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The first few years had been hard. Incredibly hard.
Icy knew she could only be grateful for this chance, after everything she had done to the dimension over the years. Grateful that she was still here, and only because she had made the right decision at a crucial moment. Alive, and at least somewhat free. Bound to this small town in the middle of nowhere and without her magic powers, yes, but at least she wasn’t twiddling her thumbs in a tiny prison cell or counting the days until the sweet release of death in that awful monastery.
She should be grateful...and she was. But that didn't change the fact that sometimes, when it was dark and the silence became far too loud, she wished she hadn't survived every single one of those battles. That she had died with dignity, side by side with her sisters, maybe even just gotten dragged off to prison again. Insulted and beaten, but at least together. Instead of having to say goodbye to them for so long, maybe even for good.
It was selfish. Darcy and Stormy were probably doing well, better than they had ever been under her command. The two of them had a knack for making friends quickly, for fitting in wherever they went. Surely they were happy wherever they had been taken to. Last thing she heard was that Darcy was seeing Riven again, and Stormy had reconciled with some old classmates from Cloud Tower, getting herself into a friend group through them. Euphorbia and Gerbera, if Icy remembered their names correctly.
She had never been able to do that. Even during her time at Cloud Tower, she hadn't had a single friend who hadn't only submitted to her out of sheer fear of her and her notorious cruelty. Everyone knew of her and her terrifying ice powers. And now those powers were gone. She had become a nobody, just one face among many.
It was her own fault, she knew that too.
But it still hurt. To be reminded again and again how spectacularly she had failed. And it was terrifying – not to know who she even was without the powers that had once defined her.
For the first few months, she had often caught herself wandering around aimlessly and lost, observing and imitating people, hoping to discover what was hiding beneath the mask she had worn her entire life. She had always returned home without an answer, only with more despair and a greater hole in her heart. And with the ever-deepening knowledge that she was less a human being than a corrupted creature that just happened to look like one.
And then Bloom had come. Her only anchor. The only thing left of her old life. In whose presence she could at least feel a little bit like the proud witch she had once been.
Before everything had changed.
Apparently, she had been sent to help. The very thought of it still tasted like poison on Icy's tongue and weighed as heavy as lead. The fact that they believed she needed help.
Her.
The most terrible, most feared witch in the Magical Dimension. The Lady with the Heart of Ice, as she had been called in newspapers and reports. It had filled her with pride, and satisfaction. Nowadays she couldn't turn on the television or buy a magazine without being informed about her deep, deep fall from grace. Or having stupid wannabe psychologists tell her exactly what was supposedly wrong with her. Analyzing her as if she were some science project for school. Sometimes she saw her own face, which had somehow made it into the article. It always looked so empty and pathetic that she wanted to tear the newspaper to shreds. Or the TV.
That wasn't her.
This wasn't her.
“Do you want to tell me what's going on? Or will I have to guess again until you get bored by it?” asked the gentle voice of the fairy Icy had despised for so long. And who was now the only thing that still brought her any joy in life. The fairy who had lived here for the past two and a half years, with her in this boring apartment, in this dull little town. Watching over her, as the press liked to put it. Making sure she wouldn't do anything wrong, wouldn't hurt anyone or herself.
Oh, how she hated them all.
She felt Bloom's hand on her shoulder, softly squeezing it. She often did that when she sensed – or assumed – that something was wrong.
“Is it because I’ll have to leave soon?”
“No.”
In fact, that was the only thing Icy successfully pushed into the back of her mind every time Bloom reminded her. That their time was almost up. Three years. Three years they had given Bloom to help her get back on her feet after so many years of social isolation.
Surely, that time had seemed much longer to Bloom than it had to Icy. She was here voluntarily, of course she was. But there couldn’t be any fun in spending your time like a criminal, just to help a real criminal. Especially one like her. Who couldn't even bring herself to thank her for everything she'd done.
It wasn’t like she didn’t feel gratitude. Bloom had made so many things in her life better. Had shown her that maybe not everything was as hopeless as it seemed sometimes. That she might actually be more than what the Ancestral Witches had drilled into her every single day for over two decades of her life. That sometimes, being a completely ordinary person was okay.
But saying thank you made it all so final. That Bloom would be leaving.
And that Icy would be alone again.
“You know we can write to each other. I have to go back home, to my kingdom and my friends. But that doesn't mean I will just forget you.”
Bloom stepped in front of her and smiled at her so prettily that Icy had to look away to avoid blushing. Her cheeks became unpleasantly warm. She guessed it came from the absence of her magic. She had never experienced anything like it before.
It was revolting.
“You've been the biggest part of my life these past few years, Icy. I've had so much fun here with you. And I hope we can stay friends.”
Liar. She was probably glad to be rid of her. To have finally done her duty. To come home and brag about how great she was.
“Do you promise?” Icy asked anyway, “that you'll write?”
“Of course. I promise. If you promise as well.”
Icy mumbled an agreement, more or less enthusiastically. It seemed to satisfy Bloom, because she turned around, still smiling, and then went into the kitchen with a little hum to bake those stupid cupcakes she'd been heralding for days.
With a strange, heavy feeling in her heart, Icy listened. She knew she would miss Bloom so much more than Bloom would miss her. She could tell herself that she didn't care, that it didn't bother her, but that was one lie that sounded to ridiculous even to herself.
Her laughter, and that smug, proud grin when she had cracked a horrible joke and Icy would roll her eyes and smirk. Her open enthusiasm for anything with even the slightest hint of magic that she didn't know about, even though she had been a part of this world for so long now. Her witty and snide remarks, which were every bit as good as Icy's own – as she had grudgingly come to realize.
Bloom was special. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but something that even warmed her heart. Just a little.
****
The night after Bloom left was the first time Icy was glad to be alone, to have no one else around.
She could curl up under the covers in her bed and cry until the sky turned pink. No one was here to see. No one was here to make fun of her, or look down on her. No one witnessed her hesitating to leave her room and stumbling awkwardly toward the kitchen because everything felt so strange in the silence. Bloom had always been awake before her, singing or humming to herself while she made breakfast.
She had told Icy a few times about her past kitchen failures. And how much she enjoyed trying new things now that Flora had taught her how to cook properly. That's why it had always smelled good whenever Icy had finally managed to tear herself away from her bed.
But today there was no scent of pancakes, fried eggs, or hot chocolate. There was no smell at all. Even the cold winter air that came into the room when Icy opened the window, seemed lifeless and dull. She used to love it. She had always been outside at every opportunity, or at the very least stood at the open window, staring out until the temperature inside the apartment matched the outside.
She made scrambled eggs, just like she'd seen Bloom make. Or...tried to, at least. They almost burned and ended up looking more like those pellets that were being fed to animals than a proper human breakfast. But who cared. It was just about staying alive.
Until maybe someday she'd begin to see some meaning in it again.
She spent her days doing all sorts of things. Reading the books Bloom had brought her, taking walks to the places Bloom had always loved to take her. She had even started drawing, a little. It distracted her, for the moment, even though she always lost interest after a short while.
Because what she really wanted was light-years away. On Eraklyon.
The one thing she never did was write a damn letter. And with every letter Bloom sent her, with every passing month, she felt more guilty about it. She had tried often – sat down at her small desk, picked up a pen, only to stare at the blank sheet of paper for hours and give up eventually. Rinse and repeat. She didn't know what to write. Because everything she wanted to say to Bloom, she couldn't say. It would be too humiliating, even if she weren't almost certain that all the letters went through King Sky first before they even reached Bloom. And she certainly wasn't going to reveal her innermost feelings to that tool.
But what was left besides that?
Nothing happened here. Absolutely nothing. Every day was the same. It was a far cry from the life Bloom led on Eraklyon, which was surely incredibly exciting and beautiful. A queen had a lot to do – Bloom had told her so in several letters.
What could she possibly write about? She got up, ate if she felt like it, watched television, read, and went to bed. Her wildest adventures had to be her walks in the park if she happened to see a fox or a squirrel. It was pathetic, and Bloom certainly wouldn't want to know any of it.
Nevertheless, over time, the letters began to sound different. Almost as if Bloom were begging for a reply. Every time Icy read “I hope you’ll write soon” or “I hope you're well” on the letter, her throat tightened.
It wasn't fair. But Bloom couldn’t expect anything more from her, right? After all, Icy was a witch, one of the worst at that. She had never cared about fairness.
Still, she decided she had to let Bloom know that she was still alive, at least. That she hadn't given up, no matter how hard it was. She owed her that, for everything the fairy had done for her.
It had been almost a year now, after all.
She sat down at the desk and began to write.
Dear Bloom,
I'm sorry I'm only writing to you now.
She had to laugh at those first words alone. She really started with “I'm sorry”? An expression she hadn't uttered since she had accidentally knocked Darcy out cold for two days straight during one of their training sessions? 20 years ago?
She'd truly forgotten who she was.
Hesitantly, she picked up her pen again.
It was hectic. Life has been busy. I didn't know what to write.
Gritting her teeth, she crossed out everything. Empty justifications, two of them lies, one too humiliating to admit. She crossed it out so many times it became almost illegible.
After a quick glance, she stuffed the sheet of paper into her desk drawer with the dozens of other unfinished letters. The letter already looked awful, and Bloom didn't deserve to be confronted with such a half-heartedly scribbled mess. Her letters were always beautiful, even without their contents. Written in dark blue ink, in calm, flowing handwriting. And every time Icy opened the envelope, a faint scent of her perfume hung in the air.
She shook her head and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.
Hello Bloom.
Yes. That was better. Nothing too crazy.
I hope you've settled back in nicely at home. You’ve been away for a long time. Your friends and your husband must be happy to have you back.
It's the same as always here. The weather isn't changing much. It's been quite foggy lately, but then again, it is November. Darcy's favorite month, I told you once. I don't know if you remember. She loves the fog and the ghost stories and everything to do with them.
And after that it's my turn I guess. The air already smells of snow. It hasn't shown itself yet, but it probably won't be long now. You'd probably want to run outside and build a snowman immediately. Or roll around on the ground... I think you called it “making snow angels”?
Maybe I'll make one and send you a picture.
There's no snow on Eraklyon, is there? You said it's pretty warm there even in winter. I guess I'm lucky they dropped me off here and not there.
But of course, you'd be there.
Icy blinked and stared in horror at what she had just written. She frantically crossed it out and then shoved that piece of paper into the drawer too.
To all the others.
Maybe she just needed some wine. Surely she could manage to write a simple letter that wouldn't make Bloom think she had lost all of her marbles by now.
She opened one of the wine bottles that Bloom had imported directly from Eraklyon – like the showoff she was – and poured herself a generous glass. And then, with renewed energy, she sat down to write the next letter.
This one she would send. Definitely.
* * *
Icy did not send the next letter. Or the following five. The wine, shockingly, hadn't made things any easier. With each new sheet of paper she started, she seemed more desperate. More clingy, and so cheesy that Bloom would probably burst into laughter if she ever got to read any of this.
With her head in her hands, Icy sat over her last attempt. Trying to figure out what the hell was actually wrong with her. It was three in the morning, and on this damned letter was written, “I love you.”
Please come back to me.
I love you.
She hadn't been able to cross it out enough times to get those stupid words out of her head. Not because she couldn't explain how the hell that could’ve happened. But because it had been a much needed wake-up call.
Something she had denied even just to herself. But now that it was written there in black and white, it was pretty much pointless to continue to lie to herself and act like nothing had happened to her in those few years. Or maybe already before that. Bloom would never find out anyway, because she would never, ever see this letter.
With an exhausted sigh, Icy let her head fall onto the table.
She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until something jolted her awake. A noise startled her, and for a moment she looked around, disoriented.
The noise was a knock at the door. A rather frantic one at that.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Icy muttered, walking towards the door to open it.
Who in their right mind would even be visiting her? She never had visitors. She wasn't noisy, so it was unlikely to be one of the neighbors to complain. And as far as she knew, she hadn't done anything for the cops to be on her ass again.
Right?
As she opened the door, though, she would have preferred a grumpy looking police officer to the downright murderous looking person actually standing there.
“Ah,” Bloom said coldly, “so you are still alive. Could’ve fooled me.”
Icy blinked at her, confused.
“What...are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you to damn well explain to me why you're making me think you're dead or locked up somewhere again. You promised me something, remember? It was a while ago, but your memory shouldn't be that bad at 30.”
Icy wrinkled her nose angrily.
“You can keep the insults to yourself. As you can see, I'm fine. So you can leave now. In case you haven't noticed, I'm doing just fine without your company.”
Huh. Well, look at that. Maybe she was still a pretty decent liar after all.
“So you won't even let me in?”
“Maybe try a 'Hello, Icy' first. Then I'll think about it.”
Bloom put on the fakest smile Icy had ever seen on her.
“Hello, Icy. Nice to see you. I thought YOU WERE DEAD.”
Before she could even reply, Bloom had already stormed past her into her apartment. As if she still lived there. A large part of Icy's soul burned with rage at the sight, but a small part of her held back from throwing Bloom out and telling her that this hadn't been her home for a long time now.
Somehow, it was...a strangely comforting feeling. Knowing that Bloom still felt a little bit at home here. The way she immediately started putting away the dirty dishes and Icy’s clothes with a shake of her head and a loud sigh. And shooed her away when Icy tried to tell her to cease her actions immediately.
It all seemed so familiar that Icy started to feel sick. Maybe it was the fault of the wine from last night. Probably hadn't been such a good idea in hindsight. But who could have foreseen something like this?
Eventually, it got so bad that Icy couldn't even look at her anymore. Because it was all too much like it used to be.
Back when everything had been alright.
She fled to her bedroom. Locked the door behind her and tried to catch her breath.
Why was Bloom here? Why didn't she leave? She was only making things worse. Every extra minute spent near her was painful, and Icy desperately wanted to tell her to just leave her king and stay here forever. And that was precisely what she could never say. Bloom would start to hate her again.
Then she would have missed her last chance to have at least one real friend. If that was...even possible anymore.
She collapsed onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Trying to figure out what she could do and say to somehow fix things. Even though it was a laughable thought. She had that chance so many times. A single letter would probably have been enough, knowing Bloom.
And she hadn't even managed that.
She didn't know how long she had been lying there. It was a little darker than before, but that could also have been her imagination. In this damned fog, day and night looked almost the same anyway.
When Bloom started banging on her bedroom door, however, Icy knew she was running out of excuses. After the third time and a “Open the damn door now, or I'll tear it out,” she finally got up.
She had gotten to know Bloom well enough over the years to know that she rarely made empty threats. And that she probably really would be standing in front of her in a few seconds with the poor door in her hands.
When she opened, Bloom stood there with her arms crossed. She swayed slightly.
"Have you been...drinking?" Icy asked, raising her eyebrows. Bloom vaguely gestured behind her.
"Just a little. You still had some wine-" she explained, as if that somehow justified her rummaging through Icy’s shelves.
But what truly made Icy stall were her tear-stained cheeks, her red, glistening eyes, and the stack of papers she was holding.
Surely these weren't…
Icy had been pale her whole life, but she was certain she was looking like a ghost now. All the warmth she still possessed in her body drained from her face, and she stared at all the unsent letters she'd hidden away, then back at Bloom's face.
“Is that why you never answered me? Because you were afraid? Ashamed?” Bloom asked quietly.
Icy remained silent and lowered her head.
“I tried so many times,” she finally admitted carefully, “I just couldn’t do it. Every time I tried to write something nice, it came out like this. And I knew I could never have you, and that it was completely crazy to feel these things for you anyway. So…I just never sent them. I’m…sorry.”
Bloom glared at her, her forehead wrinkled, her eyes fiery. In the past, that expression would surely have amused Icy, or at least given her a certain satisfaction. But now it unsettled her. Of course, she understood that Bloom was upset that she hadn’t received a single letter in that whole year, while she’d written at least 20. But there was something else. She looked frustrated – disappointed.
Icy had always hated seeing anyone being disappointed in her.
With a deep sigh, Bloom rubbed her face and shook her head.
“Why do you think I came here back when you got out? Why? I didn’t owe you anything. No company, no help. If that were all it was about, I would have let you rot here. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
Bloom took a step closer and gently took Icy’s hand in hers. She stroked it softly, but didn’t look at her. Icy felt her breath on her neck and a shiver ran down her spine. It was ironic that this had never happened to her in the cold, and now it happened solely because of the warmth emanating from Bloom.
“For the same reason I couldn’t kill you back then. You were always the only one of my enemies that I always held some special connection with. I was glad when Darkar was destroyed. Valtor’s death was also a relief…I only felt guilty after you told me he meant a lot to you. I didn’t care about Ogron and his wizards, Tritannus, Acheron. But you? If I had let you die – or even killed you with my own hands – I could never have forgiven myself.”
Icy swallowed and remained silent. To this day, she didn’t know exactly how she had gotten back to Alfea from Lake Roccaluce, back then on that fateful day. Darcy and Stormy had made some strange remarks about Bloom and that she had apparently brought her back. But she hadn’t learned anything more from them – and, to be honest, hadn’t wanted to ask. It had been far too humiliating at the time. To be defeated like that, and then to be rescued by her enemy. She had never cared to know more than that.
But now…
“What happened back then?” she croaked and immediately cleared her throat.
Her hand was still in Bloom's. It was so uncomfortably warm that Icy's head began to spin. And yet, it felt...good. In a way. Her skin might have recoiled from the warmth, but her heart seemed to have longed for this for far too long.
“I defeated you, and you passed out, and then I saw you fall. I could never have melted the ice you used to freeze the lake in time. If you had landed, you probably would have broken your neck. Or...worse, which I don't want to think about. So I caught you and brought you back. For a long time afterward, I wondered if it was a mistake. Considering all the damage you caused after that.”
“Do you regret it?”
Bloom looked at her. Her eyes were glistening with tears, so brilliantly blue, it was almost annoying. She looked like a fairy straight out of a storybook. Those blue eyes, that flaming red hair. So stupidly perfect that Icy was once again struck by how battered and lifeless she looked in comparison.
Of course, she belonged to her king, who shone just as brightly as she did, with the flawless appearance of a nobleman from the Magic Dimension. Who, like her, belonged to one of the oldest family lines in existence. It only confirmed Icy's suspicions. Scum like herself would never fit into any of this.
Bloom shook her head, her hair falling even more beautifully around her face.
“No. Because you're standing here today. In front of me. And seeing this was worth it all. I always wanted to see who was really behind that mask you always wore. Somehow... I always knew that who you were wasn't everything.”
“It’s less,” Icy said tonelessly before she could stop herself.
She looked down, biting down hard on her lip. Partly to numb the embarrassment she felt with the pain, partly to hold back the rising tears in her eyes. But Bloom had other plans – she raised her hand, placed her fingers under Icy’s chin, and lifted her head slightly. Her eyes shone with a gentle gleam, the kind Icy had only ever seen in the way Flora looked at people.
Never in her entire life had anyone looked at her like that.
“No,” Bloom said, just as gently, “it’s so, so much more. You just don’t want to see it. Because you’re afraid that, despite everything, you’re still not good enough. For love. For…me.”
She sighed and looked past Icy out the window. She placed her hand on Icy’s cheek and absently rubbed it with her thumb.
“Sky and me are still married on paper,” she said then. “It’s only been a year since I returned and took my place as Queen of Eraklyon. The people wouldn’t approve of me abdicating so soon, so we have to handle this carefully. But…we…”
Icy perked up, her eyes widening. Did that mean…had she heard right…?
“You’re not together anymore?”
“No.”
Icy pushed Bloom away slightly, a little skeptically. Suddenly, the closeness was too intense, the fire too hot. She felt like this was going somewhere she had no control over. And control was the only thing she still had left. If she lost that as well, she knew she would crumble for good.
“Why not? You two were always…such a fairytale couple. Like you were made for each other, or some cheesy shit like that.”
Bloom laughed bitterly.
“That's how it seemed, didn’t it? But it wasn't like that. Not quite. As often as he was attentive and sweet, he was quick-tempered and jealous. Of practically every other man I ever spoke to, apart from our close friends. Even after we were married. And that's when I knew he just...doesn't trust me. Even a ring wasn't enough to show him that I only wanted him – I just got fed up at some point, you see? When I came back, he interrogated me, wouldn't leave my side, accused me of things. That I only came here to sleep around with random men.”
Bloom pulled her a little closer again after looking at her questioningly and receiving a tentative nod from Icy.
“And then there was also...well, the fact that I no longer felt comfortable in my role as Queen of Eraklyon. It got worse every night. Often I woke up disoriented because I didn't know where I was. And when I finally realized I was back at the palace, I was...disappointed. Because I knew I was about to be served an utterly lavish breakfast with five servants staring at me, waiting for me to need help with something. Instead of...the two of us sitting at the table, drinking our hot chocolate, watching the snow fall outside, or the animals running around. That I would be forced into a dress and have to stand around all day smiling nicely, instead of going to the forest or the beach with you. I started to miss this life here and the person I could be so much that my mood deteriorated. And Sky noticed that, too.”
“And that's why you two fought?”
“Something like that. It wasn't even a real fight. That's what made it the worst part, to be honest. I think he was just as aware as I was that this long time away had changed me. That I...missed more of my old life than I wanted to admit. And that I missed you. A lot. Too much.”
Icy swallowed the heavy lump in her throat. She had the feeling she was still dreaming, or had bumped her head somewhere in a drunken stupor. She expected to wake up any minute, alone in this apartment, which had seemed far too big for her alone after Bloom left.
But she didn't wake up. And it felt so strangely real for a dream, too.
“Does that mean...you want to…stay?” she rasped weakly.
Bloom nodded.
“I would love to. If you want me to. If you want…us. I’ll stay here, but I need to hear it from you. Please, Icy.”
She squeezed Icy’s hand tighter when she realized that she was trembling. Her, the powerful Witch of Ice. It had to be a shameful sight. And yet Bloom remained silent, refusing to take back what she had said. She didn’t leave.
“Please stay,” Icy finally whispered, though everything in her mind resisted, trying not to make herself vulnerable, “I love you. I don’t want you to leave again. Please stay with me.”
Bloom’s face, which had been serious, even a little scared, brightened, and she began to smile more radiantly than Icy had ever seen.
She was so beautiful. Why would such a wonderful woman want...someone like her?
“Then I'll stay. I love you too.” Her soft hand landed on Icy's cheek again. She was still smiling.
“May I?” she asked.
Icy nodded.
Her lips were every bit as soft and gentle as her words. Icy's heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest. Never in her entire life had she felt anything like this. Something so good, without having done anything wrong. Weeping fairies, terrified specialists, and people kneeling before her had always been the only thing that had truly made her happy. Or rather...what she had called happy back then. It had been like a rush, witnessing the power she possessed.
It had been everything there was in her life. Aside from Darcy and Stormy, she'd had no friends, and even with them, Icy hadn't always been sure if they wouldn’t eventually stab her in the chest. She had been a difficult, sometimes truly repulsive witch. She never had a home to retreat to. After all, the Ancestral Witches didn't know the meaning of “home.”
But Icy felt that, after all these years, she finally grasped the meaning of that word now. This apartment wasn't home. It was nothing more than an empty shell – a lesson she had learned painfully over the past year.
Loneliness had consumed her, eaten at her soul at every waking hour. But she wasn't alone anymore.
Her home...was standing right in front of her. Had just pulled away from her lips and was currently grinning cheerfully at her. Asking if she fancied some hot chocolate and homemade cinnamon rolls as much as she did.
Icy nodded, and felt the corners of her own mouth turn up slightly. Just for a fleeting moment. But it hadn't been fake. She had...felt it. Really felt it.
That made Bloom beam even more.
“I know it'll take a while for you to believe me, if ever” she said, “but that just now was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.”
She nudged Icy's side with her elbow and then took her hand, dragging her into the kitchen.
“Next time, don't make me wait another 15 years to see it. Okay?”
Icy chuckled softly.
“Okay.”