Her welcome back to earth is the whistling of air as she falls, a splash, a rush, and the feeling of sinking. It’s the ocean, it’s the wet and cold, it’s the dark.
Not exactly what she’d imagined, but it feels so inconceivably good to be back home that she forgets she doesn’t know how to swim or breathe underwater or any of that. She doesn’t think, crap, how am I going to get to the surface, or even, I hope someone saves me, but instead, I’m free. I made it. I’m free.
She’s F R E E.
(Drowning, but free)
But, in what is and will be perhaps the single luckiest moment in her entire life, she is saved.
The thrumming, head-pounding, animalistic growl reverberates through her entire system and she thrashes against hands - hands that seek to drag her back, pull her back, rip her apart, tear into her soul just like the Hedge. She’s weak. She can’t struggle. She’s weak. She’s going to lose.
Unwillingly, she is dragged to the surface coughing and spluttering. On fire. She's on fire. She's going to die. The reality of her looming mortality comes to a head and she resists. She didn't escape for nothing! She didn't survive for nothing! She didn't -
“Hey, are you alright?”
The voice is calm. Surprisingly so. It jolts her out of her stupor and she stops flailing about, feeling rather foolish. She's on… Metal, plastic. It's rocking. A boat? Salt water dribbles down her chin and she coughs up the last of the ocean still clinging to her lungs.
“There, there,” says the lulling voice, “take your time. Don’t want you getting hurt.”
A bit late for that, she thinks dryly, but doesn't voice it. Mostly because she hasn't found her voice yet.
Wait.
Her mind backtracks a little while her body shudders with another coughing fit. Wait. Strong arms. Roaring engines. Ah, she was saved after all. Truly her one moment of luck.
Or perhaps it was an omen. Maybe this will be her punishment.
The question is, then: how much did this mysterious saviour see?
Ugh. Her head hurts too much for this kind of thinking so early. She wipes her face with her sleeve and pulls her too-thin jacket around her frail, shivering body. Frail, shivering, human body.
“You're lucky I came this way to fish, instead,” her strong-armed saviour says. “Saw you splashing about - I'm glad you're ok.”
Still shivering, she turns around. There's a girl. Probably not much older than her, at least physically. Long hair, tied back. Gentle, swaying purple eyes. Nope, that's just the whole world swaying and spinning. She falls to her ass on the deck of the boat, feet tingling. Ponytail-girl looks distraught and catches her before she teeters over. She doesn't know whether to follow her instincts and flinch and scrabble away and dive back into the ocean and live, or think things through for once and stay put. In the end, she just shuts down. Much easier.
“So, uh…” Ponytail-girl wrings out a towel and places it over her trembling, bony shoulders. The gesture is appreciated, but it's not enough and there's no way it's genuine. “What's your name? And where do you live? You can dry yourself off at mine first, if you like. No pressure. Oh, I'm, uh, Kanan, by the way.”
Kanan. A very normal sounding name for a very normal sounding person. It's so normal it's sure to be a trick.
“Yo-” a cough. A splutter. A flash of memories of the True Fae and Everything Else. “Yohane. M- my n- name is Yo- Yohane.”
“Nice to meet you, Yohane.” Kanan smiles and pats her back reassuringly. She doesn't really want to say anything more, so Yohane sits in obvious discomfort, knobbly knees to her chest, breathing laboured. The boat rocks. To and forth.
A bird squawks. Yohane jumps - she'd almost forgotten what a bird sounded like, up close. But she's free now. Sniffling, she buries her face into the crook of her elbow and stays there a long moment. Kanan, to her credit, doesn't say anything.
At lasts Kanan stands and dusts herself off. She picks up two oars and seats herself again. So, it's a rowboat. Yohane takes this time to familiarise herself with the ocean, and if she looks, there's land to her left. There's home. She is so excited, thrilled, terrified to be back. She wonders what has changed. She wonders how long it's been. There's all kinds of horror stories - changelings who only make it half way through the Hedge before losing themselves, the lost ones who tear themselves apart on the brambles and thorns rather than face the reality of the world they knew. But, Yohane isn't like the others.
Yohane is unlucky. She has a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if nothing else, she's a survivor. Alone, but a survivor.
It's always been that way.
Sensing a change in mood, Kanan slows down her rowing to speak. “I'm not gonna ask why you were stranded out here in the sea, but… If there's anything I can do to help…”
Yohane shakes her head. Her tongue betrays her. It feels too thick in her throat. A droplet of water runs down from her fringe, around her cheekbones, onto her lips. She tastes salt. She feels sick. Her chest pounds with each breath.
Freedom freedom freedom f r e e d o m
They hit the shore with a jolt. Yohane falls and hits her head on the side of the boat. She rubs her head and gives Kanan a sour look even as she takes the hand offered to her, gets to her feet. She's still sopping wet, even with the towel. Water follows in her footprints on the sand.
“Here, just wait a moment, and we’ll get you inside. You must be freezing.” Kanan says heartily. Yohane wants to roll her eyes, for some reason. Emotions and communication are going to be hard to get used to, she thinks as she mindlessly wanders up the shore. Kanan calls out to her in warning, takes her elbow, and leads her in the opposite direction. (It's not like she's in the state to resist, anyway.)
She can almost see herself, from a distance. Like an angel. Is she dead? Has she died and gone to heaven? No, is is surely hell.
They approach a building (a shop?) and Yohane breathes a sigh of relief. She hasn't had to walk that much in - a long time. Kanan gives her a puzzling sideways glance, unaffected by the tumultuous climb.
“This is my place,” she explains, jerking a thumb back to the building, “so, you're quite welcome to come in and stay a while. At least let’s dry you off and - you can borrow some clothes. Maybe a cup of tea?”
No one’s ever said this many words all at once. Yohane nods. That's the right response, right? It seems to be, because Kanan looks pleased and ushers her inside. Firmly but gently. A hand between her shoulders. Yohane gets a chill down her spine just being in the same room as Kanan. Not the good kind. The meat-at-the-slaughterhouse kind. As Kanan shuts the door behind them, Yohane sees a million eyes watching from the shadows, but in the blink of an eye, they're gone.
As if they were never there.
Kanan’s hand burns right through the fabric of her shirt. Brands her skin with its broad palms. She can't let it show. She can't let it show. She can't let it show.
“Once you're in some dry clothes, you'll feel much warmer,” Kanan is saying, if only Yohane could hear. They're alone, in a house. Walking to Kanan’s room, probably. Alone. Yohane doesn't think of herself as a conspiracy theorist but for some reason it feels as if every lurking shadow has filled her lungs and made it so hard to breathe. Is Kanan fae? Is she an agent for them? Does she know what Yohane is? What Yohane’s done?
“Wait here.”
Yohane waits.
It's now that she gets a good look at her captor’s home of residence. It's a bit rustic. Nothing like the house of Yohane’s childhood back in Numazu. Not that she can remember that very well. Her mind draws a curiously blank. Empty. Void. Just how they want you to be.
Kanan returns with an armful of clothes and a small and gentle smile. Her eyes gleam. Yohane shivers.
“Here's some clothes of mine you can borrow,” says Kanan.
“A- a - are you sure?”
“Don't sweat it.” Kanan pushes the clothes into Yohane’s unwilling arms and gestures down the hall. “Bathroom’s in that room, there. I don't wear these clothes anymore, anyway. They're too, uh, small. While you get changed I'll turn on the heater and boil the kettle!”
Kanan scoots off. Yohane is left alone in the hallway, except, of course, the entire Gentry looking over her shoulder. Invisible, of course. Yohane knows they're there.
She gets changed as quickly as she can. The clothes are a little loose on her frame. Kanan, she can't help but notice, is much more solidly built. Healthy, even. Yohane doesn't want to but she spares herself a glance in the mirror. Her feathered clockwork lies just beyond, in the corner of her eye…
When she is done (she's still wet, and not any warmer like Kanan promised) she wanders out to the whistling sound of a kettle, presumably. Still barefoot, carrying her soggy clothes under one arm. She can feel her limp wet hair already tangling and drying out like seaweed. Her skin drying and shrivelling. Ghostly wings wither by her shoulder blades, a demonic reminder.
“Would you like some tea?” Kanan calls out. Yohane doesn't think she's a fan of tea, but it doesn't feel like she has a choice, so she nods dumbly. “Ah, you can take a seat, it's fine!”
Yohane warily lowers herself onto a chair. She can't help but think: is Kanan living here alone? Or are there others around? What if they try and attack her? Is she strong enough to defend herself, yet?
Kanan places steaming hot tea and a small container of milk on the table in front of Yohane. She has a cup of something herself. Yohane can't see it. She doesn't really care. Under Kanan’s careful scrutiny, she lifts the cup to her lips, swallows, and subsequently burns her tongue and her throat. This, she thinks, is true hell.
“S- sorry. I might have made it too hot.”
Yeah, no kidding.
Yohane feels the gears of her heart shift the the quiet that follows. Something - a heater? - buzzes in the background. Birds caw in the distant skies, and the ocean whispers at the skirts of her hearing. It should be a calming atmosphere, but there's something about it all that makes Yohane’s entire body fizzle and fry with nerves. Too many thoughts at once. Not enough thoughts at once. Overwhelming.
It doesn't make any sense, but Yohane suddenly hears that voice in the shell of her ear. Let's see if humans like you can fly, Yoshiko-chan!
The cup is pulled from her hands before it can slip and smash on the floor. Yohane feels herself evacuating her mortal body, displaced and detached. Like a diver. An astral diver. Stop it, she tells herself, there's not even any reason for this. Nothing set you off. Behave yourself.
Thorns under her skin. Tearing her soul.
“I have to go.” She's on her feet, now. Kanan hurriedly follows, futilely holding her back by the wrist. The grip is like a vice. Something burns. Like, an actual burn. A cold, metallic burn
“That… Probably isn't the best idea.” Kanan says, eyes flickering here and there. Yohane follows, looking for something. Anything. “But if you'll wait just a bit longer I can help you get on the ferry.”
“.... Numazu.” Yohane mutters, “I need to go to Numazu.”
Kanan holds both hands between strong, calloused fingers. Trapped. Caged. “I can help you get to Numazu. Please, wait a bit longer. I'll be right back, ok? I have to make a quick call.” She says in a voice so smooth and trustworthy that Yohane is fooled completely.
“Ok.”
It's not like Yohane is in any state to resist.
She sits back down, soul elsewhere. Vacant. Traversing through her mind scape, reliving memories, picking out thorns and brambles from the Hedge. Trying to remember her home. Her family. Herself.
For some reason, she can't, no matter how hard she tries. Any memories beyond her abduction are so far away they may as well be stories. Fairy tales. Ha ha.
Once Kanan is gone, Yohane has a split second to weigh up her options before she already knows her choice. There's a ferry nearby, and failing that, the rowboat which saved her life. There's her hometown, her one chance at making up for the lost years. Or there's staying here in Kanan’s murder house.
Yohane makes her decision easily. Following her instincts has never been so easy.
By the time Kanan comes back, she's gone without a trace.
