Chapter Text
The sweet sound of a gentle tune hummed through upturned lips fills the air as she tilts her head back, staring at the trees above her. Branches that reach for the heavens are adorned in beautiful bright yellows, burnt oranges, and deep reds. The gentle breeze caresses the leaves, coaxing them to fall from their home above in an elegant dance before reaching their final destination of the earth from which they originated.
Laughter fills the air, accompanied by the screeching of children and the sound of music loudly playing on a speaker in the distance.
She scrunches her nose as the breeze blows against her face. There’s a slight cold nip in the air. Pointing towards the changing seasons. Fall is due to soon make its leave as winter approaches.
A smile adorns Sally’s face as she allows her shoulders to settle, her fingers to uncurl from where they were digging into her palms, and her footsteps to become lighter. The long endured tension from her stressful week alleviates somewhat as she loses herself in the nature surrounding her.
The park is akin to a small oasis in the city made of concrete and steel. It’s amazing what seeing stretches of grass and the blooming of flowers can do for the soul.
Sally’s eyes flicker down from the sky as she catches the faint form of a woman in the breeze.
A frown graces her lips from which moments before had shown such joy, now extinguished. She casts her eyes down to the ground as her mind stirs with the usual troubles that seem to plague her no matter where she goes.
Growing up, before her parents passed, they always would joke of her wild imagination. How she could see the most magnificent of things from the most mundane sources.
They were more amused by her descriptions than anything. Not concerned when she would point to the sky and exclaim she could see a flying horse. Not when they’d pass a body of water and she’d claim to see pretty ladies swimming in its depth. Not even when she’d cower against her mother’s side as she murmurs about a one-eyed man with a strangely familiar voice.
Yes, they were amused. Seeing it only as the manifestations of a growing imaginative child.
When she came into her Uncle’s care, he found it less amusing.
She learned quickly to bite her tongue on the matter. Not allowing herself to divulge in her quote ‘hallucinations’ or ‘fits of madness’.
Part of her wonders if he was right. If she really is crazy.
But what is she supposed to do about it? It’s not like she can afford to see a psychologist. And truly, besides some slight paranoia, the visions do no true harm.
Even with these justifications, her Uncle’s brash condescending voice echoes in her ears. Unwanted and poisonous in nature.
Sally sighs as her mind becomes filled with the reminders of his passing and where it has placed her currently.
Broke. Exhausted. Drained. And overworked.
And with no means to fix any of it. Stuck working jobs no one wants to do, with little compensation in pay to show for it. After all, not having a high school diploma severely limits job opportunities. Her impeccable work ethic does not matter in the face of not possessing a sheet of paper.
A sudden numbness in her fingers and toes and the whipping of a strong teeth-chattering inducing wind has her head jerking up in confusion.
It’s as though winter has come crashing down upon her with a vengeance. Depressing and barren. Void of all life.
Sally pulls her sleeves down as she wraps her fingers around them and hunches her shoulders to protect her neck better from the sudden brutal chill.
She considers abandoning her stroll in favor of taking the more direct route to her workplace. Yet her eyes catch on a figure that draws all the breath from her lungs.
A woman sits along a bench placed at the foot of where the pavement meets the grass. A dark cloak encases her form painting her in darkness. The hood is drawn hiding her face from view.
A dark hollowness surrounds the woman. It teems with frequent sharp spikes of fury only to be overcome by waves of anguish.
The woman oozes pain so strongly Sally can’t help but take a step forward, drawn to the woman.
Instantly, as though sensing Sally’s presence and movement, the woman’s head whips up at a near inhuman speed and her face is revealed.
Golden, brilliant, hair frames the woman’s tanned face. Her lips are downturned in a deep stark frown that hides gritted teeth. But it’s her eyes that have Sally rooted to the spot. They shift like a kaleidoscope. Going from a vibrant luscious green with specks of gold to a deep green so dark it appears black. As black as tar and a universe void of stars.
There’s a faint glow to the woman as well. One that Sally has no doubt thrums with energy. One that is dimmer than it has the potential to be.
A small voice in the back of her head slithers and curls around her mind whispering of tricks of light. Of how nonsensical the image before her is. Of how it’s not real, just like the rest of them.
Yet as the woman locks eyes with her, eyes that hold such soul-crushing despair, Sally finds herself uncaring if she’s real or not.
She braves another step forward, causing the woman’s darkened eyes to widen minutely before narrowing somewhat in apprehension.
Sally is undeterred. She braces the wind which seems to only get colder and colder, approaching arctic temperatures, with each step she takes. As she approaches she notes the grass underneath the woman is dry and brown. A small patch of frost expands across the dead plant-life.
The woman tilts her head up, her hood falls back slightly to reveal more of her face. Her gaze is intense. Scathing even in its appraisal.
Sally speaks before she knows the words that form on her tongue, “May I sit with you?”
The woman purses her lips, perhaps surprised by the audaciousness and forward nature of the request.
She inspects Sally quietly before nodding with a small inclination of her head.
Sally seats herself gingerly. Her body is instantly wracked with shivers as she makes contact with the metal of the bench. Though, she has a deep suspicion it is not the bench that has brought on the cold.
She watches the growing frost that is beginning to form on the surface of her shoes, “You’re upset.”
It’s not a question, but a statement.
The woman glances at Sally from underneath her hood with trepidation. She grits through her clenched jaw, “Yes.”
Sally hums as her fingers lose circulation, turning a ghostly white, “Would you like to talk about it?”
The woman glowers at her as if she is an irritating fly buzzing around her head, “Why are you speaking with me?”
Sally shrugs half-heartedly, staring ahead at the fall scene that is just out of reach of the bubble of winter she’s willingly subjected herself to, “I know what it’s like to feel like you have no one to turn to.”
That it’s obvious this is how the woman appears goes unsaid.
Sally attempts to wiggle her fingers to will the blood to flow back into them as she calmly states, “I’m a stranger. There’s little risk in confiding in me. Especially if it’ll make you feel better.”
The woman laughs sharply, a bit unkind, “You are a mere mortal. Of course there is little risk.”
Sally quirks an eyebrow at the strange comment but doesn’t push further. Waiting for the woman to come to a decision.
It may be only a few seconds but under the brutal cold it feels eons go by before the woman finally speaks, “It’s my daughter.”
Before Sally can so much as react to the words the woman bites out bitterly, “She’s left me.”
Sally pauses, unsure what exactly ‘left’ means in this context. Has her daughter moved away? Or has she left as in permanently left? As in the departure from the living world? Death.
Sally voices neither of these questions, instead she goes with the pull of her gut, “Did she want to?”
The woman’s angry tremors halt as the words settle against her. She ponders the question deeply, turning it about in her mind over and over again until her lips part to respond, “At first, no. But I fear that has changed.”
Sally trembles as shivers crawl along her skin, yet her voice remains steady, “Change is difficult, but necessary.”
The woman raises her head, angling it in Sally’s direction to face her head on as Sally continues, “Perhaps she is finding her own way. Growing more independent.”
Sally turns then, facing the woman head on. Sea blue eyes clash with moss green, “But change and growth do not mean we leave all we’ve known behind.”
Sally smiles softly as the woman’s eyes bore into her with a non-subtle yearning, “She’ll always need you. You’re her mother. I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten you.”
Sally gestures with frozen hands towards their surroundings, “Just like winter gives way to spring, she will return and her absence will have made it all the sweeter.”
The comment seems to strike a chord with the woman as she leans back, hissing out, “I do not wish to wait for winter to give to spring. I wish for her now.”
Sally hardens her gaze at the woman as she not unkindly instills a poignant message, “You have to let her grow, to have her own life.”
The woman grows agitated as she bites out, “It is not so simple. She had a life of her own before he stole her. It is he that has taken choice from her, not I.”
Sally blinks, digesting the words providing the smallest crumb of context to the situation.
“I do not know your full situation, but maybe the best thing to do is trust in your daughter. Trust in that you’ve raised her well. And that if she needs help, she’ll seek it.”
Sally gently places her hand against the woman’s side as she mumbles, “I can tell you care greatly for her. And I’m sure she knows it.”
The woman’s frown eases at her words. She surprisingly does not shy away from Sally’s touch. Instead, she quickly darts her hand out to grasp Sally’s as she faces her with a startling sincerity, “You have not eased all my worries, but you have shown me kindness where few do on this subject. And for that, I thank you.”
The woman’s lips quirk up in a small smile.
Sally’s not quite sure what comes over her then. Perhaps it’s the pulsing warmth emitted from the woman’s hands where it holds her own or maybe it’s her lack of inhibition, but she finds herself asking with a desperation, “What’s your name?”
The woman’s eyes seem to glow faintly as the wind carries her voice, “Deo.”
The name descends on her with a heavy air causing her to blink in momentary shock.
Sally startles as feeling returns to her fingers. The frost around her melts and the grass gains its vibrant green. As though winter had never graced the area.
And with winter’s disappearance, the woman as well has vanished.
A pit of sorrow settles in Sally’s chest at having have lost her companion. A companion she is uncertain was real or fictitious. Though all signs point towards the latter she can’t help but hold onto the woman’s image. She had felt real. Tangible. Even otherworldly as she was.
However, there is one thing to contest the woman being a figment of her imagination.
An unfamiliar weight has settled in Sally’s palm which the woman had snatched in her grasp.
Sally stares down quizzically at the plump purple fig in her hand.
Sally’s not exactly fond of figs. Yet this fig looks
perfectly ripe and incredibly enticing. Its aroma curls around her nose. Her mouth waters and before she can process any further she finds herself lifting her hand to take a bite of the fruit.
The flavor splashes against her tongue as the juices run down her chin.
It’s the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. A fig of all things.
A month later, an overwhelming onslaught of signs that make no logical sense lead to Sally shakily holding up a positive pregnancy test in the dim lighting of her cramped bathroom.
Well, she muses with a near sick amusement as panic pulses rapidly beneath it, since when has her life ever made sense?