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Laudna sat at the small kitchen table writing, the warm, gentle breeze picking at the edges of the loose paper strewn about the table’s surface. The warmer months hung on, and though the late summer evening provided a soft breeze, the house remained stuffy even with the windows open.
She breathed in the scent of lemongrass and sun-bleached wood, and with a huff, threw the top half of her jaw length hair into a small bun and cinched it tight with her rock chisel. Laudna finished her thought, folded up the letter into an envelope, and addressed it Zhudanna.
A sad smile crept at her lips. Zhudanna had grown quieter, slower when replying to Imogen’s Messages, so Laudna had suggested checking in on her the old-fashioned way—by mail. That gave Zhudanna time to think and reply, and her responses tended to be far more enthusiastic that way. Though both her and Imogen worried; they feared the day was nearing when they’d send a letter out and simply never receive Zhudanna’s response.
Laudna shook her head, chasing the thought away. She drained the last of her tea which had gone cold, and stood, tucking the envelope under an arm.
Their small farmhouse, nestled near the base of the Coven Peaks, overlooked acres of farmland. Orchards of fruit and blossom trees, wheat, corn, and tobacco plants filled their property throughout harvest season. The tobacco had been harvested two months ago, and Imogen had travelled to Gelvaan to sell it as she had for the past two years since they’d acquired the land.
Laudna glanced out the window to the rows of stalks swaying slightly in the breeze. The corn would be ready to harvest any day now, Imogen had said. Most likely in the next two weeks, she’d make another journey northwest to Gelvaan where she’d sell a portion of the crop. When she returned, she’d gather the remaining corn and sell it locally in town. Laudna had a small craft shop there that she’d opened two years ago called “Saffron Supplies.” It contained her handmade monstrosities and little buddies, and it was a space where she got to share a small part of herself with the world. Her shop attracted folks like Laudna—creative, curious, and just a little strange. She loved it.
The ghost of a smile appeared and Laudna pulled herself from her thoughts. Movement caught her attention. In the distance, Imogen led her white peppered filly, Iris, and her onyx mare, Dahlia, toward the stables. Before entering, Imogen paused and leaned her forehead against Iris’. Her mouth moved, but Laudna didn’t need to hear her to know what she said.
Good girl, Iris. Thank you. Imogen stroked Iris’ nose and then moved to Dahlia and repeated the same motions. Good girl, Dahlia. Thank you. She said those words to her horses every day, thanking them for their hard work and loyalty.
Laudna found it incredibly endearing.
In the next moments, Imogen disappeared into the stables with Iris and Dahlia, and Laudna busied herself with making dinner.
She almost had dinner ready, yet Imogen hadn’t returned to the house. Laudna hummed, wondering where she might be.
She paused.
The gentle, smooth sound of guitar strings plucking and the soft scratch of fingernails strumming against taut metal wafted to Laudna on a musical breeze.
Laudna pushed off the counter away from the fried potatoes and wandered toward the warm light filtering in through the open front door which bathed the spacious living room in rays of gold. She ventured toward the door and leaned a shoulder on the frame. She tilted her head, her heart swelling at the sight before her.
Imogen, dressed in her work jeans, boots, a flannel with sleeves rolled to her elbows and top two buttons undone, sat on the edge of the porch, guitar cradled in her lap. She adjusted her brown cowboy hat and then glanced down at the head of the guitar where Pâté perched, nodding his little bird skull to the tune.
Imogen said something to Pâté which Laudna couldn’t decipher. Then she chuckled, and Laudna wanted nothing more than to get drunk on the sound. Against her tanned skin, Imogen’s lavender lightning scars were almost white, and they emanated a soft incandescence.
Imogen removed the capo from the neck of the guitar and adjusted her right arm over the body. She glanced at Pâté and whispered, “Another one, buddy?”
“Always,” he barked.
A soft smile crept at Imogen’s lips.
Laudna couldn’t help her own smile that blossomed upon her mouth, and she laced her hands together in front of her chest, content for the moment to just watch. She waited almost breathlessly.
The tendons in Imogen’s hand danced as she plucked at the strings, her red bracelet faded and nearly threadbare from the years of wearing it. The bracelet shifted with her movement, revealing pale skin just beyond the reaches of her tan. The movement of calloused finger pads sliding along the frets with her left hand squeaked softly, both hands moving differently but in unison to create the gentle, almost staccato melody.
Imogen’s low, breathy voice, perhaps only meant for Pâté, seemed to join the golden light and warm evening breeze. “We were married by the ocean,” she began, “we were tethered by the sea.” The slight rasp in her tone, though not eloquent or precise, was warm and beautiful.
Laudna found herself falling.
“We tied string around our fingers to remember our ideals.” Imogen’s fingers moved, chords changed, and the slender muscles in her forearm danced as she played. Smooth, graceful, confident. “I’ll be brave when you are frightened. You’ll be strong when I am weak in the knees.”
For all the lightning which crackled beneath her skin, grace and gentleness abounded. For the power Imogen held, the wrath and fury she could conjure, alone and at ease, she was simply a woman. A strong, beautiful, capable woman. Laudna’s heart and soul.
As Imogen sang, Pâté attempted to join her, though his singing was more gravelly yelling than actual melody. Between breaths, Imogen chuckled, and the sound was sugar and bourbon; sweet, smooth, and robust.
Laudna tucked a short strand of hair behind an ear, and she fiddled with the sleek black wedding band adorning her left hand. Imogen’s own gold band glinted in the sunlight as her fingers shifted chords.
Laudna’s heart and soul.
The one she loved.
Her wife.
Imogen continued, blissfully unaware of her presence. “I’ll be calm when you’ve had enough of these rushing waves. You’ll be the oxygen I need.”
The melody faded as all sound escaped Laudna and she merely watched, soaking in the peace her wife brought. She studied the curve of her nose, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she focused on the chords and the lyrics, how the scar on her chin crinkled with certain words, how the very sight of Imogen was warmth, life, and comfort.
Home.
It was a beautiful, simple moment, and Laudna would have given anything to continue living in it—
Laudna paused. She took a breath, letting the pain and trauma from previous years wash over her and not through her. She’d already given so much to save Exandria. She’d lost Imogen for brief moments—had her heart sundered and stitched back together. She’d nearly lost her friends, her family—Bells Hells.
Laudna closed her eyes and inhaled once more.
She didn’t need to give anything; she could exist here, now. Imogen sat only a few feet away, warm and full of life. The moment wasn’t some trick; it was real, and Laudna only had to ask because Imogen gave her love freely.
The effervescent woman before her was all Laudna needed. All she wanted. All she could have ever hoped for.
“We oblige as we learn to enlace for the rest of our lives…”
Laudna had never loved anyone more than Imogen—would never love anyone as much as her.
“...the rest of our lives.”
The soothing melody of Imogen’s song met her ears, and it washed over her like a wave, bathing her in its feeling more than its meaning. Laudna’s smile grew.
“You’ll be balance when I waiver, I’ll be warmth when you are shivering cold.”
Pâté’s brash words rocked Laudna from her thoughts. “’Ello, mum! Imogen’s singin’!”
Imogen paused and glanced over her shoulder, purple eyes bright. She tipped her hat and gave Laudna that enticing half-smile, her slow drawl almost melodic. “Hi, baby.”
Laudna pressed off the doorframe and joined Imogen on the top porch step, abandoning her watchful resting place. She glanced at Imogen who looked up at her with that honey smile. With a finger, Laudna tilted the rim of Imogen’s hat back and leaned in for a kiss.
Imogen hummed, lips spreading into a grin.
She tasted of almond and bourbon, and smelled of open pastures, clean air, and lilac, and Laudna never wanted to part. Eventually, she pulled away, giving the back of Imogen’s neck a soft caress, tangling her fingers at the base of her hair. “Hello, darling,” she whispered. Without looking away from her love’s face, Laudna waved a hand, chasing Pâté away.
Imogen brushed the back of her index finger down Laudna’s cheek and then cupped her palm under her jaw. “How long have you been standin’ there?”
Laudna gave a soft smile. “I’m not sure. I was far too entranced to know.”
She waved her hand. “It’s just a little singin’. Nothin’ too fancy.”
“It was beautiful,” she whispered. “I could listen to you for hours on end, darling.” Laudna laced her fingers with Imogen’s. “I didn’t know you played.”
A breathy chuckle shook Imogen’s chest. “I haven’t for years.” She tapped the guitar with a hand. “When I went to Gelvaan to sell the tobacco, I saw this beauty.” She shrugged. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed playin’ until I was holdin’ this in my hands. After the first strum, it was like all the pieces came together, like some small part of me which had been missin’ finally settled into place.”
“And I’m just now hearing this wonderful talent of yours?”
Imogen shrugged. “I’m a little rusty.”
“You’re wonderful.”
Another sugared laugh. Imogen held Laudna’s gaze for a moment and that half-smile grew into a grin. She huffed an exhale, bright eyes sparkling.
Imogen’s essence wrapped itself around Laudna, cloaking her in purple electricity and stars. That immaterial tendril of power reached out, caressing Laudna’s mind.
Imogen tilted her head, still grinning. Your music is so beautiful.
Laudna smiled. I wish I could hear your music. I’ve imagined what it might sound like—your essence, your soul.
Like a banjo, accordin’ to Orym, Imogen said with a chuckle.
No, no. Certainly not. I’m sure it’s something far gentler. Something smooth. Laudna paused, considering. Actually, I think your music would sound like that guitar in your hands. Steady strumming laced with the melody of a mellow summer breeze blowing through lemongrass.
She glanced sidelong at Imogen only to find the latter staring at her, a million unspoken thoughts behind her eyes.
Laudna caressed her cheek, brushing a thumb along her freckles. “Have I lost you, darling?”
Imogen blinked and shook her head. “Oh—no. I was just listenin’ to your music.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
She bit her lip. “Uh—no. Well—yes. I heard somethin’ about lemongrass.”
Laudna gave her a look of faux reprimand. “I’m offended you don’t hang onto my every word, darling.”
Imogen entwined her fingers in Laudna’s hair. “You have no idea how much I do, Laud.” Her gaze had gone distant again—like she was focusing on something unsaid—something Laudna could not hear or experience. After a moment, Imogen shook her head again and planted a kiss on Laudna’s shoulder. Then, she nodded at her guitar. “Do want to give it a try?”
Laudna blinked and placed a hand against her chest. “Me?”
“Yes you, silly.” Imogen smiled and adjusted her hat.
“Darling, I don’t know how.”
Imogen shrugged, and her next words were like the soft summer breeze. “I can teach you.” She shifted, motioning Laudna in front of her. “Come here.”
Laudna positioned herself on the step below in between Imogen’s legs, and the latter lifted the guitar over her head and placed it in Laudna’s lap. Imogen’s body, as always, radiated warmth, and bits of grass and straw stuck to her jeans scratched at Laudna’s bare arms.
Imogen leaned against Laudna’s back and her scent of lilac, bourbon, and leather washed over her. Laudna tilted her head back, grinning up at her wife. She planted two kisses—one on Laudna’s nose and the other on her lips. “Howdy,” she breathed against her skin.
Laudna pressed up to meet Imogen’s lips for another kiss. “I love you,” she whispered.
Imogen smiled and tucked her hair behind an ear. Another kiss. “I love you, Laud.”
“My tether,” Laudna whispered.
Her smile grew. “Tethered hearts.”
“Tethered souls.”
After a beat, Imogen took Laudna’s hands in hers and guided them to the correct positions on the guitar. Her long hair brushed against Laudna’s neck, and she wanted nothing more than to lean back into her and soak in the sunset.
“Your hands go here,” Imogen said, oblivious to Laudna’s thoughts. Her tanned fingers wrapped around Laudna’s pale ones as she helped place her left hand onto the fretboard.
Laudna curled her fingers so just the tips were pressed against random strings like she’d seen Imogen doing.
“Good. That’s perfect.” Imogen’s right arm reached around Laudna and pointed to the strings. “The top string closest to you is E, and it’s the lowest note.” She brushed the side of her thumb against the single string and a low humming vibration reverberated through the guitar into Laudna’s chest. “And then in ascendin’ order, the next five strings are A, D, G, B, endin’ with E again.”
Laudna frowned and glanced up at Imogen. “There are two E’s?”
Imogen waved a hand. “It’s less complicated than I’m makin’ it seem. One E has a low sound while the other has a much higher sound. Top and bottom.”
Laudna placed a black-tipped finger against the top string and plucked. That same low vibration echoed. A breathy chuckle escaped. She repeated the motion for the bottom string, but this time, a higher, sharper note resonated. “Fascinating.”
“Now,” Imogen said, tapping Laudna’s left hand with her index finger, “this hand is how you make a bunch of different notes and chords with just six strings.”
Her breath kissed Laudna’s cheek, and the rim of Imogen’s hat brushed strands of her hair, yet Laudna wanted to be closer. She squirmed on the porch step, and without even breaking her sentence, Imogen automatically moved closer, eliminating the gap between her torso and Laudna’s back.
“The different squares or sections along the neck are called frets. The closer to the headstock your hand is, the lower the sound, and the closer to the bridge you get, the higher the sound.”
Laudna nodded slowly. “Almost like a piano—how from one side to the other, the keys either ascend or descend in octave?”
Imogen kissed the side of Laudna’s head. “See? You’ve got it.” Her fingers caressed Laudna’s as she gently grasped her three middle fingers, placing them at different spots on the guitar. The index finger she set at the second string, second fret, and the middle and ring she placed at the first and sixth string, third fret. “This,” Imogen said softly, “is a G chord.” She nodded. “Give it a try.”
Laudna glanced at her long, slender fingers and hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt it.”
Imogen shook her head and took Laudna’s hands in hers. “You won’t,” she whispered. “I trust you. Besides,” she huffed, smiling, “the strings are metal and they’re easily replaceable. You won’t hurt anythin’.”
Laudna nodded and glanced down at the guitar. She took a breath and then ran her thumb down the length of strings. At the slow speed she strummed, each note rang individually, and Laudna tilted her head.
“Try strummin’ faster,” Imogen suggested, infinite patience and compassion in her tone. “Try and do it with one smooth motion.”
Laudna’s fingers twitched. “Alright.” She repeated the motion, but quicker and with more fervor. Sure enough, all six strings played almost at once, which created an entirely new sound.
Imogen beamed. “You’re a natural, baby.”
Laudna laughed but shook her head.
“Do you want to try puttin’ some chords together?” Imogen whispered.
“That sounds lovely.”
Though it was a long, slow process, by the time the sun had sank behind the barn, Laudna could piece together an uncertain and unsteady chord progression. It wasn’t anything close to Imogen’s grace and ease, but pride pricked at her.
Laudna glanced at the horizon which had shifted colors from a brilliant golden sunset to vibrant pinks, oranges and purples which faded to a blue star-speckled night sky. It was getting late. Abandoned fried potatoes, beans, and pork flashed through Laudna’s mind. She’d forgotten about dinner. Laudna stood, but before she could get her bearings, Imogen’s hand clasped her wrist, halting her.
“Wait,” she said, tugging the guitar from Laudna’s other hand. “Sit for a few more minutes?” Imogen shrugged. “I know dinner is cold.”
Laudna tilted her head and gave Imogen a small smile.
Her heart and soul.
Her wife.
She took Imogen’s hand from her wrist and kissed the back of it, the textured scars warm on her lips. “You, my love, are far more important than some cold potatoes.” She sat, positioning herself right next to Imogen.
Imogen’s eyes sparkled like the fading sunset, but she blinked and pulled her gaze from Laudna as she adjusted her position around the guitar. For a moment, she sat there, ear tilted in Laudna’s direction. Her left hand created different chords, and her right plucked the air a few inches above the strings as though she listened to some inaudible music before she played it.
Then, Imogen began, but the tune this time was slower, almost eerie. Still beautiful and enchanting, but haunting. Her fingers moved, a little more unsure than before, but the strength and grace remained. Her eyes fell shut, her head tilted like she strained to hear whatever melody she interpreted.
Laudna still watched Imogen’s hands, her movements, but this time, let the music consume her. It wafted around her like tendrils of shadow, soothing her before the melody gave way to something adjacent to repose and light. Not golden sunlight—not like Imogen, but something calm like the blue hour right before dawn. It chased away the elegant cold and replaced the comforting dark with something earthy and sweet.
Laudna had no words—only emotions which she couldn’t describe. Beautiful didn’t seem to do it justice. Alluring, perhaps. Maybe even divine.
Imogen stopped and placed her palm against the strings, silencing the reverberations. She shrugged, a timid grin creeping at the corners of her mouth. With a tilt of her head, she muttered, “That’s what you sound like.” Imogen tapped Laudna’s temple with a finger. “In here. That’s what you sound like—your music.”
Laudna blinked, unable to string together coherent words.
“When I’m overwhelmed and there’s nothin’ but noise in my head, I focus on that melody. I focus on you, Laudna. Your music is a symphony which soothes my panic and smooths out the clankin’ notes of the world. This is your music, Laudna. It’s subtle light in the darkness. It’s peace when I’m overwhelmed by chaos. It’s steady and comforting, and it eases my panic like your cool touch against my hot scars.”
Imogen set the guitar against the porch railing and faced Laudna fully. “Over the years, I know you’ve struggled with the darkness within you. I know you’ve felt like a burden, like you’re a dead end.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Laudna’s ear. “I hear that music every day. Every day. That’s why I was always so confused and frustrated when you shrank away or saw yourself as less than. Because I hear your soul every day, and all I hear is beauty from you, Laudna.”
Imogen cupped Laudna’s face and gently tugged her forehead to meet hers. Their lips met for an almost feather-light kiss; soft, gentle contact.
She was sugar, almond, and bourbon.
She was warmth, wild summer air, and a steady presence.
She was everything to her.
At last, Laudna pulled away and caressed the back of Imogen’s neck. “You are everything which completes me, Imogen. When I waiver, you steady me. When my own thoughts become too much, your voice fills my head and chases away the dark.” She looked into Imogen’s eyes. “You don’t always see how wonderful you are, darling. It’s easy to get caught up in the voices. If you never hear any other voice than mine, then let my words be this: I am here. I will always be here. When the voices are too much, let me placate your anxieties, let me hold you. Let me remind you of the beauty and warmth that I see when you can’t hear anything but noise. Because all I see—inside and out—is you, Imogen darling. You. And I will never need anything more than you—everything you are.”
Imogen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A few moments passed. Then, she whispered, “Your music is beautiful, Laudna.” She opened her eyes. “I am so lucky to be able to hear the depths of your soul every day. I am so lucky to live in your music, to have you by my side.” Imogen removed her hat and wrapped her arms around Laudna, leaning her head on her shoulder. “My wife.”
“The love of my long, once lonely life,” Laudna whispered, pressing a kiss to Imogen’s hair. “I am lucky to know your warmth and kindness, Imogen. I am lucky to have seen the worst of you—to have seen you at your weakest, most broken—and know that I would experience you at your most powerful.” Laudna tilted her head and pressed another kiss to Imogen’s hair. “I get to see you whole, happy, content. I’ll ask for nothing else as long as I live.”
Imogen squeezed Laudna’s waist, hands gathering in the material of her skirts. “I love you, Laud. More than anythin’.”
Laudna pulled Imogen closer, basking in her warmth. “And I love you, darling.” She carefully extricated one of Imogen’s hands from her waist and pressed it to her chest where her heart beat slowly. “That is you, darling—my heart and soul.”
Imogen glanced up at Laudna and smiled. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”