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Crona planted themself in a spare seat anxiously, watching their aunt go on muttering tangents over a missing brooch, or her dress being tailored incorrectly. Their mother walked in and vindicated her as she stormed out, then went over to the mirror beside them, where they could see her fingers crossed behind her back.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to say my dress is tailored incorrectly if my breasts were that uneven.” She cackled to herself quietly. Her eyes shifted to them.
“…This is a big night Crona.” She said coldly.
“Just sit and smile and dance with the suitors. That’s all you need to do.”
She uttered her last words dripped with disdainful condescension.
“Yes Lady Medusa.” They replied.
“Good, sit up straighter.”
It was the eve before their 16th birthday, and their family was already looking to pawn them off to neighboring wealth. They supposed they could deal with at least one man. They all lived in extraneous extravagance anyways, so much so, they hardly even had to see an aunt or their mother unless it was a mealtime.
They didn’t have to love him, they didn’t have to see him. They just had to exist with him,
And they’d do better to not complain about wealth, marriage, or big stone castles. Even if, in truth, they rejected it like poison.
‘I miss Maka…’ A little voice rang.
No. They didn’t want to think about her. They didn’t want to think about what happened. They couldn’t afford the grief.
A servant sooner quietly stood in the doorway.
“What is it?” Medusa asked her.
“Lucy sent me to fetch Crona.” She said.
Crona instinctively stood up to follow her, but Medusa shot her hand out to dig into their arm, halting them.
Instead of yelping, they hung their head down and bit their lip.
“You are going to get ready and sit in on the ball without a defiant breath. You are going to dance with the suitors and pick one and I will not hear a word, I promise.” She hissed. “Mark my words. There will be no blonde girls to save you. I so graciously let you back into our home and if you take it for granted one more time you are on your own. Banished.”
Medusa continued to stare intensely at them in silence, then let go of her grip, making them stumble slightly.
They followed the, now disturbed, servant to their room.
…
They held their arms up to let Lucy, the seamstress, make final adjustments to their gown, watching her work through the mirror in front of them. An accidental poke of the needle was a welcome distraction from their rampant thoughts.
“Oh jeez. I completely forgot my thread.” She huffed.
“It’s okay, I’ll wait here.” They said.
“You’re too gracious. It’ll only be ten minutes.”
She hurried out of the room, leaving Crona alone.
Despite the occasion, despite the compliments they’ve received, their face was devoid of life, dull, pale, and worn. It made even more prominent their eyebags from sleepless nights. Their lips were ripped and chapped. They smiled, but it was an empty, listless smile. Nothing they did could erase their heartache, or ease its melancholic beat.
A tear slipped out of their eye, then another, until a stream was unfolding. They held their face. They were sick of crying, but their body didn’t seem to be, it wasn’t willing to forget.
“Oh no sweetheart what’s wrong!?”
Lucy rushed in, and gently took their hands away.
An excuse. Any excuse.
“What if I mess up?” They hiccuped.
“You don’t need to fret about that.” She cupped their face. “I’ve known you your whole life. From the moment you were born, you were hard not to love. You’ll be perfectly fine. Save the jitters for the wedding.” She chuckled playfully.
“Yeah.” They said, wiping their eyes.
She nodded, and continued doing her work.
…
They sat at the middle of the long table dressed decadently with fine cloth, silver plates holding dishes of food, intricately designed glasses, golden candle wick holders, and fine china. They sipped their wine, trying desperately to ease their nerves.
Their family all sat there, Medusa at the head. Guests and suitors, a table extending from their family’s. They tried to subtly lean forward to inspect the men, and upon finding the lot of them had the same idea, they shot back and gulped nervously.
They weren’t hungry anymore, so they opted for little bites, scattering their food across their plate.
They felt the eyes crawling all over them, drinking in their every move. They wanted to leave, they wanted to shut themself out, they wanted them gone.
Crona took another sip.
Medusa was aggrieved, either with their composure, or their finicky eating. They became acutely aware of laying their hands on their lap, sitting straight, relaxing their brows, not breathing too hard or too little, not blinking too much, looking down and at no one else, no elbows at the table no spreaded knees no tapping feet no cracking of their ivory casing no talking no thinking-
“If we’re all full, let’s start dancing shall we?” Medusa snidely suggested.
Among the cheers in agreement of the tables standing up, she was still making eye contact with them from across.
They took a deep breath, and stood up.
The men seemed… eager. They were tall or short in variety, but they were bigger, they were stronger, they were older. Some kept sliding their hands lower than the small of their back, pressing them closer in that way. And Crona couldn’t freeze, they couldn’t fight, they couldn’t run, they couldn’t look down or unscrew their chagrin smile. They couldn’t tear the hunger out of their gazes. They were helpless and watched and subjected with no remorse. They wanted to scratch their body bloody until the phantom touches were no longer dormant under their skin.
They liked to imagine that this wasn’t really their life.
They weren’t really dancing with older men, who’s ravenous eyes were roving their body, making comments about their youth or eyes, their height or figure.
Their stomach wasn’t lurching with disgust and coiling with dread. The urge to cry and curl into themself, begging for the men to stop and to leave them alone, didn’t threaten to jump out of their throat if they even so much as left their mouth agape.
They were a character in a story their mother’s maid, Camille, told them at night. And someone was going to swoop down and take them away. They were going to go far, far away with their love.
The men kept passing them around like a doll, they giggled and swayed deludedly. This wasn’t their life.
Maka was going to come. She was going to come. She’s still here to save them.
For the last man, a polite man, who towered over them, who’s breath didn’t reek of booze, they leaned in closer. They tried to talk to him, pleasant conversation.
The mood shifted suddenly. Medusa was pleased. They could leave.
Two knights who stood in the doorway walked uniformly about each side of them as they made their way to their door.
Closed off from the world, they took off their shoes, and collapsed in their bed.
Their dazed giddyness wore off, and in its wake, reality trickled into and flooded their senses.
They curled into their pillows, holding their knees taut, and sobbed.
They didn’t like it, they didn’t understand it. They were supposed to want this.
When they were small, they lingered fondly on the ideas they were given from fairytales of what love was. At a ball they hosted, they’d meet someone who’d whisk them away.
But they got bigger, they got taller, they grew awkward and mishapen and not exactly whole. They’d been chasing a fulfillment their entire life with no gratification.
Then Maka stumbled into the wrong door, one fateful day.
She was looking for her armor, all the way out on the balcony.
They giggled and walked with her to where their family kept it.
They missed her. They missed her like the sun through clouds, they missed her with every breath they took. Her name always sat at the tip of their tongue, begging to be called out once. And she existed, she was right there in their arms, she was in their palms. She still lurks in their heart.
She had to have been there, in that room. If she ever existed, she could still be their knight. They wanted someone to believe them, a witness to come to their defense.
But she was banished.
They muffled their wails into the fabric. They wanted to get out of that ballroom. Their broiled fear and hopelessness still looped itself over and over again and it wouldn’t stop. They needed Maka to hold them but her scent only escaped them. They only felt so small, they were only ever so small.
They called her name out in shuddered, manic cries.
As if snapping them out of a trance, three consecutive knocks at their door. They were still in their ball gown, so they merely wiped their eyes and sniffled.
Trudging to the door, creaking it open, they met face to face with a metal mask.
Before they could react, they were shoved back, the knight closed the door behind him.
Crona scurried and backed into the wall, “w-what are you doing!? Please don’t hurt me!” They stuttered, terrified.
The knight just stood there, and yanked off his mask.
Crona froze in shock.
Maka grunted, she pulled off a hat that sat underneath and let her hair loose from a bun covered by it. She rubbed off stuble that had been painted on her face. Exhaling out of relief, she grinned down at them.
“I’ve got to be completely insane. I’m seeing hallucinations of Maka.” Crona said to themself.
Maka sighed and pulled off the rest of her armor.
“Crona it’s really me.”
They stood up and inched towards her warily, reaching their hand out to her face.
“It’s really you?”
“Of course silly.”
“How did you get here?”
“I pretended to be a man, even used tree sap to glue ripped ends of my hair to my face. It was surprisingly easy.” She remarked.
“There’s no way you’re here.” They whispered.
Maka grabbed them to plant her lips on theirs.
“Now do you believe me?”
“Uhm. Yeah?” They croaked, red coating their face.
“Good.” She said.
“I’ve missed you. A lot. I thought I’d never see you again. But it’s funny I…” They paused. “I wanted to believe you were there so bad-“
“I was there in the doorway, I helped bring you back here… are you okay?” She asked, drawing her brows down.
“No I uhm. I was so uncomfortable and.” They flapped their hands and sniffed.
“Oh Crona.” Maka crooned, then hugged them.
They cried into her shirt and held her tightly, scared she was going to fade away.
“I was never going to leave you here.” She said.
“I need you.”
“I know, I know.”
“And I didn’t want to dance with them. I don’t want to get married.”
She whispered assurances and sweet nothings to them, rocking their trembling form back and forth and rubbing circles into their back.
She never wanted anything more than to help them escape. Killing Medusa would’ve been too easy, she deserved to rot in her contempt, she deserved to stay miserable.
And Crona needed her, they needed to feel safe, to be understood, to be held.
“We have to leave tonight. You don’t need to bring anything?” She asked softly, they shook their head.
“I’m going to stand back on guard. You should change into something more comfortable. Give me two knocks when you’re done, then we run.”
She broke the embrace to hold their face; red nose and eyes, tear stained and puffy.
They kissed her deeply then nudged her back from the shoulders, walking to their drawers to set out clothes.
After she’d redressed herself in the clunky metal, she casually slid out and stationed herself outside the door.
After some time…
2 knocks.
Maka threw her armor off and hastily opened the door.
Seizing their hand, they both ran.
There was a secret exit they’d used prior. She checked the perimeter before she stood guard, but there was no vines or branches leading from balconies, only dreary stone. They’d have to use the tried and true.
They sped down narrow stairs, entered through a communal corridor, and down the winding hallway, littered with precious heirlooms. They ground to a halt when a familiar figure blocked them.
“I knew you were here. I could smell it.” Medusa said sourly.
“I am leaving.” Crona muttered.
“You’re going to bring shame to the Gorgon family. Our name. After all I did for you.”
“You’ve done nothing for me. It was all Camille and Lucy.”
“I gave birth to you. I fed you from my own breast and gave you everything a child could ever want and THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!” Medusa shrieked, stomping towards the pair, Maka stood petrified in front, forgetting she had her sword.
Crona smashed in the glass next of them and drew out the sword of Ragnarok.
They rushed forward to fend her off. Her arms raised defensively.
“It’d do you better to get the fuck away from her.”
They grabbed Maka’s hand and slowly pulled past Medusa, guiding the blade to her chest as they shuffled.
“Crona, when you eventually decide to come crawling back, it’d do you best to consider slitting your throat first.” She chuckled.
“I won’t. You don’t deserve that satisfaction.” They turned their back to her. “I’m done dancing with perverts.”
They continued running.
And outside, was dark and cool on their skin. The stars shone down, the crescent moon hung over head. They tasted sweet relief in their shoes hitting the soft grass, in seeing Maka softly in the gentle light emitted.
They were free.
“Crona, your hand!” Maka exclaimed, sitting them down to inspect it.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You have glass in your fingers. There’s a stream nearby, conveniently where I’ve been camping out, but I don’t know how to get all the pieces out without any tools-”
“Maka.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
They both smiled at each other.
“I love you too.”
When they kissed this third time today, out of the many kisses they shared months earlier, it wasn’t like any of the other times. Even when they first ran away, they could still smell fate pulling them back. But Crona had no more obligation, Maka had no more restraint. There were no more shackles.
There was only their love left.