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“Leilidahna!” The door slams against the wall beside it, thrown open with impunity for the grave crime of standing in Olympia’s way when she has a purpose to fulfill.
Director Kalla’s office is small, barely more space than it takes to fit her desk and a few chairs; for a woman running a music school, she’s remarkably private and withdrawn, and she fixes Olympia with the fond exasperation only reserved for her and Syracusio. Olympia doesn’t particularly care at the moment, because Leda is here, and her presence is larger than the room, larger than any room she has ever been in.
She is somehow, frustratingly, even more radiant than the image of her that Olympia had built in her head over the years they’ve been apart. She expected for reality to disappoint her, and is instead stunned by a beauty that wrests the breath from her lungs. Glowing brown skin, dark hair falling in waves that crest down to the beautiful sea-green eyes now locked with Olympia’s in shock. To say nothing of the way slender limbs and bountiful curves attempt to force her eyes downward– not the time!
“O-Olympia?! I… why are you here?!” A fair question; they met here as students after all, and while she imagined Leda was here to speak with Kalla, who’d done so much for the both of them she may as well have been a second mother at times, Olympia herself had graduated shortly after Leda had left.
Of course, she had then all but begged to be employed as an instructor instead, partly because this place had helped her so much, and partly… well, because she’d hoped that Leda would eventually come back. One of the parts may have been larger than the other, but– “That doesn’t matter! I’ve been preparing for the last three years for this, so I… I challenge you! I won’t lose to you again!”
Leda takes a moment to process this, clearly taken aback by the boldness of the statement. Soon enough though, she scoffs in something between amusement and annoyance. Her (full, gorgeous) lips curl into a cocky smirk, her eyes dance with a competitive fire. “Alright then. If you insist.”
They move to the auditorium, where performances are held by the students for proud parents and curious friends. Today though, the seats are empty, bar one at the front; Leda sits with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Olympia stands on stage, a single spotlight on her, no instrument but the microphone stand.
Kalla had better things to do than watch this story unfold when she already knows the ending.
For a brief moment, Olympia is faced with the precipice of her decision, the point of no return. No matter how much she has prepared, how long she has thought about this moment, she still has the chance to turn back, to avoid the risks she’s taking by putting her cards on the table.
There’s the briefest moment of silence, where Olympia looks at Leda and Leda looks at Olympia. The eyebrow raises just a bit more. The spark of roiling feelings – frustration, embarrassment, jealousy, admiration – it all becomes too much, surges within her, forces her lips to part so that their song can spill forth.
Olympia took months to write the melody, a year beyond that to perfect the lyrics. Not a note could be out of place, not a word found wanting for meaning. She could have chosen a number of instruments to accompany it; in her pursuit to best Leda, she’d learned everything from the piano to the violin to the drums. (Leda had too of course, better and faster each time.) But no, this… this song was hers, a burden to carry and expose on her own merits. It is infinitely more difficult a task for it, like scaling a mountain with your hands tied at your back.
Olympia climbs the damn mountain.
It comes out perfectly; a slow ballad, almost somber, speaking on the beauties of a rose. The petals, the scents, the vibrancy of the flower in bloom, yes… but also the thorns, scratching and piercing but beautiful nonetheless.
She sings of walking through a field of flowers, running her hand through them, the softness and the pain missing… and yet, as she reaches the end, she looks back. The field is gone now, the petals scattered away into the wind, leaving her with nothing more than dried blood and faint scars upon her hands.
What she wouldn’t give, she sings, to hurt herself upon that field again.
As the echoes of her voice die down around the room, as breaths heave in Olympia’s chest and blood rushes through her cheeks, her mind finally comes back down to the earth. Her eyes never left Leda through the whole thing – how could they? – but it’s only know that she can see her again.
Leda’s smirk is gone, her arms unfolded. She leans forward just slightly, a serious look in her eyes that pins Olympia to the stage as firmly as an arrow. The message in the song was far from her subtlest work, after all, but what Leda thinks of it… well, she cannot say, does not dare to speculate, lest the doubts in her heart be given room to speak within her mind. That is not her way; regret would come later, if it did.
She steps off the stage. Takes the same seat as Leda, but opposite across the middle aisle. Watches as Leda, now not meeting her eyes, retrieves a gorgeous black and gold guitar from within its case, and takes the steps up onto the stage.
The instrument shines under the spotlight, echoes beautifully when Leda strums it once… then she reaches to retune it, just slightly. It is in that exact moment that Olympia knows…
She has already lost this battle.
Leda strums the guitar and produces music as easily as she breathes. Easier, perhaps, as she takes her first deep breath and sings.
She sings of a memory, of a flower field much like Olympia’s own, yet different in the most important of ways. Blue roses that match the vibrant sky, impossible to look away from. Their thorns are trimmed, their leaves manicured, their stems all curled just so; they pose no threat nor bite, but they do bring a comfort in their beauty unlike any other.
Leda sings of how she had to leave the field of flowers, to a world of danger, confusion and hurt. She sings of the nights spent longing for the touch of soft petals, the scent upon the breeze; she describes daydreams of blossoms fluttering on the wind past a thick window, a beauty made unreachable.
The song ends as Leda describes the path to the garden, left preserved and untouched, the only footprints those she left behind when she went away. She stands at the gate, staring at a garden that has been kept pristine for her and her alone, and wonders if she might be allowed to enter… to stay.
Olympia blinks. She realizes the song is over. The song that still thrums in her chest, resonates with her heart. The song that she knows Leda wrote in her head, just now, outshining the work of years in a matter of minutes.
Leda didn’t look at her throughout the song. She stared at some distant point in the crowd, some memory of the past, already set in stone and forever beautiful. The present, apparently, stands on much shakier ground.
Olympia doesn’t speak as she stands. Doesn’t say a word as she climbs the steps to stand beside her rival. Her friend. Her mirror.
“...Leilidahna.”
Leda still doesn’t turn to her. “Olympia?”
Reverently, carefully, Olympia takes the beautiful obsidian instrument in Leda’s hands, sets it out of the way.
Then she grips Leda by the shoulder, takes her chin with one hand, forces their eyes to meet.
She doesn’t need words to ask her question.
Leda doesn’t need them to answer.
The kiss is everything. It is years apart, and years together before then; it is bitter and sweet, it is anger and frustration and loneliness, it is happiness and growth and kinship. It is soft lips on soft lips, tongues dancing with the practiced ease of two women who trained to dance for all their lives.
When it breaks, Olympia stares into Leda’s eyes. Feels the hot flush on her cheeks, the prick of tears threatening to spill. Her voice is something she is not: weak, quiet, unsure. A whisper of broken faith, bolstered by wavering hope.
“Please don’t ever leave me again.”
Leda stares back, made even more beautiful by the glistening sweat and smudged lipstick. So unfair… Olympia really could never compete.
When Leda smiles, she knows there is no way she will ever, in her life, win against this woman.
“I promise.”
Olympia, finally, is fine settling for second place.