However she had planned to greet Bernadetta before, it's all forgotten the moment she sees a familiar shawl tucking the girl into a garden all her own. Maria's heart swells in her chest at the sight of it, a gift given a year ago now, and the thought in her mind sets her lips all a-wobble ere she embraces the shining, irrepressible smile it brings: Bernie remembers.
And she cannot help it; she laughs, for there is too much joy to keep to herself. She laughs, and she grabs a corner of her own shawl in each hand (because Maria remembers, too), arms thrown wide like a wyvern in flight.
"Bernie, here I come!" She ought to give her a fair beat of warning in a crowded place like this, after all! And a fair beat it is, though her tempo is quick, arms thrown 'round Bernadetta's shoulders in the next. For most people, Maria would hold loosely, with room enough to slip away. Bernie, however, is not most people; Maria presses her cheek against Bernie's own, giggling softly against her hair.
"Hee hee... you're wearing your shawl! That makes me so happy!" Like ivy winds around a pillar, the little cleric wends her way to stand before her, bracing her friend's arms with her hands. "Then in a way... doesn't that mean we're matching? Heeheehee!
"And you know what else?" Grinning, she procures a small item with a familiar shape. "It's the anniversary of when I met one of my best friends in the world!"
The charm dangles, and as it spins ever so slightly it reveals a meticulous embroidery: a multitude of plants and flowers on both sides, some belonging to Macedon and others made note of in letters past. They intermingle, sharing both faces of the charm together, though one side curiously hosts a rose-shaped button.
"It's a good luck charm again," Maria whisper-laughs, eyes sparkling behind the gift. "See the button? You can write a wish on a piece of paper, fold it up, and put it inside! Try it sometime, okay?" Because to put a wish in, she will have to remove the paper already inside: 'Maria's list of things to love about Bernie!'. (The ink changes multiple times throughout the space it fills to bursting -- this is something she has written over many months, added to for each time her friend brought a little smile to her face, until even the margins are filled sideways.)
"You can't forget to try it at least once, okay? Hee hee... I love you, Bernie!"
it is not only the night of the ethereal ball. no, to bernadetta, it has become far more. last year had given her the garden around her shoulders, and the year before that, one of her dearest friends in the world. if nobody else, absolutely nobody else at all, she is precisely who bernadetta had wanted to come and find here most of all.
and here she comes—luminous, magical, brimming and overflowing with a love that bernadetta did not know what to do with once upon a time. but she catches it now, two years and some change later; she embraces it with a little noise of surprise, she catches maria like the broad sky does the soaring wyvern and bernadetta's embrace leaves just as little space between them.
“a-and you're wearing yours!” she volleys back, cheek pressing against hers with all the stuttered, but same enthusiasm. it is an unconscious reaction. it is how maria is not afraid to afford bernadetta her uninhibited affections that allows bernadetta to be unafraid in accepting them, in returning them.
“i-it is, though! it's today!” the exclamations continue, certainty preloaded in these affirmations as if maria had only beaten her to announcing it, but bernadetta remembered too, and she wants maria to know it. she is coming to realize more and more that she wants maria to know everything. “i remembered. that's why i've been out here. i waited, and waited, because i really wanted to see you.”
this admission is where her volume begins to dwindle, fingertips steepling in front of her chest, because shawl or no shawl, it bares herself to maria in a way that should terrify her. it should have sent her running two words in. but what was it again that maria had been the very first to point out? bernadetta von varley is bravest when she loves. what else is meant by the word miracle? so she does not shrink away. she sways idly in place, still held fast by warm ivy, the kind that comforts like a love letter signed off by ink flowers.
and speaking of. a little cleric, a giant heart, a second gift of a garden. each petal on this charm, stitched with a love that even bernadetta cannot refute, plucks at every string in her chest. some people carry the world on their shoulders, but right now she thinks she is cradling it in her palms. the unadulterated joy of it all touches her eyes, lips, and cheeks.
she will try it later—and likely bawl doing so, a liter of tears for every page written—but that will be another sweet story, magical as the other fairy tales they love to exchange. in the here and the now, bernadetta has a surprise of her own.
“th-thank you! i've got something to give you, too. it's, um...” a brief rustle and she produces the dried handicraft from her pocket. rife with petals preserved through painstaking methods, this much is certain: capturing its pigment, forging durability from fragility, pressing the sunflower bookmark had been nothing if not a labor of love. another miracle. its slim rectangular frame sports an embroidered tassel, almost making it resemble a longer version of the tag-shaped charms. “here. i figured you could use it while reading, but now that i think about it, i guess it can go anywhere you want!”
for tonight's orchids, she will need some more time. even the simplest blooms took more than a day to dehydrate for much else. but a large, fresh one does find its way into maria's hair, slipped affectionately into neat rosy strands.
(and slipping this in too, just before she forgets—oh, but bernadetta wouldn't, not ever for this—)
“i love you too, maria!” she goes all in, warnings and hesitation thrown to the wind, arms flinging around her dear friend once more. their cheeks press together like another promise. “so much!”
