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“There we go.”
The man says as the rag he’s been holding falls to the ground. In his other hand - a shotgun, the chipped wood of its grip signaling years of its use. Around him, the air stays still, as if holding its breath, careful. Everything in the field stretching out around him stops in its tracks, afraid to anger him.
Hidden in the dried blades of long grass sits a small girl. Her unkempt, pale blonde curls glisten in the faint glow of early spring sunlight, like they’re covered in a layer of frost. Eyes wide, staring in a mix of wonder for the unknown drawing her in, and the fear pulling her back into a safe distance, she seems like an angel. The girl sits politely, a gentle flower amongst the sea of the field. Her father - the bearer of the weapon - looks behind his shoulder to make sure she’s listening, but his attention quickly turns back to the task that’s been occupying him.
He lowers the shotgun, pointing at the grey, clouded sky. The child squints her eyes to see better.
He begins to speak, voice rough, cold as ice that traps a lake beneath it in winter, “See those three birds? Those are wild geese. Pretty easy targets, if you ask me.” He barks a chuckle, “I want you to watch exactly how I do it. You’ll need to learn to use a weapon sooner than later, and this is your only occasion. So if I catch you zoning off…”
The girl clenches her fists, pulling her knees close as a shiver runs down her spine - from the chill, or her father’s tone, she can’t tell. She can only nod along.
“Good. Now, observe.”
He raises the shotgun up, barrels facing the winged creatures approaching, unaware of their soon-to-be demise. The action comes to him as naturally as breathing, as if the weapon was nothing more than an extension of his own hand. His eyes gleam like the ones of a predator catching the sight of its prey, and maybe he’s just like it.
The man exhales, letting the tension in his back fall. The field falls silent.
“Cover your ears.” He says. The girl does as instructed, quickly putting on the ear guards he’d made her wear, a smaller copy of his.
Tension rises, swaying like ocean waves, the dark water of uncertainty surrounding the two. The girl curls in closer, attempting to make herself unseen, unobserved, to disappear. But somehow, she just wants to keep watching. Her father promised her an important lesson, and she really didn’t understand why they were doing what they were doing. She just wanted to go home, to the warmth, to her room, to Mother.
But if her father found the time to finally spend time with her alone, maybe she should be grateful. At least that’s what she’s been told.
So she sits unmoving, afraid that the littlest disturbance would ruin it all. The child stays as unseen as a shadow, watching.
A couple beats of silence pass before her father is ready to act. He’s still like a boulder, hard and cold as one.
And then, a bang.
The gunshot rumbles across the empty field, as loud as the roar of a lion. Birds let out distressed caws as they scatter far away, littering the bright sky with black dots of their silhouettes. But the most important thing is the image up front.
Two of the geese had managed to escape, leaving behind their fallen companion, plummeting down to the hard ground. Its grave had been dug out long before it even knew it would die that day.
The girl’s body stiffs up like a board. She clasps a hand over her mouth so as not to let out even a gasp. Smoke twirls up from the shotgun’s barrel, mixing in with the wind that had come alive.
“Come on, you gotta see what we’ve caught.” Her father snaps, making her stand up.
He pushes back the swaying grass, and they begin walking.
For a while, none of them say anything. The girl listens to the crunch of dried plants beneath the soles of her shoes, accompanied by the gale’s howl. She cannot bring herself to utter a word. Before her eyes is not the image of her legs traversing, almost swimming through the foliage, but rather the falling bird.
Did it know that there could be something lurking in the grass below? Or did it think it would be like any other day in the goose world? Maybe it was thinking about what it would eat for dinner that day, sharing a meal with its feathered companions? Would the flock miss it, or would it be forever forgotten, nothing more than a half-remembered gravestone?
Did it have anyone waiting for it to come home?
The child bit her lip, trying to stop the tears from swelling in her light green eyes. Noticing her distress, the older man grumbled, almost annoyed, in a way.
“Oh, come on, Sage. Don’t you cry.” He said blankly, continuing the walk to where the goose had fallen.
But she wouldn’t answer, locking her gaze on the ground as she fidgeted with the edge of her coat’s sleeve - a nervous habit.
The man sighed, “It’s just a bird. There are so many more in this world, they’re expandable.”
Sage raised her glance, “But the other geese will notice it’s gone. And they’ll be sad.”
Her father went quiet for a moment, pondering what to say. The rustle of long grass hummed in her ears, broken by its crunch beneath their feet.
Finally, they stopped. Sage stumbled back at the sight in front of her, instinctively wanting to grab at her father’s pant leg - but she took her hand back, knowing well she’d be scolded.
The fallen goose lay there, wings sprawled out, as a last hope of escaping its fate. Dark red streamed from the hole in its chest, staining the grass below it. Its eyes dull, yet somehow peaceful, stirred pity inside of her.
Meanwhile, her father didn’t move at all, as if locked in a staring contest with the carcass. The way he watched it didn’t tell her anything, but his indifference seemed almost triumphant. Like it silently tried to tell the animal that he’d won the battle.
He opened his mouth to speak, “The world is cruel, you know? When you grow up, nobody’s gonna be thinkin’ about whether someone’s ‘sad’ or not. It’s all about who’s stronger. If you don’t have the strength, the will to fight someone, you’ll just lose and rot into the ground like this one.”
“But-“
“It’s just how it is. You gotta make yourself the dangerous one, that’s the only way to survive. People don’t have natural mechanisms to protect themselves. But with weapons,” He gestured to the shotgun, “We can take down anything with one blow. It just matters where you hit. You need to make yourself seem like you have claws and teeth, and fight your way to being respected. There’s no place for fear.”
Sage stayed silent.
Dark clouds began to cast overhead, covering the light vastness with an ominous shroud.
She stared deep into the dead goose’s eyes. Maybe the two other geese flew away as fast as possible, knowing this one couldn’t be saved. That it was helpless, too weak. Maybe they knew that a goose with a shot-through wing would bring no value to the flock.
But it was a cruel way of thinking. She didn’t know what to say.
Her father did, though. He set a hand on her shoulder - a firm, hard grip, without any care, barely a mockery of what support he could be giving.
“Let’s go back home. It’s gonna rain.”
***
What defines a chase?
Is it the relation between prey and predator? Is it the constant fear clouding one’s judgement, making them do whatever they can just to keep themselves safe, just to avoid the jaws of what’s behind them? Perhaps the bared teeth of what is chasing, and eyes locked on the target, the focus on what there is to catch?
Maybe the predator themselves isn’t doing this out of their own enjoyment, maybe they’re scared as well. But what matters is to show it less than the prey.
Don’t let them see you break.
Sage turns a corner, the images around her all melting into one tunnel of brick alleys and old, rusty pipes. In her hand she grips her most trusted weapon - ready to point it at what is going to approach.
Her eyes gleam with a wild spirit, head feverish. This needs to end. She hasn’t been sent out here for nothing.
The ringing in her ears is hard to hear through, but she swears she can feel the patter of footsteps against the hard, dusty floor, covered in rubble and dirt. A perfect battlefield.
Suddenly, the clank of metal against metal. Her ears perk up at the sound as her head whips in the direction of it, and she approaches.
Her hold is even tighter, finger circling around the trigger. She is unseen.
It’s honestly pathetic how it thought it’d escape.
Sage aims her weapon, keeping her hands still, however much her aching muscles make them shake. She just needs to shoot at the ladder it’s climbing. She just needs to not let them get away.
The shot doesn’t fire. Momentary terror pierces through her. What-
There is only a faint click when she pulls the trigger. She’s out of ammunition.
Wonderful.
For a moment, all that remains is dull silence. It knows she’s there. Sage dives behind a rubbish bin, not minding the sticky substance that touches her body when she crouches down.
Her breathing is shaky. She needs to come up with something new, and fast. Something, anything. She cannot let herself panic, not now. She’s not weak like that, she can’t allow herself to be.
She’s more than this. She’s stronger than this.
Sage takes in a deep inhale, the dirty air full of something reminiscent of smoke. She takes a look at her surroundings: a long-distance weapon is out of the question, considering she doesn’t have any more ammunition. Something sharp would do, anything that can serve as a blade or simply a threat factor.
And as if this was all staged, something glistens in the faint light coming into the alley. A piece of hard metal, perhaps a part of a pipe, the sharp edge good enough to stab someone with if she needed to.
Was her opponent even armed? She expects it not to be as stupid as to walk around the apocalypse like it were frolicking in a flower field, but honestly, nobody knows anymore. She’s seen weirder things in her travels.
She clutches the makeshift weapon tighter. If life’s a game, she can afford to gamble.
Sage jumps out from behind the rubbish bin, immediately entangled in the spirit of the fight. The one she’s fighting clearly didn’t see her coming - sent off balance the second she pounced at it.
It lets out a loud shriek, clumsily trying to avoid her swings.
“Missed me?” Sage grins.
She’s quick to act, though: a punch flies in Sage’s direction, sharp pain shooting through her shoulder, shoving her backwards. The other girl seems almost surprised at what she did, sending glances towards her clenched fist.
“They sent you after me?” She deflects, a conflicted look in her eyes. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Oh, no, this isn’t what they made me do.”
Sage glares at the girl, who’s desperately trying to step away.
“This is personal revenge.”
Sooner than both of them know it, they’re engulfed in a storm of fists, dust and fury. Sage watches the other struggle to stay on her feet, eyes darting around her environment for any possible way she could help herself. The younger woman dashes away from Sage as fast as she can, movements ungraceful, as if she were dropped in a lake and unable to swim. But for now, she’s damn good at dodging.
Except for when she isn’t - Sage manages to get a couple of hits on her, surely strong enough to leave bruises. She may not be that experienced in melee weapons, but it’s better than being completely unarmed. The girl had landed on the ground more times than she could count, covered in the grime of the floor. Still, the fight just doesn’t seem to end, however much she can hit this girl and bring her down. She always just stands back up, and good, at least she can keep Sage entertained.
Sage grips her weapon tighter and swings, annoyance bubbling inside her. A messy, rough rip appears on the girl’s jacket as blood begins to froth in the place of the wound, the edges already stained with red liquid. Distracted, out of breath, she clutches at the injury, and stops.
It really was going to be that easy. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little cut?” She taunts, and leans in once again to strike.
Her opponent kicks her, the hard clash of the sole of a shoe and her body knocking the wind out of her as pain clutches at her abdomen, where Sage’d been hit. She lets go of the slash on her arm, instead reaching over to her side. The image of what she pulls out soon comes into view, but Sage has no time to dwell, no time!
In the other woman’s blood-stained palm, a pocket knife, its silver edge glistening in the remains of the dim light. Much smaller than the piece of metal Sage used to attack, she really doesn’t know how on Earth this girl expects to defend herself with something barely good enough to cut through a small rope.
“Really, that-”
But she manages to get through. Aiming for the bent-over Sage’s shoulder, she swings, barely missing. She gasps for air, twisting over to try and strike again. Their distance falls short, and before she can realise it Sage ducks under her, and if she hadn’t moved her arm to cover her own stomach, it would already be pierced through. Metal clashes against metal, both of them press with all their force to get through the barricade.
Sage knows the easiest thing to end this futile battle of wasted force - even if she would keep wrestling if she wanted that. Only a kick to the knee later, the scuffle ends, and her opponent is down on the ground, perfect to attack, grab, do anything. It’s unclean fighting, and she’s come to terms with that a long time ago. It’s just what’s necessary, isn’t it?
The girl tries to stand up, but she loses her balance, yelping in pain. She quickly pulls the knife in her hand away, switching it to the other one - the one closer to Sage. Eyes glimmering with leftover tears, the only shine brought to it after a long period of suffering, something Sage knows well. She stares straight into the young woman’s eyes, oddly calm. They both freeze in place.
Sage tilts her head, watching and observing with some kind of wonder. She wishes she could look away from this disgusting display of weakness, she can’t bear to watch as the younger girl’s shoulders fall limp at the realisation she can do nothing. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Tears would be swelling up in Sage’s eyes at the very thought someone can be this helpless. Always looking for others to save her. Afraid of anything around her, lost in this reality. Unable to fight for herself. Weak.
She sighs. “You know, maybe in another universe, we could have been friends.”
Something in the girl’s expression shifts. Hopelessness turns into confusion.
“I don’t imagine you never hating me.” She replies, standing back up. Her grip on the knife is looser than it used to, like she’s had the energy drained of her. “There’s a lot to hate.”
“Maybe if it were different.” Sage walks forward, “Maybe we would’ve just been neighbours, maybe I’d go over to your place and borrow a glass of sugar. Maybe I would have invited you for tea.”
Hesitantly, brows still furrowed as the thoughts raced through her head, the other steps back, “Maybe.”
Sage grins, her smile empty, “Maybe we would’ve gotten along with that little girlfriend of yours. Why’s she not here with you, anyway? Not here anymore to protect you, is she?”
And the bewilderment turns into anger.
“Don’t you speak of her. Don’t you dare say a word.”
Sage wants to stop. What’s coming over her? The words don’t stop flowing from her mouth - the sheer hate she feels is too strong. When did she ever even think about what she made this girl feel? There is nothing more than hatred.
Hatred.
She continues, “Nice jacket, by the way. She used to wear a similar one, right? It’s not too dirty from all the ash, is-”
“Shut up!”
And just like the melody Sage’s words played, the other woman lunges with blind rage. Finally, a fight. One the girl is bound to lose - Sage knows it - but it makes her more than satisfied. She almost lets her opponent stab where she’s aiming, but the emotion makes her movements sloppy, she can’t even hit a target. Like her eyes had been covered, she can’t land a single hit, only pathetic swinging.
Burning with fire, the girl spits out, “Am I even doing any damage to you?”
Sage simply shrugs.
The fist flying in the direction of her face proves her a bit wrong. Her head jerks back, the sudden movement making her dizzy. She reaches a hand up to her nose, right where she’d been hit - and soon enough, she can taste the iron taste of blood running down to her mouth. The world stops spinning for a moment - not for Sage, she’s still light-headed.
The other girl begins to back up, approaching the wall, an exit to the open street right beside it. But Sage doesn’t break eye contact, even with the blood trickling down her face. Around her, the air feels thicker, as if suffocating - she can’t tell whether that’s the dust that has flown up from their fight, or the red liquid stuffing her airways.
They stare at each other for a couple of minutes. Sage cannot stop the ringing in her ears, and the painful tension of her muscles. Her shoulders sting and weigh her down, her breathing is heavy.
Just finish her off while you still can.
You’re not giving up a fight, are you?
You’re not that weak, Sage. You can’t let yourself be.
And the voices continue to scream and roar inside of her head. Like a wild animal, she bears her teeth as she gasps for breath, something wicked in her. The crave for revenge claws at her from the inside - but had the girl done anything wrong? All she did was exist.
Maybe that’s enough.
She isn’t controlling her body when she lunges forward, weapon in hand, ready to stab. And like fuel added to fire, her opponent’s not giving up yet. A strike, the clank of metal, the screeching as they both try to push away the other’s weapon and keep them from spilling more blood.
It’s exhausting. They’ve been going on at this for what seems like an eternity, trying to end the battle, or simply make the opponent feel victorious enough to go away. Sage feels the fire burning inside of her as she manages to get the other trapped. She doesn’t even register when she’s aiming for the girl’s artery, pressing her against the hard, brick wall, and she would have succeeded if it weren’t for a quick reaction of moving away, the sharp metal only grazing the delicate skin on her neck. Still, blood streams - but it’s not enough to kill her.
Red, red everywhere - on the two, on the ground, in their minds. If anything were watching them - and it’s very likely - it would sure have a great time. Sage wiped the moist blood still dripping from her nose, the edge sleeve covered in scarlet, her other hand holding the girl’s limp body against the wall. They stare at each other with tired eyes, begging for it to end. All that is left is one sudden movement, a bright idea, a trick, something to make the scales shift from one to another.
They almost seem like two sides of the same coin. On one hand, action and the will to survive. On the other, the wish to make it stop. In fact, they both want to stop the pain, instead taking what’s been given to them. On one side, fear. On the other…
Sage grits her teeth.
“Come on.” She pants, “Let’s finish this.”
The girl stays silent.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? Fight me!” Sage spits out. The metallic taste of blood smeared across her face clouds her judgement. She isn’t letting fear win, not today.
She begins to hear sobbing coming from the girl, and feels her body tighten and go loose again. Adrenaline wears off of her, making her muscles tremble as her shoulders jerk up and down. Her voice cracks under the pressure of the never-ending need to escape.
“I’m done with this. Just- make it stop.”
She doesn’t stop wailing. Sage freezes in place.
“Please.”
Sage scoffs, “You know I’m not falling for this. Fight me, or I’ll stab you so many times your own teammate wouldn’t recognize you.”
Does she really mean that?
The girl glances up from where she’s standing, hunched over, messy hair falling on top of her face.
“I don’t care if you kill me. Not anymore.”
Sage stands there, simply listening. The girl tries to bite her lip and choke back the sobbing, but she can’t: she can’t mask it. Her pocket knife falls to the floor, hitting its surface with a loud clink.
“So you’re just gonna take it, huh? Sure, why not. If death’s something you want so badly, maybe I should just spare you?”
Sage wonders.
“Go on. This is your last chance. Fight me and live with the feeling you did something to make them stop seeing you as a complete coward. Or go home with your wounds and bite your tongue, say nothing. Place the blame on everybody but yourself.“
Sage presses the girl closer to the wall with her knee, digging it exactly where she knows she’s been bruised, deaf to the hiss of pain it makes her let out.
“You’re weak. You’re weak and you wear that title like the world's most pathetic crown. Keep going, sure. Somebody’s not gonna have as much mercy as I do, ’cause maybe you could’ve had potential. But you never use it, and you’re not going to, huh?”
She grips the piece of metal in her hand, so tight it begins to slice through her own palm as well. She lets the blood trickle down her skin, drip down as she knows it’s a symbol of her perseverance.
“You’re everything I despise in this world gathered in one person. All bark, no bite, always trying to make yourself look so terrifying, but you fail, you do nothing but fail!”
Sage’s lungs feel heavy. Her voice begins to break.
“If this is the fate you chose for yourself, sure.”
She swings one last time. Her makeshift blade digs deep into the girl’s thigh, but Sage ignores her screams. She lets go, letting her fall to the ground.
Sage turns around, blood staining her figure: both hers and the enemy’s. She sends her one last look, but this time, she remains silent.
Maybe something will snap its jaws at her, and put an end to her suffering.
Or she’ll just keep living. Live with the guilt that she was the one to survive.
Sage doesn’t care anymore. She got what she wanted.
Did she?
***
Perhaps she shouldn’t have let her go.
Sage’s mind is a flurry of messy thoughts, all the countless possibilities clouded by her exhaustion. Was it really the right choice? After all, hadn’t she been tasked with catching- with destabilizing that woman- what was the mission anyway?
Reality blurs into one splotch of flashing colours, memories and a dull hum of voices around her as she sits leaned against an old concrete wall, the pressure so faint she could have been floating as well. Stuck up in the clouds, drifting through the skies. Maybe that would have been easier than having to deal with the consequences of her own actions, and the weight of decisions she wasn’t sure were correct.
Uncertainty was something that never really left her. A mix of emotions stirs inside of her - confusion, exhaustion, maybe even…
Maybe even fear.
Fear of what could have happened that day if only the other woman fought better, and her hits were more precise. Fear of what will happen because she had left her alive.
She didn’t mean all those words she screamed to her before leaving. It wasn’t her tongue speaking- it can’t have been. What rotten thoughts lay deep inside of her, why would she even say that-
“Sage?”
Something clutches at her chest, digging its claws deep inside it. The cold feeling of dread pierces through her like a knife - if she didn’t feel any remorse doing what she was, then why does it seem so hard to come to terms with it?
If she feels so much hate for whom she almost defeated, why was there an underlying sense of guilt?
Like it wasn’t meant to be this way. Like if-
“Sage, are you alright?”
A familiar voice snaps her out of the spiral of thoughts. She blinks her eyes in surprise, almost as if startled awake. Still dazed, she stares at the giver of the question, the image in front of her hidden behind a layer of mist.
The campfire crackles in the distance. Small sparks leap out of the twirling flames, just barely catching onto the ones around it before they died on the concrete ground. Echoing even further, a conversation is held in the other room. Darkness envelops the room, only broken by the fire. A bloodied tissue lies next to her. The metallic taste still fills her mouth, but her heart isn’t pounding like she’s in the middle of action. She’s at home.
Maybe not a specific location was what she’d call one - but a home travels with her. In the people.
Without a word, not bringing herself to reply yet, she simply observes. Like she was woken up from a long, long dream. Like nothing had happened at all.
The woman in front of her stares back with her deep, onyx-black eyes gleaming with care, the orange of the fire reflecting in her irises. She moves closer to Sage, taking her hand - and the touch makes her feel even warmer than the flames. Sage’s breathing seems to get slower, calmer in her presence. She leans on her shoulder, the lime-green, woolen jumper the woman wore lightly scratching against her cheek.
“I’ll be okay.” Sage replies.
For a moment, they sit in silence. Just barely a heartbeat, but Sage feels the rhythm of the woman’s breathing as her shoulders faintly rise up and down.
“At least you got to us safely.” She says, tone as soft as feathers are to the touch, “I don’t know what would happen if we-”
“Miodowa!”
A voice comes from the other room. Miodowa tenses up at the call of her name, careful enough not to throw Sage off of her.
She seems almost annoyed at the sudden disturbance, and Sage doesn’t blame her, really. Her and Miodowa didn’t get a moment alone for a long time ever since they decided to travel with the other two - or rather, work with one and have to deal with the other.
Miodowa stares at the two that had entered: in the front, a shorter, green-haired woman, her expression unbothered. She sits down parallel to the pair, her face illuminated by the light of the fire, and with a bit of nostalgia, it almost reminds Sage of when kids used to put torches under their chin to look “scary” when telling a story. And maybe that association allows her not to be as intimidated by her - and- well, their shared history. Following behind, the woman’s friend from childhood - a lanky, tall guy that had almost hit his forehead on the top of what used to be a doorframe.
“What do you need me for?” She simply asks, “Thought of something?”
The green-haired woman stays silent, her dark gaze passing by Miodowa and lingering on Sage. She doesn’t seem to be looking her in the eye - rather, she fixes her stare on the still bloodstained parts of her shirt collar and traces Sage’s movements as she instinctively shoves that red-covered tissue behind her.
“Me and Olek were talking about a new plan.” The reply falls in the blank, distant tone Sage was used to hearing from her. “Considering the situation.”
“The situation?” Sage furrows her brows.
The fire seems to crackle even louder, as if trying to battle the tension that had settled in the room. Olek attempts to make himself remain unseen, stay away from the attention of the others - especially his closer companion - and simply remain a watcher of the whole ordeal. He shuffles away from the fire and into the darkness, pretending to be busy with something.
“Yeah. Since you didn’t manage to get any information from- you know who, correct?”
Sage shakes her head.
“Great, just- great.” She smiles through gritted teeth.
Maybe it was just Sage’s imagination, but she swears that from the shadows, she saw Olek glance at the person speaking with something flickering in his eyes.
“You know, Stupki, Sage’s safety is more important here.” Miodowa cut in. “You saw how she came back to us, and is the mission really that-“
“That girl doesn’t stand a chance against her, and you know it. She shouldn’t have let her go.” Stupki glared at her with a piercing stare.
“Then why don’t you just go after the core of the problem instead of chasing around random strays who she drags around for no reason?”
It wasn’t her order, though.
Stupki scoffs, “Oh, please! She’s not that easy to catch, I know her and I know what I’m doing. So don’t doubt me.”
Miodowa lowers her voice, but her scowl speaks louder. Only Sage can hear what she muttered, “Maybe you just enjoy wasting our time.”
“What was that?”
Sage decides she’s done with the arguing. She clears her throat, loud enough to be noticed over the bickering of the two.
“Come on, arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. We’re a team, we didn’t agree to help you all those months ago just for us to get broken apart for some-“ She lowers her voice, “stupid cause.”
She pauses. Red begins to creep up in her peripheral vision as images flash before her mind, her head pulsating with ache. If it was such a stupid cause, why couldn’t she get it out of her mind? Why couldn’t she just control herself that time, why did she let herself gnaw on prey that could have been slain with just one calculated bite?
“So, Stupki. It’s not that we don’t want to do this. It’s not like we don’t trust you’re doing the right thing. We’re just-“
“I get it.”
Stupki interrupts. She sits there for a second, not uttering a word: perhaps stunned, perhaps simply trying to keep the emotions inside of her.
Eventually, she stands up, shaking the dust off her clothing. She turns her back to Miodowa and Sage on the other side of the room, “I’m keeping the first watch tonight. Olek will wake one of you up once he’s done with his. Get some rest.”
She’s gone before the campfire can crackle once again.
There’s only three of them now.
Olek moves in a way like he wants to stand up, but something’s keeping him from doing so, like a ceiling hung too low.
Miodowa stares at the man, glare so sharp she could cut through him.
“She just wants to make things right, you know?” Olek blurts out. “It’s been tough, and you two are aware of-“
“Olek, leave. Please.”
He hesitates. On doing what, exactly? Maybe a person like him has bitterness inside of him that he waits to just be able to spit out, something making him sick the longer he does? Sage wouldn’t be surprised if one day he just snaps, lets loose, cuts the strings his puppeteer is controlling him through.
But she doubts he’ll ever do so.
“I’ll- uh- I’ll go talk to Stupki.” Defeated, he sighs, disappearing in the exit where his friend had.
At last, Sage and Miodowa are left alone in the room.
Miodowa sighs, letting her shoulders relax and fall back against the wall, tension barely half-released. Sage sends her a glance: reassuring? Worried? She doesn’t know herself.
“Miodku-“ She begins, but her call falls flat.
“It’s not like I don’t trust her.” Miodowa stares off into the distance where Stupki and Olek could be heard talking in hushed tones, barely audible if Sage wasn’t listening out for them, “I do. We both know I do.”
“But how can you trust someone if they put on so many masks you don’t know what their real face is?” Sage finishes.
Miodowa lets out a hum of agreement.
“I’m glad you’re safe.” She swiftly changes the subject, “Are you in any pain? She didn’t hurt you all that much, right, but-“
“I’m okay. I’ve told you this before.” Sage smiles, albeit weakly.
“You know I’ll keep asking until I believe it.”
She reaches out to cup Miodowa’s cheek, grazing her palm against the rough, scarred skin. “Don’t you worry about me. Everything’s been tough recently, with all the moving around and the tasks- you know. Those are just a couple of wounds. Not the worst thing that could happen.”
Miodowa’s eyes go dark, like candles blown out inside of a pitch-black room, “I don’t even want to think about the worst outcome.”
“As long as we have each other.” Sage reassures her.
Through thick and thin, they’d stick together, in every universe: even if the sky is split, even if every day brings the danger of uncertainty, even if the world turns into a battlefield where only one can remain, they’d be one.
She smiles, “Always.”
A couple of hours later, all that there remains is the dying crackle of the fireplace and Miodowa’s calm breathing. For some reason, Sage still cannot settle her thoughts.
She isn’t cruel. She doesn’t harm for no reason, her hands don’t end in claws. All she did was build walls around herself, twist words and weapons into sharp teeth, so nobody would dare to come close enough to hurt her.
It’s learned behaviour.
But it seemed to come so naturally. How does one just make themselves seem bigger than they are, like a shadow cast on the wall, formed in the shape of a monster? What’s below isn’t made to hurt.
She put on this costume and this mask to shield herself from anybody thinking she was weak, because nobody would allow her to be, not in this world.
Sage lets out a sigh, tired eyes tracing the remains of the fire illuminating the wall in front of her.