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She was a pitiable little thing.
Adults communicated funny. Once, when she told a pair of them her parents were dead, one of them bent down, pat her on the head, and gave her gummy bears.
It was her first time eating them. Celine had to soothe her when she started crying over the thought of chewing their heads off and hurting them irreparably. That day, Rumi learned that food couldn't feel pain. Not like humans do. Silly her.
When she got gummy bears from more adults, she'd count them in her hand, sorting by colour. Two red bears and one blue bear. One green, two orange, two pink.
She liked the purple ones best, but she'd never admit it. That would be biased of her, and therefore, very unfair to the bears. Celine never said they didn't have feelings.
On her sixth birthday, she got a teddy bear from the famed teddy bear museum. It was light brown with a red ribbon wrapped snug around its neck. It also had fur, unlike those sticky gummy bears.
She took it everywhere, from playtime in kindergarten to her blanket in bed. When sick or sleepy, she'd suckle on the bear's ear, letting it lure her into her dreams, away from it all.
Celine sometimes took pictures of her. A gesture to smile, a click and flash of a camera, and pictures that only showed when you shook them were standard fare for Rumi.
They hung the pictures up on their fridge after some begging from Rumi. She'd seen them in cartoons and books, done by happy families. So, to her, that meant they had to do it too.
Except, she had one living Mom and one dead one.
Whenever she grabbed a bag of gummy bears from the basket on their kitchen counter, she'd stare up at the pictures. With her braid over her shoulder, the end tied neatly in a ribbon, she ran her hand over a picture with Celine and her Mom.
There were other pictures too. None of Dad. Many of Rumi; some of all three Sunlight Sisters. In them, she saw her future lined out in perfect detail.
She shook the bag after ripping it open. Three gummy bears fell into her palm. Purple and pink and blue.
As she shifted on her too-big chair, the pink and blue gummies bumped into each other, touching stubby hands.
Thinking of her family, and the other children with their Moms and Dads, she ate the purple bear first, slowly chewing on it.
She didn't want to cause it too much pain. Its heart would be eaten last.
Mom was legendary. There was no room for error. She'd hold back her tears, on the training grounds or in her bed, cradling her practice sword to her chest.
At five, she thought her patterns looked like lightning. Then, at seven, she thought they looked like scars instead. The cut she got from a tumble from her bicycle looked like a red, oozing version of her patterns.
She gathered the blood on her finger, rubbing it on her pale neck. It clung, sticky and suffocating, just like her patterns.
(Did patterns or blood come first? Evil or the hope that good would prevail?
She wondered day and night, till dawn and maybe, one day, beyond her dusk too.)
Celine only gave her practice swords. Wooden. Curved. Non-sharp. The knives in the kitchen and the blade in her pencil sharpener were much, much better weapons than the practice swords.
Regardless, she swung as hard as she could, and the demon dummies would cough up white fluff. She would've brought up how inaccurate the fluff was to Celine, but she figured that it was too time-consuming to dye all the demon dummies' insides red.
Rumi blinked up at one during practice, her wooden sword held loosely in hand. Its beady eyes stared into nothing. She didn't know if they were accurate either.
Her eyes seeing through glassy ones, her reflection living proof of her demonhood, she brought her finger, tip red-stained, and marked the demon dummy's neck.
There. X marked the spot.
One swing was all it took. Behind her, enshrouded in her shadow, the demon dummy wept.
Rumi blinked, and its fluff became white again. Her hand met tears. It all felt so, so real.
She leaned her head against the wooden grove of her fig tree. It was etched and bent, but didn't waver at her weight.
"Hey, Mom."
She rapped her knuckles onto the bark. The branches and leaves gave a welcoming shake from above.
"Can you believe it? I'm debuting." She laughed. "Huntrix. Apt name, huh?"
She looked up at the sky.
"Were you nervous? After years and years of practice, you got to finally be able to be on stage." She smiled, relieved. "All that hard work, all the time put into perfecting your vocals. To be able to say you did it?"
A small leaf flew past. It landed next to her knee, idle once more.
"Though, of course, I know I'm not done yet. After all, I still got the Honmoon to seal." She scratched the back of her neck sheepishly. "Ah. Modesty. I understand that's another important part of being an idol. I'll work hard to be better at that. I promise."
She pressed her hands together. "I'll be the best. The best vocalist, the best hunter, the best daught—"
She flinched as her arm slashed against a stray bit of bark from the tree trunk. Her arm stung, then started to bleed. Now that would leave a mark.
She slumped. "Sorry." She bowed her head close to the ground. "Sorry."
Her repentance and respect grounded the silence. Blood started sliding down her arm, before she wiped it all with a finger.
She pressed down against the cut. It threatened to pool and escape. She pressed down harder. Her teeth didn't grit.
"Modesty," Rumi said. "I'll remember, I promise. I'm sorry again."
She wished she could change like Mira and Zoey.
Aggressive to calm. Hyper to sensible. They grew up and out and in, taller or still a head shorter.
With training, they grew stronger. During training, Rumi never felt so outclassed in something she'd dedicated her whole life for.
("Demon dummy down! Demon dummy down!"
They slashed the last of the demons, herself a pathetic step behind.
"Demon dummy down," she parroted, her neck itchy.)
Her shoulders remained the broadest. They glanced at her before attacking, waiting for her lead. And like she promised, she held her revered sword in perfect stance, and never allowed a single blow to hit her girls or herself.
Zoey's six blades caught in the light. Mira parried claws away, parallel to Zoey, her ears nothing but an attentive audience to the blades that flew past just a few centimetres away from them.
In a crouch and leap, Rumi let her sword sink deep into a demon's chest. It was easy with a little strength and a lot of certainty.
She always swished the blood away from her sword every battle. There was no use for messes.
After the battle, they'd return home and wash away the blood. Under their fingernails, mainly. They favoured extensions for this reason. Their clothes usually remained unsalvageable, if they forgot to change to the darkest of colours.
Though, every once in a while, Zoey would bring out her nail polish. That night, she let Zoey take her hand.
"Sooo, lilac?"
She shook her head.
"Pink? Blue?" Zoey waggled her eyebrows. "No? Woah, Rumi, you're branching out?"
Frowning, she told Zoey to get it on already.
"Pouty! And grumpy. Tch, those demons will pay for what they've done to my Rumi tonight." Zoey stared at her. Then, her smile turned sheepish. "Too much? Sorry. Here, relax. Do you want gold, maybe?"
At her nod, Zoey started painting her nails a glittery gold. She tried to remain still, she really did, but Zoey had to keep reminding her.
Mira came back from her shower in a fluffy, white bathrobe and cute baby-blue bedroom slippers. She sat next to them, her long hair bundled in a towel.
"They look good," she said, looking at Rumi's left hand.
Zoey carefully coated her brush with more gold polish. She took Rumi's right hand in her own. "Relax, silly."
Rumi did.
"If she tried harder, maybe it would've worked," Mira complained.
"I know right?" Zoey agreed. She clicked her tongue as she painted another nail. "I mean, who does she think she is?"
They had the tendency to gossip. She never really understood it.
"Just one more to go, Rumi," Zoey said.
Rumi tried her hardest to relax and change.
A drop of nail polish dripped onto the tissue beneath their hands.
"Damnit," Zoey muttered.
"Told you you'd need it," Mira said. "But you were saying you didn't."
"Ah, ah. Hush and be calm, child. The auteur is working."
"I hope the ceiling collapses and crushes you."
"I'd drag you down with me if it does."
"No death."
Zoey and Mira's gazes snap to her.
Her thumb was the only nail left unpainted. Zoey had let go in surprise. Rumi didn't tremble under the weight of their stares.
"No. No death," she muttered. She tried very hard to keep still, continuing to stare at her hand.
"Okay," Zoey said, her tone cautious. "Sorry."
Mira stared a bit longer, but, soon, she also said, "Sorry. It's been rough lately, huh?"
All Rumi could do was look at them with eyes that were too slippery.
Mira reached out, rubbing Rumi's back. When Zoey grabbed her hand again, she didn't ask Rumi to relax.
"Last one, okay?" Zoey asked. She smiled kindly, like she knew Rumi was about to ruin the tissue below them with her own snot and tears. "Then, maybe you'd like to do Mira's? Which colour do you want, Mira?"
"Hm. Black."
"You can paint her nails black, then. Yeah?"
Rumi locked eyes with Zoey. Her gaze was kind and patient. Hours before, when she slashed a demon's head clean off its body, her gaze was furious, then gleeful.
Rumi nodded, unable to muster the ability to speak again for the rest of the night.
Once, Rumi pulled out a red crayon and erased herself from one of the pictures on the fridge.
Celine had scolded her, saying it was a bad, bad thing for her to do. The apples she gave Rumi after were the same colour of her crayon. She washed her hands before eating one.
On trees, sometimes, worms would climb up and bite into apples, eating them to their cores. The cored-out apples would fall, alone, away from their family and into filthy mud. The wind would then blow them far, far away—from home, from comfort.
Where the apple went, it couldn't control. Cored-out, shred of all its red, it would sink and spoil the dirt it touched.
Rumi had once pulled out a pair of gummy bears and worried about ripping their heads off with her teeth.
Celine saw two front teeth sharper than the rest, and told her to always keep her mouth shut while eating. On the dining room table, she would put down another red apple, even after Rumi had been bad.
Rumi, her sleeves to her wrists, chewed slowly, waiting for the worms to climb up and hollow her inside out.
Her teddy was the best patient she could've ever wished for.
Ruby—she decided to name after the red ribbon around her neck—was lying on her bed. She stretched her teddy's arms as far as they could go. She did the same with her legs.
Ruby looked just like a snowflake. Just like those winter angels and their indents in the ground she'd try to imitate.
She lifted Ruby's arms up and down.
Up, down. Up, down. Up, down.
Even if her bedsheets were dark green like grass and not pure white like snow. Maybe grass angels could be created too. Then, all the angels could be friends.
Once she did the same with Ruby's legs, she proudly announced, "Blood flow, perfect! Good job, Ruby."
She pat Ruby on the head. It was a deserving reward for being so good.
"Now." Rumi poked Ruby's little button nose. "We need to check your heart."
Around her neck was a toy stethoscope. The actual ones were for professionals only, but she'd like to think she was trailing steadily behind all the doctors' footsteps, clutching at their flowing, white coats.
She brought the stethoscope up to Ruby's chest, to the left, to the heart. She listened closely.
"Ba-dump. Ba-dump," she mimicked the sounds of a heartbeat. "Ba-dump. Wow, Ruby! You're doing it."
Rumi brought the stethoscope up to her own heart. She didn't make a sound.
"Just as expected!" She chucked the fake stethoscope to the side. "Now, Ruby, you gotta relax for this."
She ran a hand over her teddy's fur, making it as comforting as Celine's caresses to the top of her head as she was braiding her hair.
She smiled reassuringly at Ruby even as she strained her arm to grab at the final tool on her bedside table. "This might hurt, but it's okay. That just means you're normal."
After a slight slip from the bed, one of her knees now bruised and growing natural purple, she returned to the centre of the bed with her toy hammer.
"Stretchhh," she said, grabbing Ruby's left leg. "There. Won't hurt a single bit, okay?"
She brought the hammer down, tapping twice on Ruby's knee, somewhere in the middle of her stubby leg.
"No pain, right?"
Ruby's beady eyes stared back at her.
"Now! Other limbs out."
Rumi repeated the process precisely. All of Ruby's limbs were in tiptop shape. Ready for anything life threw at her.
Rumi smiled. She hugged Ruby close to her chest, squeezing tightly. It might've hurt, but that was normal.
"So proud of you," she mimicked. She squeezed Ruby so tight one of Ruby's arms puffed up unnaturally.
"So, so proud of you."
Rumi tended to her injury after with practiced hands. Truly, what did all those doctors know that she didn't?
"What did I eat for lunch?" Rumi read a comment off her phone. A dozen more proceeded to push the comment she had read away.
"I had some burgers just now with Zoey and Mira," Rumi answered, staring into the phone camera. Her own reflection on her screen reminded her she was live. "I ate one with beef."
She titled her head. "What else? Some fries. Curly ones, because Zoey insisted we get them." She giggled. "Oh, yeah, and I got extra pickles in my burger. Mira and Zoey made fun of me for that. They're quite mean, aren't they?"
"They're not?!" Rumi replied exaggeratingly. "So many of you are disagreeing… Hunters. I can't believe you're betraying me."
She placed a hand over her heart, pouting slightly. "Don't you love me, Hunters?"
After she did so, there came an overwhelming outpour of support for her burger preferences. She smiled.
"Aegyo? No? That wasn't aegyo at all," she teased.
She adjusted her posture, pushing back the chair she was sitting in by the slightest of centimetres. Looking at the camera, she confirmed that she was now in perfect view.
"I've been sleeping well," she said, maintaining her smile. "The hotel bed is super comfortable." She gave a thumbs up. "Props to the hotel management and staff. They work hard."
Her eyes were starting to droop. She stifled a yawn, biting her lower lip minutely. She met the taste of her lipstick as she did.
"Hot?" Rumi read another comment outloud. She tugged at her sweater. "I have the air conditioning turned on, so I'm feeling pretty cold right now."
Her makeup was starting to feel really suffocating. She tugged the wool that clung to her neck higher.
There was a knock on her door. Her socked feet dug into the carpet.
"We have a guest, it seems," she said. "Give me a moment." She stood up, walking to the door.
When she opened it, she was greeted with a monotone, "Surprise."
"You wanted to say hi to the fans?" Rumi whispered.
Mira shrugged. "I don't mind," she whispered back. "But mostly, I wanted to give you this."
She extended a plastic bag towards Rumi. From it came a pleasant aroma that made her stomach tingle in hunger.
"Dinner," Mira said. "It's almost ten. Eat, then sleep right after. You're tired." She shoved the bag towards Rumi's chest.
Mira tugged on the sleeve of her worn-out graphic tee. She casually stuffed her hands in her sweatpants after Rumi took the bag.
Rumi, still blinking in surprise, accidentally replied in a voice louder than intended, "I'm that obvious?"
Mira's eyes softened around the edges. She put her hand on Rumi's head, running her hand through some loose strands.
"Come on," Mira said, walking inside. She grabbed Rumi's hand, tugging her along. "For the fans."
Mira let go of her before the camera's view. Her smile became wider, even as the edges of her eyes stiffened that tiny bit. "Hi Hunters. I've replaced Rumi."
After gathering herself for a few seconds longer than she should have, Rumi came into the audience's view. Dozens and dozens of comments were pouring in at both their appearances. All love, all excitement and support.
Mira didn't sit down. Bent over, staring at the screen of the phone broadcasting them to the world, she glanced expectantly at Rumi, then the chair.
Rumi held the plastic bag to her chest, hugging it too tight for a moment. The sight of Mira made everything snap into place, like a camera's lens focusing on the centrepiece. From this angle, Rumi probably looked like a blurry mess.
She took a deep, subtle breath. A motion practiced for decades.
"Thank you, Mira," she said. She brought the plastic bag into view of the camera. "But this is my live." Impromptu Mukbang at 10pm didn't seem all that bad, all things considered.
Mira's smile twitched, but remained. More sweat clung and stuck to her neck.
Oh, how she wish she could change.
(She'd done it this time. They had to know now.)
She wished the rafters could open up. Allow for one small human to climb up and hide with the rest of the vermin.
(They stared at her, scrutinising. Her see-through smile, past her thin flesh to her bones—reflected in their brown eyes.
In another light, their eyes flashed with something unrecognisable.)
Rumi pulled at a nail with her teeth. She stopped, when it caught on a fang.
Could nailclippers work on fangs too? Tongs? Pliers?
She needed it to go away. Just. Go away.
("Cover up," she said.
She draped a coat over her. She would always be taller than her.
"How are you still cold?"
"Rumi. You're like the opposite of a living heater, I swear."
She shivered under all the eyes on her.)
Rumi grasped at her head. Was that what Celine was looking for? Another slip-up?
After all the training and practice. Years moulding her into what she was already meant to become.
Was it okay for her to leave when a snowstorm came? She'd cover up and up until her nose barely showed behind her scarf.
One tug. And then the world would fade into black.
(She swore she'd become someone great. Her mother and father would be proud, and then, her father would appear in one of the pictures on the fridge like fairytale magic.
One day, his daughter would kill his own kind in cold blood.)
She swore, she swore, she swore.
Snap.
She was staring at herself in the mirror.
Disoriented, she looked down at her own hands. They had been in the penthouse sink the whole time, cold water flowing across her palms.
Shakily, she reached to turn the tap off.
Only later, in her own room, did she realise she missed a spot. She hadn't dried her hands completely.
So, she reached up and wiped a line across her throat. There. Clean again.
Likening herself to them would be an act of inadequacy. But that wasn't all true. They were analogous. The Honmoon's powers and trust ran through all of them.
From late night talks, Rumi could understand their fears, tucking their vulnerabilities in her own heart as well.
When Mira burnt pictures of her family, a leer on her face, Rumi saw herself.
When Zoey put a pen to her nth notebook, writing about being torn between two worlds, Rumi empathised more than she had words for.
There was jealousy there too. But she long since learned how to suffocate parts of herself.
They could go to the bathhouse together, and she'd be content staying behind. No matter how much they'd pry, convince, then, after getting the hint, comfort—she wouldn't budge.
Whenever she shut up, they knew it would lead to nowhere. So, they learned to be patient with her instead.
Sometimes, Rumi wished they'd just slap her instead. It would be so much better than what they'd given her, and continue to do so.
"You're kind," Zoey said, leaning on her shoulder. "I don't tell you that enough, do I?"
Zoey had. Dozens and dozens of times.
"Well, you deserve to hear it again," Zoey said. "You're kind, inside and out."
What were they seeing? Weren't they content on their own?
She wasn't stupid. She knew they hung out without her many, many times before. Could she really blame them though?
She's heard them. Mira's rare snorts that she'd try to hide with a hand. Zoey's boisterous laugh that bounced from wall to wall.
Their joy was so infectious.
"I'm sorry," Mira said. "I didn't treat you the best when we were younger. It wasn't fair to you."
What was Mira talking about? All those fights, didn't it lead to her in the end?
"I see you now. I think." Mira had a small smile on her face. "I know you don't like to talk about certain things, so thank you for opening up when you feel comfortable to. It means a lot."
Wouldn't it be better if she didn't exist?
It was easier to convince herself that the distance was necessary. One day, the other shoe would drop, and then she'd be alone again.
But…
"Happy birthday Rumi," they said in unison. Zoey had strapped a party hat to Rumi's head. She had sidestepped past Mira, who was holding a cake, to do it. Now, they all matched hats.
"Twenty-three years of age," Zoey said, sniffling. "Oh, you're so old now."
"Hey, you're not that much younger," she half-heartedly retaliated. She was still in shock from the celebration.
Mira gestured her to their dining table. The motion was still graceful even with her hands preoccupied.
Mira brought out a lighter when one of the candles blew out by accident. Once lit again, she stepped to stand behind Rumi, alongside Zoey.
There were hands on Rumi's shoulders. One reached to pat her head. Without looking back, she knew they were smiling.
She'd never been one to celebrate her own birthday. Despite it, she blew out the candles anyway.
They both pulled her into a hug after. She found it in herself to relax.
Their joy was just so goddamn infectious.
At a smaller cut, she'd liken it to her patterns. At a bigger cut, she'd get her bedsheets all soaked in her blood. And there'd be no way to clean that.
The door was locked.
At a moderate cut, upper arm, where her patterns were, they'd look perfectly human.
Blood trickled down her arm. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
She turned Ruby away every time she did this. There was no need to taint her further. Still, when Rumi got clean, Ruby got cradled in her arms.
Rumi mouthed at the top of Ruby's round head. The fur was the softest thing she'd ever felt.
"Do you think Celine would get mad?" Rumi asked. "But she was the one that taught me how to bandage wounds in the first place…"
Celine expected her to get hurt. She also learned that Celine was very hard to read and understand sometimes.
"… Am I being bad?"
Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away frantically.
"Goodnight, Ruby," she said. Better to sleep than keep thinking.
But, before she did, she reached out to untie the red ribbon around Ruby's neck. Around her wrist, and she would be reminded of all she'd done.
It stood out pretty on her wrist the next morning. She smiled, practiced, at Celine.
"I think I finally understand you now."
She was sat in front. The incense burned at her nose, but without it, she'd press her forehead against the ground for hours longer than usual.
"I mean, you wanted all of them in your life, right?" she breathily said. "But you couldn't decide. You had a choice, and you chose to do nothing.
"And I thought my life was full of choices. Or that if I just tried hard enough, I could micromanage every single thing into place."
She laughed a little. An off-putting noise past a cemetery's dusk.
"But we defeated Gwi-Ma still. And the Honmoon isn't gold. But it's better, I think.
"And we're all alive. Me and Mira and Zoey." She paused for a moment. "Celine. They'd—We'd. We're alive."
She got up for a moment for a check of the clouds. If the incense burned out, so would her time with her mother. Thankfully, there was no sign of a thunderstorm, not even a drizzle. Her anxiety still swelled.
"Mom," she started, weakness overcoming her. "Mom. Oh, Mom." She slid to her knees. "I asked Celine to kill me."
She bit her lip, fighting tears away. "I wanted to tell you. It's been months, but, I—I didn't know how to tell you. I couldn't stop worrying about you."
Tears slid down her face. They coated her cheeks, careless and childlike. "But I had to tell you," she managed to choke out. "To say sorry."
She gasped wetly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for taking my life for granted. I'm sorry for worrying Celine."
After all the sacrifices her Mom made. Her family, her life. The things Rumi would never know.
She cried, unrestrained. It felt like giving up. And yet, when she could catch her breath again, her head felt lighter than it had for the past few months.
Wiping her cheeks with a torn-up sweater sleeve, she let her tears soak the fabric. Her neck pulsed, spreading to her arms and chest and legs, uncovered.
She was luminescent. Her patterns grieved alongside the smoke and the sway of fallen leaves.
"Mom. Mom."
She clutched at her sleeve.
"Mira. Zoey. They still love me." She smiled, feeling lightheaded with the rush of emotions. "After everything, they still love me."
She rushed on. "I told them everything I told you. About the harm I've caused, the moods I get into. And everything I've ever thought was wrong with me as a child. And I still think that, but they think it's okay! How crazy is that?"
Laughing hysterically at this point, her patterns glowed multicoloured—disbelief, happiness, stitched messily over and over again until they couldn't help but burst with excitement.
"They love me, Mom. They love me." She smiled. "And isn't that how you felt about Dad?"
She traced the patterns on her neck. "Is that how you wanted me to feel all along? Loved?"
Still dizzy, she shifted from her knees to sitting down proper. And, slowly, her happiness sizzled away. The sensation wasn't unfamiliar though, so she just took a deep breath and reminded herself of what really mattered.
After everything, she was still capable of creating and feeling happiness. And that was worth everything and more.
A orange leaf fell on her head, complimenting her naturally purple demon hair and her naturally brown human eyes.
"Heh. Yeah, Mom. I think I'm getting there."
She crossed her legs on the picnic mat she was sitting on, relaxing at the soothing sensation of a brush combing through her long hair.
"Nice, right?" Zoey asked, pausing before a soft whine from Rumi prompted her to continue brushing. "Shhh, kitty. I got you."
Rumi's face burned. "We're in public," she hissed.
"Kitty down," Mira emphasised, striding over with her long legs. On her head was a hand-made flower crown, her signature ponytails let loose. "No fights in public."
"Says you?" Rumi jabbed back.
"You're the one saying this?" Zoey asked.
Mira's glare just made both of them giggle. Conceding, Mira rolled her eyes, starting to remove the packed sandwiches from their picnic basket.
"Extra pickles. Just for you," Mira said, passing a sandwich to Rumi.
Rumi took it, blinking at the sandwich. "She remembered…"
Mira's eyes softened. Zoey, having finished brushing Rumi's hair, said, "She loves you, Rumi."
"Yeah…" Rumi said. "I guess she does."
The sandwich tasted as good as she remembered. A childhood favourite. There was no reason for Rumi to doubt her, but, after everything, her emotions were hard to parse out—her memories even more so.
"I guess I just forgot," she said.
"That's okay," Zoey said, holding her own ham-and-cheese sandwich. "We have time." She took a big bite of her beloved sandwich. Her teeth were cheesy after.
Rumi felt a gentle pressure on her head. She fully snapped out of her thoughts and realised Mira had put the flower crown on her head. The petals of the daisies brushed her forehead.
"There," Mira stated. "Beautiful."
So earnestly said, Rumi couldn't control her face bursting into flames again. She tried covering her cheeks with her hands, but to no avail, as Mira grabbed her wrists and pulled Rumi's hands to her.
"Pretty," she said, smirking. Rumi squirmed.
"Aw, give her a break, babe," Zoey said. "You're making her all shy and blushy."
"Public," Rumi hissed again.
"You will be loved!" Zoey said, pointing dramatically at Rumi.
Mira, deciding to give mercy, let Rumi's wrists go. She instead went to adjust Zoey's flower crown. They all matched, flowers in bloom. After everything, they had so much time to get to know each other anew.
Rumi was still adjusting to the feeling, but she wasn't about to let her girls go.
After eating, Zoey suggested taking some selfies. They all posed like idols for some, and like girlfriends for others. Rumi inhaled a breath of her girlfriends' perfumes, mixed with the forestry around them.
A little lightheaded from joy and the scent of her girlfriends, she asked, "You think Celine is gonna come…?"
Zoey and Mira paused to think.
"Maybe. Maybe not," Mira answered. She brought the picnic basket forward. "She packed us food and drinks."
It was something. But disappointment still welled in her chest.
Zoey placed a hand on her arm, and said nothing. Rumi gave a reassuring smile back once she noticed Zoey's concerned expression.
"It'll be okay," Rumi said. "I think I got to remember that she needs time to figure stuff out too."
"And we'll be here," Mira reassured.
"And you'll be here," she replied, her heart at peace.
Taking a deep breath, feeling endlessly grateful and loved, Rumi smiled.
"Now, do you want to meet Ruby?" she asked, reaching for her teddy bear. Some of the bear's threads were coming loose, and one of her button eyes needed a good re-stitching, but that could wait another day.
"Yes, please," Zoey said, chewing on a bag of gummy bears. Mira nodded, stealing one from the bag even as Zoey pouted at her.
Rumi started, fiddling with the teddy bear's golden ribbon. "When I was six years old, I got Ruby at a teddy bear museum. Celine bought her for me…"