Hermos didn’t even remember falling asleep, which maybe should have been his sign that this wasn’t one of his usual naps. Especially considering he was pretty sure he was at his work desk… wasn’t he? Well, in the dream he wasn’t, instead he found himself in a more familiar area, tall rolling green hills with a stretch of expansive sky, not a single cloud in sight. There was a large Greek strawberry tree at the center of the top of the hill, before there was a steep cliffside. He knew when he’d stand over the hill the waters would be a pristine crystal blue because they always were.
And from where he stood at the bottom of the hill, he could see a familiar man waiting for him with lighter brown hair, a winged-golden helmet and loose fitting linen clothes. He looks over towards Hermos before offering a wave, watching as the Knight runs up the hill to join him.
“Ah, about time you get here! What took you so long, darling?” Hermes asks as Hermos took his usual seat beside the God.
“What do ya mean? Have you been trying to get a hold of me?” Hermos asks confused, blinking a bit at him.
“Very much so, yes! Knew it’d be harder once you were here but it was like you were avoiding me!” The Messenger God complains with a bit of a pout, crossing his arms over his chest. Out of habit, he then suddenly floats up moving to be in front of Hermos for the time being. “But, enough about that! I have a message for you, darling, an important one.”
“What? A message from the messenger God? Who would’a guessed?”
Hermes frowns a bit and makes the Caduceus appear in his hands, giving it a small twirl as he moves to float beside him. Then a small mirror seems to appear in front of them, soon showing an all too familiar image in front of the mortal being. Or well, a familiar concept to be more accurate… a war torn civilization. Darkness enveloping… destroyed buildings, screaming, crying… monsters? The duel Monsters? It wasn’t quite clear enough, but he swore he could make out a few familiar looking figures… but that was where it stopped before he could confirm the identifies.
“Oh man… you weren’t kidding… what’s going on? Isn’t this Domino City…?”
“Mhm. There’s something big going on here. Something dangerous… but we still can’t tell what exactly it is. But you, your friends, and not just this city… both realms are in danger. It’s still in development I’m afraid… so there’s not much information I can share. All I know is, Domino City is ground zero,” Hermes then explains with a shake of his head. The Knight frowns, able to feel his dragon pacing anxiously at the thought.
“Ya know, for being a God, not knowing what’s coming is a little crazy…” Hermos huffs a bit, watching as Hermes does a small, casual flip before floating on his stomach.
“We’re not completely all knowing, you know? And whether the other Gods like to say it or not, we’re not infallible, you know this. Whatever this is, it’s powerful enough to keep itself hidden. And it is old. When we get more information, I’ll be able to tell you, friend, but you and your brothers? You need to keep a sharp eye out.”
The duel seems to be going well. You’d bought tickets for the exhibition match. Some regional champ against the King of Games himself.
Both magicians are on the field, the elder stoic with his arms folded, and the younger twirling in place, giggling and seemingly flirting every so often with her duelist, the modulated tones musical as they fill the air with her joy.
It’s funny. You don’t recall seeing either of these monsters so animated. Maybe it’s a perk of being known as The Duelist Champion, getting special animation programming for his star monsters.
They are winning, an activated trap setting off a chain reaction where both monsters get to play with extra pieces, the magician girl dancing as she sets off a magical canon.
Another laugh fills the air, and the elder magician seems to side eye the girl, a silent huff of amusement before he turns his attention back to the front.
Draw. The opponent grins. And something seems to shift entirely.
The half smile on the magician’s face fades as an attack is called. He’s saved by the last of the traps that Mutou has on the field, but the magician girl doesn’t seem to be as lucky, as the opponent’s mechanical beast forms a skewering attack heading in her direction.
Normally, a killed monster just shatters. But that isn’t what happens today.
Instead, an ungodly, human scream fills the air and everything on the field seems to freeze.
The magician girl is suspended in the air by the spikes driven through her, her expression visibly filled with shock, like she hadn’t expected to get hit at all.
Her entire body starts to go limp, and whispers fill the stands around you.
What’s happening?
Did she just scream?
Is this some new realism setting?
You look at the screens, it simply shows the feed, frozen just as the attack hit the monster.
Kaiba, on the sidelines, has shifted over to some control board, typing away with a thundery expression, and Mutou is, strangely, reaching out for his monster, a look of utter fear on his face. He’s saying something, but his mic has been muted.
The whispers only seem to get louder. But from your seat, right near the speakers, you pick up on a strange noise from the mics on the stage, the only things not switched off.
Plip.
Plip.
Something is dripping.
And there is a clatter, the elder magician having dropped his staff. He’s not floating anymore, staring at his apprentice with wide eyes.
And then he runs, sprinting off of his own tile and over to the girl, the entire field suddenly glowing red as the hologram is definitely acting outside of its parameters now.
An alarm blares out just as the magician reaches her side, and all the monsters fade away entirely.
The screen feed is no longer showing the field, instead a duel summary.
The magician had tripped a Forfeit in moving out of his designated space illegally.
Mutou doesn’t even wait, bowing hurriedly to his opponent before following Kaiba out of the arena.
The announcer walks onto the stage, explaining that a glitch had affected the match and would be rescheduled as soon as Mutou’s disk was checked for bugs and updated.
He welcomes any aspiring duelists to the stage to try and play while they waited.
You volunteer— while that whole scenario was odd, you’d never pass up a chance to duel. As you step up onto the stage and walk over to take your position, something catches your eye.
This was where she was, right?
You stop.
Bend over to tie your shoe.
It’s right there.
There isn’t a lot, probably not even enough to show up on camera.
But the spotting seems stark against the white arena tiles, and it’s sticky as you reach to touch it, smearing the red across your fingers.
Far below the ridge, the river dragged silver through the valley, and the temple fires of men flickered like earthbound stars. Above them, the true stars burned without mercy. They crowded the heavens in impossible numbers, white and gold and blue, scattered across the dark body of the sky whilst the night smelled of myrrh and cooling stone.
Belle lay against the smoothness of the cooling rock with one arm beneath her head, her hair spread loose around her.
Men had once called her Ninmah, Mother of Clay, Shaper of Kings. In older centuries, before language learned restraint, they had called her the Mother. She had made mountains kneel. She had carved rivers with her fingertips…
Tonight, she simply watched constellations move.
Hale sat beside her whilst the priests beneath the hills painted him with horns and red jaws. They whispered his name into bowls of lamb’s blood and buried charms against him under their doorways. Yet there was nothing monstrous in him now, not visibly at least. Only a man with tired eyes and a bronze knife at his belt, seated with one knee drawn up beneath the spilling heavens.
The devil looked cold.
Belle glanced sideways at him. “You’re brooding again.”
“I’m not, I’m just contemplating.”
“You contemplate like a widow.”
“Maybe it’ll catch on down there.”
She laughed softly at that, the sound low as reeds brushing against the river’s flow. Hale turned toward it instinctively, as though every laugh she uttered still startled him after all these centuries.
There had been a time when he almost feared her.
Not in the simple way mortals fear; beings such as them did nothing simply. He had feared her with devotion. With precision.
She had stood beside the first dawn while mankind crawled wet from the mud, and Hale had watched her gift them tenderness.
“You made them fragile,” he had told her once.
“I made them live...”
“And now they break easily.”
“They were always meant to.”
That argument had lasted four hundred years.
Now however, they sat together beneath the stars like weary monarchs after a ruined feast.
The wind climbed higher along the ridge. Belle closed her eyes against it and Hale watched the life pulse beneath her flesh. Strange, he thought, that divinity should imitate mortality so well.
Or perhaps mortality had only ever imitated the gods.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
“You’re glowing.”
“That’s just the starlight.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It isn’t.”
Something moved between them then; it wasn’t surprising, for nothing remained surprising after eternity, but recognition. The old and terrible kind. The kind that split worlds.
When Belle opened her eyes, they reflected the constellations above them with brilliant clarity. Hale had seen empires burn in those eyes. He had seen her kneel beside dying children. He had seen her curse oceans into drought.
Once, long ago, he had seen her dance while the world was still cooling from creation.
And suddenly he could no longer bear the distance between them.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I remember things.”
The devil smiled then, though a distant sorrow touched its edges.
“So do I.”
A silence unfolded as Belle turned onto her side to face him fully, golden circlets gleamed at her wrists. Hale thought absurdly of chains. Of prayers. Of all the kingdoms that had begged them for opposite mercies.
“You’re scared,” she said.
“No. I’m just being cautious.”
“No. You’re afraid,” she repeated, softer now. Perhaps he was.
Not of war. Not of heaven. Not of the endless machinery of fate. Hale feared only this: that tenderness, once permitted, became hunger.
Belle reached toward him first. Her fingers touched the side of his face with an unbearable gentleness. The Devil closed his eyes at once, as though struck.
“You carry too much loneliness,” she said.
“You carry too much love.”
“Yeah,” Belle breathed. “Maybe that’s my own personal failing.”
“No,” Hale said, his voice now rough as the stars wheeled slowly overhead. “That is your divinity.”
Then he kissed her softly, not hungrily, not with the triumph of a king claiming his prize, as gentle as a confession.
Belle inhaled sharply against his mouth, and for one suspended instant the whole world seemed to pause around them; the river below, the wind, the distant temple songs. Hale’s hand came to rest against her jaw as though he feared she might vanish in an instant.
Her lips were warmer than the offerings crumbling against the temple fires. Warmer than the birth of suns. And when she kissed him back, the heavens altered.
Somewhere, far beyond human sight, constellations shifted by the breadth of a mere whisper. Fate loosened one golden thread and tied another. When they parted, Hale remained close enough to feel her breathing. Belle smiled faintly, though there was an unnamed pain in it too.
“Do you think we’ll regret this?” she asked
“Almost certainly, love.”
“And that the world might suffer?”
“Doesn’t it always? What would inspire men’s sagas if it didn’t?”
At that, she laughed again.
The sound rose into the ancient dark, and above them the stars continued burning; indifferent, eternal, and bright as newborn prophecy.
before the vessel had been set into motion towards the prologue of the universe’s new story, firefly’s life consisted of being sealed inside a lifepod to recuperate from her ever diminishing health and only being able to be out in the open long enough to accomplish her tasks — SAM granting her the chance to stretch these moments of freedom ever so slightly. and because her time was fragile and limited, she rarely had the opportunity to explore the vastness of the cosmos like the rest of the stelleron hunters.
the only times she got to see more than what she could obtain on her own was when the group brought back souvenirs to keep her company while she medicated within her lifepod upon her request.
from keychains to postcards to posters that were hung around the walls in the room where she rested, firefly did not take anything brought to her — big or small — for granted. she loved every materialistic thing she was given and thanked everyone wholeheartedly for offering her that sliver of happiness despite it not being mandatory.
but her favorite had to be an animated series from a world long forgotten given to her by kafka.
one day, kafka wheeled in a small television with technology that had been severely outdated and placed it near the entrance of the pod in the perfect spot where firefly could see the screen clearly. a rectangular box-like item was then inserted into the slot of the television, and the woman pressed a button before turning to look at firefly from outside the sturdy glass.
“ i figured you might like something antique, something different. although, we might have to get silver wolf to program a means to play these for you while we are away, so you aren’t left with a static screen to stare for hours. that wouldn’t be fun. ”
then she pressed another button, and the once blue screen now showed illuminating, brilliant colors dancing around in hypnotic manners, and firefly’s sunset eyes instantly lit up in awe and wonder.
starlight brigade, the name of the show she fell in love with.
a show about a young idealist kid that goes to space and joins others like him in order to help protect the galaxy from the reaches of evil and darkness — a rather overused, cliche troupe but the girl was enamored by it. . . . because she saw herself as that kid.
spaceships, cosmic battles, teamwork, exciting adventures, conflicts, sacrifices, loss — it was as though this show was retelling her life story but with an obvious chipper tone and different twists. following the main character and imagining herself in his shoes, the girl would spend hours watching the series back-to-back as she allowed her mind to wander and envision a brighter tomorrow. eventually, silver wolf did in fact build a 3D printed remote control with all its functioning bits that worked perfectly with the ancient tech for the pod-ridden girl to be able to watch the series however she wanted with a simple press of a button.
it was her favorite thing to do after a mission.
it was rare to see firefly genuinely smile, but many sunny grins came forth when her eyes found themselves glued to the screen. the colors, the images, the characters, the messages — they were all warming and encouraging for her to relax back into. the other stelleron hunters took notice of her excitement when it came to the series as it would be a topic that firefly would share with them when given the opportunity : blade seemingly didn’t care, silver wolf suggested she could turn the old video tapes into digital copies for easier access, kafka felt a sense of pride in herself for hitting a jackpot when she found the show itself amongst the rubble, and caelus . . . caelus would give her a thumbs up and a smile.
but that thumbs up and smile spoke a million words.
because out of everyone, caelus was the only one who took interest in the pretty visuals and colors bouncing around in the strange, bygone box that was always sitting in the best angle for firefly to see. whenever he had the free time, he would enter her recovery room, grab himself a chair ( sitting on it backwards which she never understood as to why ) and watch the show with her no matter if he missed a chunk of an episode by the time he got there. of course, he would spark up a conversation, mainly asking if she was okay, before he would silence himself and allow the both of them to immerse themselves in the world of the funky cartoons fighting evil polygons in space.
and his presence always made watching the show that much more special.
however, due to her entropy loss syndrome, even while she was recovering within her lifepod, it would still drain her energy to where she sometimes ended up falling asleep in the middle of watching the show with caelus around. it would make her feel embarrassed as she considered it rude to slumber when there was another party involved, but he never brought it up. instead, whenever she did wake back up to her room covered by a blanket of darkness, the fluorescence light emitting from her pod would reveal a sticky note left on the glass with a handwritten message, always saying: sleep well, goodnight :)
and she kept every single note in a box hidden in a compartment besides her lifepod — it was her nightly good luck charm.
then one day, firefly was watching the series on her lonesome, engrossed as always as she was coming up with a million topic conversations she could bring up to caelus the next time she saw him since the two hadn’t really talked about it, and she wanted to break the ice between them a little more. but as the main character turbo-boosted his spaceship into the big lair where all the evil resided, the shockwave of the attack knocked him out cold and caused his inner light to vanish. the rest of his crewmates screamed out to him, worried for his well-being, and then the screen faded into black. shortly after, the words “To be Continued.” appeared for a brief moment before the tape ended all together.
a cliffhanger — it wasn’t a big deal. other episodes had the same transition and would pick up in the next episode.
but . . . there wasn’t another episode.
because when she asked about it to kafka, all she received was a shrug and the words “ that was all i was able to retrieve. ” and that formed a dark cloud over firefly’s head who then got drenched by the heavy rainfall that descended upon her mood. the heroes were so close to defeating the forces of evil — how can it end like this? all she was left to cling onto was the vision of the main character slumped in the back of his spaceship as darkness engulfed him infinitely ; that was not a sight she was willing to accept. it didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel justified, the heroes had done everything they could to get the happy ending they rightfully deserved . . .
it can’t end like this.
despite her insides crumbling at the thought of not being able to finish the series, firefly kept her emotions in check on the outside. to be shedding tears towards something as mundane as a television show was not accepted by the terms and conditions of the military life she had escaped from — she is to venture forth no matter the circumstances.
and yet, there was caelus who wasn’t ashamed to grit his teeth and ball his fists in frustration at the revelation.
“ i’ll help you find the next episode, ” he said with full, fiery determination in his golden irises.
he had caught her as she was in the process of slipping back into her pod after a successful mission of their own, one of her hands being encapsulated by the larger hands belonging to him. the light from her sunset eyes grew dim after she confessed to him that they weren’t going to be able to watch more of the show because there was no more to watch — half of her was defeated by the fact and the other half was saddened that those special moments she spent with caelus might never reoccur again. they hadn’t talked much outside of their time together in her recovery room due to the conditions of her being stuck in the pod and him being out putting in work — so the girl begrudgingly accepted them parting away once more.
but he surprised her when he held onto her hand, looked at her with such sincerity in his eyes. the grip he had on her was undeniable, and she grew to love the sensation he offered in that very moment — her otherwise cold skin felt the relief of warmth. it was then that firefly decided she didn’t want him to let go of her hand ; she wanted this closeness to remain with her for the rest of her life and beyond death. for it was not only his touch and his eyes that pulled her into an embrace, but the energy she felt coursing through him from his pulsing palms cupping her weak hand was mesmerizing.
she wanted to be his friend.
and thus, time slipped pass between their fingers like sand as the two continued their journey through the cosmos as partners seeking closure of their favorite show. throughout, they would indulge in rewatching the series, enamored by the bright colors and joyous vibes that emitted from the screen. they no longer sat in silence but engaged in fruitful conversation about the characters and their tactics, putting themselves in their shoes to see how different the outcomes would’ve been. they shared countless smiles and laughs with one another along with tears and frustrated groans, and at the end of the day, they would both rehearse endings to their time spent together — no cliffhangers allowed.
“ i promise to give you the most beautiful daydream, ” caelus vowed to her. “ and part of that daydream includes a proper ending to our favorite show. ”
and she sealed his promise with a golden heart-shaped lock . . . even when he ultimately forgot where he placed his key.
firefly couldn’t bear to watch the show after caelus left — too many memories would distract her from continuing her lifelong mission. she asked silver wolf to store the tapes away somewhere safe until the right time would come for her to say hello to an old friend again. and yet, even as years passed, bits and pieces of the show would resurface in her mind as it never truly left her peripheral — the theme song being the catchiest as the lyrics never fogged from her memory.
then penacony happened.
as firefly finished conversing with silver wolf over the details of her mission in the land of dreams — something she had never had the opportunity to experience herself — a familiar tune floated in golden melodic notes from a distance like a siren luring her in. it was away from the path where she needed to trend on, but it would only be for a moment, the urge to follow the music was stronger. she had a few minutes to spare before she needed to position herself, so she had to act fast, sprinting through ballooned decorated streets as the music grew louder and louder until she ended up face to face with a large television screen showcasing nostalgic colors in harmonic dances.
starlight brigade.
the window of shock withered itself into a broken symphony of tears and choked sobs as firefly cowered herself with a hand covering her mouth to prevent attention from the outside to interfere with her moment of weakness. as the upbeat music continued to sway around her, she wallowed in her sadness as a contrast — visions of the times of the past flooded her mind, all with the face of caelus and his words of a promise repeating like a chorus to a song.
she had found a fragment of their show . . . but where was he and the ending he swore to find?
The weather here never made up its mind. It arrived in tempests and left in tatters, only to return angrier for having been absent at all.
Anselm sat by the narrow window with a cup of bitter coffee warming his hands, watching the storm rehearse its violences against the glass.
Snow moved sideways as though it were something alive and offended; rain threaded itself through the white in cold, needling sheets. The sky was a bruise that never healed.
This realm, he thought, knew only winter, knew only the long dark patience of endurance.
In Faerie, winter had been a flirtation. It came jeweled and singing, all frost laced branches and silver feasts. Even its cruelties seemed a thing of beauty.
This cold was different. It was honest. It did not pretend to be anything other than what it was.
Neither, he supposed, did Mara.
Behind him, parchment whispered. He didn’t need to turn to know her posture; seated straight-backed at her desk, one hand holding her pen, the other braced against her temple as though holding together a thought that threatened to split.
Papers lay spread before her like a battlefield; dossiers of this and that, petitions from here and there, grievances from courts that feared her and needed her in equal measure.
Queen of Purgatory. Goddess. Reluctant bride.
Anselm smiled into his coffee.
How strange his life had become, he thought. How small the world he had known now seemed, bound by green halls and older magics, by the familiar etiquette of Faerie’s courts.
There, he had been Anna’s father first, a mage second, a noble always. Here, he was… something else. A presence. A balance, perhaps. But certainly a man who was permitted to sit in silence while a god ruled.
He let the storm have his eyes, but his thoughts strayed, inevitably, to the woman behind him.
Mara did not look like love, not in the way poets preferred. There was nothing soft about her at first glance. Her beauty was severe, honed, like a blade meant for ritual rather than war.
A certain darkness clung to her; not wickedness, never that, but weight. Purpose. The accumulated gravity of countless endings.
She liked to pretend he was there because she allowed it.
Anselm indulged her.
They both knew the story that they told the courts; duty only. An agreement. A necessary marriage to bind Faerie and Purgatory, to unite realms so that that may never begin to drift too far apart. Nobility must meet divinity.
Spring would suffice.
Neither of them had wanted it.
And yet.
He watched her now as she took pause, pen hovering, eyes unfocused as though she were listening to something far away.
In moments like this, the aloofness slipped. Not enough for anyone else to notice, never that. But after so many shared nights and exchanges Anselm had become a scholar of her silences.
He knew when the weight pressed too hard. He knew when frustration coiled sharp in her chest, when the courts demanded blood where diplomacy would do.
He would speak then, softly, offering nothing but perspective. A companion’s steadiness. He never told her what to do. He knew better than to try.
He simply stood where she could lean, if she chose.
That was the part he played.
Debonair, she had thought once, with faint irritation. Refined. The words had startled her, arriving unbidden. She had dismissed them as quickly as they came. Anselm suspected this, too, though she had never said a word.
Love, he had learned, did not always announce itself. Sometimes it hid behind duty and politeness, behind the careful choreography of two people determined not to want what they already held.
He loved her in the way winter loves the land it strips bare; not to destroy it, but to reveal what endures.
The storm hurled itself again at the window. Anselm turned at last, meeting her gaze as she looked up, eyes dark and questioning.
“Still watching the weather?” she asked, voice cool, controlled.
“Learning its moods,” he replied easily.
A pause. Then the barest curve of her mouth, gone almost before it existed.
He lifted his cup in silent salute and returned to his seat, heart steady, patient as the coming spring neither of them yet dared to name.
The night that Belle had told Anna and Julie that the child had taken root, the faerie woods were holding their breath. Anna knew this because the leaves did not dare to move. Even the moths, delicate as breath, clung to the bark of the trees and stayed there.
The world was listening, and so was she.
Julie’s hands were warm where they rested over Anna’s, guiding them to the curve of her belly. Anna could not see the small, secret swell that lay hidden there, but she felt it. She had felt the change in Julie’s body the way one feels a tide turning long before the water reaches one’s feet but hadn’t the courage or foresight to name it until Belle had grown tired of their dancing around the obvious.
“It’s super early” Julie said, her voice steady but bright with something barely contained. “But the ‘Divine Midwife’ said she’s sure, and so am I… Now that I’ve got context for the cheese balls cravings, that is.”
Anna bowed her head with a gentle laugh as she knelt before Julie, the silver crown slipping loose in her hair. She pressed her forehead to Julie’s stomach, as if the child might already know her touch. For a moment she allowed herself to forget the weight of leadership, the careful balance of treaties and magic.
For now, she was only a wife, kneeling before the miracle her beloved carried.
Blindness had taught her to trust what others often overlooked; the faint hum beneath skin, the pulse that answered when she laid her hand upon living things. A heartbeat answered her now. Or perhaps it was only Julie’s.
Anna smiled anyway.
She had once believed her life would be a narrow thing, constrained by loss and darkness, by the limits imposed when her sight was taken and the court whispered that a blind queen could not rule for long. Yet again the world had proven itself larger than her fears.
Julie and Eti had entered Anna’s life the way spring comes to a forest long accustomed to winter. Not all at once, but steadily, insistently, until she realised that colour and warmth had returned without her permission.
Julie had brought laughter first, a grounding, human laughter that did not flinch at crowns or blindness, that reached for Anna as though she were simply a woman worth loving. With her came Eti, bright voiced and curious, unafraid of the dark that Anna lived in, unafraid of her silences. He learned her world by touch and sound, slipping his small hand into hers as though it had always belonged there, asking questions not out of doubt but wonder.
In their presence, Anna felt herself soften in ways she had once thought impossible; the sharp vigilance of rule eased, the old loneliness loosened its grip. They filled her days with ordinary miracles; shared meals, small arguments, laughter echoing down stone halls.
In that abundance, Anna had discovered a happiness so deep and unexpected it felt like a second sight, one that showed her not what she had lost, but everything she had been given.
She laid her palm more firmly against Julie’s belly and felt the faintest answering rhythm beneath the skin. Whether it truly was Julie’s heartbeat or something newly formed, Anna chose not to question it.
Some truths did not need naming.
“You know,” Anna said softly, “For so long I had thought the world had finished surprising me.”
Julie laughed then, a sound like river water over stone. “Yeah, but you say that every time the world proves you wrong.”
Anna reached for her face, tracing the familiar map beneath her fingertips; the sharpness of her cheekbones, the light dimpling of skin, the small line between Julie’s brows that appeared when she worried too much. She had memorised Julie in the way sailors memorise the stars, by touch and repetition and love.
They had not planned this child by any stretch of the imagination, though neither would say that this had been an accident.
It had happened on a night soaked in wine and old magic, when Anna had taken on another shape; broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, and laughing in a way she rarely allowed herself to as queen.
It had been a game at first, a remembering of old faerie freedoms. But desire is a serious thing, and it does not always remain play.
Now the magic had left behind something small and enduring.
Outside, Eti and Labella were chasing fireflies with wild shrieks of laughter. Eti’s voice had already begun to lower, though he was still a child, and Labella followed him wherever he roamed like a shadow stitched from devotion. Anna could hear them clearly as they played; the scuff of their bare feet, the whisper of wings caught and released again.
Eti had taken to calling Anna ‘mother’ without hesitation, as if he had always known where he could call home. Labella, for her part, had announced on the first day that Eti was hers, which Julie had wisely accepted as a declaration of love rather than ownership.
Anna listened to them with a fullness in her chest. The children had claimed one another with a possessive love that had made Julie laugh and Anna ache with fondness. They were already a family, and this new child would not arrive to an empty space, but to a home rich with voices and touch.
“They’ll be good to this one,” Julie said, as if reading Anna’s thoughts.
“I know,” Anna replied. “And I’m sure that they will teach them mischief before language.”
Later, when the children were asleep and the palace lamps had been dimmed, Anna and Julie lay together beneath linen sheets scented with lavender and crushed pine. Julie’s body curved against Anna’s like a promise, protective and familiar.
Anna placed her hand again over Julie’s belly, reverent as a priestess.
“I am afraid,” Anna admitted at last, her voice barely louder than the breath between them. “Not of the child. Of loving so much in a world that knows how to take.”
Julie lifted herself slightly and kissed her, slow and unhurried, as though time itself had agreed to give them this moment untouched. “We can’t protect ourselves by refusing joy.”
“And anyway,” she had continued. “This kid is already so loved. They’re going to grow up in a house that’s already full. That’s more than a lot of people are given.”
Anna let the words settle within her, felt them ease the tightness she carried like Armor. She had faced curses, wars, and the long ache of uncertainty, but this fragile hope she could not see, seemed to her to be the most precious thing that she had ever held in her hands.
When dawn finally came, pale and cool, Anna woke to Julie’s steady breathing and the quiet stirring of the forest as life resumed its gentle motion. Somewhere, unseen roots stretched deeper into the earth. Somewhere, a future dreamed without knowing its own name.
Anna smiled into the morning and placed her hand once more upon the promise between them, listening as the world, attentive and alive, began to move again.
I felt in a mood to explore Minju and Oliver relationship, mostly the day they understood they were basically the same story but told in a different timeline... 🙏
It wasn’t the first time she had seen him. He was the type of man to be visible. Electric blue hair, muscles, a cut jawline ready to slice anyone and smooth olive skin. He was a catch for the eyes, a butterfly in the middle of the night - yet, he was always ending in the same emergency room at 5am, a bag of ice pressed on his swollen lips or cheeks, and his irises gazing at nothing but the air.
Minju stopped in front of the room, having this sensation of facing herself a few years before. Anyone could believe that he was simply an unlucky man who had partied too hard, but alas, she had also seen him in different places. Dark ones. She shuddered, not only because she was tired after spending another night watching her brother, but because the memories were sometimes too vivid. She shouldn’t step in, he wasn’t his problem - she had already too much to deal with, with her own family, but his misery was a call in the middle of the dark. She knew he had no ally in this world.
“Hey”
Her voice was nothing but a soft whisper, a gentle way to approach him and notify her presence. She seemed tough and mostly unapproachable most of the time, heartless in her own way, yet she was truly warm in her soul. She caught a glimpse of his eyes and she stood motionless. In the depth of his chestnut irises she knew he was also aware of who she was. She watched him stiffen on his chair, looking away once more.
“The work is done,” Oliver said, before he cleared his throat. Minju stepped in, grabbing that ridiculously small plastic glass to give him some water, her other hand keeping her jacket clutched against her torso.
“Yes, I know. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.” She answered, unsure now if she was truly welcomed. He was wary, but it felt oddly reassuring and familiar. Being wary in his line of work was his only tool for survival. “Ice is only good for the swell but… Coconut oil is the best for cuts.”
She caught his attention, while she casually pressed her back against the cold wall of the hospital. Oliver sighed, lengthily, pressing the dripping bag against his cheek. He had been there long enough for the ice to melt ; he was probably not so eager to go home. In his little cocoon, Minju knew he would crumble. Silence was his only answer, and she understood that she had potentially busted him at the worst moment possible. After. After the cuts, the punches, and well… the raping. After he had given himself to someone who just wanted to use him and hurt him. She knew exactly how he felt.
“I’m alright,” Oliver stated again, noticing that Minju was still that lingering shadow behind his back, unmoving. “I don’t feel any sort of pain, it’s a condition. I don’t feel any of them right now. The client was happy, he even left some extra cash. Tell Kaizen, or Gambit, I don’t know.”
His voice was betraying his lack of trust in her, a certain harshness hidden in the back of his throat, and not only because it was sore. He resented her, probably because he wasn’t aware of who she was before the woman she had become today. No pain, ugh? Minju had once heard about this condition. Pain insensitiveness. The perfect tool for a sadist to have fun, and for the cleaners to earn power.
“Ah, that’s why they picked you.” Minju felt a cynical smirk curling her upper lip. “They always have a reason.”
Their eyes met again. Hers were endlessly glacial. She eventually grabbed the backrest of the free chair and dragged it into the room until she placed it near Oliver and sat down.
“Coconut oil is not for the pain, it’s for the scars. It prevents them from staying.”
She knew he would be puzzled, so she decided to handle the answer without being asked. She slowly lifted her shirt up, only to reveal the bad shape of a messy “A” carved into the pale skin of her hip. Anyone who had whored themselves out would know it was branding - a mark from someone who wanted to own them. Oliver couldn’t look away, and pinched his lips together. Minju finally covered it back.
“If only I had known about it before this one,” Minju voiced, shrugging. Detaching herself from the emotions she had experienced back then was the safest way possible to cope with her past. Yet, she couldn’t lie to herself ; it was still a part of her present too.
“I didn’t know…” Oliver eventually said, removing the bag of ice and putting it aside on the night table, water miserably dripping on the ground. “About…”
“About me?” Minju cut him, perceiving that he wasn’t comfortable enough to say those words because they were unfortunately his own reality. “Yeah, I was one of them. Way before the Amazon Club was made, actually.”
Oliver remained silent for a while, playing with his blue hair.
“A… Like?”
Minju gently smiled, pressing her elbow on the top of the chair, crossing her legs. She eyed him like the big sister she was ; desiring to protect the last few parts of his innocence. He was perhaps terrified of encountering that man one day.
“Alessandro Lenio, Zodiac’s big brother.” She answered. “He wasn’t just a client, to me. I was his pet and property, and he made sure everyone would be aware of it. He gave me a little souvenir one day…” She still sounded bitter, even today. She waved her hand. “But you won’t meet him. He’s a man of the past.”
“But… you’re not an escort anymore, right?” Oliver eventually dared to ask. His eyes darkened. “I don’t know exactly who you are, just that you’re involved with the club affairs and Kaizen. All of them.”
All of them. A little display of bravery from Oliver, the undermeaning of his words quite clear. He wanted to bite, but he was lacking the teeth. Of course, he would associate her with the rest of them ; he was standing alone on the other side of the road, and he didn’t know if there were any friendly faces among those monsters.
“You’re not stupid. You’re different to them, just like I was. I bargained for my freedom when my time came, and one day I suggest you do the same.”
“Yeah, I don’t really believe in that…”
She didn’t either.
“Male clients only?” Minju asked, while she retrieved the plastic glass of water from his hand and took a gulp herself until it was empty, and she threw it in the can at the corner of the room.
“Only males.” Oliver answered darkly.
“The worst kind,” Minju said, before she eventually stood back up. “Did Zodiac ever come to see you?”
Oliver frowned, unsure about her question. Zodiac was always barking at him, but he would stand far away as much as possible. It was as if he was carrying the plague and Zodiac could catch it from sharing the same oxygen. Oliver preferred it that way.
“Came to me how? Why do you ask?”
Minju smiled, almost nostalgically. Zodiac’s secret was still safe, even after all these years.
“Nothing. Are you hungry, perhaps? Pancakes are on me.”
Oliver snorted, shaking his head. He wanted to leave this room as well, hoping that the few rays of sun would ease his damaged soul.
“So you’re not here to kill me?”
Minju shook her head, sliding her jacket back onto her shoulders. Their eyes met again. Cold against cold. Victim against victim. Freedom against slavery.
“No. But please… Make sure that your name will never be on my list, Oliver.”
