolde’s stomach.

      She wanted to say “for a friend,” that’s what Parisa was after all, but it burned into her heart like a hot iron brand. She didn’t want to say that word “friend” out loud. She feared if she spoke it, it would make it the only truth forever. That, cutting away all the lies, excuses, and illusions inside of herself—just one question of either or—could shatter it all and show her heart’s truth

      “They’re for someone special,” she forced out of her mouth. “And can I ask you something else too? Do you sell any seeds to this flower? I’d love to be able to plant some myself.”

      “Let me just sift through my things.” The old man twisted around back, untying and tying dozens of tiny little pouches before pulling one out and handing it off to Isolde. “There you go, young lady. They’re a hardy flower. Just make sure they get water and sunshine and they should do fine.”

      “Thank you so much, sir,” Isolde said, sliding the seed packet into her pocket, and pulling out gold coins to drop in his hand. “I hope you have a lovely day.”

      “Miss,” the old man said in disbelief after staring closer at the coins. “This is far, far too much to pay for some flowers.”

      “They aren’t just some flowers, they’re something more priceless than that!” Isolde twirled around, starting to hum, and skipped off back in the direction of her home. “Besides, when you’re happy, it’s nice to make other people happy too!”

      The old man kept his insisting up, but his voice was fading away as Isolde kept skipping off, music in her breath. The hum turning into song: sweet and soft things of love she’d heard as a child, twirling every now and then in her step, bringing the flowers in closer and breathing them in. She only wished she didn’t have to go home first, that she could go to Parisa right away. She knew, though, it wouldn’t look proper wearing the same dress she had on yesterday.

      Time started to fade away on her joyful dance back home, lost in her drifting song, everything warm, bright, and sweet in the world. It felt like she had wings of pure white snow and was soaring through the sky, the world in her hands.

      “Aren’t you a happy little songbird today?” someone said to her, that voice freezing her in her tracks.

      All in a moment, the wings fell off her back: the world grew cold, grey, and sharp, feet falling to the earth like stone, no song in her throat. Her head twisted to see Benedict standing against the wall of a nearby building, his eyes straight on her. He was flipping a mud-crusted gold coin over and over in his hand, and she didn’t like his gaze. Normally he felt like nothing more than a rat, but in that moment he looked like a wolf, his expression calm on the outside, but with a current of violence hiding below its surface.

      “Did you get those flowers from Parisa?” he asked, tightly grasping the gold coin as it fell into his hand instead of flipping it again. “Have you been to see her again already, little bird?”

      “I don’t have time for this today, Benedict.”

      “I asked you a question,” he said, giving a creeping smile. “So please answer it, darling.”

      “These are flowers I’m going to give to her,” she said defiantly. “Because I'm going to see her today. I’m going to walk up to those gates and go somewhere you shall never in all your life get to be. She’ll look at me and talk to me in ways you’ll never know.”

      “Now you’re just being mean, darling,” he said, taking off his hat, very slowly rolling up his sleeves. “You know things like that hurt me as much as a horse’s kick to the face.” He moved forward from his place against the wall, creakingly turning in her direction. “You ought to be more polite. It’s not befitting of a young lady.”

      Seeing his approach, Isolde started to back away, but felt her whole body seize up in terror as she bumped into someone behind her. Before she could even react, she felt a pair of arms wrap around each of her own, holding her tight in her place. Their fingers dug into her flesh, twisting painfully into her the more she tried to loose her arms from their grips.

      “You remember Luke and Matthew from yesterday, right?” Benedict said nonchalantly, making his way in front of Isolde. “They’re both quite strong, you know, and can easily break the bones of little birdies who try to fly away.” He chuckled, the rage inside of Isolde almost eclipsing the near total terror filling her blood. “And we don’t like any screaming either…we’d hate to have to break the beak of our little birdie, then she wouldn’t be able to sing anymore.”

      “Rot in Hell, you bastard!” she screamed at him, pushing forward a bit, the other men pulling her back again.

      “You get that one time,” Benedict said, leaning his face in close to hers. “Please don’t make a ruckus again.”

      He smiled at her, and with his mouth open like that, she spat hard onto his face. He didn’t flinch much, stepping back quietly and pulling out a handkerchief, wiping the spit off himself. He folded it up slowly, stuffed it back into his pocket, and took a deep breath.

      He took a couple of steps to where Isolde’s trembling hand still held onto the flowers with a terrible force. Without saying a word, he wrapped his hands around her wrist and began to crush into her bone, digging his nails into her flesh. She wanted to scream from the pain, her hand still struggling to keep hold of the flowers, but the man holding that arm twisted it back, making her body twist in pain with it. Her hand finally opening, Benedict taking the flowers into his grasp.

      “I know you saw her again yesterday,” he said, bringing the flowers in close. “I know she brought you somewhere out of town. I’ve spent years of my life trying to get some friendly words from that woman. Yet somehow…somehow a wretch of a creature like you gets to be all cozy with her? It’s cruel, you know. The cruelest thing to do. Especially when you’re a liar, Isolde Tremain.” He stepped closer again, pushing the flowers into her face, using everything in her power to stop from crying. “I’ve had some people watching you, and do you know what curious thing they saw this morning? They saw a black cat jumping out your window.” Everything stopped in Isolde, all the terror and anger suddenly replaced with a void that came trembling through her body. “A black cat with golden eyes and a key around its neck.”

      Benedict stepped back again, then quite calmly pulled the head off one of the flowers, crushing it shortly afterwards beneath his heel. He started humming the same song Isolde had been singing as she was passing by him, and he proceeded to do the same to each flower. Slowly ripping their heads off and crushing them until only a bundle of stems remained. Isolde feeling like all her insides had been hollowed out, the world shrinking all around her.

      “Now let’s get to business!” he said with a smile, throwing the stems into the air, then clapping his hands three times.

      Isolde could hear the sound of more feet approaching, and turned her head to see another man she hadn’t seen yesterday. A large wooden bucket was in the man’s arms, a disgusted look upon his face. As he got closer, Isolde’s stomach wretched at the horrid scent of it, gagging a little, the bucket being placed a few feet from her. Isolde’s eye widening at the sight of it.

      “I’m surprised you aren’t used to the smell of horse shit,” Benedict said, moving up and kicking the bucket. “A creature like you should be well acquainted with your own filth. The stable boys filled it up for me this morning…add a good amount of piss and cooking in the sun, and we have this here. Now, Isolde darling, this doesn’t have to be hard.” He walked up to her again, slimy finger creeping under her chin and tilting up her gaze to him. “I swear to you nothing will happen if you do what I want.”

      “And what you want is the key…” Isolde said, the nothingness in her fading once again, a greater disgust than the smell filling her at the idea of him being anywhere near Parisa.

      “My time is precious, so I’ll be blunt. Either you help me get that key, or this fine concoction here will be showered all over you. And don’t think it’s a one-time ordeal. I’ll drag you out each day if I must, and coat you in as much shit and piss as it takes.” His smile grew wider, his features more wolfish…yet the fear hadn’t returned to Isolde. “I will break every little bone in your body if it can get me what I want.”

      “You know she can never love someone like you, so why even try?”

      “Because I don’t need her to love me! She’s the one thing everyone wants but cannot buy, so if I had something like her, no one else could compare to me. She would be the grandest treasure, outshining any other’s crown. So what will it be, little bird? I’ll only ask once.” His face pressed closer, nearly touching hers. “Will you help me or not?”

      Isolde was deathly silent, her face overcome with a stony solemnity before a smile twisted onto her. Without a word she whipped her head back, then smashed it forward with all her force against Benedict’s, crushing into his face. As he staggered back, so she could see blood streaming from his nose in bright red strokes.

      “I’d rather rot in Hell with you than ever, ever help you,” she said. “So fuck off and die, you bastard. You’re pathetic…you’re powerless without the people around you to prop you up and make you look big.”

      “Bravery is easy to play at when it’s just words.” He wiped the blood from his nose, snapping his fingers, the two men kicking at Isolde’s legs and forcing her to her knees. “But I know you, and it’s going to make me happier than words can describe to watch you become a crying little bitch again.” Benedict snapped his fingers again, the two men twisting Isolde’s arms tight behind her back. “You’ve always had the loveliest kind of tears, and how your face contorts so miserably is beautiful.”

      Isolde lowered her gaze to the ground, and in the side of her eye she could see Benedict moving towards the bucket and picking it up into his arms. Even with everything happening all around her, she focused most on wondering why she felt so calm. She could feel him walking closer, see his shadow looming over, but she was calm. Taking a deep breath, shutting her eyes, and bracing her body…it was because she felt proud. Despite being the one with her arms twisted behind her back, she felt stronger than every other person around her.

      The sensation of it falling on her head and splattering across the rest of her body instantly overwhelmed her with the desire to vomit, with the desire to tear off all her skin and go running to a river like her entire body was on fire. But she caged it in, shoving it deep down, not letting the vomit out, not letting the scream ring out, not trying to pathetically break free. Most of all, not letting herself cry.

      When she heard the bucket thrown aside on the ground, she wiped her hand across her shut eyes and mouth to clean them, and looked straight at Benedict. She smiled inside at seeing the cruel joy die on his face at the sight of her, and to see that he was the one trembling. It was satisfying for a moment, but turned sad a mere second later.

      “Are you done yet?” she asked, spitting at his feet.

      “You think you’re better than me, don’t you!” he growled. “All your life you’ve thought you’re better than me, you damned wench! Well, I’m afraid we’re just getting started here, and there are so, so many more levels of Hell awaiting you. When I'm done with you, you’ll be begging to—”

      His words were cut off as something burst into him at an extreme speed, blurring by like a shadow, Isolde’s face overcome with shock at seeing him suddenly gone. A moment later she could hear him screaming: a wretched noise like pure agony, Isolde’s walls collapsing, emotion filling into her as she turned to look in the direction of the screaming.

      Time froze in that moment after seeing what it was that hit into Benedict…who it was.

      Benedict was on the ground on his back, screaming and trying to protect his face as Parisa was on her knees above him, tearing at his face with her bare hands like a wild animal. The men nearby Isolde started charging towards Parisa, Isolde wanting to call out to warn her, but Parisa’s head twisted in reflex, and she rushed towards them. Something like pure awe and absolute terror filled Isolde’s heart to see such a primal energy exuding from Parisa. Isolde gasping in horror to see Parisa’s hand slice across one man’s face like her nails were made of razors, and for her hand to grab the arm of the other man and snap it like a twig in her grasp, the bone breaking out before Isolde’s eyes and filling her stomach with reflexive disgust. Isolde wasn’t quite sure if she was even awake, that maybe her mind had blanked out and she was imagining everything happening. She was spiraling somewhere deep inside herself as she watched them all running away, bloodied and terrified, like Parisa was some kind of horrendous monster.

      Yet, when Parisa turned around, blood splattered across her clothes and dripping from her hands…Isolde saw no monster. When Parisa’s eyes locked with hers, all the rage melted away into a deep sadness, the human fully rushing over to her.

      Parisa fell to her knees close by Isolde, slowly reaching out her hand as if to touch her and pull her in. All of Isolde shuddered with that thought, walls starting to crack further in her heart as she backed away like some frightened animal.

      “You mustn’t touch me,” Isolde muttered. “Don’t get close to me or it will get on you too.” Parisa’s face took on a greater fire as she approached closer again, Isolde scurrying back more. “I don’t want you to see me like this, I don’t want you near me like this. Please, just—”

      This time Parisa burst forward faster than Isolde’s defeated, sluggish pace could go. Before she could do anything else, Isolde could feel Parisa’s arms about her and holding her close, her whole body trembling inside and out. Her face overcame with a mixture of confused emotions, wanting to push Parisa away and hold her closer.

      “Why would you ever hold me like this?” Isolde said.

      “Because you need to be held right now.” Isolde heard Parisa’s breath struggling, and at first she thought it was disgust with being so close to hear in her state, but listening closer, she went still inside…it sounded like Parisa was trying not to cry. “I know nothing is okay right now, but did they hurt you in any other way before I got here?”

      “No…you saved me before they could do anything else.”

      “All right, all right, let’s get you up.” Isolde could feel Parisa’s arms strong about her, helping lift her to her feet again to stand beside her. “You don’t have to worry about anything right now: about talking, about what happened, just stay close to me and I’ll take you back to the manor and we’ll get this all washed away. We’ll get you some new clothes, and I’ll make things better, all right?” Nothing felt okay in the world to Isolde, yet when Parisa could hug her in a state that no one would want to even be ten feet from her, it made her heart believe that things could be better. “Percival! If you can hear me, bring the carriage around right this instant!”

      A few moments later the carriage came bounding around the corner, riding quickly towards them and pulling to a halt nearby. The driver, masked as always, rose suddenly at the sight of them. While his expression could not be seen, a rage could be perceived pulsing through his whole body.

      “I took care of them, don’t worry,” Parisa said, moving the two of them toward the carriage. “But we need to get home at full speed to take care of Lady Isolde as soon as possible, do you understand?”

      Percival gave a strong nod, getting back into place as the two of them reached the steps into the carriage. Suddenly, though, Isolde froze up again, resisting going up the steps.

      “I can’t go in there,” she said. “I’ll ruin the whole thing.”

      “So what if it gets ruined!” Isolde startled back with shock to hear Parisa yell—it was such a strange sound she hadn’t been able to imagine before, but it was unsettling from the pain in its tone. “It’s just damned pieces of wood put together, and you’re a human being. I don’t give a damn about this carriage, Isolde Tremain, but I do care about you. So please don’t run away…just trust me. I know that’s hard, but take a leap of faith.” Parisa sniffled, a tear falling from her like a star in the night’s sky. “Put yourself in my hands and believe I want to do what’s best for you.”

      Somewhere inside Isolde she wanted to push back again, but watching those tears trickle down and fall from Parisa’s face to the ground, something in her surrendered. Her heart, mind, and soul lay down their arms for the moment and she went close to Parisa with all the innocence and trust of a child.

      Parisa helped Isolde into the carriage then, and they sat side-by-side with each other, Isolde cradling in closer to Parisa, Percival cracking the whip outside and setting the carriage off quickly.

      “This will help,” Parisa said, pulling out a small vial with a pink liquid in it from the breast pocket of her jacket. “It will make things bearable until we get home.” Parisa pulled away the cork, moving the vial beneath Isolde’s nose, and in an instant the gut-wrenching smell that had been revolting her being was replaced with the scent of breathing in a warm field of flowers…the same scent that often clung to Parisa. “And, Isolde…it’s all right if you want to cry.”

      Such a thought to ever let that happen in front of Parisa would be absurd at any other time, and would fill Isolde with an eclipsing fear. But as more and more was breaking down inside her, there was nothing else she wanted to do except cry. So the tears started to flow like a wild flood, one which Parisa held her steady throughout, catching those pained waters onto herself.

Chapter Text

      “Drink this,” Parisa said quietly, handing Isolde a vial as they reached the double-wide doors to the manor. “I made it for you. It should help you breathe with all the cats around. It’s not bitter.”

      Isolde didn’t question Parisa, and took the vial, drinking it down. It made an odd, cooling sensation shiver through her blood for a few seconds, before settling inside her. Her eyes tracked down, seeing Parisa unlocking the door with a key identical to the one around Roana’s neck.

      As the grand red doors swung open, Isolde never thought it would be under such circumstances she would enter the house. A deep bitterness burning into her throat, the roots of shame sprouting back up in her stomach when she had been so blissfully free of it for a short while in the carriage ride.

      Parisa moved them along quickly, and even though it had been Isolde’s dream to be inside the manor, she kept her gaze down and focused on Parisa, not looking around herself at all. She didn’t want those to be the first memories of looking inside the home, and to have such a terrible experience forever be linked to the manor. Pain twisting deep in her stomach thinking of all the filth she was dragging along.

      “Right in here,” Parisa said after a couple minutes of walking, Isolde being led into another room.

      Bright—that was the first thing that burned into Isolde’s mind. The floor where her gaze was focused was tiled over in brilliant white stone, black floral patterns engraved into it. Twisting up her head to see the room, the rest of it was filled with the same beautiful white stone, and she’d never seen a full washroom before. A large, porcelain tub by a side window where the sun could stream in on you, a water pump leading directly into it instead of needing to dump water basins to fill it. There were levers at its side, probably for furnace-heated water she had heard of…and even with how horrible everything sat in the pit of her stomach, it was a fascinating thought to wonder what a hot bath felt like.

      Parisa rushed over to the tub, switching the hot water lever on, putting in the stopper. She started to pump the water in then, working hard and fast, water rushing out of the pump and splashing into the tub. Steam was starting to burst forth from it, and Isolde stepped a little closer, fascinated by it.

      Taking that step, though, something pulsed into her like being struck by an arrow—for she could see something in the side of her vision that filled her with terror. Quickly twisting, she faced it, and it felt like the whole world had fallen out beneath her.

      Hanging nearby, tall and perfectly shining…was a mirror. For the last ten years of Isolde’s life, she had not looked into one. The only times she’d catch her reflection would be within water and window glass, and in the shimmer of brighter metals. But that mirror wasn’t some faded or blurred image, something small her eye could not fully perceive…it showed her everything. It showed her exactly as she looked in the moment, filth and all, and burned her present-day appearance clearly into her mind. She wanted to throw up at the sight of that person, wanted to believe that such ugliness belonged to any other creature in the world but her.

      “Don’t pay attention to that!” she heard Parisa say, then felt her head being turned aside by soft hands. “That’s not who you are. Look in the mirror again once you’re all cleaned up.”

      “Water can’t wash away these scars,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I can’t believe that it’s worse than I remember.”

      “Now is not the time to think of such things,” Parisa said sweetly, leading her to the tub. “Let there be nothing at all in your mind right now except the water and being cleansed.”

      Parisa moved back near the hand basin, opening a cupboard below it. She pulled out a glass vial filled with reddish-pink liquid, one that had a faint glow to it. She then knelt beside the tub pouring it all in, swirling her hand about the tub until all the water inside of it was colored the same hue as the liquid had been, the glow fading from it. She then leaned in close to the water, whispering something, before standing back up beside Isolde.

      “Don’t worry,” Parisa said, eyes filled with sorrow, but trying to give a reassuring smile. “This water will wash everything away, and you’ll feel like new again.”

      A moment later, Isolde felt Parisa’s hands on her shoulders, and like a burning fire, felt those hands start to tuck her dress aside as if to pull it down. Isolde scurried back, heart heaving in her chest.

      “You can’t get washed fully dressed, Isolde,” Parisa said, gently approaching again. “It’s all right. There’s nothing to be afraid of here with me.”

      “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

      “And why not?”

      “Because it’s ugly! Can’t you understand it yet, can’t you see…I hate it. I hate everything about my body. I can’t even look at myself when I get undressed, because it just reminds me of how horrible I am. And this is what I feel like all the time, and it doesn’t matter that this happened…I always feel like I’m just as good as someone covered in shit and piss.”

      “Isolde,” Parisa said quietly, gently approaching. “I understand what that feels like, believe me, I do.”

      “Someone like you could never understand what it feels like!”

      Parisa startled back at those words, a look of deep hurt burning across her face as if she had been struck. The pain subsided quickly, though, into a calm as she pulled up a stool by the tub and sat upon it. Slowly, she removed her coat, then began to slip the buttons out of her sleeves.

      “You see me as I am now, not as I was,” Parisa said, undoing the last button on her sleeve. “When I was young, I didn’t look anything like I do today, and I hated every part of myself like you do. Maybe for reasons quite different than yours, but the hate was there. The disgust. And…the fear.” She breathed in deeply, trembling a moment, Isolde taking a step closer as Parisa began to undo the buttons to her collar. “I can’t quite say how I used to be, not because it’s hard to describe, but it scares me to let you know it, and to remind myself how I was. I wasn’t me. I wasn’t born as I was meant to be, so I had to change it all. I worked so much of my life to change everything I thought I hated and made me ugly, some changes so drastic you wouldn’t even believe me if I was brave enough to admit to them.” Isolde’s breath began to slow as Parisa was unbuttoning down the rest of her frilled blouse, her bared collar and corset opening into sight. “No matter how I changed, I still felt the same inside. Changing your physical form won’t change your feelings: that has to happen somewhere else…somewhere deeper within. You must learn to love yourself a little, otherwise, no matter how beautiful you may actually be, you’ll only ever see yourself as an ugly creature.”

      Parisa stood up, dropping her blouse away to the floor, her arms folding over her stomach. Shame painted her features, a familiar fear blossoming in her that burned Isolde’s heart in agony to watch.

      “There’s still a lot about myself I don’t like,” Parisa continued. “I hate being so much taller than most girls, for I’d like to look them in the eye at my level. I hate how sharp my features are. How most of my clothes, shoes, and gloves need to be made larger than most women.”

      Parisa sighed, hands untying her corset strings bit-by-bit, letting it land to the floor as well. Such a thing in any other situation would have made Isolde blush all over, but she could only feel pain in the insecurity written all over Parisa. The corset on the floor had been made with a padding to it that had made Parisa’s chest appear larger than the modest thing it was in reality.

      “I don’t like how small they are,” she whispered with a chuckle. “But you can’t keep living with hating yourself, or you won’t be living at all. Life will be cruel to you. It will be wicked beyond words, and it will commit evil against you: whether by circumstance or birth, it can feel like you are cursed. And this lower half of my body, I’d always been fine with it, then even more things happen. They scar us, they wound us, and they disfigure us beyond what we once were, but we can’t let them define us.”

      Parisa’s turned back to Isolde, staring into her eyes with both an iron will and a pleading fear. Her arms moved away from covering her stomach, something catching into Isolde’s vision that started to fill her with dread—what appeared to be scarring peeking out of the hem of Parisa skirt. Parisa’s hands setting to work undoing the strings to her long skirt, gaze still on Isolde, and once undone, she pulled it down. Shortly afterwards Isolde let out a gasp and covered her mouth, body starting to tremble in pain. Parisa slipping the last piece of clothing off—her shoes—to reveal her feet were in the same condition as the rest of her lower body.

      From her navel down to her feet, Parisa’s lower body was horribly scarred and twisted with burn wounds. All the flesh in those areas raw, broken, and horribly malformed as if the burns had been quite severe. The damage looked far worse at her feet, and grew lesser in their severity on the way to her navel. Tears were slipping from Isolde’s eyes as she started to tremble and sob, her heart dying at how horrific it all was, but the worst had to be between Parisa thighs…where a mass of scarring existed along with the burns, the twisted flesh there not immediately recognizable as anything at all.

      “If I was older when it happened, if I knew all the things I know now, I probably could have healed myself far better than all this,” Parisa said, approaching Isolde, standing right next to her. “If I was older, I wouldn’t have had to lose some of the parts of myself I lost then. Parts that were taken from me.” A bitter smile twisted onto Parisa’s face, but it turned softer as her hand as gentle as could be cupped Isolde’s face in its grasp. “But I can’t change the past. I can’t change what happened to me, or the things I have done. All I can do, all any of us can do, is change today. So please don’t be afraid.” Parisa’s hands landed onto Isolde’s shoulders, starting to pull the dress aside, Isolde not fighting at all. “I understand what you’re feeling.”

      Parisa pulled the dress down, and carefully and gently undid the rest of Isolde’s clothing so that the two of them stood without any shells between them. Parisa hugging Isolde close, then pulling back, looking straight into her forlorn and pained face.

      “You are beautiful, Isolde Tremain. You are beautiful, and never let anyone tell you otherwise. When you can one day let go of your hate for yourself, then you can see the things I say are true.”

      “I’m sorry,” Isolde fumbled bitterly out of her mouth, feeling too ashamed to look Parisa in the eyes anymore. “I’m so sorry for being this cruel. It’s monstrous of me to assume that nothing bad could be going on in your life because of what I could see on the outside. You’re so kind to me, and I’ve been oblivious and ignorant to you, so blind to anything but myself this whole time.” Isolde clutched herself tightly, starting to shiver all over from being so exposed. “Can you forgive me?”

      “There’s nothing to forgive,” Parisa said, taking Isolde’s hand and leading her beside the tub. “But let’s get in the water now…let’s stop those shivers. Once it’s cleansed us, then we can talk about anything, or we can talk about nothing at all. But no more standing out here torturing yourself, you don’t deserve that.” Parisa’s other hand slid onto Isolde’s back, and nothing before in Isolde’s life felt quite as holy as that touch upon her flesh. “What you deserve is a little peace, so let’s try and bring you that, all right?”

      Isolde quietly nodded, feeling the hand on her back leading her forward. Parisa stepped into the water, helping Isolde in with her, then the two of them lowered down, bodies dipping into the rose-colored water. Isolde’s whole body overcoming with a million sensations at the water’s warmth and gentleness as she submerged.

      Each went in at opposite ends, and while it was large enough to fit them both, it wasn’t large enough to keep their legs and bodies from touching close to each other. Isolde’s heart finally beginning to beat like a wild drum at seeing Parisa naked in front of her, of being nude herself as well, and of the two of them being so close in such a state. She was afraid her heart might start rippling the waters, yet even with its furor, a part of her wished she hadn’t gone to lie on the opposite side of the tub. In the heat of the steam, her blush was hidden, her expression filled all at once with melancholy, anxiety, and a growing calm as the water around them began to strangely fizzle.

      “Now hold your breath and slide your head under the water to clean everything off,” Parisa said. “It shouldn’t take long, just ten seconds will do, all right?”

      Isolde nodded, and when Parisa drew a deep breath in, so did she, and they both slide their heads under the water. There was a short burst of a tingling sensation on Isolde’s face, like a warm sun, and after the brief time they rose out again. She was about to speak when she stopped in confusion, eye growing wide. Looking down at her body through the water…it was completely clean and spotless. She ran her hands all over her face and hair, but pulled them back spotless as well. Parisa was slyly smiling, not a trace of the filth on her either. The most surprising thing of it all was not even the water itself held a single trace of the filth that had been on them. It looked as clear and as clean as when the bath was first filled up.

      “How is this possible?” Isolde asked in wonderment.

      “I know quite a lot of things,” Parisa said playfully. “And it’s amazing all the kind of things you can do in this world with just a little knowledge.”

      “Thank you.” Isolde’s smile slid up as she let the rose water trickle through her hand, looking at her perfectly clean body. “The way…the way that all felt on me…it was like I’d never be clean again. But just a minute in this water, and all the feelings of it are fading away. It feels like everything wrong in the world is fading in here. And I’m sorry again for not seeing you and the pain you live with.”

      “Like I said before, there’s nothing to forgive. After all, how can I expect people to see me if I’m always hiding? Hiding my burns and body under all these clothes. Hiding myself in this house, in my gardens, in my carriage walls. Hiding in the silence I give people, and in the coldness I often offer. I push people away in everything I do...”

      “If you keep away from people, then why did you come to me?”

      “Like I said before, you’re beautiful in these eyes. But far beyond that simple reason, I saw a heart that might not be afraid of mine. I saw someone who could be kind and caring towards me, and isn’t that what we all really want at the end of the day? Just someone kind and caring to stand by our side without waiver? All I need is someone who won’t run away, no matter what truths are shared between our hearts.”

      Something shifted in Isolde for a moment, the mad trembling in her heart dying down, the water making her grow more and more relaxed in her own body. Without thinking long enough to let fear take root, she shifted in the bath, moving from her side of the tub over to Parisa’s. Parisa looked a bit shocked to see Isolde move in closer, even more so with Isolde’s arms wrapping about her and holding her gently, cradling her close. The shock soon gave way to a gentle peace, Parisa drifting into a blissful calm.

      “Do they hurt still?” Isolde gently whispered, petting Parisa’s hair, kissing her forehead. “The burns?”

      “All the time…” Parisa shut her eyes, nuzzling her face closer. “I take what medicine I can, use what ointments I have, day-in, day-out, but there’s always pain somewhere.” Parisa sadly smiled, holding a little tighter to Isolde. “Even if I try and get myself as numb as can be, without those special shoes I made, I wouldn’t be able to walk for more than a few minutes before collapsing from the pain.”

      “And how long have you had to live with this pain?” Isolde asked, keeping up her gentle petting.

      “Almost thirteen years now.”

      “And do you want to tell me what happened? It’s perfectly all right if you don’t want to talk about it. We can just sit here like this.”

      “It’s too painful to talk of it in detail, but…” Parisa sighed, tilting her soft-eyed gaze up to Isolde. “The shortest version of the story is that back in a faraway town I used to call home, they tried to burn me at the stake as a witch for the things I could do and create. The thing I’m happiest for in that nightmare is that they tied my hands above my head instead of at my sides. I don’t know what life would be like if my hands had been destroyed as well in those flames, it’s too agonizing a fate.”

      A moment later, Parisa felt Isolde pull her in closer, their bodies molding into each other, such a peace and security blossoming in Parisa at being so close to another human being. At the feeling of Isolde’s arms and body, so very strong, that strength wrapping around her like an armored shell. Parisa cradling and curling into that shell, despite the cramped space of the tub, both pressing closer and intertwining.

      “You’re safe now,” Isolde whispered. “No one will hurt you like that again, I promise. I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you, and I’ll protect you like you’ve protected me. I’ll be here if you want me with you.”

      “I want you here…” Parisa barely whispered.

      Voices died away, and both their bodies and hearts shivered with the joy of that beautiful silence enveloping them again. It sewed away all the little cracks of the outside world and let their little cocoon of each other flourish in undisturbed peace. In that silence, submerged in the water and in the feeling of the other intertwined with them, neither had ever known such warmth in their souls before.

Chapter Text

      Time seemed to stop existing in the washroom, so neither could tell how long they were cradled together. It felt like forever, but at the same time, to only last a breath’s length. They had remained until the water turned frigid, natural shivers overtaking them and shaking them from their dream.

      They’d gotten dried, and Isolde had been given some of Parisa’s clothes to wear—a flowing black dress that felt like wearing a cloud. At the same time, it was such an odd sensation to wear something of Parisa’s, because Isolde could feel all of Parisa within it, making her skin tingle all over where it touched. Since Parisa was taller than her as well, the dress dragged along, both laughing at the slightly silly fit to her.

      The laughing was the oddest part to everything, but welcomed in open arms. After they’d gotten dressed and started to walk down the halls of the manor, there was so much laughter between them. That was something Isolde never expected: not from herself after what had happened in the day, and not from Parisa after all she had spoken of. Yet it seemed like everything else was dissolving: the past and the future faded, leaving only them and the moment they were in.

      Within that pinpoint of time, Parisa felt close in Isolde’s heart. Each passing second made Parisa feel more on earth like her, not some angelic figure high above the rest, but a normal person like her. Parisa’s hair a tangled mess, she was dressed in mismatched, thrown together clothes. The air of refinement, mystery, and confidence, dissolved into something far more carefree.

      Parisa had felt so powerful, and while that strength remained, there was such a deep vulnerability and softness to her that was blossoming out in the open. She wasn’t a perfect creature, but one filled with too much of the pain, fear, and self-hatred that pervaded so many souls in the human race.

      All those things Isolde could see and feel so clearly…and that version of Parisa by her side, a normal human like her, felt a million times more beautiful in Isolde’s heart than any of those other dreams she had. That Isolde hadn’t thought it possible for Parisa to be more beautiful, but that thought was a silly joke in comparison to how glowing the other girl was in her eye.

      “And here it is!” Parisa said, smile painting her face: they had stopped before a large black door with golden embellishments, the doorknob oddly placed in the center. “If I’m not in my garden, this will be the place you find me most. I don’t know if it will make you feel the same way as the garden does, but it fills me with the same wonder.”

      “I’m sure it will be perfectly lovely,” Isolde said, leaning her head against Parisa, not even thinking of it—it just felt natural. “Lovely like everything involving your home.”

      “And how would you know that?” Parisa asked, coyly smiling. “You haven’t even been looking at the house at all as we’ve been walking, just at me.”

      “That’s because it feels odd to have you staring at me when I’m not looking at you! Those eyes of yours have a very heavy gaze, and I’d be able to feel them looking at me from anywhere.”

      “And do you like feeling them gaze at you?”

      “Yes,” Isolde said with a content sigh. “It’s quite a nice feeling.”

      “That makes me happy to hear.”

      The same key used to open the front doors slipped into the lock of the door in front of them. A part of Isolde wondered if the key around Roana’s neck wasn’t only to unlock the front door, but more like a skeleton key to unlock all the passages of the house. As the door was swinging open, so Isolde imagined what it’d be like to own such a key, to have as much freedom in those walls as if it were her own home. That thought—of imagining the manor as home—was about to branch off into many paths before it was interrupted by the sight of the new room they had just entered.

      “So?” Parisa asked, hands giddily clutched together, standing before Isolde with a childish glee. “What do you think of my study?”

      The room was circular in shape, and pressed close against all of its walls were large bookcases: ones filled completely with books of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Not just one floor of shelves, but a second level as well, one that could be climbed up to from a ladder, leading to a balcony that curved along the room. Isolde’s mouth gaping in wonder to see so many books, thousands of them, not even knowing so many could exist in the world, let alone be owned by one person,

      High on the ceiling, the room was capped with a glass dome, allowing swathes of natural sunlight to beam in and illuminate everything within. Light shining on a floor softly carpeted and embroidered with patterns of all things magical: faeries and dragons, castles and princesses, like a living myth was etched onto it.

      Spread all about the room, in the open space within the circle of bookshelves, were an odd menagerie of places to rest. Softly cushioned stools, chairs, and sofas were placed about, with the oddest thing being a large bed right in the center of the room, neatly made. Not so far off behind it was a large, oak desk, brimming messily over with scattered papers and books, along with some quills resting near inkwells.

      The final thing to strike into Isolde was the large hum of purring that was suddenly filling her ears, and the sensation of countless furry little bodies rubbing against her legs. Down on the floor, there must have been at least a dozen cats circling her and Parisa’s legs. Like the books in the room, they came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Each of them divinely happy at Parisa’s appearance.

      “How are my beautiful little children!” Parisa exclaimed in a cutesy tone of voice which made Isolde immediately smile.

      The amusement in Isolde only grew while watching Parisa kneel by all the cats, hands moving from one to another to try and make sure each one got a good petting. Isolde lowering down nearby after Parisa had laid herself down on the floor, half a dozen cats sitting themselves down on top of and beside their mother.

      “I never even knew this many books existed,” Isolde said, caught between staring at the wonder of the room around her, and how adorable Parisa was surrounded by her cats. “Have you read all of these?”

      “I’m trying to,” Parisa said, sitting back up, one cat still clinging onto her lap, white as snow. “Books have always been my greatest teachers. On the matters of the world and life, of heart, mind, and soul. They’ve helped guide me, and this is just the surface.” Parisa giggled, jumping up onto her feet. “There are so many more books than this waiting in the world!”

      “And what are all these books about? What do you like to read?”

      “Everything! These books are about every subject you can think of. History books, language books, law books. Books about cooking, about fighting techniques, about plants. Stories of despair, of hope, of romance. Books of love and magic and wonder! Anything your heart wants, it can have here.” Parisa’s smile widened as she took either of Isolde’s hands in her own, holding them softly in her grasp. “All you have to do is say the word, and I can give it to you. It’ll be all yours. So tell me what you want.”

      Something instantly snapped into Isolde’s head to say then, but her lips turned to stone at the thoughts of uttering it aloud. You, she wanted to say. You was everything that Isolde wanted to say. Because no matter what space she was in, however awe-inspiring, beautiful, or magical…her gaze could never stay long from Parisa. Nothing else matched the feeling Isolde got looking at her.

      And that word you didn’t seem as utterly terrifying in her heart as it would have in days before, but a part of her couldn’t let it go. In the innermost chambers of her heart, fear flickered back to life for a moment. Fear, shame, and disgust, but she quietly sighed: even if that one word was too hard to say, Parisa’s radiance still soothed her.

      “Parisa,” Isolde said, lowering her head for a moment. “To tell you the truth, I’m afraid I’m not the best at reading. It’s not that I can’t read, I can, but we never had many books growing up, and my father always thought it was more important to work than to read. So it’s just…it can be difficult for me to get through books that aren’t simple. I’m sorry. It must be disappointing to hear that I’m too dumb to even read all these beautiful books properly.”

      “Don’t ever call yourself dumb,” Parisa said without hesitation, stepping closer to Isolde. “And this isn’t bad news at all.” Parisa’s smile widened on her face, Isolde confused but relieved at her not being disappointed. “That simply means I can help you to get better at it. It gives me a reason for you to curl up next to me with a book and read together with you. It’ll be lovely to be able to do that with you, because it’ll be like teaching you how to fly! A whole new world is freed to you when you can read.”

      “You…you really aren’t annoyed about the idea of doing that with me?”

      “Why on earth would I ever be annoyed with helping you? Teaching is a joy in itself, and I’ve never had anyone around to share all the things I know with. There are so many things I do know, so many things I could teach you other than reading…things that can change your world just as drastically.”

      “And what sort of things are those?”

      “I can’t tell you that quite yet.” Parisa leaned her face in close to Isolde’s, a shiver running down Isolde’s neck at feeling Parisa’s breath so close. “But I think one day I’ll be able to tell you, and you don’t know how unbelievably happy that makes me.”

      Isolde’s hands slid free of Parisa’s, and her arms slipped under as she pulled Parisa in close for a strong, warm hug. Feeling those arms hug her back, Isolde pitied the life she had before, where she’d forgotten the pure wonderment that could come from being close to another human being. In the sensation of touch, and of her heat flowing to and from another, creating a singular warmth.

      “I’ll be looking forward to all the little truths you have waiting for me,” Isolde said. “But in the meanwhile, I am a little bit curious about something.” Isolde sauntered over to the messy oak desk, papers all over it covered in writings and illustrations. Isolde picked one the pages up, the words written in a language she’d never seen before, and with pictures of plants and vials drawn over it. “What is all of this that you’re writing, and what language is this?”

      “That page is written in Farsi,” Parisa said, looking it over. “It’s what I wrote up on how to make that concoction to keep you safe from the cats. Of course, I also write in Gaelic, Sarancian, Latin, English, and others. I write with whatever language can convey the instructions clear enough. Many languages lack the proper words or phrases to describe things, and precision more than anything is needed in my work.”

      Parisa took in the chair behind the desk, motioning for Isolde to come stand by her. Isolde did as instructed, and spread across the papers she could see a vast tapestry of languages, as well as more than just illustrations of vials and plants. Pictures of animals and insects; humans and gods; the sun and stars; bones and organs; metals and crystals. Each could cause a dozen questions to spawn from them, but they all crowded into her in the same moment.

      “Can you speak all these languages as well?” Isolde said with amazement.

      She leaned over Parisa’s shoulder, picking up a piece of parchment. It had multiple languages written on it, but some of the words were in English: The warding sigils don’t appear as effective as they used to be…I will try to create a new one on the light of the summer equinox’s moon instead of spring. No one has sought us out yet, and I—

      “I’m afraid not,” Parisa said, gently sliding the parchment out of Isolde’s hand. “I never use them to talk with anyone here in these lands, so my conversation skills are broken. Anyway, most of this is just information I’ve learned from books that I’ve transcribed in a more accessible place. As well as instructions I’ve made for things I’ve invented and discovered myself.”

      One of the books on the desk caught Isolde’s eye, and she walked over to it, picking it up into her hands. It was a thick and heavy tome, and seemed to be bound in animal skin and dyed black. Emblazoned on its front was a blood-red image of an apple with a bite in it, a serpent curled around it, its pupil the shape of an hourglass. Soaring above the serpent was a raven with its wings spread wide...a raven with one gold eye and one purple eye. It felt as cold as a freezing night to the touch, and had a weight to it that made her arms ache, the texture unsettling her senses. All those things should have made her want to drop it, but she kept it tight in her hands. Turning it to its side, the pages within the book were a pitch black as well, the book sealed shut with a metal hook latch.

      As she was moving the latch to undo it and look inside, Parisa snatched it away, giving her a friendly, if somewhat frightened looking smile.

      “This isn’t a very pleasant book, I’m afraid,” Parisa said, placing it aside, her hand shaking a little on top of it. “I told you I have all kinds of books…so that means there are nightmares here as well as dreams. But sometimes even the worst nightmares can tell us some very important things.” Parisa breathed in deeply, her fingers drumming over the cover of the black tome. “You aren’t scared from seeing all this, are you?”

      “Why would I be scared of such things? I think it’s amazing all the things you are capable of. It makes my heart soar like a dream! And I trust you…so if you don’t want me to look at something, I know it’s because you think it’s best.”

      Isolde’s hand rested on top of Parisa’s holding the book, Parisa growing calm and collected again.

      “It’s so easy to frighten people,” Parisa muttered. “And the things I’ve seen fear make people do, it’s horrible. Even the people you trust, they disappear against fear. No matter what city or town or country, people grow terrified of me the more they know about me. It’s the thing that made people think I was a witch. But I was just trying to help back in that town, to make people’s lives easier! I wanted to heal them…but I realized I can’t do that freely…and there’s only so far people’s wonderment goes before it turns into terror.” Parisa sighed, sliding her hand away from Isolde’s, slouching down into her chair. “What would you think, Isolde Tremain, if I told you I really am a witch like they said I was?”

      “Well, first I’d have to believe in witches. It’s not that I don’t want to believe in magic, my heart does, but from what I’ve seen of the world, faerie tales are just faerie tales.” Isolde slid closer, sitting lightly against the armrest of the chair, her fingers listlessly moving about some of the stray hairs pouring from Parisa’s head. “But if I’ve ever met anyone who seems like they a some real magic to them, it’s you. And if you’re a witch, you wouldn’t be like how they were told in the faerie tales. Mean and nasty old women covered in warts, pale or green-skinned, all hunched over. Most importantly, they were all cruel or evil creatures. Even if witches were real, and you were one, it wouldn’t matter to me…because you’d be the same good and kind person I know you are.”

      “Even if right now I were to transform myself into a golden-eyed shadow in front of you, you wouldn’t be afraid?”

      “Of course I’d be frightened at first, anyone would be, but once I were to realize it was still you all the same, I don’t think I’d be afraid anymore. I know this is all silly talk, but I’d feel all right. I…I don’t think I’ve ever felt safer around another person as I do with you, Parisa.”

      “I feel the same way,” Parisa said, rising up again, moving close to Isolde. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t afraid to be close to someone.”

      Parisa planted a quiet kiss upon Isolde’s forehead, then her gaze shifted to warmly looking into Isolde’s eyes, and Isolde could feel the soft brush of Parisa’s hand like feathers on her cheek as it cupped her face. The thumb of Parisa’s hand ever so gently brushing under her good eye, sending a shivering sensation through Isolde. Parisa leaned a little closer, the tips of their noses touching together, a glittering and warm tremble forming in Parisa’s eyes which made all of Isolde’s organs twist inside with nervous fear.

      “So why do you have a bed in here?” Isolde blurted out, needing something to break the silence.

      “Just look above you!” Parisa said gleefully.

      Parisa giggled, sliding forward again as she gave Isolde a deep kiss on the cheek, before walking and twirling her way to the bed in the center of the room. Isolde was dumbfounded where she stood, reaching up to feel her cheek where she’d been kissed, the sensation of its lipstick seeping into her skin and warming her whole body. She heard a plop, then looked over to see Parisa splayed out on the bed, and Isolde slowly made her way over to her side.

      “Sometimes I spend hours watching the clouds,” Parisa said wistfully, her golden eyes reflecting the full glory of the sun. “Sometimes a bed is the best place in the world to read a book, and no other place will do. Other times you grow so tired you need a place to sleep…that it gets so cold, you need somewhere you can just curl up.” Parisa’s head tilted to the side, and there was something so endlessly inviting to her expression, as if it was actually speaking and saying—come here beside me. “And at night, you can just watch the stars forever. Is that something you’d like to do with me sometime, Isolde? To watch the stars with me?”

      Isolde moved forward, gently moving in beside Parisa. She turned to look up at the sky for a moment—truly sublime in its beauty—then returned her focus to Parisa, scooting her body a little closer to hers. The bed itself was something divine as well, Isolde’s worn and aching body never feeling anything as soft: the pillow, blankets, and spread all impossibly gentle, falling into a silken dream while looking at Parisa.

      Parisa’s weight pressing down close by, the way their bodies curved the bed and contoured along it, Isolde had never realized how much more complete a bed feels with two in it. Of how much emptiness hers had known for too many years without even being aware of it.

      “I’d love to watch the stars with you,” Isolde said, feeling locked in with Parisa as if they were snapped together puzzle pieces.

      “Then would you watch them with me tonight?” Isolde had to blink a few times, wondering if what she heard was actually spoken or in her head, but Parisa’s face remained smiling in front of her. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you here with me, where I know you’re safe. At least for today. But if you really want to go, I’d have to insist on going with you anyway and staying with you.”

      “You’d want to stay over at that little shack of a home? Sleep in a bed that’s probably harder than the floor below us?”

      “I’d want to stay over because I’d get to be with you. I’m sure any bed with you in it becomes the softest thing in the whole world.”

      “Oh goodness me,” Isolde said, turning her head into the pillow for a moment, happily laughing. “You really are too sweet.”

      “One could never be too sweet to a girl like you. You deserve every bit of happiness that life has to offer.”

      Isolde pulled the pillow down into her arms, clutching it close to herself, playfully hiding the bottom half of her face against the pillow.

      “But why do I deserve it?” Isolde asked quietly.

      “It’s not a question of deserving it, for happiness shouldn’t be something that good people have to try and justify having. But as for you specifically…” Parisa’s face scrunched up in exaggerated thought, before nodding her head. “You deserve to be happy because you’re kind. Because you’re gentle. Because you are understanding, open, and accepting. Because I don’t think you’ve ever hurt anyone or anything in your life without reason, and that if you ever felt like you were going to, you always stopped yourself in time. There are few people in this world who can say they’ve never tried to hurt someone on purpose in their life.”

      “But it’s kind of cheating, isn’t it?” Isolde curled up a little more, holding the pillow tighter to herself. “I’ve been avoiding people most of my life, and most of them have been avoiding me. I haven’t hurt anyone because no one is around me.”

      “But the life you’ve lived hasn’t twisted your heart.” Isolde sighed, feeling the gentle touch of Parisa’s hand against her face. “The pain, anger, sadness, and fear you must have felt throughout your life, you never put that onto other people to try and get rid of it. You never hurt others to somehow make yourself feel better. You’re not a selfish person, and your heart is untouched by the ugliness that years of selfishness and cruelty can bring upon it like with mine.”

      “I don’t believe you could ever be cruel,” Isolde said, peaking her head out from the pillow. “It’s just not something I can imagine.”

      “Maybe now I’m not capable of such cruelty, but that doesn’t mean some other version of me wasn’t.” Parisa’s hand moved away, a heavy breath escaping her. “I have suffered greatly in my life, but no amount of suffering anyone faces makes it right for them to cause others to suffer. Yet that’s what I let my pain twist me into…a monster…but I’m tired of pain.” Parisa curled up for a moment, eyes shutting, whole body shivering. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there earlier to stop what happened to you today.”

      “It’s not your fault. You were there for me, and it was a miracle to see you fight so fiercely for me. I’d never seen such ferocity in a person before…and…and it makes me kind of happy that I could create such feelings in you.”

      “You haven’t told me why, you know? Why in all of heaven and earth those people would ever do something so cruel to you.”

      “It’s…it’s just how they are. He’s been that way to me my whole life, it’s not new. He just went a lot farther than normal.”

      “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Parisa asked quietly, as if speaking it right as her mind was realizing it. “They’ve seen you with me and wanted something from you.” Parisa’s hand covered over her mouth. “It’s because of Roana too. Because she keeps letting herself come to see you.” Her hand slid away, gaze turning to Isolde with an odd glimmer in her eyes: terribly afraid, desperately looking for reassurance. “Did they do that because they wanted the key from you?”

      “They did that to me because they are cruel men who don’t care about the suffering of others. Me refusing them isn’t the cause of what happened. You aren’t the cause. It happened because they’re evil people, and good people shouldn’t feel guilty on their behalf.”

      Parisa’s eyes trembled, pulsing alive with a brimming fire. The fire snuffed out, though, when Parisa rolled onto her back. Staring instead at the clouds in the sky, her hands quietly folded together on her stomach.

      “You barely know me,” Parisa spoke quietly. “Why would you go through all of that for me?”

      “Because I know enough about you already to know you’re someone I want to keep safe. That you’re someone I would love to know more of.” Isolde rolled onto her back as well, folding her hands, watching the clouds go by. “The moment I saw you, I wanted you to be a part of my life…if you want to be.”

      “I want to be.” Parisa’s shut her eyes, content sigh escaping her. “Thank you for what you did. Almost no one would have gone through what you did for my sake, and it means more to me than words can express.”

      “And is there a way to express it without words?”

      As Isolde kept watching the clouds waiting for an answer, she felt a shifting in the bed. Before she realized it, Parisa slipped her arms over and under Isolde. Not just Parisa’s arms gripping close, but her legs slipping around too, so that all of Parisa was wrapped about Isolde, pulling in close, holding her there warm and soft. Isolde felt Parisa gently snuggling her face against hers, then felt her whole body tingle at the sensation of Parisa’s lips kissing her cheek. After the kiss, Parisa remained close, holding tight, resting cheek-to-cheek against Isolde. Both of their warmths intermingling to fuel a burning, but soothing, heat between them.

      “Are you uncomfortable?” Parisa whispered, Isolde wanting to laugh with joy at the little sensations of feeling Parisa’s face vibrate against her own while speaking.

      “Not at all,” Isolde answered, snuggling more against Parisa, contouring better to her body. “I’ve never been more comfortable in my life.”

      A gentle smile eclipsed Parisa’s face, Isolde’s unfurling into life as well. After a moment of silence, both began to laugh with joy, the happiness flowing out of their breaths and demanding that release. Such a beautiful sound their joy was to behold, yet it was something only the two of them would ever be witness to. Still, the world felt complete enough as it was with just the two of them in it.

Chapter Text

      It was at the chiming of the witching hour when Isolde found herself awake in the bed.

      Parisa was still clinging to her, fast asleep, her slow and quiet breaths passing warmly over Isolde’s face. Turning her head, Isolde softly kissed Parisa’s forehead, her trembling lips lingering there for a moment before her gaze turned towards the skylight. Above her, the moon was almost full, and despite its brilliant light, it seemed like all the stars in heaven were out too. More of those twinkling, far off lights than Isolde had ever seen before in her life…like they all came out to see them together in each other’s arms. Despite it being the first night in the Parisa’s home compared to the lifetime in her own, Isolde’s heart was burning with the fact that she didn’t want to leave. She wanted every night to be as the one she was living, and to never fall asleep again in any other way than within Parisa’s arms.

      “I don’t want to wake up from this,” Isolde whispered, leaning her head close to Parisa’s “But all dreams end, don’t they? I’ll wake up one day back in my own bed, in my own home, and with nobody who comes to see me in the day.”

      Isolde turned her head away, rolling onto her back once more, raising a hand up towards all those stars impossibly far from reach. All her life she had been wishing upon them for even the smallest blips of joy and contentment, but they’d always ignored her. Almost seemed to mock her with their presence, as if they were watching the misery of humanity, but still never shared a singular fragment of their celestial wonder. Just a crumb of heaven she had begged for to feed her starving heart and soul, but they’d always dangled dreams and hopes above her instead, her hands clawing at them out of reach.

      She could feel a rustling in the bed beside her, and felt Parisa’s sleeping body shift about, Parisa clinging a bit closer to her before going still again. Parisa looked so innocently gentle in sleep, and moving in closer, Isolde smiled as she took in some strands of that dark hair. The black color in it was faded in places, revealing the brilliant red beneath. Though it was still shaded with black, Isolde could picture how beautiful such fire would be upon her.

      “You’re a treasure, Parisa,” Isolde whispered, shutting her eyes once more. “And someone like me doesn’t deserve you. “I’m not good enough, I’m not good enough…”

      Her weeping was as silent as the stars that watched her above, moonlight catching upon her tears and sparkling her flowing misery.

Chapter Text

      As Isolde stepped out of the mansion in the early morning, she had never seen so much fog before in all her life—the garden stretching out in front of them like some ethereal space. It was frigid outside, breaths of humid air heavy in her lungs, Isolde quietly shivering to herself.

      “Here,” Parisa said, draping her coat over Isolde’s shoulders. “Are you sure you won’t stay a while longer? I’d hate to see you go out alone in this fog.”

      “There are some things I need to think about.” Isolde pulled the coat in closer, slipping her arms into its sleeves to feel Parisa’s residual warmth join in with her body, blanketing her in a deep calm. “I think I’ll be safe after you scared them yesterday. Besides, I’ll have to come back soon to return this coat.”

      Parisa offered out her arm, Isolde slipping hers into place with it, the two of them starting to walk down the garden path. It was comforting in a way to Isolde, to have the fog slipping in around them. It made the world feel small for once, instead of looming every moment like a titan.

      “Your hair is looking lovely,” Isolde said, staring deeply at how much more of the black had faded away since the night. “That color looks good on you.”

      “Thank you, but I’m a bit scared right now, to be honest. I don’t know what’s going to happen after what I did yesterday. Those men who tried to hurt you are cowards, that much is obvious…and they’ll probably hold their tongues out of fear. But they could talk, and if people believe them, I don’t know what will become of my place here in this town. I must stay low in the coming days, which means I can’t let them see my real hair or else it would make matters worse.”

      “But you were only defending me, how could anyone hold any ill will towards you for that? You did nothing wrong.”

      “I haven’t done anything wrong, but that doesn’t mean that people won’t make it wrong. One of the most dangerous things in this world is the wounded pride of men, and nothing quite wounds a man’s pride as a woman completely defeating him in something. I’ve been viewed as some beautiful pet by these people. I wonder how they’ll feel to know I have claws and fangs.”

      “But people’s feelings won’t change that fast. You’ve been here for years now, and everyone adores you!”

      “I’ve been a fantasy to them for years, and those men have the power to break that fantasy, wake them from that dream, and people get quite angry when you aren’t what they were imagining you as. The way people function never ceases to confound me. You can never tell what someone is going to do next, even the people you trust, and that always terrifies me.”

      “But it can be good sometimes too,” Isolde said. “People can end up doing amazing things you were never expecting. And sometimes, when people’s fantasies are broken, they prefer the real person. People are mostly awful…but some of them can really make this life wonderful in ways nothing else can compare to.”

      “I suppose you’re right.” Parisa hooked an arm around one of the bars of the front gate, stepping into it, and leaned back. Her weight slowly pulling the gate open, her body seeming to float through the fog. “The problem is, there are no maps to these people, and it’s only by chance they ever cross into our lives at all.”

      “That’s true…” Isolde turned her gaze to Parisa, smile rising up her face. “But sometimes we get lucky.”

      “Indeed we do,” Parisa replied, holding her gaze with Isolde.

      “Oh, and before I forget.” Isolde walked over to Parisa and pulled out the little satchel of flower seeds, handing them out to her. “I got you these. I was heading here to give you some things yesterday before everything happened.”

      “What are they?” Parisa asked curiously, taking the satchel and undoing the string.

      “Flowers seeds. I got you them because I’d never seen these flowers in your garden and thought they might be something you'd enjoy having.”

      Parisa pulled out one of the seeds, then stumbled back a little, nearly dropping the entire satchel. Her eyes trembled for a moment, staring at it, then those trembling eyes turned towards Isolde. Isolde felt a quaking in her heart at first, not understanding Parisa’s reaction, until a joyful smile beamed across Parisa’s face. It looked like far too much happiness from just some flower seeds, and Parisa came rushing over to her, wrapping her tight in a hug.

      “Thank you…” Parisa whispered, her face gently snuggling against Isolde’s.

      “They’re just some flowers, that’s all.”

      “No flower is just any flower!” Parisa stepped back from the hug, Isolde still confused with the overabundance of joy and wonder in Parisa’s eyes. “Each flower is filled with a beauty, life, and magic of its own. Now that life and magic is mine to have in my garden. It’s a wondrous gift you’ve given me.”

      “I’m just happy that you’re happy with it.” Isolde couldn’t help but smile, blushing a little. “Well, I guess I’ll be leaving now.”

      “I guess you’ll be leaving…” The joy cracked a bit on Parisa’s face at those words, Isolde not missing that wave of shadows cross over her. “When will I see you again?”

      “When would you like to see me again?”

      “Feel free to drop in any time you want. It’s nice to have pleasant company like you around. All you need to do is walk up to these gates and they’ll open for you.”

      “But what if I came back tomorrow? And the day after that? What if you open these gates to me and I just keep coming back every day from now on? That would grow pretty tiring, wouldn’t it, to see me all the time?”

      Parisa didn’t say a word, instead walked over to one of the nearby flower bushes. It grew a light pink flower Isolde didn’t know the name of, and Parisa motioned over with her hand, Isolde walking up to the flower bush beside her.

      “Do you see these flowers?” Parisa asked. “And do you remember all the flowers in the garden?”

      “Of course I do.”

      “Could you ever grow tired of looking upon the beauty you see here? Would it grow boring to wake up each morning and find this garden waiting for you, to have its beauty greet you each and every day?” Parisa plucked one of the flowers, then gently tucked it behind Isolde’s ear, the color bringing out the joy more in Isolde’s face. “That’s what it’d be like if you were to come here each day.”

      “But flowers are a different kind of company, aren’t they?” Isolde plucked one of the flowers too, reaching up and sliding it behind Parisa’s ear. Her hand lingered, though, trailing down onto Parisa’s face, Parisa cradling into the grasp. “Flowers don’t talk. Flowers don’t have feelings. Flowers can’t annoy you or hurt you or get you angry. Flowers are just like statues, and do you think this garden would hold the same beauty if there wasn’t silence and stillness to it?”

      “That’s the wonderful part already, Isolde.” Parisa’s hand trailed up, eclipsing Isolde’s, then pulled it down. Parisa kissed its top, then brought it back down by Isolde’s side. “The flowers already talk to me each morning, and I only hold them dearer for it. Noise can be just as beautiful as silence. So don’t worry…whenever you see me, I’ll always be happy to greet you.”

      It kept happening in Isolde’s heart: where her joy would keep rising and rising, but then start to falter and go tumbling down. That her heart would start to feel like it was crushing in on itself, being ground to bits, and she’d think of the myth of Icarus and wonder if her joy was like that. That she could grow too happy, and that would bring her too close to that burning sun of fear. Of reality. One that’d break her wings and send her to be thrashed against the arms of the ocean again and again. The saddest thing was, she couldn’t stop herself from flying. Whenever she was around Parisa, she wanted to soar as high as she could into those skies of hers.

      “I’ll be going now,” she said quietly, having to pull herself out of Parisa’s orbit. “Like I said, I have a lot of things to think about.”

      “What sort of things are they?”

      “Questions I have to answer. Choices I have to make.”

      “Anything I can help you with?”

      “I have to do it alone.” Isolde breathed in deeply, forcing more steps forward, already feeling a tug in her to go back. “I’ll see you again soon, Parisa.”

      “Goodbye, Isolde.”

      Isolde kept moving onward, wanting to look back over her shoulder at Parisa, but another part dug its claws in deep and held her back. Hands trembling, clutching in and out nervously. She’d have to make a choice and face outcomes judged by reality’s design, yet reality’s workings rarely followed the path of dreams.

      Feeling that fear tremble through her, she bit her lip, looking back over her shoulder. She hadn’t realized how far she’d already walked, though, the gates already invisible to her within the fog. Twisting in a circle, the whole world seemed to have vanished save for herself and the ground beneath her feet. In a split second, it was as if the air had become loneliness. It filled her lungs, then spread to her blood, pumping through her heart and body.

      The walk back to her home felt unreal to her, not only because of the fog, but because of the people she passed on her way. Though scantly found in the fog’s depths, they each reacted in ways off-putting to her. Some stopped and stared at her, but in ways completely different than usual: not like she was a freak, but as if she were some mythical creature foretold of. She’d hear whispering by some; fear in others as they would scurry away from her path quickly; and some she saw looking at her with such a scorn she’d never been witness to. That those burning with scorn always had their vision locked on the flower tucked behind her ear.

      When she returned home, it felt like being on dry land after drowning for an eternity. Her heart was racing, and her home didn’t help the situation: it felt off to her, like something alien. That she had walked into a stranger’s house, but by logic she knew it was her own.

      “Calm down,” she said to herself, taking a seat as she started to feel her legs wobbling. “This isn’t the time for this. You need to think.” She bitterly growled, burying her face in her hands, then leaned heavily into the table. “But what are we supposed to say to her? What is someone like us supposed to say to her?”

      Her breath calmed, hands sliding away, arms folding up to make a cushion for her head. She was looking out the window, but she had no comfort of a blue sky, only a wall of fog. She kept watching the twisting fog like it was some living creature, and started to let the thoughts flow into her.

      She pictured herself and Parisa together. She pictured a key sliding into her heart, and opening the door inside of it, letting the truth come out. The truth of her heart, of who it found itself longing for. Shaking and shivering all over even in her imagination, she forced herself in that dream to say it aloud in a way she’d never spoken in all her life: that women were the ones who pulled her heart’s strings, the ones which made her whole being fill with music. That Parisa was making the most beautiful melody play in her she’d ever heard—the thought burning of asking Parisa if the same music was playing in her too. To ask if Parisa would like to join in the song and dance together with her, heart-with-heart.

      What came first in Isolde’s dream was what she wanted: joyful reaction, enthusiasm, and a confession of the same. Watching Parisa smiling and pull her close in passion. It faded quickly, though, as more possibilities began to cram into her head. A vision of quiet and distant shock, followed by an answer that Parisa’s heart was silent. A vision of disgust, of Parisa backing away from her. A vision of anger, burning hot, made vile at the thought of such relations. A flood of horrid shadows began to fill Isolde, but two scenarios stood out as the worst. One, was the idea of fear growing onto Parisa’s face: Isolde reaching out, but Parisa stepping away…to have those golden eyes look at her like some animal. The other vision was of Parisa smiling, looking calm and comforting, but quietly telling Isolde it could never be a way she feels for her. Not because Isolde was a woman, but because of who she was.

      Isolde sat up, her face drained of all color, and she raised up her left hand, staring at it intently. For a moment her gaze flickered to the floor, expecting to see Roana by her side, but the cat was not there. The house was empty, but she wanted someone to talk to. Anything with a beating heart to let her words be heard. Focus returning to her hand, it drifted over to the small nub of her ring finger, wiggling it slightly.

      “It’s not that I want to marry her, nothing like that.” Isolde brought her hand in closer, her right hand’s fingers gently caressing the ring-finger’s nub. “I don’t even love her. But…” Her hands crumpled up, her whole body starting to shiver again. “But I’d like to have the chance for it to happen, you know? I just want a chance, that’s all. I don’t need my dreams to come true—but please let them have a chance to live or die on their own without being broken from the start.” She breathed in deeply, head heavy against the table, hands folding together and reaching high in prayer. “Please, God, if you’re real, let me have this one thing. I’m begging you…I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want someone to see me for the first time in my life, to see my heart, and still smile at me. Oh God, please, I need her to be smiling at me…I don’t know what I’ll do if she isn’t smiling.”

      She could feel pressure building on her from all directions at once, crushing her and making her want to scream. Instead of getting sad, though, she felt herself fill with a sharp anger. A deep, burning rage starting to pulse through her blood, making her muscles tense. That fire crackling in her, building and building like it might burst, needing more than anything else a release from it. When her eye caught sight of her forging gear hanging in the corner, her rage found its outlet.

      She immediately rushed over to her gear, stripping off the dress Parisa had let her borrow and getting into the thick and heavy clothes used for forging. Slipping on the hardy boots and apron, and sliding on the graceful gloves that Parisa had given her. She then burst out of her house, stomping over to the adjacent forge.

      After getting the fires roaring to a great enough heat to work with, she opened a thick iron chest in the corner of the forge—inside of it were the more precious metals she would work with. Such things she never usually used for personal work, and she pulled out some ingots of gold and silver from it before slamming the chest shut.

      There was a majesty to liquid gold and silver that no other metal possessed. In their physical form, she’d never understood people’s greed over them, but seeing them in liquid form, she could feel them cast a spell. Silver looked like the essence of dreams, and gold like pure magic. Sometimes she felt tempted to stick her hand into them, to feel a part of that beauty, despite knowing it would eat all the flesh from her bone.

      What she was doing, she didn’t quite know, only that it had to be done and that she would figure it out along the way. Time could always be lost while working in the forge, but especially with those gloves, for the pain used to be something to wake her from her fevered work. Her hands feeling almost nothing swinging the heavy hammer down, and inexplicably even, her arms did not grow tired while wearing them.

      While precise in her work, she knew her limits and the things she could struggle with—small chain links for necklaces were things she could not craft. That clawed into her, because it felt like the right path to take, and she didn’t want to make any rings. She struggled with smaller things, finer details, though she could breathe beautiful life into larger objects.

      Lost in those thoughts, she felt the flower tucked behind her ear, realization and a smile brimming onto her face all at once.

Chapter Text

      It was almost midnight when Isolde found herself back inside her home and sitting at her table, head resting heavy upon it. Her hand was fiddling with the objects on the table she’d made: they were crafted of interwoven silver and gold, forged in the shape of crowns of flowers. They were no masterpieces, but she thought they were beautiful, and that her work on the petals, leaves, and stems was exceptional for her own standards.

      She rose, the sound of her clock ticking hitting into her ears, looking over to really let the time set in.

      “I guess it will have to be tomorrow then,” she said to herself.

      As she was standing up, the clock struck midnight, and in that very moment she saw them in the window: Roana, quietly sitting like a living shadow, staring at her intently. She smiled at the cat, walking over and opening the window, Roana jumping inside and onto the table near the crowns. The key around their neck never seemed as brilliant as it did in that moment.

      “You really mustn’t be here,” Isolde said, taking a seat by the cat. “It’s not safe for you anymore.”

      The cat kept curiously staring at her, then turned their attention to the crowns. They walked slowly around them, big eyes staring at them for the longest while, circling them and purring loudly.

      They walked over to Isolde after that and leaned their head down close to the table, their front paws tugging against their collar until they pulled it off. Isolde watched this action in stunned silence, Roana stepping on the collar and taking the key in their mouth, ripping it from the collar. The key clenched tight in their jaw, the cat moved forward, purring. A moment later, Roana dropped the key onto Isolde’s lap.

      It took a minute before it fully registered in Isolde’s mind. Her trembling hand reached down in stunted motions, holding the key and bringing it up to eye-level. It was shaking all over in her hand, and she looked down to the cat who was still loudly purring and staring.

      “Are you giving this to me?” Isolde forced out of her mouth.

      When the cat affectionately rubbed their head against her hands, she nearly dropped the key. Inside her heart, she didn’t know what it was she was feeling. It wasn’t positive or negative, and it wasn’t an emptiness either. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before, so her mind struggled to process it.

      “But why would you give it to me?”

      The cat jumped from the table towards the door, scratching at it. Isolde followed the cat, opening the door: the cat stepped outside, sat down, and started staring at her expectantly.

      “What do you want from me?” Isolde asked, and after her question the cat turned their head in the direction to Parisa’s house. “Do you want me to go there right now?”

      The cat meowed loudly, all of Isolde’s body starting to shiver. The key in her hand felt like it was dissolving into her flesh and becoming a part of her. The key felt in place there: that it belonged in her grasp, belonged to her. While her mind was screaming not to do such drastic things at the current hour, all she could hear was the pounding drum of her heart beating louder and faster, her face and vision starting to fill with wonder and joy.

      “Let me get dressed and cleaned, and I’ll be right with you.”

      The air transformed around Isolde in an instant, each breath an electric pulse driving her along. Spiraling into her soul was the same kind of magical sensation she had experienced in the woods while resting among the flowers. In a flurry of excitement, fumbling along, she managed to clean herself up with the moon water Parisa had given her, and to slip into some fresh clothes.

      Stepping outside, the air was crisp, and the moonlight shining upon her seemed to make her glow.

      “Shall we get going then?” she asked Roana, one of the crowns nestled softly on her head, the other held tight in her hand.

      The cat did not make a sound, only started running off in the direction of Parisa’s house, Isolde rushing right behind.

      Isolde had never run in the moonlight before. She had walked to Parisa’s house to look upon the gardens, but running was a different sensation. It was as if her feet would catch upon a moonbeam at any moment, and she’d find herself rushing from it toward all the stars in heaven. That she leapt into the air while running, thinking she might float, but her feet found their way to the earth again. Laughing to herself, there was no worry to her. Things felt right, like all the pieces were fitting together.

      Time drifted away, her momentum coming to a sliding halt in front of the gates, Roana jumping through the bars. Isolde pulled out the key to open it, but before she could even slip it into the lock, the loud creaking of metal filled the air. She stepped back quietly, watching the gates move open as if pushed by invisible hands: on some other day that might have caused panic to flare up in her, but in the moment such a thing felt normal. It was as if the world was welcoming her with open arms.

      Flowers blurred in the corner of her vision as she rushed down the garden path, wave after wave of their sweet scents washing over her as she could see those front doors becoming gloriously closer to her. She could feel the twist of the key in her hand already, hear the click of the lock coming out of place like Heaven’s echo. She kept laughing, feet rushing up the steps, Roana right beside her. Joy shooting out of her and filling all the world around.

      All until the moment she slipped the key into the lock.

      The moment she placed it in was like waking from a dream, and suddenly her fantasy was gone, leaving her crashing back to her normal self. Her hand held tight on the key’s head, and she grit her teeth angrily, trying to force her frozen hand to unlock the door.

      “Don’t think about it, don’t think about it,” she whispered to herself. “Just do it before it’s too late, just do it before you remember.” A wave of shivers ran over her, the crowns heavy on her head and in her hand. “We’re right here, Isolde, please…” She sucked in a trembling breath, her hand sliding from the key, leaving it in the lock, her head leaning against the door. “What are you doing? You don’t belong here.” Isolde took a few steps back, twisting all around, taking in the sight of the manor and the gardens, clutching the crown tighter in her hand. “This was a mistake.” She took more steps back, Roana sadly mewling at her, stepping toward her. “You shouldn’t have given it to me…she doesn’t want someone like me to have it!”

      Isolde turned around, clutching herself tightly in her own arms, the world a freezing cold. All she could feel was shame in her heart for walking away, but she knew she’d feel it turning back as well. Shame would corrupt her step no matter which path she took, and that was the true agony of it, feeling herself start to sniffle, tears welling in her eyes. She had so many dreams, but never the strength or belief to let them blossom.

      A sharp pain, though, struck into the back of her head as she was leaving, and she quickly turned around again. Isolde looked to the ground in front of her, her eye growing wide at the sight of the key on the ground, as if it was thrown at her. She leaned forward to pick it up, but then pulled away, turning back to flee the grounds.

      “She wants you to have it!” she heard a voice shout from behind her, one that froze her blood and her step mid-air, made her face go blank along with the tears in her eyes.

      It was Parisa’s voice.

      When she twirled around again, though, Parisa was nowhere in sight. It was just Roana, the cat sitting close to her. In the moonlight, the cat’s eyes blinked and flickered, and Isolde could see their diamond pupils turn round like a human’s.

      A moment after that, Roana began to dissolve, becoming a liquid puddle of shadows upon the ground. The puddle didn’t stay there long, all of it weaving upwards in lightning-fast motions, like a painter filling their canvas beyond human speed. The shadows took on the shape of a human, a shape very familiar to Isolde. All over this dark figure the shadows began to dissipate, floating off from them like twisting black smoke, leaving a normal person behind them.

      Leaving Parisa standing where Roana had been.

      “Are you afraid, Isolde?” Parisa asked her then.

      Isolde felt outside of her body the entire time those shadows had been moving, but hearing Parisa’s voice again, it brought her down to earth. She stared straight ahead at Parisa: the clearest things she could see was the subtle signs of fear and apprehension on Parisa’s face, pulsing over in the movements of her body. Yet when Isolde moved her hand up over her own heart, she found it beating calmly. That the person she was looking at didn’t feel any different at all.

      “I told you I wouldn’t be afraid, didn’t I?” Isolde said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “But…but does that mean it’s true then…are you really a witch?”

      “For lack of a more suitable word, I suppose I could be called that.” Parisa nervously laughed, then breathed in deeply, her eyes intent on Isolde. “Do you still want to be around me knowing I’m like this?”

      “You’re not hurting anyone, right? As long as that’s true, what does it matter? Besides…” Isolde’s heart clenched, giggling happily, taking Parisa by surprise. “I’ve always wanted magic to be real my whole life, and what could be more amazing than magic turning out to be real through you? But, Parisa…”

      “Yes?”

      “Was that always you as Roana, or was that only tonight?”

      “It was always me in town, and the real Roana never left the manor,” Parisa said, stepping forward, kneeling and picking up the key in front of Isolde. “I do hope you can find a way to forgive me that deception, it was never my intent. This was all supposed to be a game to get them to stop bothering me, but I wasn’t expecting you, Isolde Tremain. You’ve been the only truly kind person to me, not only in this form, but as Roana too.” Parisa breathed in deeply, hands clutched tight over her heart, pressing the key in there. “You were the only person gentle to me: someone who wanted to protect me, and not just capture me. Seeing that side of you, and this side of you here with me, it made me want to keep seeing more and more of you. Every moment I’ve experienced with you has only confirmed the beauty I saw in you that first day.”

      “But how can you call me kind when I almost hit you? A kind person doesn’t do that.”

      “You didn’t hurt me, don’t you see? Even when you were feeling your worst, you didn’t lay a finger on me. And if when you’re feeling your worst you can’t hurt me, then what do I ever have to be afraid of? I feel safe when I’m with you. I feel like someone sees me. And I just…I feel warm and happy whenever I’m near you. You’re kind to me, Isolde…and I can keep talking on and on and on, but the point is that this belongs to you.” Parisa’s hands moved away from her heart, her hand unfurling near Isolde with the key in her palm. “You’re the person I want to give it to. I never meant for this game to truly have an ending…so I can’t just marry you or say I love you because you have this key now…but I feel something every time I’m with you that I haven’t felt in forever. I want to get the chance to know you, to get close to you, to explore that feeling. That the idea of greeting each day with you here with me, it makes me happy in ways I don’t understand.”

      “Are you…are you saying you want to be with me in a way that’s not just friends?”

      “Has that not been obvious from the start?” Parisa playfully giggled. “Of course I do, little Isolde! I thought I’d been quite apparent with for a long while now. Unless…” She quieted down for a moment, fidgeting a bit. “You do feel the same way for me, right?”

      “I do,” Isolde whispered, and it felt odd to admit it so simply when she had such grand ideas in her head on how to reveal that knowledge.

      “Then I don’t see any problems at all.” Parisa’s hand moved in closer to Isolde, key shimmering in the moonlight. “Would you like to see what happens? To find out where this path might lead us?”

      “But there are problems,” Isolde said, shaking her head. “Well, one problem, and that’s me. I’m not good enough for someone like you, or for all of this!” Isolde sighed, her hand reaching up and placing the crown on Parisa’s head. “I’ll never be good enough for any of it.”

      “And what if I disagree,” Parisa said sharply, her hand snatching Isolde’s during its descent from placing the crown, clutching it warmly. “Isn’t that what matters? And I say you are good enough for me, just as good as any other girl in this world.”

      “There are better people than me to choose from.”

      “But I don’t want any of those people, I want you! You’re the one I’m choosing, you and only you, and my heart is sure of that choice.”

      “But that’s not the problem!” Isolde yelled, tearing her hand from Parisa’s grasp, leaving her in shock, Isolde hunching over and clutching herself tightly. “It doesn’t matter if that’s how you feel, because that’s not how I feel…as much as I try, I can’t see this person you’re talking about!” Isolde’s breath started to become sporadic, body trembling. “You think I’m worthy, but I don’t, and that will poison everything. I want to feel good enough…for once in this shit life…I want to feel like I deserve to be happy. But I don’t...and I can’t make you happy if these feelings are in my heart.”

      Parisa didn’t say a word, instead reaching inside of her pocket, pulling out a vial with a glowing, silver liquid in it. She pulled the cork out, then poured its content into the air where it floated like a large drop of water. Parisa slapped her palms together on it, shaping it until it appeared like a large, floating mirror glittering brilliantly in the moonlight. She stood to the side of it, her eyes filled with an emotion Isolde couldn’t read.

      “Stand before the mirror and look at yourself,” Parisa said.

      “I don’t want to see myself right now.”

      “Please come over. If I can only ask you to do one thing for me, please just stand in front of the mirror.”

      Isolde heaved a defeated sigh: she already felt like a mass of worms were crawling through her insides, and the tone in Parisa’s voice had been so pleading that she would die inside to deny her. She dragged her feet before the mirror, gaze pointed towards the ground. She sucked in a deep breath, then looked up, but became paralyzed by what she saw.

      The mirror wasn’t reflecting her, but somebody else entirely, someone with a beauty so pure and refined it made one’s heart ache. It didn’t feel like some normal, earthly beauty, but something more ethereal, beyond the decay of mortal existence, a goddess in the flesh. Isolde’s heart was fluttering at the sight of this person, but then began to sink in her chest as the person in the mirror copied her every movement, approaching closer as she did. That staring closer, chills began to quake across Isolde’s body as she began to recognize the face of the person in the mirror, her mouth fumbling to find words, confusion filling her to see that angelic person within the mirror fumbling too.

      “This is what your true self looks like given a physical form,” Parisa said, standing to the side of the mirror still. “This is the essence of your heart that I see in every moment with you. And you may feel afraid all the time, Isolde, you may feel like a coward…but your fear hurts no one but yourself, so it doesn’t make your heart ugly like it did mine.” Isolde’s head slowly turned, disbelief painting all over her. Staring into Parisa’s eyes as if asking her if it was a trick, but Parisa’s face only trembled with truth. “This is what your soul sings to me. This is how I’ve always seen you.”

      “But this can’t be me,” Isolde whispered, placing her hand against the mirror, it rippling like water to her touch but still feeling real. “Not even in my dreams have I ever looked this beautiful.”

      “You’d be surprised by how many things in this world are better than dreams, and this isn’t some version of you that only exists in magic mirrors and golden eyes.” Parisa touched the mirror, it collapsing into glittering stardust, and she took a place standing in front of Isolde. “You can learn to see that person all the time.”

      “But I don’t know how to do that.”

      “Then let me help you.” She took gentle hold of Isolde’s hand, opening up the palm and slipping the key into it. “I would like to try and get you to fall in love with yourself. You have a heart meant for love, I can feel that in all the warmth and gentleness that exudes from it like a sun. I want you to be able to love—it doesn’t matter if it’s for me—but it’d be too much of a tragedy if your heart remains closed. So please…would you like to make this place your home for a little while?”

      Isolde’s gaze turned slowly from the key and up to Parisa’s face. Parisa was smiling at her so warmly, and those eyes were truly looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world. They were so inviting, every ounce of her seeming to welcome Isolde, to pull her in and say something like—this is where you belong.

And those words—this is where you belong—echoed throughout Isolde’s heart.

      She pressed forward, wrapping her arms about Parisa in a tight, close hug, pulling herself against all of Parisa, wishing she could dissolve into the other girl. Then Isolde leaned forward, moving up and planting a lingering kiss upon Parisa’s cheek before gently resting her head against close.

      “I don’t think I’d mind calling this place home for a little while,” Isolde whispered, snuggling her face in closer.

      “It’s late,” Parisa said, kissing Isolde’s forehead. “Would you like to come inside and get some rest?”

      “I’d like that very much…”

      They moved out of their hug, but kept close to one another, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists as they walked in tandem, slowly moving towards the manor’s doors.

      “Isolde,” Parisa said as they were walking up the steps. “Do you want to know something about the country I grew up in?” They stopped before the door, Isolde sliding the key into the lock, but not twisting it yet. “In my home country, people who get married don’t exchange rings with each other.”

      “They don’t?” Isolde asked curiously.

      “No, we do something different there. We exchange two items. The first is a pendant with the chain cut to a length to fall perfectly in line with your lover’s heart. And the other item…” Parisa’s hand moved up slowly, brushing by Isolde’s face and onto her head, where her fingers trickled over the crown. “Is a crown. These things are meant to bind the lovers’ hearts and minds as one instead of two, and they’re usually made by the betrothed for each other.” Isolde’s face began to heat up, heart beating wildly, only getting worse from the feeling of Parisa leaning down and snuggling her face gently against hers. “Perhaps you’ll make us some pendants one day too, little blacksmith.”

      “Do you really think that could happen?” Isolde asked quietly, her eye so gently calm as her hand took hold of the key again.

      “Anything is possible, and as you have seen tonight, much more unbelievable things have happened before. It doesn’t seem such a terrible fate to befall us, if that’s where our destinies lead.”

      “No, it doesn’t seem like such a bad fate at all.”

      Isolde twisted the key, the click of that lock just like the Heaven she had imagined, the doors swinging open and welcoming them both inside.

Chapter Text

      Sunlight streamed down in glorious bursts between the clouds, falling across Isolde’s sleeping face and over her good eye. It flickered open, and the first thing greeting her was the blue sky through the skylight, angel white clouds drifting through it. The silken soft feeling of the bed wrapped over her, and breathing in the air, it was her air. The dream hadn’t ended from waking up, and she twisted onto her side wanting to feel Parisa with her as well: to pull her in and hug her close, and live out that joy of sharing their warmth together.

       Twisting over, though, the other half of the bed was empty.

      “I’m glad to see you’re awake,” Parisa said.

      Isolde sat up in bed, then quickly noticed Parisa sitting at her desk. Parisa was fully dressed, not wearing the nightgown she had gone to bed in, and had the air about her as if she had been awake already for many hours.

      “You should have woke me up,” Isolde said, clambering out of bed a bit wobbly, trudging over to Parisa. She sat at the edge of the desk, playfully messing around with Parisa’s hair, twirling it and running it through with her fingers. “I’d have liked to wake up to your face next to mine.”

      “Sorry for not letting you have that when I got to have it with you.” Parisa pulled Isolde’s hand down gently, kissing its top. “I just wanted to make sure you were well rested today.”

      “Why? Do you have some big plans for me?”

      “I think others have plans for us actually.”

      Isolde noticed then that the papers and books had been moved aside on the desk, and bundles of small bones were tossed about in front of Parisa, some cracked, and some standing in odd positions. There was an unnatural burn mark in the center of all the bones in the shape of a raven.

      “Nothing to be scared of,” Parisa continued. “We might have to take a trip, that’s all, and those can drain a lot out of you.”

      “A trip?”

      A loud knocking sounded at the door, Isolde’s head twisting towards the sound, but Parisa shut her eyes and nodded her head as if she already heard it before it came.

      “You may enter,” Parisa said.

      The door opened, and Percival stepped inside. He gave a quick bow, then hurriedly stepped over to Parisa’s desk. Something about him seemed agitated, which disturbed Isolde, because he’d always felt like a statue to her. He was glancing between her and Parisa, fingers nervously moving about, as if he didn’t want her around.

      “It’s all right, Percival,” Parisa said. “She knows what I am, so do not worry about speaking in front of her.”

      Percival turned his head to Isolde, staring at her for a long while, that snowy mask not revealing his eyes, before turning back to Parisa. He then began to speak in a tongue Isolde had never heard before, but with an unexpectedly soothing sound to it, almost melodic and song-like, and with an inflexion in tone and accent that reminded Isolde of Parisa. Parisa responded back to him in the same language, Percival growing a great deal calmer before bowing again. He tipped his hat to Isolde, saying something to her in his language before swiftly exiting the room.

      “What did he say to me?” Isolde asked when he was gone.

      “He said, ‘Welcome to our home.’ I’m afraid he’s never learned your language like I did. He thinks the worlds are too small, and they make him feel trapped whenever he tries to speak it.”

      “What language were you speaking?”

      “A Fey dialect with a name that can’t quite be spoken in your words.” Parisa stood up, brushing her lap off from some bone dust, and gave Isolde a warm smile. “He’s my familiar.”

      “Familiar?” The word bounced around in Isolde’s head, before shivers ran over her body. “Then he’s a demon?”

      “Don’t believe the faerie tales you hear. People in his country might have called him a demon, but he’s like the Fey here in yours. Most of us witches don’t worship the Devil, and to be honest, most of us think your religions are quite silly things.” Seeing Isolde looking a little confused, Parisa stepped forward, kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry, I know it can be confusing, but I’ll explain everything the best I can in time.”

      “It’s all right…it’s just very strange to be living in one world yesterday, then waking up in this new one today.” Isolde leaned her head into Parisa’s shoulder, many things swirling around confused in her, but standing beside Parisa still felt right. “What’s going on, Parisa?”

      “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said assuredly, reaching down and holding Isolde’s hand tight. “That’s why when I show you, I don’t want you to be afraid.”

      “Afraid?” Isolde felt her heart clench, the fear of tragedy starting to ripple through her. “What do I have to be afraid of?”

      “Just come with me, all right?”

      Isolde nodded, moving in closer as made leave of the room. Parisa lead her along until they had made it to one of the front-facing windows of the manor, Parisa’s hand motioning her to look outside.

      Isolde walked up to the window, and in the distance she could see them: a large crowd of people were gathered outside the gates, perhaps a couple dozen or more. She couldn’t make out the details clearly, but some larger shapes did burn into her vision: of pitchforks, and even the glint of what looked like swords.

      “What’s happening?” Isolde asked, frightfully backing away, but Parisa was right behind her, wrapping her in a hug.

      “I don’t quite know yet,” Parisa said, leaning her head onto Isolde’s shoulder. “But I think I have a pretty good idea.”

      “Then why aren’t you scared?”

      “Because I’m not nineteen like when they dragged me out to that stake, and you have to believe me when I say people like that can’t hurt me anymore.” She kissed Isolde’s cheek, snuggling closer to her. “They won’t touch a single hair on either of our heads. So there’s really only one question…do you want to stay in this town, or you would you like to leave it all behind you?”

      “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

      “I’m saying, how do you want me to handle all this? I can do it in a way that lets us stay here, or in a way that means we’ll have to leave.” Parisa hugged in tighter, and even though Isolde could see all those people down there, those arms around her made her feel safe—there was something so sure in them driving out all the fear. “There’s an enormous world out there I’ve been hiding from for years…and there’s an amazing and magical world you’ve never seen. Those things you told me you dreamed of, they’re real. There’s magic to be found, adventures to be had. I’m not saying it’s everywhere, that there’s a whole faerie tale existence out there, but there are places and moments where life can step away into those dreams.”

      “But you have so much here,” Isolde said, tired of looking outside, turning around in Parisa’s arms to look at her instead. “You can’t leave all this behind. This home, the gardens…” Isolde felt something brush against her leg, looking down to see some cats rubbing against her. “And not them, of course.”

      “Let me worry about all that…I have some tricks up my sleeves.”

      “Parisa?” Isolde said, shutting her eyes, never having imagined leaving the town, thinking she’d be born and die there. “You won’t hurt anyone, right?”

      “Not a single person, don’t worry.”

      “Then I think it might be nice to see more of this world of ours.”

      “I was hoping you’d say that.” Parisa leaned forward, kissing Isolde’s forehead. “Would you like to stay here or come outside with me? I’m not going to hurt anyone, but it might be terrifying to see some of the things I can do, and I don’t want you to be frightened of me.”

      “I won’t be. I can’t promise I won’t be shocked by seeing the things you can do, but I won’t be afraid. And, well…” Isolde chuckled a little, looking over her shoulder outside. “I must admit I’m terribly curious to see what you’re going to do. It’s exciting in a way.”

      “Be careful of curiosity, little Isolde,” Parisa said, playfully bopping a finger onto her nose. “Don’t you know that curiosity turns good little girls into witches?”

      “Well, I’ve met only one witch, but it doesn’t seem so bad a thing to be.”

      “Not at all.” Parisa caressed Isolde’s cheek, then stepped before the window, quietly folding her hands behind her back. “Shall you get dressed then, and we can go down afterwards to greet our guests?”

      “Right away!”

      Isolde joyfully rushed back to the room to fetch a dress, while Parisa remained by the window staring out. Parisa’s joyful and warm expression faded into something far harsher and serious as soon as Isolde was gone, a bitter frown carving down her face, an unsettling chill in her eyes. Her hands were restless behind her back, fingers twitching about. Her teeth started to grind as if in pain, the whole bottom half of her body trembling. On the ground behind her, her shadow twitched and twisted unnaturally like its own entity, starting to peel off the floor, two burning eyes of ember opening on its head.

      “Don’t hurt any of them,” Parisa whispered to herself sharply, trying to still her body while sparkling tears started to stain across her cheek. “You must always remember that, Parisa.” She sucked in deeply, body contorting as if in agony, before going still…the tears turning black, a dead-eyed and hateful gaze staring at the crowd below. “You can’t let yourself be that person anymore. Isolde must never know that person.”

      The shadow had peeled fully off the floor, and was standing beside her, a fiery slit opening on its face to form a mouth. It leaned in close to Parisa’s ear, its lips moving, the sound of faint whispers carrying about the room.

Chapter Text

      The way mobs were described in the stories Isolde had been told in her youth, they were always yelling, screaming, and shouting, these huge masses of movement and commotion like a pack of savage animals. Yet as she and Parisa were approaching the gates, the mob she saw awaiting them were still as stone, all their eyes staring at them with a mixture of emptiness, disdain, and anger that chilled Isolde’s blood. She’d rather have had the noise than the violent silence they offered her, and it felt like they were walking into a den of hungry wolves.

      “Don’t be afraid,” Parisa whispered into Isolde’s ear, and Isolde noticed then that she had been trembling. “I’m right here with you.”

      Parisa approached the gates, and like the night before, they began to open on their own. This startled the crowd a little, who took a few steps back as Parisa walked out to face them. Being closer to them all, Isolde was deeply surprised to find another emotion slithering among the mob—fear. They were all afraid of someone that made her feel safer than anyone else in the world.

      “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from all my lovely neighbors?” Parisa said with one of her warm smiles, but it only seemed to make the crowd more defensive.

      “We are here to rid a plague from our town we should have all been too aware of,” a voice said from within the mob, one Isolde knew too well and caused her blood to boil.

      The mob opened up, and Benedict began to step forward. Isolde was about to yell something out, but startled backwards in horror. His face was horribly cut up and raw, like a bear had mauled him. Silently his friends came up with him, a couple more with gashes in their faces not as drastic, and one with his arm in a sling. Even with all this burning into Isolde, her being became gripped with terror at seeing them all with flintlock pistols cased to their sides.

      “I’m afraid your theatric statements aren’t clear to me,” Parisa said, her voice as calm as ever.

      “Do not think your forked tongue can trick any of us! We’ve all too many eyes now to prove what you are. We have come here to arrest you and put you on trial for the crimes you have committed, Parisa Blackwillow.”

      “Oh dear, I’m a criminal now? And what terrible things have I done?”

      “The first and worst crime of all…bedding with Satan in the unholy practice of witchcraft. We four men saw you turn to a beast before us, and saw your hellish diamond eyes as you were trying to claw my face off. More than that, you have plagued this town with Satan’s will!” Parisa laughed at those words, Benedict flaring up in anger, but most of the crowd grew restless at hearing her laughter. “You have sown the seeds of lust and discord among our men, just the same as you have sown envy and jealousy among our women.”

      “I think you have something wrong there,” Parisa interrupted.

      “Are you going to deny these claims?”

      “Just a little correction for the moment, but I don’t think the lust part only applies to the men here in town.”

      The mob gasped at that, a greater furor growing in them, but Isolde quietly laughed to herself.

      “And your final crime of perversion,” Benedict said, that word making the hairs rise up on both Parisa’s and Isolde’s necks. “I told my countrymen here in town about what happened to us, but they weren’t convinced our angel could be a devil in disguise. But I told them just to wait…to watch…and we would see your sin in full view. That all we would have to do is follow your little birdie.” From his side, Benedict pulled off a spyglass, unfurling it to full length. “We saw you take the form of a shadow. We saw what you two were doing in the moonlight last night, our stomachs twisting in disgust as you seemed to embrace each other as lovers do, and to break God’s laws like filthy animals.” Parisa’s body began to tense up, fire growing in her eyes. “Creatures like you are a blight upon this earth. More so when you bewitch poor, pathetic, and innocent creatures like Isolde Tremain into your perversion. I promise you Isolde won’t be the last…this devil will turn every last woman in this town over to her perversions if we don't stop her!”

      “That sounds like Heaven to me,” Parisa replied, the mob gasping again, growing more incited.

      “Hear how she blasphemes against our Lord’s will!” Benedict shouted to the crowd, fervor growing, hands tightening around pitchforks, knives, and swords. “How do you plead, Parisa Blackwillow, to the charges presented against you today?”

      “Guilty of course,” Parisa said without a moment’s hesitation, shocking the crowd into silence, even Benedict completely taken aback. “And I am fond of Isolde Tremain in the way that lovers are.” She leaned over, kissing softly the side of Isolde’s lips, taunting them all. “I’m fond of her as I am of all those with beautiful hearts.”

      “And I am not bewitched in any way,” Isolde spoke loudly, even as her heart could barely contain itself within her chest. “This ‘perversion’ is how I’ve always been, and I swear most of you don’t even hate her for that, but just because she’ll never be with any of you. That…” Isolde swallowed deeply, staring up at Parisa’s face. “That I can be a part of something none of you will ever get to experience.”

      Parisa turned to Isolde about to say something, but before she could realize what was going on Isolde was reaching up and pulling her head down close. Parisa’s eyes growing wide upon the sensation of Isolde’s lips pressed against hers, body freezing in shock, while Isolde felt like her heart was going to tear right out of her chest. When Isolde was done, Parisa stood shocked and wearing a brimming smile, a wave of disgust and pale faces falling over the crowd. None of them seemed to grow paler, though, than Benedict’s.

      “She’s not yours, Benedict,” Isolde said defiantly, Parisa’s face softening into prideful joy. “And she never will be. She doesn’t belong to anyone but herself!”

      “They admit to their crimes of perversion!” Benedict said, trying to stay calm, but everyone could see the anger twitching across his face. “And what do you plead to the crime of witchcraft, knowing the penalty of such is death?”

      “Oh, I’m very much a witch as well,” Parisa said with a crooked smirk, stepping forward, all the crowd stepping back in response, except for Benedict. “But I think you have it all very wrong here of who should be afraid of who.”

      Parisa raised up her hand, then snapped her fingers. The black color of her hair began to dissipate like smoke, revealing the true burning color underneath. Snapping again, her shadow began to shift, peeling itself off from the ground, twisting into the shape of a serpent, one which slithered and wrapped around her body. She whispered under her breath, and a light wind began blowing, and though Isolde felt nothing, she could see everyone in the mob starting to shiver terribly. Benedict trying his best not to tremble.

      “I do not take kindly to rude neighbors,” Parisa said. “Ones who’d gather outside my home, insult me to my face, and have weapons drawn on me. It might make me angry.” Two eyes opened up on the serpent, burning like searing embers, and as Parisa’s eyes blinked and opened once more, her pupils became diamond-shaped just like the serpent’s. “Mercy is not something I’ll offer twice, so take it while you can.”

      “Your games don’t scare us, witch!” Benedict quickly pulled the flintlock pistol from his side, pointing it directly at Parisa’s face, Isolde flinching in fear, but Parisa’s expression turned deathly serious. “You cannot whisper your spells faster than a bullet can enter your skull.” The three men with him all pulled up their pistols as well, each aimed at her head, cocking the hammers to the guns. “As evidenced before us in full view, and by her very confession, this woman is guilty of the crime of witchcraft. And as such…” He sneered wildly, snickering to himself, something mad in his eyes as his finger twitched on the trigger. “You are sentenced to death, Parisa Blackwillow.”

      In a moment, the fingers all squeezed down on the triggers, but before Isolde could even get a chance to scream—before the hammers could fall—the guns had vanished. Instead, in each of their hands was a bundle of fresh flowers. Benedict stared at his with disbelief, looking over his shoulder to see everyone’s weapons, not just the guns, were nothing more than flowers anymore.

      “I don’t think I like you very much,” Parisa said, Benedict twisting his head back to see her standing right before him. “To be honest, I think you’re nothing more than a cruel, cowardly, and selfish little rat.”

      Parisa’s hand quickly reached out, and she bopped her finger onto his nose. The next moment, without falter, Benedict seemed to vanish. His clothes collapsed to the ground where he once stood, along with a bundle of flowers that had been his gun. Something was shifting in the clothes pile, though, and a large, black rat crawled out with scars across its face. It screeched a terrible noise that pierced into the ears, before running off in a fright towards the town.

      “Do watch out for any of my cats that may have gotten loose!” Parisa shouted at him as he scurried away. “And don’t worry, it won’t last forever on him, but it could if I wanted it to.” Parisa opened her palm, a ball of white fire igniting from it, swirling over with shadowy faces in its form. “And there’s much, much worse I can do as well.” She smiled, the smile stretching too wide across her face, and all her teeth extended down to sharp and vicious fangs like a beast’s. “So tell me…who else would like to try and carry out my sentence?” From her back, black wings sprouted, scaled and leathery, her serpentine shadow spreading out and eclipsing over the crowd. “And who would like to turn around now, leave me alone forever, and forget this happened? Do that, and I won’t bother any of you ever again. Does that sound like it could work?”

      The crowd stared on in horror, but after a minute of standing in their terror, some collective seemed to wash over them. They simply began to turn around and walk away, quietly and slowly, like nothing had happened. Only the terrible trembling and shivers in their beings revealing that anything was off. Flowers were thrown onto the ground as they left, so that in a few minutes’ time where once there’d been a mob, there was just a soft bed of flowers instead.

      When they were all out of sight, the fire died from Parisa’s hand, teeth turning soft, eyes blinking and opening normal again. As she turned around to walk back to Isolde’s side, so her shadow slithered into the ground, taking its place there. Everything returned to her normal self, except for her red hair, which still shimmered brilliantly in the light. Her smile was terribly meek and fearful as it was offered to Isolde, and something trembled joyfully in Isolde at the sight of her.

      “I’m not scared,” Isolde said, reaching out and grabbing hold of Parisa’s hand. “So don’t worry. And to tell you the truth…” Isolde’s hand felt over her heart, and she laughed, standing close to Parisa to whisper to her. “I thought it was absolutely wondrous the things you did…it filled my whole body with a kind of fiery excitement I’d never felt before. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

      “Do you really mean that?” Parisa asked, her skin shivering in waves at such words.

      “Of course I do,” Isolde said, leaning against Parisa. “And I’m sorry for before as well…for kissing you like that without asking. It just felt right to do.”

      “Don’t worry, it was worth it to see their faces, and it made me happy to hear you speak up. You didn’t have to prove anything to them.”

      “I know I didn’t, but I wanted to.” Isolde sighed, moving over to the flowers strewn away and starting to pick them up into her arms. “So what happens to us now?”

      “We have to leave this town behind and find somewhere new to call home.”

      “Do you have any ideas where we’ll go?”

      “I do, and we’ll talk a great deal about that when we start our travels.”

      “And when do you think that will be?” Isolde asked, presenting a bundle of the flowers to Parisa. “I know you can’t move the house and the garden, but there are still all your books in the library, and everything else you must have in there…it’s huge, and I’ve barely seen anything yet.”

      “When we can leave is all up to you. And as for moving…” Parisa smiled, burying her face into the flowers. “Before you woke up, I set up a spell we’d need to travel with. Once you’re ready, all I need to do is to finish casting it.”

      “Are you saying we could leave right this moment if we wanted to?”

      “If that’s how you’re feeling.”

      Such a choice rattled through Isolde: it would be madness to make such a quick decision, to upend her entire life and abandon the world she’d known in a breath’s time. To leave with someone, she had to admit, was just an opening seed to her. They were nothing more than sprouts together, and she didn’t know how they’d grow. She didn’t know what sort of plant Parisa was in all her aspects. Running away together was supposed to be something old vines did, long intertwined with each other, not new seeds. But looking back upon the town, looking to the sky, to the manor, then finally to Parisa, nothing felt wrong in her.

      “Let’s go right now then,” Isolde said.

      “I was hoping you’d say that.”

      Parisa turned around, walking back up to the front gates. Out of her pocket she pulled an uncracked walnut, a white feather tied tight around it with a red thread. She pricked her thumb on a thorn of one of the flowers she had bundled in her arm, then pressed it against the walnut, staining it with her blood. Cupping it in her hands, she whispered to it in the same tongue she had spoken to Percival in. She then crushed the walnut in her bare hands, dropping the crumbs of it before her feet, the feather falling last on top of them.

      Shortly afterwards, the walnut fragments flashed with a pulse of light, then a creamy smoke began to flow out of them. As Parisa was walking back to Isolde, so the smoke began to rapidly expand and spew out faster, soon becoming monstrous in size, the smoke flowing through and into the garden. It looked like a cloud dragged down onto earth, growing exponentially in size, until in a couple of minutes time, the cloud had swallowed the manor and gardens into itself. Parisa then took in a deep breath and blew out in the direction of the smoke.

      Following Parisa’s breath was a terrible storm wind, which swept forward and dragged the smoke away towards the sky. As the smoke was fading, Isolde’s mouth gaped open in the wonder…for everything was gone. The manor and the gardens had vanished, only barren earth and the iron fence remaining, and a carriage resting just behind the gates. Percival was at the carriage’s helm, Parisa’s white horses neighing, a strange afterglow to the carriage as if it were a mirage.

      “Where’d it all go?” Isolde asked with wonderment, walking with Parisa towards the carriage in a haze.

      “Just somewhere more portable for the time being.”

      The two of them stopped, and before the gates a walnut was sitting: one wrapped around with a white thread, with a red feather tucked into it. It looked exactly the same as it had been before being crushed, yet no blood stain was upon it. Parisa knelt next to it, picking it up into her hands and looking satisfied.

      “You don’t mean that it’s…?” Isolde started laughing and smiling. “Can all witches do such amazing things? It’s like a miracle!”

      “No, not many witches can do the things I can.” Parisa slid the walnut into her pocket, continuing to escort Isolde towards the carriage. “Only us exceptionally powerful ones.”

      “And how did you get so strong?”

      “You want to know the secret?” Parisa said, leaning close. “It’s really not that amazing.”

      “If you want to tell me, I’d love to hear it.”

      “Well…” Parisa snickered, lips by Isolde’s ear. “I read lots of books, and that’s how I’m so strong.”

      “That can’t be everything.”

      “Of course not, nothing in life is that simple.” Parisa climbed up some of the steps of the carriage, her hand reaching down to Isolde. “But it’d be nice if things were that easy.”

      Isolde’s hand reached up, grabbing tight hold of Parisa’s as she helped her up and into the carriage. They didn’t sit at opposite sides from each other, but right next to one another: Isolde resting her head against Parisa, Parisa leaning in close as well. Once the carriage door was shut, it felt like the little box they were in was the whole world.

      “What’s going to happen now?” Isolde asked.

      “I don’t quite know…we’ll have to see as we go.”

      The crack of a whip. The spinning of wheels. The carriage set off into motion.

      “It doesn’t scare you for the future to be so uncertain?” Parisa said.

      “Not right now, not with you. Are you afraid at all?”

      Parisa was about to answer when she glanced out the carriage window and saw it in her vision: it was only there for a couple seconds, but like searing hot metal to flesh, a couple seconds was all that was needed to burn it in. It was a raven with blood-red feathers and one golden eye in its left eye-socket and one amethyst-colored eye in the other. As Parisa quietly moved her hand to shut the window shades, it took a godly amount of strength in her to stop from shaking, to keep herself calm while so close to Isolde.

      “I’m not afraid of anything,” Parisa said, leaning her head back, shutting her eyes. “Everything is going to be all right now, I can feel it in my blood and in my bones.” Parisa’s hand reached out, taking tight hold of Isolde’s, seeming like affection to Isolde, but Parisa’s heart was pumping in fear. “I think life will be good to us.”

      “I think life is being good to us already.” Isolde sighed with joy, moving her whole body closer against Parisa, snuggling her face in. “But it wouldn’t matter if life wasn’t good to us, because we could just be good to each other. We don’t need any blessings from the world, as long as we look out for each other.”

      “I suppose you’re right,” Parisa said, turning and kissing the top of Isolde’s head. “What’s there to worry about when you’re right here next to me? It’d be quite a silly thing to do.”

      “The silliest thing in the world.”

      “Then let’s stop thinking for a bit. Shut off these hearts and heads of ours, all their noise, and let ourselves be together without their interruptions.” Parisa curled in more to Isolde’s shape, the two of them pulling their bodies up onto the seats, lying down next to each other. Eyes falling into each other endlessly like mirrors facing mirrors. “Would you like to be silent with me?” Parisa’s fingers slowly wove into Isolde’s before gently clasping shut, like flowers closing upon nightfall. “Would you like to be alone together with me for a while?”

      “I’d love nothing more in the world right now than that.”

      Smiles blossomed bright on their faces, nose tips brushing by each other as they pressed in close, faces snuggling warmly together. The two of them dissolving into one another in their little world inside the carriage.

      Outside that world, though, and throughout the town, every person could hear as those horse hooves trounced by them. The carriage wheels screeching in their movement, but not a single soul rushed out anymore to greet Parisa Blackwillow. Children just sat terrified in their homes at seeing their parents crying and curled up in corners out of fear.

      Outside, in a barren place where only iron fences remained, a blood-red raven was hopping along on the ground, tearing the petals off every flower it could find. When all the flowers were torn apart, the raven’s shadow flickered behind it, and its body began to dissolve into the earth in a blood-like pool which then started to weave upwards in the shape of a person.

      Outside, collapsed behind someone’s house, was a large black rat with scars over its face. Its body was horribly bloated and broken, green bile and foam coming from its mouth, empty eye-sockets stained over with blood as if its eyes had exploded out of its head.

      Inside the carriage, Isolde drifted into blissful silence, one Parisa pretended to be a part of. Yet all Parisa could hear was the scratching and clawing at the carriage of the outside and everything it had waiting in it, everything it had hidden. The outside wanting to come inside, to destroy her little world built of just them.

      A moment later Parisa could feel tears on her cheeks, but they weren’t hers, they were Isolde’s. Flickering her eyes open, Isolde was smiling, the tears falling from her shut eyes and onto Parisa’s face. They were tears of joy, and suddenly the outside quieted, and Parisa shut her eyes again, letting all her roots fall into Isolde to intertwine with hers.

     After that, silence was truly achieved between them, and a whole universe opened to give space for their souls to sing their wordless songs to each other.