Fantasy ♡ need you like a heartbeat. (starboob & ellarose.)

[starboob]

If only the consequence of choosing her own salvation was a marred reputation. A marred reputation she could handle—at the very least, she could live through the worst of it. It’s as Juliet said, it would not be the end of the world. And if only it were just a reputation that she risks. Were that the case, she would have made this choice before she ever became the hollow woman, the gone girl, the unrecognizable mistake that stares back in the reflection. If only, if only, if only.

This is not to say that Dorothea is ungrateful for the heroine’s words. They do help. They do give her something new to ponder—a dangerous new fantasy that is hers to grasp if only she asks. (And with Willow and Juliet, perhaps she can finally get ahead in this game and escape while keeping everyone safe. She has almost enough daring to actually consider this. As it is, she's already caused them enough trouble.) And yet she knows what really is at risk. It’s impossible for her to say that her escape is worth another’s life. She twists her hands, lowering her gaze away from the archer.

“I suppose,” she sighs and glides back over to the couch while Juliet finishes up her look. She really is stunning, especially in red. If she lets herself remember the look of her scars, her toned muscles that let everyone know hers aren’t just for vanity… Her heart trips over the memory, stuttering. Yes, so maybe she shouldn't think about that. Not when she’s promised to another and not when Willow is so clearly interested. Willow deserves someone like Juliet; someone who is kind and brave. If only one of them can have a happily ever after, she wants that for her old friend. “I suppose,” she repeats, sounding a bit dreamy without meaning to. She clears her throat, bringing herself back to this You York hotel suite. “It’s something to think about. I don’t know that leaving is for me, though.” Dorothea hardly sounds convinced of that. More than anything she has always yearned to leave and the price is just not one she can pay. (But maybe—no. She has caused them enough trouble.)

Her hand falls over her chest, over her heart. Jovi is beside her on the couch, curled up and sleeping. Those gray spots covering her fur tug at Dorothea, knowing it’s her fault her companion is suffering alongside her. Even if she could leave Evermore, what good would that do for Jovi? It might give them both reprieve from the effects of her outbursts, but if her condition is never resolved then she is only prolonging their mutual ruination. Though no other healer has been able to work out her condition, she believes Juliet when she says that her and Willow have figured it out.

And of course Willow James has. She should have been the first to know about her condition from the onset. To be fair, she tried to tell her. Many times, but after a certain number of unanswered messages and waiting around their old rendezvous, Dorothea took the hint, much to her own heartbreak. She supposes she earned it for how things ended.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll have my independence…” Eyes linger everywhere trying to find her. Top Ten will only be safe for so much longer before it clicks that she chose to hide in plain sight. “And before this small freedom ends, I think I’d like it if you and Willow could try? It’s worth at least trying, right?” Her brow puckers, sounding uncharacteristically unsure, like a little girl who is not used to making decisions for herself. “It won’t… It won’t hurt, will it?”

***​

“Gods.” Kinsley pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut as she takes a measured breath. The vein in her forehead bulges with all the effort it takes to not blow up. Eventually, the micromanager finds her peace (Kinsley’s Version). “She looks like some pervert’s fantasy of Little Red Riding Hood. You seriously approved of this look?”

The women are riding in the backseat of a black armored vehicle with windows that are so tinted, it makes the summer afternoon look like midnight. Meredith, who has never traveled in such luxury, occupies herself by trying to figure out what each of the buttons on the car door do, amusing herself with the air conditioning controls that are aimed perfectly at Kinsley. She cranks AC to full blast, causing Kinsley’s hair to fly out of place. She whips around, unamused, and slaps Meredith’s hand away from the controls. “Are you a fucking child?”

Meredith hisses. Kinsley recoils, wrinkling her nose. “Keep acting like that and they’ll definitely put a leash on you, feral.”

Ordinarily, such a statement would incite (righteous) violence. In fact, Meredith is about to launch herself at Kinsley, but Dorothea casts a sheer, glimmering barrier between them. “Step off it, Kinsley. That was uncalled for and you know it. And, honestly? I’m not going to keep coming between you two.” By this she also means that she won’t come between her and Juliet either. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that the archer might also be tempted to rip out Kinsley’s raven hair. “So if you don’t want your nose broken, maybe don’t. Jules also looks very nice.” She nods, turning the other way and offering the Folklorian an encouraging look. “Don’t you think, Willow? …Willow?”

Willow James is currently hunched over and clutching her stomach. She really should have known better than to drink three cups of coffee on an empty stomach and now she suffers for her dastardly ways. “I’m good.” She holds out her thumb, halfway listening to the conversation. “Jules—Juliet always looks good.” Weakly, she lifts her head, eyes immediately finding her companion's red lips. Her stomach flips. She gulps. “Y-yeah. Very good. The red lips. Nice.”

 

[ellarose]

Fates. Juliet's eyes are closed as she awaits the moment she can finally leave this car, which seems the vehicle equivalent of a member of the shady bunch. At times, it moves too fast. When the traffic stops, it jerks her back and forth. Willow wields her own mechanical beast in a way that is careful and smooth. Not to mention the layers of fabric blanketing her skin in the July heat. Exchanging her short pants for a gown, layering her hood atop it all... she is burning up like a red flame. Kinsley's digs do little more than turn the notch up on her temperature.

Juliet is about to appear before all of Evermore and that is all Kinsley has to say? A stubborn part of her would like to say she doesn't care (she shouldn't care) but this is another world, another chance to be seen as herself. If people look at her and their first impressions reduce her to nothing more than a caricature of a piggish man's fantasy, then...

That is the last thing Juliet August wants to be. She'd rather be a nightmare than a daydream. Even so, that is not the point of this interview. The point is to make them love her enough that the train story is void. Make them love you? That's an amusing prospect. What is there to love? The pressure on her shoulders is starting to crush her. What if she makes a mess of this, the way she makes a mess of everything?

When Meredith turns the breath of the mechanical beast towards Kinsley, Juliet watches the exchange with curiosity. An idea begins to form just as she hears her name, and then Willow's. Dorothea is asking for Willow's opinion. And her companion is clutching her stomach. Is she all right? It seems that she is having qualms of her own. Perhaps she is feeling nervous, too. Rightfully so. Depending on Juliet for something as crucial as this, after she failed to perform in the tournament...?

By the time Willow pays Juliet a glance and tells her she looks nice she finds the heat unbearable. Crikey. It's too damned hot in here. She'll surely pass out if nothing is done soon. With that in mind, she turns the little vent towards herself and flicks the air on at full blast, feeling the refreshingly cold and powerful breeze against her face. Her braid whips around behind her and she can't help the slight grin that quirks at her lips. (The red lips. Nice.) A tint of red finds her cheeks when she considers it again-- but she is quickly able to distract herself with the stunned expressions of everyone around her. It's Kinsley's blatant look of disapproval especially that brings a mischievous flicker to her eyes.

"What a heavenly invention." Juliet declares, nodding sagely as she turns it down low enough that she can hear more than the wind in her ears. "Cold wind right at your fingertips." She looks around at them, in their short pants and skirts-- their short sleeves-- and knows there is a lack of understanding. They have no idea what it is like, attending stuffy parties in the summer adorned in layers upon layers of clothing. "The only defense against the heat a Folklorian lady has is her fan... and just look at what I am wearing right now." She pinches the fabric around her, lifting it up.

"Your hair." Kinsley stresses. She is still in the process of fixing her own after Meredith's stunt. "Now you look like you've been fooling around with the big bad--"

Juliet rolls her eyes, strategically picking a few strands of her braid loose. She takes a few of the flowers from the bouquet sitting in front of them (for atmosphere, she supposes) and tucks them into her braid. "And now I look like I've been out in the field, picking flowers." This way she appears a touch more windswept and down to earth. It will suit her story better, anyway. She is far more comfortable speaking about her life in the wood than she is about noble society in Folklore. Dorothea told her she can be herself... even if she has her doubts, perhaps herself will be right for Evermore in a way it wasn't for Folklore.

"Meredith," Juliet says, turning to the fae. "Will you turn my hood emerald green and my dress black? I would like to match with Scaramouch."

"Scara-who?" Meredith narrows her eyes, which light up with understanding when Juliet pulls her alien buddy choker out of her hood and fastens it around her neck. (What is with this Juliet August and aliens?) While normally the fae might have delighted in outright refusing a request from the archer, the horrified expression on Kinsley's face prompts her to smirk. (Anything to get under Kinsley Prescot's skin.) That and they have agreed to a truce. For now. "Yeah, sure. I'm on it."

Kinsley's face is in her hands as Meredith grants Juliet's request. "We're doomed."

"Thank you." Juliet nods at Meredith. Though the fae doesn't respond with a verbal answer or a smile or anything of the sort, she clearly takes too much pleasure in Kinsley's discontent to dig at Juliet right now. "It's perfect. Anyone who dares to objectify me now will be challenged by Scaramouch's fearsome gaze."

 

[starboob]

Willow is convinced that the driver is purposefully hitting every pothole at full speed to spite her, specifically. ‘What have I ever done to deserve this?’ Unhelpfully, her brain supplies a slidedeck of evidence for ‘Why Willow James Is The Worst Person To Have Ever Walked This Realm.’ It even has pictures. ‘Not cool, brain.’ She grumbles silently to herself while the rest of the group squabbles.

It’s Dorothea who provides another distraction to her sickness, moving over from her spot between Juliet and Kinsley to take the one on the other side of Willow. She opens her palm, bearing four chalky green tablets. “This isn’t your birthday present, by the way.” When Willow’s green eyes light up with obvious surprise, she rolls her eyes. “Your birthday is hard to forget. Even if it weren’t on Founder’s Day, you’re Willow James. Of course I’d remember.”

“That’s… That’s really sweet.” Her cheeks color as she takes the antacids and chews on them one at a time. (It might not be anything magical, but it certainly cures like magic.) Dorothea looks like she wants to say something else and, for whatever reason, she decides against it. She remains quiet and, once Willow is looking less green, she returns to her seat, rubbing consoling circles on the drama queen’s back.

This brings Willow’s attention back to Juliet and the color of her cheeks instantly deepens. (The red lips. Nice. She really said that. With her mouth hole. Oh, crikey. She’s the one who’s doomed.) It takes her a second to put together that Meredith must have helped her with the color swap and while a small part of her glows knowing her two favorites are working together, the large gay part of Willow is too distracted by the new look. Juliet looks like a daydream dressed as a nightmare. ‘How is this fair? How is one person allowed to be so attractive?? She is Love blessed, for sure.’

***​

Getting into the studio is… nothing like what Willow would have expected, to be quite honest. She’s not sure that anything could have prepared her for the moment that Kinsley Prescot and Dorothea Birdsong announce, rather nonchalantly, that they have to load up into a suitcase in order to travel without being seen. Dorothea assures that it’s, “totally safe.” Apparently, the celebrity does this whenever she doesn’t want to be seen leaving or entering her home.

It’s not as uncomfortable as Willow would have thought, either. The suitcase has an expanded interior that easily accommodates all five women and their companions. (It takes a lot of coaxing on Meredith’s part to get Snoops to follow her inside. Lucky almost has to drag him in.) When the security detail lifts the suitcase and carries them within the studio, she doesn’t even notice the journey. It’s completely smooth. To the point that when the zipper is undone, she almost asks if something is wrong, not realizing that they have traveled any distance at all.

Hands reach into the suitcase and pull them out one by one, then they’re swarmed by a team of stylists, producers, the host, interns and so many others. (Willow isn’t sure if this is normal or if all this fuss is because of Juliet’s status as a Folklorian.) Fae flit around Juliet, examining her skirts, hood, hair, make-up—everything. One of the fae, upon seeing the fearsome Scaramouch, comments, "What is that choker even?" and another shrugs, defending the piece. "I think it's cute."

Kinsley stalks off to speak business with some executive, leaving them to deal with the entourage by themselves. Dorothea steps in to politely dismiss the fae, informing them that they have already taken care of hair and makeup. (Some of the fae look a little dubious. Even if they appreciate the flowers that adorn the Folklorian’s hair, they are not keen on being deprived of the opportunity to style the Folklorian.) She has a sneaking suspicion that Kinsley misinformed the studio about the state Juliet would be arriving in, likely fearing that Dorothea would fuck up. “The show won’t be for another hour or so. I’ll try to see if I can find the interview questions. Meredith, do you want to help?”

***​

The talk show stage is a simple set-up with a comfortable long couch for guests, an armchair for the show’s host, and a coffee table in between them. Alfagina Speckwater, the host, is an energetic fae with a wide, friendly smile to match her bubbly personality. Her cheeks shimmer with rainbow sparkles that complement the multi-colored satin dress she wears.

“Don’t worry, Ms. August—er, Lady August? Lady Juliet?” She curses quietly under her breath, cheeks coloring with embarrassment. With a little huff and a pep-talk she thinks Juliet cannot hear, she straightens herself out and returns her attention to the Folklorian with her usual bright smile. “This will be a breeze. Just be yourself! Oh, this is just sooo exciting. I have always wanted to go to Folklore—that’s where my family is originally from, you know—and now I get to interview a real life Folklorian!!”

The show’s director shouts something from the edge of the set. Camera people, assistants, and the like all bristle like startled cats, scrambling to their places. Alfagina seems oblivious to the chaos, chattering on and on and on without leaving an inch of room for the Folklorian to get a word in. (If it remains this way throughout the interview, it ought to be easy.)

From the edge of the set Willow gives Juliet a double thumbs up, grinning. Kinsley sits next to the director and mouths, ‘Don’t fuck this up.’ Meredith and Dorothea are hunched over the interview questions, the ones they’ve been going over with Juliet in her dressing room.

The second the camera's light flicks on, Alfagina, without skipping a beat, smoothly transitions from idle chatter to welcoming an audience that spans the States of Evermore. She laughs at all her own jokes then introduces Juliet August, emphasizing that she is from Folklore. The sound guy plays an audience gasp and Alfagina nods sagely. “Yes, that’s right, folks! She came straight through a gateway. Now, Lady Juliet, a little birdie tells me that you were running away. Boy troubles back home?”

 

[ellarose]

A little birdie? Juliet carefully schools her features to hide her confusion regarding the phrase, her gaze flicking to the sidelines to see if this information alarms the others. Are little birdies gossips in Evermore? Do they spy from their perches in the trees as Birdsongs can through television sets? It's an unnerving concept. She supposes she can take some comfort in the fact that the information the little birdies have disclosed is undeniably false. Rather than ask about it, she is the one who must answer the questions now. The host wears a smile that of endless patience as she waits for her to say something... Don't her cheeks hurt, smiling like that?

When Juliet speaks her next words, everyone will be listening. The host, everyone in the studio, and countless unseen others beyond the cameras. The concept of it is a bit dizzying. She takes a steeling breath. Compose yourself. These moments will set the course for who she is to the people of Evermore. They tell her to be herself and yet she also has to consider her reputation to wash the train incident away.

"Oh, it is not quite so dramatic as the little birdie claimed." Juliet says with a coy smile, smoothing her hands flat over her thighs. Running away over a boy makes her sound foolish. Romantic, yes, but undeniably foolish. (Like a younger Juliet, as much as she loathes to admit it. Impulsive. Hopelessly naive. Soft.) While she still intends to tell a love story, she'll tell it in her own way. Thread-obsessed. That's what Dorothea said. "I simply followed my thread and it led me here."

"So you mean to tell me that your thread led you all the way to Evermore?" Alfagina asks, latching onto this detail like a moth to a flame. Her eyebrows rise to meet her hairline. "Now, that is truly unheard of these days. Does that mean we have another Folklorian in our midst?"

"Perhaps." Juliet answers, deciding to be ambiguous about it. It's all for the intrigue. Little do they know that the person connected to her is standing just a few feet away on the sidelines... and she's certainly not Folklorian. She tilts her head to the side. "Perhaps not."

"So mysterious! Are you implying that your soulmate is from Evermore? Lady Juliet, I'm sure our audience is dying to know more. I know I am." Alfagina leans towards her, eager to squeeze more details out of her. Juliet appears visibly perturbed for a split second. (Dying to... what? That's a smidge extreme, is it not?) "Don't keep us guessing! Tell us more about this boy you're searching for."

"Well, I only stole a glance at her before she was gone..." Juliet lowers her voice conspiratorially, as if she is telling a secret among trusted friends. (Not that this story she's weaving is even a secret to begin with. Even if it was, it wouldn't be anymore now that she's sharing it over a broadcast.) "I am following my thread now because I wish to learn more about her. She is very clever and heroic."

"Her." Alfagina repeats-- her tone momentarily falling off the script and betraying her shock. (And maybe something else if the rose-pink dusting her sparkly cheeks is any indicator.) Juliet doesn't entirely realize that she's decided on using 'her' until the host brings it up. In thinking about the person her thread is connected to-- Willow-- it-- it was only natural for her to... "Oh, I didn't realize that you were..." The host seems to be stumbling over her words as the archer stumbles over her thoughts. "That's--" Her smile reassembles itself with the knowledge that the cameras are still rolling and she snaps back into her usual persona. "That's lovely."

Juliet takes a deep breath. At the very least, those on set don't appear to be assembling an angry mob over the revelation. Now, if this goes as she had practiced with Dorothea and Meredith, she merely needs to rate the Evermorian heart-robs. Heartthrobs. After that, the interview will finally be over and--

"Anyway... you must be quite the heartbreaker, Lady Juliet. Our sources say you've been engaged in the past," Alfagina prattles on in her carefree manner, "And that even a prince has been trying to court you. Now here you are, leaving all of those Folklorian men behind to find your soulmate." She's so carefree. So damned carefree. (How did she... who told her? Why is this coming up now?) Something in Juliet caves in-- she has to wrap her arms around her middle to hold herself together. "It sounds like you've got plenty of experience. What does a typical Folklorian date look like?"

How did she know? Juliet answers the question on autopilot, giving some romantic spiel about going out on a rowboat with a parasol and a picnic (she leaves out the bit of the fantasy where she pushes her unwanted date into the lake) and counts the seconds until the interview is over. Still, the host's words continue to gnaw at her. How did they know? ...If someone on this side knows about the engagement, about Prince Bain, then what else do they know?

 

[starboob]

Logically speaking—no, statistically speaking… What are the odds that Juliet is describing Willow when she talks about her soulmate? ‘Zero.’ She comes to this bitter realization as her companion dreams up someone clever and heroic, identifying two qualities that Willow James distinctly doesn’t have. Well, okay. She can admit to being clever (on occasion), but she is definitely not heroic. (Not like Juliet.) ‘You’re a dorkus. Why would she be into that?’

She knows better than to get worked up over this. It’s supposed to be a fabrication. This is just her cover story to get all of Evermore to be so enamored with her, they wouldn’t even want to pay attention to a trail derailment situation. (Saying it like that makes them sound vapid. Is this really what they should be doing? Well, too late to say anything about it now, she supposes.) Even if she knows this, her brain can’t help but make a connection to a time where she was kept a secret. ‘It’s not Juliet’s fault and you two aren’t even a thing. Get over it, WJ.’

It’s Alfagina’s divergence from the script that brings Willow back into the present, her ears perking when she catches the references to Brooks and Bain. She delivers the information so casually that Willow struggles to piece together why it sticks out and raises the alarm. Dorothea, Meredith, and Kinsley all catch it as well, though none of them appear particularly disturbed. That’s when it dawns on Willow that no one from Evermore should have that information—aside from herself, Juliet, and the parallel weirdos (more than likely).

Her blood turns to ice. ‘How did she know?’

The rest of the interview passes in a blur. In light of the revelation that Juliet’s soulmate is a woman, the heart-rob (throb) game is replaced with a series of true or false questions where Juliet confirms or denies common Evermorian beliefs about Folklore. (Such as the popularly held belief that anyone can become a princess in Folklore, because Folklore is teeming with princes ready to turn any lucky woman into their princess.) After the initial “little” surprise, there are no more. Thank gods. (Well, it is a surprise when Alfagina slips Juliet her phone number, “in case things don’t work out with yours.” This happens right in front of Willow.)

Willow barely registers the ride home. The next thing she knows, she’s flopping onto the lavish couch in the Birdsong hotel suite. Dorothea is asking them if they want to stay for dinner. Willow doesn’t hear her. Meredith tries to get her attention a few times, but the sorceress is unreachable. ‘Who gave her that information?’ Even Kinsley starts to look concerned when she remains unresponsive. It takes Lucky nibbling on her fingers to realize that they’re staring. Her cheeks flush. “Sorry. Were you talking to me?”

“Not really.” Kinsley shrugs. “But you looked constipated and it was giving me a migraine.”

“Are you okay, Wills?” Meredith asks, ignoring her arch nemesis to focus on her best friend.

“Yeah, totally. Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” No one buys that. Her nervous little laugh at the end doesn’t quite sell it either. Oh, geez. She blew it. She shoots Juliet an apologetic glance, unsure of how to avoid what happened during the interview. Her shoulders slump a bit. “Is it normal for a script to change?”

“It’s live television, so it’s not totally unheard of...” As Dorothea trails off, she purses her lips together. If this is something that Willow is fretting over, then it cannot be nothing. That divergence must have meant something to her and, more than likely, Juliet as well. (Not that Juliet gives herself away as easily as Willow.) Back then, the innocent comment only seemed like a sensational addition, something to rouse the audience. Now she has to consider the alternative she had been hopeful wasn't true...

Kinsley and Meredith have this same revelation soon after. Kinsley tightens her jaw, eyes narrowing to slits as she looks over the three gutter rats. They lock on Meredith as she pointedly asks, “Alright. Then who’s the rat? Those fuckers had to have gotten a tip from somewhere.”

“Fuck you.” Meredith bares her fangs. “I’d never do that to Willow. But I know you would, because you have before. Plus, like, you’ve been a bitch this entire time, helping us only because princess over there,” she gestures towards Dorothea with her chin, “asked and you two have some freakish parasitic relationship.”

“Don’t speak about what you don’t know,” Dorothea warns, quick to step in before this can escalate. “Kinsley wouldn’t do that to me and fighting between ourselves is pointless.” Maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea in the world to bring Meredith and Kinsley together when Juliet and Kinsley already despise each other as it is. Still, she would like to believe that the three of them can set aside their differences for the sake of their collective wellbeing. What more is it going to take for them to actually get it together? Frustratedly, she pinches the bridge of her nose. “It will poison us and we cannot afford that. If that little comment wasn’t a mere coincidence and, instead, a message, then that means we’re not as ahead of the game as I’d hoped and we need to be smart about what we do next.”

Dorothea’s words hang in the air for a solid minute. Then another passes before Kinsley straightens out her posture and sticks her nose in the air, suddenly all business. “I can’t fathom why, but the executives found Jules charming, so congrats. You didn’t fuck up.” This is a compliment coming from Kinsley. “It’ll be much harder to make you disappear now that you’re not a loser. And so long as dorks and dragons over there stays close, she should be fine as well.” At least until they figure out how to address the whole geek sidekick situation and get Willow some cover of her own.

“I still need to make sure the whole train derailment story won’t run, but it’d be hard to pin it on you now that Evermore thinks you’re just a Folklorian woman following her thread.” Kinsley pauses then considers Willow for what feels like an uncomfortable eternity, those icy blue eyes boring into her like she’s trying to send a stake through her heart. “Jules said you have a shadow sample. Hand it over. Please.”

Willow looks between the three other women before obliging, summoning the vial and handing it over to Kinsley. Kinsley doesn’t even inspect it. She tucks it into her cleavage then gets up. “This should be enough to throw the story back on the Stakes and their little crime ring now that we’ve bought ourselves sufficient time." But before she even takes a half step away from the living room, a prism glitters into existence, hovering at the center of the room. It spins and when the light casts on it at the correct angle, a rainbow hologram projects a life-like image of Griffith King.

“Hello, darling.” Though this is an obvious recording, he gives the impression that he is somehow aware that there are others in the room. Or maybe he always chooses his words this carefully. “It is impressive what you’ve been up to since you left and I must say, I commend your efforts." He punctuates this with a grin, like he's proud of this little rebellion. "I do hope you’re enjoying your time in You York and are looking forward to your return home after the gala. I miss you, my deer. Everyone is asking about you." His eyes pan around the room even if he cannot see them. Again, he gives the impression of awareness. "Lady Juliet, if you are there, I look forward to meeting you and send my regards. I hope your travels are safe. And, Willow James." Whatever magic is powering this message, it turns the hologram to face the sorceress so that green and gold are boring into each other. "It seems you and I have much to catch up on." Briefly, Willow sees the moment at the temple playing back in her mind. But then the hologram turns back to face Dorothea, leaving Willow alone. "I hope you are ready for what you have started, deerest. I hope your friends are as well. Oh, and don't forget. The florist is still waiting on your decision about the flower arrangements. I've already taken care of the menu."

His image disappears soon after that, the prism clattering over the table. The message is clear: He is watching.

 

[ellarose]

The tension from before intensifies, replacing the air in the room long after the prism falls. Seconds that turn to minutes span in the aftermath. It seems they're all collectively holding their breath. 'I hope you're ready for what you have started. I hope your friends are as well.' While friends might not be an apt word to describe what Kinsley and Meredith are to each other, it's clear that he meant to address every woman standing in the room. They're fighting on the same side-- for now-- whether they like it or not.

"I'm going to change." Juliet breaks the silence, finally betraying a note of exhaustion. She shrugs her cloak off her shoulders, feeling the heft of it especially in that moment, and drapes it over one of the chairs. It's too damned hot to think and she's uncomfortably overdressed compared to the rest of them. An outsider. And now she's been announced as such to the public. While she'd like to think that sacrificing her anonymity was worth it, it becomes difficult to see it as such when someone else-- most likely Griffith and his cronies-- are already so far ahead of them that they know this much about her.

Ever prepared, Willow's able to access a portion of the Evermorian wardrobe they stashed away in her bag. Juliet selects something comfy (a fox print tank and soft short pants) and retreats into the bathroom for privacy.

Juliet changes slowly and methodically, endeavoring to focus on what she's doing with her hands instead of the full on rainstorm raging in her mind. Untying laces, letting the gown fall to a black pool of fabric at her ankles. She stays out of view of the mirrors or any surface she suspects spying eyes would linger. She's mindful of the shadows cast from furniture onto the pristine tile floors. How did they know? Aside from Willow, the only one she told about the engagement was Dorothea. But it couldn't have been Dorothea. And she didn't even mention Prince Bain. She worries at her lip until it splits and bleeds, plucking the flowers out of her braid one by one.

Griffith King. Juliet despises him so effortlessly. Him and the way he carries himself like something holy, speaking with only the utmost eloquence when there is a monster just beneath his surface... so very reminiscent of Paris Brooks. The man who smooth talked his way into her life, who wrapped the Augusts around his fingers and took complete control of her life when he decided that she was what he wanted. A puppet master, grinning with amusement as he played with her like a toy.

Juliet is crushing the flower she's holding. When she opens her hand, she finds it's color is fading rapidly, the petals wilting. She hastily tosses it in the trash, unsettled, and redirects her thoughts. She considers her red crystal, piled among her Folklorian belongings. The letters must be piling up by now. Should she really be here in Evermore when there are women who need her back home? It has been quite a long time since she last took such a request or cursed anyone... but alongside Willow, she's realized she might discover a new way. Moreover, this path may help her find the person who granted her this strange ability she possesses. She might learn why they chose her of all people. And she might learn more about herself in more ways than one.

A small, selfish part of Juliet wants to know who she is without Folklore. She's been told to be herself at least twice today... and wouldn't that be nice? To know herself well enough that she can just be? Or perhaps she is just fooling herself. Because even as she thinks this, she is bracing herself to leave the bathroom as if nothing is wrong. As if it doesn't bother her that someone has been entirely too invasive, rooting around for information about her past.

Juliet washes her face with ice-cold water and then gathers her dress into her arms. A small slip of paper falls out of the bundle and onto the floor, catching her attention.

***​

"Do you believe it is a code we are meant to decipher?" Juliet asks as she presents the slip of paper that the host had slipped her after the show. She'd been so entirely lost in the labyrinth of her mind that she hardly registered it at the time, but it is truly suspicious. Covered in numbers with little dashes between them. Though she can scarcely imagine what they mean. "Perhaps--"

"Jules." Kinsley speaks slowly to explain, so slowly that it's condescending, and Juliet can't help but bristle. (The socialite already had unkind things to say about her outfit, but Juliet wears her fox-print tank with confidence regardless. Nothing Kinsley Prescot says will convince Juliet that this fox isn't cute. It reminds her of Gracie.) "The host gave you her phone number. I seriously doubt she knows anything about this."

"Why?" Juliet asks, furrowing her brow. Phone number. The archer is genuinely confused. She glances down at it again, as if trying to see something there that she didn't see before. From what she understands about telephones, they're used primarily for communication. "Because... she wishes to speak with me? But I don't have a phone."

Kinsley massages her temples, what little patience she possesses for this conversation withering as fast as the flower in Juliet's hand.

"In Evermore it's commonplace to give your number to somebody you like. That was her way of saying she's into you, Juliet." Dorothea explains before Kinsley can say anything she (and her nose) might later regret.

"Oh." Juliet blinks, her cheeks turning a faint pink with embarrassment. "I see."

"Although I'm sure she'd sorely regret her decision if she could see you now. Wearing..." Kinsley looks Juliet up and down again. "That. I vouched for you, Jules. If you go out in public, you're going to need to change into something presentable. No tacky graphic tees and absolutely nothing out of dorks and dragon's ragtag wardrobe over there."

"Step off, Kinsley." Juliet sighs softly, crumbling the scrap of paper in her hand without a second thought. Then she glances over at Willow and Meredith. "I don't believe we were planning on going anywhere else today. Unless...?"

"We ordered room service." Dorothea offers, suggesting they'll have dinner in tonight as suspected. "Ordinarily I'd offer to take you sightseeing. I mean, it's your first time in You York." She shakes her head and then glances at Willow. "Well, I'm sure Willow will take you out sooner or later. Do you guys have plans for the next couple of days? Are you..." She seems hesitant, perhaps dwelling on Griffith's words from before. "Are you still thinking of attending the gala?"

"Speaking of..." Kinsley sighs, walking across the room. She picks up the Pantera, pinching it between her fingers like it's a dirty rag. "I still need to salvage this."

 

[starboob]

The days leading up to the gala are as slow as they are long. Every shadow seems to move with too much independence. Every passerby is a possible spy. Car horns spook Willow to the point that she squeaks and almost kicks one as they’re crossing the street. (This earns her another honk and a rather rude hand gesture from the driver.) To say the least, sightseeing doesn’t end up being the distraction that Willow had been hoping for. It ends up being more stress than it’s worth—this is a huge bummer, because she had been hoping to enjoy her time alone with Juliet, but she’s far too tense to make anything of it. (Not to mention the fact that she can’t stop thinking about Juliet’s dream girl.)

After the attempted excursion, they hunkerdown in Meredith’s living room. Willow devotes a bulk of her energy to studying the gateways and the phenomena of the sister realms as a whole, trying to figure out how Charming Street got that information on Juliet. She chews up several pen caps and manages to discover zilch. Everything in the research is speculative. Worse, no current studies exist. Calling Sawyer is next to useless. She offers information in riddles, refusing to speak plainly about the nature of the realms. (Her excuse has something to do with “the language of the Fates.”) But the wolf does casually mention that it’s unlikely herself and Milfred are the only of the realms who regularly communicate. “That’s just silly. It’s not even that hard to do.” She abruptly ends the call after that, explaining that she’s supposed to be at Tiger Lily Billy’s tea party and he’s getting rather impatient with her, tapping his little paw.

It’s not much, but it at least gives her a sense of direction in her research.

When she’s not trying to solve this mystery, the sorceress practices her spellwork, trying to develop a glyph that will allow them to spy on Charming Street. (Meredith tries to help where she can, though her knowledge base with magic is limited to color work, fashion, and animacy. Willow doesn’t say it, but she holds her back.)

It’s a restless couple of days that only serve to increase tensions as emotions run high. The saving grace in all of this is that Kinsley does manage to bury the train derailment story. Permanently. When the news breaks about the near trainwreck, it’s described as a freak accident and a stunning miracle. No one mentions the Shady Bunch, the illegal casting that manipulated the subway system, or the band of companions who saved the day. It’s a relief and only a small one.

***​

When the day of the gala arrives, Willow is no closer to finding answers. Her curls are a frazzled wreck and she’s worried two decent holes into her lip. Her eyes are bloodshot and heavy, having spent every waking second pouring over her notes and books. ‘I’ve got to protect her. Got to be the hero.’

Determined as she is, she barely processes the fact that it’s gala day until a wardrobe magics itself into the living room along with a strongly worded note from Kinsley that demands that Juliet and Willow both select an outfit from the pre-approved rack. She also promises hell if Juliet wears her Scaramouch choker. A second later, a note from Dorothea arrives telling Juliet to not listen to Kinsley and that Scaramouch is, “charming and super cute.”

Willow is initially confused about why she’s being asked to dress up, then she remembers that Juliet received her own invitation to the gala and, with that, came a plus one. It was only obvious to choose Willow, the practical choice, given everything. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just so that they can stick together. 'She wants a hero. That's not you. Not yet.'

***​

Camera lights flash from every direction like twinkling stars. Willow winces when one flashes right in front of her, blinking several times to clear the fairies from her eyes. Voices shout from every direction, many of them calling Juliet’s name the second she steps out of the black limousine. Several other voices ask about Willow, though no one really tries to get her attention, unknown as she is. ‘Crap. What did Dorothea say to do when we arrived?’

“Lady Juliet, will you tell us more about your thread?”
“Who is that you’ve brought along?”
“Is that from Pantera’s new collection?”

She links their arms together so they don’t lose each other—not that there is a crowd. The red carpeted steps that lead into the venue are all roped off so that the paparazzi and media are kept separate from the attendees and everyone's arrival has been spaced out so as to not crowd the carpet. Willow freezes up beside Juliet, feeling like an outside around all of these celebrities. Every single person looks immaculate. Even if Willow doesn't recognize very many of the people, knowing that she should know these people is enough to leave her starstruck, heart hammering and her voice gone. Many greet each other like old friends and pose together for the cameras before parting for their own photo-ops and interviews.

Someone starts ushering them forward from behind while Willow searches the crowd for Dorothea or even Kinsley (that's how desperate she is for a familiar face). Dorothea glides towards them from Willow's other side, immediately greeting Juliet with a tight hug. Her attire seems to pay tribute to the fae from pre-history days when they lived exclusively in the woods and kept their interactions with humans to common babynapping. "Jules! You look stunning. I knew you'd like this look." She grins, then turns to Willow. "You're also looking quite dashing in that suit. I love that you swapped in your grandad's flight jacket. So eras."

When the paps catch Dorothea and Juliet interacting, more attention is drawn towards them.

“Dorothea, you know Lady Juliet?”
“How did you become acquainted with the Folklorian?”
“Who’s the woman in emerald?”

The popstar doesn’t respond to them, only offering a smile and a few prime shots of herself and Juliet together. That’s when Kinsley comes fuming down the steps. Willow has to do a double take when she sees her, almost falling over because the socialite looks so much like Lavinia Laurence if Lavinia Laurence had jet black hair and ice blue eyes. Her dress looks exactly like something pulled out of the noblewoman's wardrobe, but sparklier because she is Kinsley Prescot.

“Jules.” She hisses through a smile. “Get over to the actual photo-op before I kill you.” This threat sounds more like a promise. "And you," she turns to address Willow, barely disguises her contempt, "keep your mouth fucking shut. I'm still working on your cover."

 

[ellarose]

Bright spots rain across the red carpet and burn through Juliet's eyelids whenever she closes them. It's blinding and she tenses, unable to help herself from feeling that they're under attack. Questions, flickering lights, more questions. The sound of her name from every direction makes the fine hair on her arm stand up straight. The ropes separating them from the crowd offer too little protection for her liking. Stop. Rigid and restless, the archer slides her hand down towards her thigh, to the place where her knife is strapped beneath her black dress. She's overwhelmed, she needs to do something-- anything-- to defend herself against this endless onslaught. Then Willow grabs onto her arm, perhaps warning her against it before she can make another mistake. Breathe, Juliet. Just breathe.

Willow doesn't let go of Juliet's arm. In that moment, she can admit to herself that the sorceress's touch soothes her in a way she hasn't felt in years. Though she's likely holding her to instruct her, to advise her against doing anything brash, she doesn't try to belittle or hurt her. Willow doesn't dig her fingers in the way that Brooks used to, in such a way that there'd be bruises flecked over her arms the next morning like purple grapes on a vine. The archer is standing beside someone who would sooner summon a rainstorm before every royal in Folklore than let her come to harm.

Juliet takes another slow breath, gradually taming the hurricane whipping around inside her chest. She holds tightly to Willow's arm, perhaps in part to dissuade her from letting go too soon. She needs this. (Needs her.)

They part momentarily when Dorothea approaches, bringing her into a hug and speaking, though Juliet can scarcely follow what she's saying. The star turns them towards the cameras and once they're finished with that, she gravitates back to Willow's side and holds onto her arm again. Then Kinsley appears, briefly distracting her from the crowd with all her sparkle.

Juliet is wholly unimpressed with Kinsley's outfit, which she immediately classifies as Lavinia Laurence (Magpie Bait Version). She's even less impressed with her choice of words, as well as the completely unwarranted hostility towards Willow. She hasn't said a word since they got here. Neither of them have. A fragment of the confidence she'd lost returns as her temper flares.

"Don't speak to her like that." Juliet warns through a cordial smile of her own. "Or the next 'photo op' will be of me breaking your nose." It's a dangerously realistic threat. Kinsley's nose has never looked more breakable, with her looking like a mirror image of Lavinia Laurence. "Is her cover not obvious? Willow was the first person I met in Evermore. She is a good person with a good heart, helping me navigate an environment I am entirely unfamiliar with." It's not complicated and not even untrue. How else would a Folklorian navigate such a confusing, unfamiliar world without such a companion? Anyone who knows Willow James and hears such a story is sure to believe it, too. She is a kind person-- one of the kindest she's ever met.

Juliet doesn't understand the way Kinsley looks at Willow. Where does this venom come from...? How can she direct it at someone so... so good? She supposes it's part of a past she is not privy to. And it's not the sort of thing she can simply ask about. Especially not now. Judging by what she knows of them both, she is naturally inclined to take Willow's side in the matter.

Even still, Kinsley did take care of the train derailment story. After receiving Griffith's message, it's clearer than ever that they must remain cordial and not fight amongst themselves when they have far more sinister adversaries lurking about. While she might ordinarily be inclined to take their verbal sparring further, she takes a steeling breath instead and looks the other woman in the eye to show that she does mean to take this seriously, setting her priorities right before Dorothea has to step in to play peacemaker.

"Just tell us where we are meant to go and we'll be on our way." Juliet keeps her expression level and her voice carefully low, out of earshot from the eager crowds. They watch their exchange with curious eyes, never seeming to tire of asking an endless barrage of unanswered questions.

Kinsley sets a light hand on Juliet's shoulder, managing to make them appear friendly to the paparazzi, though the archer's sure she'd secretly delight in sinking her pointy nails into her flesh. She points discreetly towards the top of the staircase she just descended. "Up the stairs, under the chandelier. It's in the center of the room. You literally can't miss it unless you're fucking blind. Now go." Without missing another beat, she releases Juliet's shoulder and sidles up next to Dorothea. The way they pose together is so natural, as if they've done it a thousand times before.

Juliet exchanges a glance with Willow, offering a slight nod before they head up the staircase.

Cameras continue to flash as they walk, questions are still thrown around them like confetti, and while it's still a lot to process, Juliet is growing somewhat accustomed to it. Somewhat. It's easier now that Willow's arm linked around her own. As they position themselves under the chandelier, however, the flashing intensifies. A woman announces her, speaking in depth about the Pantera-- the designer's vision for the jacket, how much it would cost, something about the stitching. Juliet starts to tune her out when she's encouraged to let go of Willow's arm in order to give the cameraman a proper turnaround.

The room spins with lights when Juliet stops again. She blinks and a microphone is in her face.

"Lady Juliet, welcome. I'm sure this must be overwhelming for you, but we'd love to ask you a couple of questions." The woman's big smile is all for show, her eyes drifting between Juliet and the camera in front of them. She continually fluffs her short blonde hair, as if she's checking it in the reflection of the lens. "First, I need to ask what's on everyone's mind right now. What's with the aliens?"

Juliet speaks about feeding coins to the mechanical beast that gave her the alien buddy she's wearing now and how she made it into a necklace because it's a practical means of carrying it around with her. The woman looks visually confused at this description, gradually putting together what she means before making a joke of Juliet being a real 'fish out of water'. (...Do they know of her mer-blood, too?) The interviewer changes the subject, pivoting to the Pantera and how it models itself on the interests of the wearer, and how the alien patch reflects that. She notes that it's an unexpected subject, given the fact that people don't tend to associate aliens with Folklorians. That leads into the question of what Juliet likes so much about aliens.

"They're green..." Juliet offers simply. (The people in the crowd within earshot seem to read into this-- looking between Juliet and her mysterious companion, who just so happens to be dressed in green.) She didn't anticipate such a question and she's not entirely sure how to answer it. More than anything, Scaramouch makes her feel safe. She's her talisman, protecting her mind from hunters like Sefarina and Sabrina. "And they have big, comforting eyes. I suppose I find them quite charming."

"So cute." The woman purses her lips and presses her hand over her heart, as if she finds it touching somehow. (Whether she actually thinks this or not is something of a mystery.) Before she can ask anything more, a man wearing an immaculate suit strolls over to them. While people are eager to take his picture, everyone in the vicinity offers him a respectful girth as he approaches them.

"Lady Juliet!" The man greets her as if she's an old friend and not a stranger, flashing his shiny white teeth as he wears a debonaire smile. He takes her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The crowd around them watches, enraptured by his charm. (Meanwhile, Juliet has to resist the urge to punch him in the face.) "I must say, it is an honor to have Folklorian royalty in attendance tonight. I am the one and only Richard Cash."

"A pleasure to meet you, Richard." Juliet says just to be polite, but inches back to stand next to Willow once he releases her hand. She links their arms again, suddenly afraid to be separated. This man is speaking like he's important, like she ought to know who he is. However, there is no trace of recognition on her face. Who is this man?

"And you are...?" If the Folklorian's confusion annoys Richard, he doesn't show it. He merely pans his gaze over to Willow, observing the way Juliet holds onto her.

 

[starboob]

Richard Cash is staring expectantly at Willow James, impatiently awaiting her introduction; though he masks it well enough beneath the same placid smile everyone else at this gala dons. His eyes don’t linger for too long on the womens’ interlocked arms, instead holding his gaze steady on the mysterious stranger who the Lady Juliet has invited. The sorceress, meanwhile, remains oblivious to the spotlight that has since shifted over to her, her cheeks still faintly pink and her eyes staring blankly ahead as she replays the moment Juliet stood up for her over again. It’s only when Richard politely clears his throat that Willow blinks out of her stupor, taking a half step back as she finally notices the man before them. (Is that much hair product even safe?)

“And you are?” He repeats, pretending it is his first time asking this question. “My assistants hadn’t the time to search your information and Kinsley was not very forthcoming, so I do apologize if I am being rude. I am sure you are quite important if you are accompanying the Folklorian.” No trace of condensation edges his tone. He seems to genuinely mean this, though Willow is wary to take this at face value.

“Willow James.” She offers her hand and he gives a firm handshake. “I’m Juliet’s companion. I’ve been showing her around Evermore while we follow her thread for her mystery lady.”

“I see.” Richard nods, somewhat relieved he has not slighted someone of importance—though he makes a private note to have a stern talk with Kinsley about the importance of maintaining the social integrity of the gala. He will not besmirch the good name of this charitable affair by having a prole in attendance!

He hides his disapproval, however, and instead redirects his attention towards the hour’s star, Lady Juliet, and tries to play off this entire interaction as an expected formality, given his status. (Everyone ought to know who he is anyway and, even if they don’t, it doesn’t take Sherlock to deduce who he might be. He is Richard Cash, sole heir to the Cash fortune and son of Aldous Cash. It is in his ding-dang name!) “Well, I welcome you both to the Cash Gala. Within you will find an assortment of exhibits that take you through all of Evermore’s eras. The photo-ops are all clearly marked and be sure to pay attention…”

Richard Cash drones on for what feels like hours (ten minutes) as he over explains the gala and the various rules they are to heed. Finally, he ends with, “And under no uncertain circumstances do we tolerate foolery of any kind. Especially if your name is Tom.” The joke does not land with either heroine and Richard awkwardly clears his throat, somewhat grateful no one else heard his thirty-second failed delivery of that joke. (Okay, so Penny was right about the joke.) “Just be on your best behavior.”

He parts with them at the entrance to the museum and soon is off giving the same spiel to the next set of guests. Well, at least they weren’t specifically singled out as trouble makers, Willow supposes. She keeps her grip on Juliet’s arm as they step through the threshold and are swept into a whirlwind cyclone of people. Where the red carpet outside had been clear of traffic, within the venue is a crowd of people, all dressed to the nines. All impossibly flawless, impossibly gorgeous. Suddenly, Willow is aware of her every flaw. Her sense of inadequacy doubles as she recognizes politicians—some of whom are on the very council that refused to take her case seriously. She’s torn between bristling and hiding behind Juliet; ultimately, she tries to steer clear of them altogether.

Where she can, she discreetly points out the people she does recognize—like the famous supermodel, Charlene Laurent, who Leif had a poster of on his ceiling for the longest time; or Rook, a rockstar with a shaved head who Meredith adores; Hadley Pierce, a celebrity psychic who Sawyer allegedly has past life beef with, and so on.

Among such a star-studded crowd, it is easier for them to navigate the exhibit without being too bothered. A few attendees do come up to Juliet to welcome her to Evermore, ask about what she’s seen so far, and then offer their recommendations on what she ought to do next while she’s here—some even volunteer to get her into exclusive clubs and restaurants so that she has the “full” Evermore experience. (As if exclusivity and elitism will actually give Juliet the full scope of what Evermore has to offer. Willow can’t help her bitter feelings over this, knowing her name won’t open those pearly doors.) Willow quietly sips her champagne on the sidelines and collects any horse divorces (snackies) Juliet might miss while supposedly impressive people talk her ear off.

When Juliet isn’t being forced into smalltalk, there are several photo stages Kinsley insisted she partake in and while the socialite doesn’t actively make sure Juliet gets to them, someone always has a way of finding the Folklorian and leading her to the marked spots where she is instructed to pose or walk in certain ways to show off the Pantera. At one point, Dorothea rejoins Juliet with her gaggle of shiny A-list friends—it takes Willow several seconds to process fully who these people are, unable to comprehend she’s seeing these people outside of magazines and television—and they pose for more photos together. The photographers love Dorothea and she appears to love them just as much, shining like an actual star beneath all their praise. Then she rolls her eyes when only Juliet and Willow are looking, sharing a knowing glance with them before she’s off again.

After Dorothea and her entourage have left, Willow offers up her arm again and they wander. She’s just about to comment on a woman’s rather tasteless dress made of fire—a reference to the persecution of casters—when a surprisingly plainly dressed man sidles up next to them both. He wears a simple all black outfit perfectly tailored to his physique. “I hope you’re enjoying that jacket, my star.” He looks at Juliet through his peripheries, then turns, pushing his large, thick-framed glasses up his nose. “I was rather dubious when Dorothea insisted against debuting my work, but she assured there was someone better.” He sweeps into a low bow before coming back up with a grin. “And how right our song bird was. You are the perfect blend of mystery, intrigue, and surprise—I mean, that alien! So unexpected and yet you push my work to its limits with your imagination. I hope you remain as refreshing as ever, Lady Juliet, and I hope this crowd does not dull your edges.” He sticks out his tongue like a child being forced to eat broccoli. “Anyway, I will let you two get back to your...” He pulls his mouth over to the side, shifting between the two of them as he tries to figure out the nature of their relationship. "Yourselves? Yes, I will let you get back to yourselves, but do let me know, Lady Juliet, if you'd like anything designed by myself. It would be an honor to have you as a muse for house of Pantera."

 

[ellarose]

"That is very kind." Juliet says, stopping herself before she can dip into another curtsey. (She's curtsied only once thus far, before a celebrity who was wearing a crown and a ball gown. The archer thought she was of royal blood... but when the woman had a laugh with her friends afterwards, she promptly filed it away in her mind that curtseys are not normal here.) It briefly reminds her of Willow's panicked confusion when she asked how to greet Princess Elise for the very first time. This must be reminiscent of what she was feeling that night.

When Juliet perceives the gala as a whole, beyond the curtseys, the cameras and fashion, these obligatory greetings and conversations are all reminiscent of a Folklorian ball. As such, she finds herself falling into step with the niceties and smiles, the routine of it all ingrained in her. This does not stop her intrusive thoughts from whispering that it could be entertaining to ruffle Kinsley's feathers with a startlingly blunt refusal of the designer's offer. She doesn't do that, of course, as that would distract from the reasons why they are really here. Still. Juliet is not here to be anyone's muse, either. (...Never again.) "I will give it some thought. Thank you."

Juliet will not be giving it much thought at all.

Besides, Juliet's impatient to partake in the food Willow has brought over for her. Since they moment they stepped onto the red carpet, she's been swept into so many conversations she's hardly had the time to eat anything. The designer leaves them to themselves and it is a great relief when she can finally try the strawberry crostini she's been carrying. It breaks apart easily when she bites into it, the toasted bread, strawberry, cream cheese and basil complimenting each other perfectly. It's sweet and refreshing, a temporary respite from all the noise. Juliet's cheeks turn a faint pink when she swallows and notices Willow offering her a tiny plate dotted with them.

Well, of course Willow James know how much Juliet August loves strawberries after all the time they've spent together. It touches her nonetheless that she picked them especially for her. For a moment, time slows down and they're the only two standing in the crowded room. Between them, their thread glows a faint red and then...

The aliens and stars on Juliet's coat shudder, like air warped by the fireside, and then disappear completely. (It's almost laughable how instantaneous this happens, considering how hard Kinsley had tried to 'un-dorkify' the thing. Unsuccessfully at that.) Embroidery of strawberries on a whimsical vine stitches itself around the cuffs of her jacket sleeves and her collar. There's more, though. The strawberries on the jacket are also glowing faintly, pulsing from pink to red like little heartbeats. Juliet's too busy watching Willow to notice. She's lost in thought, recalling how stressed and frantic the sorceress has been as of late. In the past, the archer's expertise with Folklore allowed her a part in their plans. Now her inadequacies with magic are more apparent than ever. Willow must feel as though she is being made to carry everything by herself and Juliet wishes there was more she could do for her. The light smattering of rain against the windows has become a steady pound now. (...Is the rain reflecting her feelings?)

The crowd-- forgotten, but still there-- begins to take notice of the Pantera's metamorphosis.

A man wearing an orange fur coat and tiger ears tries to get the designer's attention, pointing a claw like nail at them and drawing even more attention their way. A sudden boom of thunder interrupts anyone who might want to approach or snap a photo of the jacket's evolution. The storm rumbles on. All the glassware in the room shivers, the chandelier flickers wildly. Before now, the light smattering of rain on the windows hadn't affected the atmosphere of the gala at all. The venue is well lit and with the lively conversation, music, and snap-snap of camera shudders, no one paid the weather much mind at all. There is another boom of thunder, this time accompanied by a fierce strike of lightning through the gray clouds. Moments later, the lights go out with a pop. The music goes with it and the only sound she can hear now is her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Juliet is glowing in the dark. She stands out. More eyes than before are drawn to her now and the archer's cheeks redden as she senses this. Why is this... In the darkness, it's apparent that faint red sparks are dancing over the strawberries like a miniature firework display. Everyone is watching her. It's dark and everyone is watching. Her stomach sinks. What she feels now transcends a fleeting flush of embarrassment. There is a killer out there. And she was once... 'There is nowhere for you to hide, is there?' Sefarina's voice passes through the archer's mind, eerie like a cold October breeze.

"Willow, I..." Juliet's words are scarcely words at all, her lips merely forming the right shapes. Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Why is this happening now?

"Worry not, everyone! Worry not!" Richard Cash's voice cuts through the room, striding towards Juliet to stand in the faint spotlight she emits. She'll gladly offer it over to him. He raises his arms up and down, looking like a flustered penguin in his suit. Though he tells everyone not to worry, his voice is strung tight with panic that this gala is not going exactly according to plan. "Very shortly, our generator will--" The lights flicker back on, as if convinced to work at their acknowledgement. There's applause and peels of surprised laughter among the celebrity guests. Richard tugs at his collar with a sheepish laugh of his own. "Ah, yes. There we are! Please continue to enjoy yourselves, everyone. Strike up the band, Maestro!"

Richard leaves her side as the music picks back up, scurrying off to attend to the guest he was speaking to just before the power outage. Everyone falls back into whatever they were doing earlier. Outside, however, the storm does not let up. If anything, the rain hammers down harder in retribution, boldly proclaiming that it will not be ignored this way.

When Richard Cash is out of earshot, Juliet glances at Willow again. She collects her bearings, finding she can breathe again with the lights back on. If anything, she's feeling just a little faint in the aftermath. "I believe I may need a glass of water. Shall we..." She tips her head to the side, nodding slightly towards the counter where Meredith is stationed. "Shall we visit the bar for a moment?"

 

[starboob]

It takes a moment for Willow to blink away her wonder. Her green eyes are flecked with amazement as vines curl whimsically around the Pantera, sprouting baby strawberries. The pulsing glow, the red sparks like fireworks have her rapt attention. She hardly notices the outage, the storm, or even Richard Cash’s poor attempt to hold his composure in the face of unprecedented disaster. For one brief and brilliant moment, Juliet is the only person who exists. (Why does this feel so familiar? So nostalgic? If she concentrates, she can imagine a young Juliet’s wonderstruck gasp.)

It’s only when movement resumes, that reality comes rushing in and sweeps Willow into the present. As she levels her gaze with the other woman’s, she belatedly recalls the panic in her eyes when the lights went out and the words she had mouthed. Can’t breathe. With another jolt, she shifts from wonderstruck to camp counselor in a matter of seconds, her green eyes adopting concern and authority at once.

“Yeah, of course.” She steals a quick glance around them before casually offering her arm to Juliet, not wanting to draw anymore undo attention to themselves. (Not that people have not been staring and whispering all night when the heroines are otherwise distracted. Many of them take to dissecting Juliet’s interview earlier in the week, then add whispers about her fascination with aliens, agreeing that she must have been speaking in code to reference the mysterious stranger who has not left her side since the red carpet.)

Part of Willow wants to ask what happened. Another part reminds her to keep silent, knowing better than to trust this sort of crowd with secrets. Even if the sorceress is oblivious to the whispers and gawking, Folklore has taught her better by now. Besides, when she considers Juliet’s visions, she can understand why the dark might frighten her most of all. And while she might wonder if Juliet saw something, now is not the time to ask.

As they approach the bar, Willow weaves her way through the crowd until she squeezes them into a spot in front of Meredith. She nods to them, a quick imperceptible thing, then returns to the guests whose drinks she is prepping. Once she’s finished and the guests are well out of earshot, she slides over to the heroines. “Anything good happen yet?”

“Nope.” Willow rocks on her heels, gripping the edge of the bar. “We just need some water, is all. Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing good.” Meredith shrugs, grabbing two water bottles from the fridge and handing one to each of them. “I couldn’t even sell this shit to the tabloids.” Her eyes narrow on Kinsley Prescot across the room, glittering with all those fucking diamonds stuck to her skirt. She’s speaking with Richard Cash and whatever he’s saying must annoy her, because her eye roll is so exaggerated, Meredith and Willow both feel the sudden gravitational shift. She stalks off a moment later and Richard follows, waving his hands through the air like a cute little penguin. (He’s even waddling a bit.) Once they’re gone, Meredith’s gaze flickers back to Willow. “I’m surprised she hasn’t eaten him for breaking off the engagement.”

“They were a thing?” Willow blurts out before she can stop herself. It’s just hard to imagine Kinsley with someone like Richard Cash. Let alone imagine that Richard Cash would end things with Kinsley Prescot.

“Yeah,” Meredith breathes out a laugh, more so amused by Willow’s incredulous look than she is relishing in Kinsley’s misfortune. Although she is definitely relishing just a little bit. (A lot a bit.) “I don’t think they were even together for that long. But I guess it’s not surprising that the only way someone would propose to her is during the honeymoon phase. I mean. She’s such a bitch. Not even Griffith wanted to stay with her.”

That isn’t quite fair to say, though Willow doesn’t correct Meredith. It’s well known that Griffith and Kinsley dated when they were young and he broke things off a bit before his thread with Dorothea was discovered. He was always going to dump her if his threaded match was someone better. Like, that’s just a fact. It just sucked that it was her best friend.

Willow wrinkles her nose, hating that she’s even using her brainspace to think about that high school drama. “Yeah, always makes me wonder whose thread is tied to hers.” Willow and Meredith used to speculate about this in depth, wondering if her person is someone who is just as awful as her or someone so sweet they’ll be the antidote to all her horrendous traits. “I hope they work for each other.”

“Sure, I guess.” It’s unsurprising that Willow has this hope and, for all the damage Kinsley did to their high school reputations, Meredith doesn’t have it in her to wish her ill in regard to a thread. That’s a disappointment she doesn’t wish for her enemies. “Who’s that Dorothea’s talking to?”

Willow whirls around, a bit too eager and obvious. Not that it matters. Dorothea isn’t paying attention. She’s engrossed in a conversation with a person with sandy blond hair, tan skin, and two deer antlers sprouting from the top of his forehead. When he glances away, he immediately locks eyes with Willow James. He tilts his head, nodding his chin in her direction as he asks Dorothea something. (Probably something in the vein of, “Who is that dork nobody staring at me?”) She says something back, but doesn’t wave them over—whatever they were talking about, she seems adamant that they stay on topic.

“Not sure. But probably some actor or bigshot, right?” Willow tilts her head, following Dorothea and the stranger as they walk towards one of the other rooms. “I barely recognize anyone here, Mer. I’m a terrible person to ask.”

“Yeah, true.”

After that, Meredith gets called over by some drunk guests who are insistent that they are not yet drunk enough. Willow flips her a peace sign before she peels off then turns her attention back to Juliet. “Let’s go out to the balcony. It’s protected so we won’t get rained on.”

The balcony is a large outdoor space with a peppering of tables and chairs. Another bar has been set up in the corner, though hardly any guests are flocking to it. Aside from Willow and Juliet, there are only a few others out here. Even with the invisible barrier to keep out the rain and the worst of the wind, the temperature is still measuredly cooler than inside. Thick dark clouds roll over them; yellow lightning streaks across the skies, followed by booms of thunder. Willow takes in a deep breath, relishing in the fresh crisp air.

When they’re at the balustrade, Willow turns around so that her back is pressed against the stone, allowing her to rest her elbows on the ledge to prop the rest of herself up. “I know this all is a lot.” She blows out a raspberry, daring to look over at Juliet and her little strawberry jacket. (It’s so cute. She wonders what the jacket would have done had Juliet been eating a slice of red velvet cake.) “Also feels like we haven’t had a real moment alone since we got to Evermore. Things have been so busy.”

The next time lightning strikes, the lights go out in the venue. Many gasp and some groan. Whispers are already circulating that Richard Cash may be an ill-suited host if he cannot secure proper generators. While Willow notices the change inside, she remains calm. Outages are expected during a storm, after all. The rain picks up, pounding against the barrier like it's demanding entrance.

“Did you see something back there? When the lights went out?” Willow glances at Juliet’s hand, her own fingers twitching, pinky reaching for Juliet’s. But then she considers the Folklorian’s cover story and shoves hers deep into her pockets to avoid temptation. “We don’t have to stay if you’re not feeling all this. Like, I think we can consider the Pantera debuted and nothing else is really happening.”

Behind Willow, lightning brightens the skies and the shape of a be-antlered entity takes form as a giant behind the clouds, not unlike the creature they encountered at Mirror Lake. Something prickles against the back of the sorceress's neck and, once again, she ignores it.

“It’d be kinda fun to ditch this entire thing, don’t you think?” In her mind, a fantasy plays out where they find a burger joint and stuff their faces while wearing these nice fancy clothes. Or maybe they find one of those late night sushi places and order more rolls than either of them can realistically finish. "We could get some actual food and then go to Sunrise Peak, stay up all night, and watch the sunrise..."

Wouldn't that be romantic?

 

[ellarose]

"Yes." Juliet agrees quietly when Willow observes how busy they've been. She traces her thumb along the cuff of her jacket, watching as the strawberry embroidery bobs and ducks to avoid being covered up. Strange. Although it's been explained to her many times that the Pantera is magical and while she's seen it change before her very eyes... these strawberries are strange. "They have been."

When the lights go out behind them, Juliet notices in her periphery. She glances into the window behind them, watching the varied reactions of the partygoers. There are many rolled eyes and huffs of frustration. Others do a poor job of disguising how tense they are as the storm worsens. Do they not have any lanterns or candles stowed away for occurrences such as these? Richard Cash is flapping his arms again. Even through the darkness of the room, she can see the bullets he’s sweating from here. Apparently not. Supposing he may take offense to such a suggestion, she decides to keep her thoughts to herself.

Juliet turns her attention back to the strawberries on her jacket, still glowing faintly even now. Why? What was it about the strawberries? A quiet voice at her core knows the answer, that it’s more than the strawberries, but she won’t hear it when it tries to speak.

The darkness, the rain… Juliet stares out at it, thinking of days where those things posed a truly frightening danger to her. There was once a day where she ran to take shelter and ended up stumbling into… ah. (No. That was just a dream... wasn’t it? Or a recurring hallucination brought about by hunger and sleep deprivation.) Somehow, though, the taste of strawberries paints a vivid picture of a colorful afternoon. Even as someone hailing from a place such as Folklore, it was as though she’d fallen into a fairytale separate from everything she’d ever known.

"I didn't see anything." Juliet admits, speaking slowly as she considers her answer. She panicked. Willow noticed. However, she didn't see anything. She heard something. Sefarina. If she could banish the woman from her mind, she would have by now. But she's left her marks, so many scars... unfortunately for all of them, she's there to stay. She's made sure of it. Juliet knows it's all in her head, completely irrelevant. It would just get in the way, add more to the long list of things that Willow already has to worry about. She shakes her head, repeating herself. "No, I didn't see anything." It's not a lie. "It took me by surprise is all. It must seem silly..."

Juliet August is known throughout the wood for slaying monsters without batting a lash. She's survived the elements, stole hundreds of hands, cooked gargoyle wings over a campfire... and yet a simple power outage of all things caused panic of this scale? Many of the celebrities inside treated it with little more than an eye roll. Ridiculous.

Perhaps it's because Juliet knows the wood better than she knows herself. In reality, it's all of those people inside that she's afraid of. There's a killer on the loose. She doesn't trust any of them except for the person standing next to her now.

Willow talks about escaping this place and before Juliet can stop herself, the slightest smile quirks at her lips. She can't help but resonate with the desire to go someplace far away. The most memorable parts of fancy balls and parties back home was the exhilaration of sneaking off, whether she was racing through the palace gardens or venturing off into the streets of Amoria. As she lists the things they could do, she finds herself recalling the dream again... the memories are right there, and yet they can't quite take a form she could recognize. The lively spark in Willow's green eyes, brighter than the lightning flashing through the skies above them. What is this feeling?

"That sounds..." Juliet says softly, the slightest remnant of her smile still on her face. While Willow said leaving was an option, she senses she'd start worrying the second they step foot outside of this place. Worrying for Dorothea, for Meredith... and maybe even Kinsley, to an extent. That's just the kind of person she is. "Nice." Despite acknowledging it, neither of them makes a move to leave. It's unspoken between them that they're staying. Even if nothing happens at the gala, they're the heroines. "I'd like to see Sunrise Peak someday."

Juliet has this creeping feeling that gets harder to ignore by the second. Call it a hunch. It's rare that she attends an uneventful party.

...And suddenly, the shouts erupting from inside behind them confirms it. Juliet exchanges an alarmed glance with Willow, reaching for her thigh knife. Trouble.

 

[starboob]

Oh, that smile. She could live and die by that smile.

The faint glow of the strawberries sweeps Willow into a lovestruck fantasy full of pink lights and skipping stones across the four chambers of her heart. But Juliet says her idea only sounds nice and Willow understands. It’s becoming impossible to ignore the frantic energy mounting within the museum. She can make out the echo of Richard’s voice, the disturbed shouts as the guests' panic builds. Duty calls.

Yet it takes a concentrated amount of strength on the sorceress’s part to keep her gaze innocent when Juliet pulls up her skirt, revealing the knife strapped to her thigh. ‘Don’tstaredon’tstaredon’tstare.’ She loosely grasps for the citrine stone on her wrist, pulling on it so that it transforms into her staff. As the heroines pivot towards the museum, the sorceress summons the archer’s bow and arrows, handing them over to her while they dash into action.

Richard is assuring his guests that this is nothing out the ordinary, citing the building’s long history as an explanation for these outages. It fools no one except, perhaps, himself. The guests continue to grow agitated, some making for the exit as they shout.

The storm beats down on the windows, hard enough that the glass begins to crack. The next boom of thunder shakes the entire building, causing a few of the more intoxicated guests to fall into each other. A shrill shriek shocks the air, high-pitched and blood stopping. Windows shatter and glass rains over them, mixing with the harsh droplets that come from outside. Companions all begin to panic, flooding into the venue from the sequestered grove they had been kept in. Lucky collides into Willow’s shoulder as Grace bounds to Juliet, visibly relieved when she notes that her companion is unharmed. Guests join in with the clamor, screams and shouts joining with the cacophony of companion squeals, chirps, barks, and so on. It’s chaos. Richard, now accompanied by a penguin, smooths his hands back over his disheveled and overly gelled hair. “C-Calm down! Everyone remain where you are—until security gives the all-clear we all ought to remain in one place. I am sure that was just Geraldine, our friendly ghost patron, playing one of her infamous pranks.”

No one is listening, least of all the heroines. Willow spots Jovi and Montgomery racing up the steps, shoving past Richard Cash. Willow nudges Juliet’s shoulder to get her attention. “There. Let’s go before security locks everything down.”

Security staff is currently rushing towards Richard Cash, helping him up from the ground while the little penguin chirps frantically, as if trying to direct the burly security guards. Willow and Juliet race past them, not stopping or giving anyone a reason to stop them. They move with purpose.

Willow takes the steps two at a time. Lucky matches her pace, staying right beside their companion. As they reach the top of the steps, Jovi and Montgomery turn into one of the exhibit rooms at the far end of the corridor. The heroine’s follow.

From the exhibit, Montgomery hisses. It's then followed by a guttural meow. When Willow skids to a halt at the entrance, she automatically takes several steps back until she bumps into Juliet, eyes wide with horror. Her eyes first land on a shuddering, bleeding figure on the ground—a woman, but one of the many who Willow does not recognize. Dorothea is hunched over her, glowing hands hovering over the injuries as she idly tries to calm the woman down. Though it’s not that that shocks the sorceress. It’s the creature from Mirror Lake that causes her to balk.

There, at the other side of the room, entangled with that strange man Dorothea had been talking to earlier, is the misty antlered figure. It thrashes and bucks against the man, but he holds it fierce. Montgomery hisses at the creature and man both, his back arched. Jovi scrapes her front hoof against the ground, huffing as she stands protectively between her companion and the creature.

“Where’s…” Kinsley. The question dies in Willow’s throat as the creature shrieks and throws the man off, sending him into the wall with a crack. Willow springs forward, swinging her staff like a golf club before the creature can recover, blasting it with a ball of light. Then another and another, until the creature is collapsed in the corner.

Before she can deliver another blow, Montgomery turns on Willow. He pounces on her, only to be ripped off the sorceress a second later when Lucky goes after the cat. She groans from the impact of the fall, parts of her disoriented and unsure of what happened, though she doesn’t worry herself trying to figure out the details, recognizing what is more important. She reaches for her staff, sweeping herself up from the ground. She looks back once to check on Juliet, Dorothea, and the man.

Dorothea is loading the injured woman onto Jovi’s back. Though the woman is no longer a mess of lacerations, she is dangerously pale. Jovi takes the woman to safety while Dorothea glides over to help the man rise. He grasps the air for something, pulling a pink blade from thin air. Dorothea shoves him back into the wall in protest. “Hunter, stop. There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t.” Hunter’s voice reverberates through the air, sounding far away and ethereal, like a thousand voices are speaking together in choir. (It's vaguely familiar, though Willow is not sure where she's heard it before.) He jerks his shoulder forward, pushing the demigod off of him and taking a stride towards the creature. “She cannot come back from what has been done. Your friend cannot be saved lest you wish to put others into harm’s path. You would do well to return to Afterglow too. It is reckless that you remain in the realms, causing destruction and violence.”

“What are you talking about?” Willow speaks up, reminding the two of the heroines’ presence.

“I can wipe their memories, if you wish.” Hunter barely regards them, electing only to speak to Dorothea. “They won’t have to know.”

“Hunter.” Dorothea’s voice edges with that same ethereal quality as his, complementing the brightening halo of her divinity. “They are on our side. Don’t give me that bullshit about mortals. You know the seven need help from the realms.”

“That does not change what I said about your friend.” He shrugs. Meanwhile, the creature starts to stir. “You only delay the inevitable by allowing this to continue. She cannot hold father back forever. Not if the seven seals are being broken.”

Willow blinks, frustrated that they are being left out of this cryptic conversation, mind closing around the few details that have been shared. She squints between Dorothea and Hunter, noting that they have the same violet eyes. (“Don’t give me that bullshit about mortals.” . . . “She cannot hold father back forever.”) Willow gasps. Is this…?

Then her eyes shift over to the creature, more pieces coming together. (“Your friend cannot be saved.”) Her eyes narrow, the citrine stone losing its glow as she tries to find anything that might confirm the theory budding in her mind. But the evidence is in a burnt up photograph and conspiracy theories woven by her best friend.

“You’re not killing her.” Dorothea is firm in this. When she is sure that Hunter has accepted this, she addresses all three of them next. “Help me subdue her.”

Before anyone can move, the creature—Kinsley?—shrieks, releasing sonic waves powerful enough to knock everyone down. Its misty form falls apart and gathers into an amorphous shape, flying out of the exhibit and into the rest of the museum.

 

[ellarose]

Oh. Kinsley. Juliet pieces it together when magpie bait's companion rushes at Willow. The photograph, the cat's reactions and protective instincts... perhaps it's attributed to experience, having dealt with so many Lightless cases in the past, but it's fair to say she has something of a sense for telling a human from their monstrous counterpart. (The creature is certainly flashy, just as her outfit had been.) Still. She should have realized it sooner, but there were no signs outside of a single burnt up photograph. No symptoms nor sickness to forewarn a transformation of this sort. And Dorothea doesn't appear especially surprised about it herself.

They should have been told about this.

Juliet shares in Willow's quiet frustration as Dorothea and her brother (presumably) speak amongst themselves, discussing the potential erasure of their memories along with other matters they've yet to be made aware of, their voices reminiscent of omnipotent spirits. Fates. How is one meant to sleep at night? How is one to trust their own mind? While Juliet sympathizes withDorothea's plight and her desire to help her best the likes of Griffith King, it doesn't mean that she trusts the woman implicitly. She thumbs for her mind's protector, Scaramouch, to ensure that she's still hanging around her neck.

Gnats. Juliet should have known there was more. She should have pressed harder for relevant information... but she was careless. Dorothea's situation undeniably tugged at her heartstrings, distracted and softened her. How are they to move forward with intention, let alone confront their enemies when they've only seen the fringes of this operatic narrative? While she of all people understands the need to keep certain secrets close to her chest, this particular omission has put everyone in danger. She gazes down sympathetically at the woman who was attacked. She has to resist the temptation to ask her what happened before the memories are stolen from her.

Juliet is the quickest to stand and dust herself off in the aftermath of the sonic blast. She observes Dorothea impassively. Now's not the time to confront her. She could safely wager that her loyalty to Kinsley is the reason for her silence. The archer sighs, briefly checking to ensure that everyone's all right. We shouldn't have come here. The cameras, the interviews and outfits... it's all so trivial. Kinsley might have been worried about her job, but she's sure to lose it if her employer finds out about this. Although she supposes those who hail from Charming Street can wreak havoc and then have it magically erased from everyone's minds, keeping their picture perfect reputations intact.

The archer reaches into her quiver and produces a red arrow. It glows faintly, almost seeming to resemble the strawberries on her jacket. She sinks it into her arm, unflinching as always, and the magicked weapon dissolves on impact, lending her body a haloed effect of its own. Reaching for Willow's hand, the magic stretches outward to extend the same effect to her-- allowing them to travel together as she charges like a red bolt of lightning from the exhibit, sweeping through the museum's halls in pursuit of the creature.

Eventually, they corner the creature (...Kinsley) in a windowless, vacant section of the museum. The walls are covered in an array of strange paintings. Some are covered in primitive blocks that occasionally change color-- they're simple, childlike and not at all like anything Juliet has seen displayed in a museum before. When the magic of the speed arrow wears, Juliet and Willow begin to run. The further they venture into this section, detailed landscapes and portraits appear. Sefarina's face appears in more than one of them, her icy blue eyes glittering with amusement.

Juliet shakes her head to clear it, fixing her gaze forward. Kinsley's approaching a man wearing a clunky headpiece, mopping the floor and swishing his hips back and forth in... a dance? (Um. Can she really call this dancing?) The janitor seems impervious to the chaos that's been unfolding and wholly unaware of the danger he's in now.

"Sir, behind you!" Juliet attempts to warn him-- but it seems whatever contraption he is wearing over his ears blocks out the noise. "Oh nuggets." She bites her lip in concentration and sends two arrows after the creature, one after the other. Kinsley flickers from side to side like a fish darting through water, dodging them both with ease. A knife-like appendage begins to extend, nearing impaling the unsuspecting man... and that's when the third arrow that lands-- a net arrow-- which springs and traps the amorphous shape. The net emits a soft light, protecting itself from taking damage as Kinsley assumes her creature-like form again, nudging at the ropes with her sharp antlers.

They won't last forever, but it should suffice for the time being.

"Holy smokes!" The janitor reacts then, looking between the heroines and then to the netted creature on the floor. Rather than asking questions or offering to help, he takes off into a run. In the process, he slips on the floor he just mopped. His shoes squeak as he scrambles back up to his feet and then he's gone. At the same moment, Lucky and Grace catch up with them, assessing the situation with cautious eyes.

Juliet releases the exasperated breath she'd been holding onto, glancing at Willow and then down at Kinsley thrashing in the net. "Do you suppose we could... heal her?" She brings a hand to her temple. What exactly are they dealing with here? They have to work out a solution and soon. The creature draws out a familiar scissor appendage which snaps like a vicious piranha at the nets. They're holding for now... but surely not for that much longer.

 

[starboob]

“Mortals.” Hunter rolls his eyes as the heroines dart from the room. He makes no move to follow after them. They’re going a little slow in his opinion. He can catch up. To the god, he has all the time in the world. “Always in a rush.”

“This isn’t funny!” Dorothea’s fists ball at her sides, shaking as she strains to keep her emotions in check. “You wanted to help—why are you treating this like a joke!?”

“I am most interested in helping you, the rest of the situation just also happens to be concerning.” It is not the time for jokes. Hunter comes to understand this when Dorothea’s face twists into obvious displeasure. He can’t even feign like he doesn’t know what her expression means. He sighs. “I’m the seventh, I have no rank to intervene with your mortal affairs. I am only here to investigate.” He holds up his hand before Dorothea can protest. “I will make sure your friends are safe. At least the ones who I can protect. But what are you going to do, little bird?”

***​

Willow’s breaths come out ragged and heavy as she glares into the creature, trying to peel back the layers of mist to find the human underneath the monster’s skin. Her fists tighten around her staff, keeping it trained on Kinsley Prescot. She—or rather, the creature thrashes against the net, its sharp body sawing through the trap before its hand morphs into the familiar shape of scissors.

Juliet suggests trying to heal Kinsley and it’s not like Willow has a better idea, but what are they even dealing with? She clearly isn’t Lightless. She clearly isn’t Hollowheart. Can they even heal her?

She bites her lip, canting her head to the side. “It can’t hurt to try, right?” Actually, Willow can think of at least three hundred and forty-six different ways this could end in injury or death. Neither Lucky or Gracie look particularly pleased with this idea, though they also don’t do anything to stop their companions from acting on it. (If they freaking knew what they were dealing with, maybe they’d have a better idea of how to work with Kinsley when she’s in this frenzied state. But nooo. For whatever reason, Dorothea and Kinsley did not think this was pertinent information and just casually decided to put an entire gala in danger. Honestly, Willow had half a mind to ask whether Dorothea’s attendance was even wise, but she looked so well when they met up a few days ago. She was more herself than Willow has seen in a long while. It was risky, but… No, there are no excuses for this. Now her oversight could cost them.) ‘Damnit.’

The creature tears through one of the knots in the net, from there it shreds through the rest with one toss of its antlered head. It rises from the ground, the scissor appendage snapping hungrily at its side as it eyes the heroines. Then its eyes land on the space between them, homing on the single thread of spider’s silk.

Time stands still.

Then it hurdles forward. The creature (Kinsley) bolts forward. Willow pivots protectively between their thread, summoning a wall of impenetrable wind to keep the creature from getting close. (Willow will never risk their thread. That goes without saying.) It collides with the wall, bouncing off of it and back into the wall. While it’s down, Willow jerks her chin towards the creature and loops their thread around her hand a few times, signaling to Juliet she thinks they should try. “Ready-edy.”

Willow skates towards the creature, propelling wind through her feet, and winds around it, binding its arms to its side. Their thread erupts into gold, sparking from their chests and meeting down the middle of the line.

As this happens, Hunter appears a few paces away. His eyes go wide when he sees the heroines. He reaches forward, “No! Don’t—”

Too late.

The spell meets before either Willow or Juliet can stop it. Dark winds spin around the trio, then they disappear, leaving Hunter with the two distressed companions.

***​

Willow and Juliet land flat on their stomachs after plummeting through unknown depths. Willow whimpers, slowly rolling onto her side before she opens her eyes. She blinks once, twice, squinting through the dark. Wherever they have landed—a labyrinth, presumably—reeks of stale gore. It hits her like a wall, forcing her to wheeze through her first few breaths. It doesn’t get better, but she does start to take shallow breaths to minimize the smell.

When she reaches out in front of her, searching for Juliet, her hand hits something hard and porcelain-like. She brings it to her face then immediately hurls it away with a suppressed cry. The bone shard skips over the grimey stone floor, eventually hitting the foot of someone resting against the wall furthest from the heroines. She doesn’t initially notice this, not until that someone opens one glowing red eye, providing a small amount of light to this squalid pit. “Visitors?”

His voice is low and hoarse. It grates against Willow’s nerves, setting off every alarm bell in the sorceress’s head. When his second eye opens, Willow shuffles closer to Juliet before getting up with her staff. Right before them, surrounded by corpses with hollowed out eyes and torn open chests, is a man in chains with sharp pointed ears, a mouth full of rows and rows of needle-like teeth, and antlers sprouting from above his ears. The center of his chest has a hole punched cleanly through it and in that space is a glowing, beating human heart suspended by thick ropes of ink. Aside from his bright red eyes, the rest of him remains shrouded in shadows so dark, they’re dizzying. “Ah, and not just any visitors. The heroines of love.” Though he is the one trapped in chains, he cackles. “I have been waiting to make your acquaintance.”

In a blink, he's as close as he can get to the heroines, about an arm's length away, towering over them by several feet. Willow instinctively takes a step back, grabbing Juliet's hand as she does. "Rude. That is no way to greet a god." With that, he conjures the hilt of a broken sword into his fist. "Goodbye, Willow James of Evermore and Juliet August of... Well, of wherever it is you hail."

 

[ellarose]

"My apologies, Willow." If there was ever a time to disaster cast, this would be it. (Even if it means sacrificing story time... Not that they've had much time for stories lately.) While the demon spoke, Juliet swiftly used her thumbnail to trace a glyph into the palm of her hand. She glares at her reflection in the broken blade, a gut-wrenching and familiar sense of unease prickling at her. Never mind that for now. When heat surges through her veins, Juliet steps in front of Willow. The archer does not allow herself to shrink a single inch with fear, slashing her arm out in a long arc in front of them. Blazing streams of fire swirl out from her fingertips, creating a barrier between them and the broken blade. It lessens the dizzying effect of the shadows, casting the darkened cell into the light. It illuminates the bodies strewn around with their hollow eyes and... hearts.

The pieces are there, are they not? Has Kinsley been cursed to do his bidding, carving out hearts for him to use? Is he responsible for the existence of Hollowhearts? Dorothea's eyes were strikingly similar the night of the faire, as though they'd been gouged out... is that what happened to these people?

Fates. Perhaps Juliet will make more sense of it later. Perhaps Dorothea and Kinsley will explain when they realize how foolish they were for keeping this secret. This place threatens to overwhelm now that they're exposed to even more of it. The bodies, the morbid stench, it threatens to dredge up memories of... she's five years old and trembling as she peeks through the leaves of a cypress tree. She can't help but cry out when she realizes what's unfolding before her eyes, drawing the attention of that beast, with it's horrible face and bloodstained teeth--

"My, my." The gravelly voice draws Juliet back to the present. 'Don't let yourself be distracted. That's how you die out here. Stay present. Stay focused.' "How unusual your magic is." The mysterious monster gives a low, infuriating chuckle-- as if her fiery wall of defense is nothing but a source of amusement to him. He magics his blade away, cupping the fire in his palms and clapping to extinguish it. Smoke curls out through the spaces between his fingers.

However distressing this is, Juliet's experiences have shaped her into the person she is now. The girl in the red hood. The girl who survived. She'd thought earlier how strange it was, that a room of people frightens her more than monsters in the wood. Well... this bastard looks like a monster if she ever saw one. Focus. The archer releases Willow's hand to reach for another of her red arrows. She wastes no time in sinking it into her arm, absorbing the high-speed energy she requires to move in rapid circles around him-- tangling him in their thread and pulling it taut, the force threatening to throw him off his feet.

"Are you quite finished yet? That tactic might have worked against a lesser beast, little red, but it will be of no use to you here." His voice rumbles as he squares himself, holding firm against their thread.He squirms for an instant, appearing somewhat perplexed when it doesn't immediately adhere to his command.

The creature grunts, summoning his broken blade anew. He raises it over his head, poised to sever the thread. "Quick, follow me." Juliet takes Willow's hand-- perhaps in part to keep the sorceress from diving in harms way to protect the thread-- encouraging her to slip out from where they'd been previously cornered. When they move in unison, their thread moves with them, slipping away unscathed just before his blade can come down upon it. They put a few feet of distance between them and the monster. Judging by the way he moved earlier, it'll only be a matter of seconds before he looms too close for comfort.

Juliet breathes through her gritted teeth to shield herself from the familiar stench of gore. Sweat beads at her forehead. She draws another arc with her hand, haphazard in her frenzied state, summoning more flames to act as a wall between them. They crackle erratically through the air, she can feel their rhythm in her blood. "Weapons are necessary on this side lest you wish to become someone's dinner." Apparently, that's not only true for Folklore. The archer's desire to shield them from harm sculpts her magic into a fiery bow and arrow which profusely refuses to be extinguished.

All Juliet can think is that they need to get out of here. She needs to keep Willow safe. She promised. She promised.

Juliet grabs hold of her new weapon, swiftly familiarizing herself with the shape of it, preparing to shoot. (It's a relief that it doesn't burn her hands to a crisp.) She narrows her eyes to slits, unhesitatingly send a flaming arrow flying at the monster's exposed heart. With her aim as true as ever, she does not miss her mark. The heart proceeds to burst into flames.

 

[starboob]

Flames engulf the top half of the god. He looks down at the fiery hole in his chest and swirls the flames around his fingers without making a move to snuff them out, as if this is only an amusement to him. “Lara must be proud of you, little red. But did you really think that it would be this easy? Tsk, tsk.” He chides the archer like a child. The smirk on his lips stretches all the way back to his ears, showing off all the rows of his teeth, bloodstained with strings of flesh still hanging from them. It’s less of a smile and more of a threat. He shifts closer. “You are aware that gods are immortal, no?”

His red eyes then turn to Willow. Her stomach lurches and yet she remains firm, emboldened by the archer next to her. “For one who filled her head with folklore, I thought you might be aware and, perhaps, would have advised your companion against the waste of energy.”

Willow bares her teeth, fighting off the screaming urge to make herself invisible and small. The citrine at the top of her staff brightens. Sparks of electricity crackle around her arms and legs, traveling up the length of her staff in response to her desire to fight. She tightens her grip. Willow James is not backing down.

“That will be a waste,” he sighs, shifting closer once again. “These are not odds you can defy, stormchild.”

Blood thunders in the sorceress’s ears, dulling the god’s taunts to a hollow echo. Her pulse builds to a stampede, turning her blood to pure adrenaline. In the face of this danger (that might as well be certain death, though she won’t admit that just yet), Willow refuses to let this guy determine the end to her story. Even if her muscles are all locking and she has to fight for her fight response, she holds herself steady, like a real hero. (Like Juliet.) She widens her stance, keeping her knees loose.

She will protect Juliet. She will return to her loved ones. She will go home.

These thoughts imbue the sorceress with strength and embolden her. The adrenaline cocktail in the stormchild's veins morphs to lightning. Her green eyes flash in the same moment she releases the lightning in her veins through the tip of her staff, channeling all of her will into this cast.

The god rolls his eyes and shifts out of the way. Willow pivots to follow him, drawing scraggly lines on the prison walls as she follows him with the thunderbolt. As the cast wanes, Juliet steps in with her fiery bow and arrows, allowing the sorceress time to recharge. Soon, the prison is bright with flares of alternating orange and blue. In these flashes of light, it becomes apparent that the prison itself has peculiar properties to it. (Of course it does. It is meant to hold a god.) The walls alternate between stone, coral, and stacks of thick bone, at times even appearing as a scorched ribcage. Willow only takes this in peripherally, focusing on avoiding direct contact with the god and watching out for Juliet.

Yet nothing they do has any real effect on the god. He teases them by staying still and pointing out markers for them to hit, only for him to roll or shift out of the way at the last possible second. He bats away their arrows, lightning, wind, shards of mirror, and more. Though he could, he never strikes back. It seems he enjoys their company far too much after centuries of isolation and boredom. (And maybe he likes to play with his food.) They're losing energy fast and, somewhere, the sorceress knows this is impossible. But the alternative, passively accepting defeat, is not an option. Neither of them were raised to be quitters.

“Sloppy, sloppy." The boredom in his tone shades the sorceress's vision in vehement red. "And you’re not quite so quick or clever.”

Willow growls, aiming her next shot directly at his chest. It's fruitless, pointless, a waste and yet... This is her best chance of returning home. A thick bolt of lightning races towards him and all the god does is catch it between the tips of his talons, holding it a mere hair away from his heart. The string of lightning remains suspended and frozen in space between them, one end in his hand and the other connected to her staff. “Little red already tried that. At least be original in the way you choose to fail, darling stormchild.” With his end of the lightning, he yanks it down, throwing the sorceress to the floor. Then he snaps the bolt like a whip and tosses her into the rib cage wall. (Vaguely, she hears someone gasp.) “I was under the impression that you were the smart one too. Shame. I suppose you are just a poor elfling from Rhode Island lane.”

She hits the wall with a dull thud, flopping unceremoniously on the floor. When she manages to open her eyes just a crack, three burning gods spin around and taunt Willow as she struggles to gather herself from the ground. Her head and shoulders ache from the impact, but she suppresses the desire to give in and reaches for her staff, using it as a prop to help herself up. By the time she’s standing, the god is directly in front of her. The heat from the flames is nearly suffocating. He curls one of his talons under her chin, forcing her gaze up. “You don’t actually want to hurt me though.”

“You don’t know anything,” she seethes.

“On the contrary. I know everything.” His hand slips from her chin to her neck, fingers wrapping around her throat and applying a light amount of pressure. Sensing the archer behind him, he throws up his free hand and creates an invisible barrier to keep her out. “Don’t worry. This story was always meant to be a tragedy.” He squeezes, relishing in the way the sorceress squirms and still tries to fight, clawing at his arms. It’s adorable.

The pressure around her neck tightens and spots form in her vision. ‘No. No! I want to go home—’

Willow’s knees hit the ground suddenly. Between her gasps for air, she doesn’t realize she’s been released until the god shrieks, something high-pitched and surprisingly girlish. He’s several steps away from her now. Willow takes the opening, scooping her staff from the ground, and stumbles towards Juliet through coughs and gasps. The barrier has since dropped, leaving nothing to stop her from colliding into the archer, arms wrapping tightly (maybe too tightly) around her middle. As the air settles around the reunited heroines, their thread winds around them. Willow buries her nose into Juliet's shoulder, choking out, “I want to go home.”

The god growls in the background, struggling with an unseen force. He glares down at the heart on fire, wrapping his fist around the muscle to expunge the flames. (Is he fighting with the heart? If the heart isn’t his source of life… What is it?) When his eyes find Willow and Juliet, their thread is glowing bright gold. His lips part, forming a small ‘o.’ “Impossible.”

The heroines sink into the ground.

***​

When the heroines roll back into the what remains of the gala, Lucky and Gracie are all over Hunter. Lucky has pulled his coat over his head, tangling him in the garment, while Grace tugs on his pant leg with her teeth. His arms flail helplessly in the air, trying to bat the companions off of him, though neither relent. (They seem to not care that he is one of the seven.) “Off! Unhand me, you creatures!”

“Maybe they’d get off if you fucking did something!” Meredith is also hounding the god, following him wherever he struggles. “Fates, if you’re so useless why are you even one of the seven!?”

"I already explained—"

"I don't care. You're a fucking god!"

Dorothea does nothing to intervene. She’s hunched over Kinsley’s half-transformed body, smoothing her hair back. The Lavinia Laurence style dress she had been wearing is torn in various places, but it’s the exposed portion on her torso that is most unnerving. The skin between her breasts is steaming, blistered, and raw, forming a thin rhombus-shaped scar at the center of Kinsley’s chest. Her breathing is slow and steady, weak mewls coming from her slightly parted lips.

No one notices that the heroines have even returned until Lucky and Grace suddenly abandon Hunter for their companions. Lucky is none too pleased with the state Willow has returned in, shivering against Juliet and refusing to let go. Their neck whips around, hissing at Hunter and Dorothea both. However, before the dragon can get in another hiss, all of Evermore shakes.

At the border of You York, where the island once met the sea, the statue of Reputation falls into the newly widening chasm.

 

[ellarose]

Kinsley mumbles incoherently under her breath once the ground stops shaking. Reputation's... falling. Her consciousness fades soon afterwards. Hunter has already vanished without a trace, having taken advantage of Lucky, Grace, and Meredith pivoting their attention to the heroines. (Running away. Perhaps it's what the gods do best.) There's the vague echo of a racket and mayhem as gala guests disperse, bemoaning the tumultuous turn of events. A particularly loud and pompous voice cuts above the rest, threatening to sue. Sensing they'll be spotted if they remain there any longer, Jovi scrapes her hooves against the floor and dips her head down in such a way that creates a soft whirlpool of light. A portal.

Juliet doesn't notice any of them. Any of it. All she can focus her energy right now is the feel of Willow James in her arms, haunted and trembling. Though they've left it, she can't quite tear herself from that prison they'd found themselves in either. Reliving those moments of helplessness, having been forced to stand back as that monster... (She'd focused on the heart she'd set aflame in those moments, on turning up the heat so that she might reduce the beast to cinders. Even though he mocked and told her it was useless, she had to try something. Anything. She couldn't let her-- she couldn't let her die.) While she doesn't know if it made any difference... they made it out. That's all that matters right now.

It takes a team effort between Meredith and the companions to help the heroines to their feet and guide them through Jovi's portal. Willow still hasn't let Juliet go. (Juliet doesn't let go, either.)

***​

While Dorothea makes herself scarce to dote on Kinsley in her hotel room, Juliet, Willow, Meredith and their companions settle down in a corner of the large sitting room. Willow hasn't yet let go of Juliet, though her trembling gradually subsides as the archer rubs circles against the small of her back. (She's surprised the sorceress hasn't let go in favor of turning to Meredith or Lucky for support instead. For whatever reason, it's Juliet she wants to hold onto. But why...?) Though she's somewhat at a loss, she endeavors to hold herself steady enough, to be enough to soothe her through the worst of it.

"We've escaped. We're okay now." All Juliet can do is offer the same soft-spoken reassurances over and over like a mantra. "We're okay." In the meantime, the fae brings them water and blankets. Meredith paces about for a bit, antsy to turn television on to see what the coverage regarding the gala looks like-- but ultimately decides the stimuli and stress of it all won't be of any help to them at the moment. 'No doubt they'll be talking about this all month, anyway.' Once Willow is properly bundled up and settled on the couch between Meredith and Juliet, she seems to gradually come back into herself. Lucky, Grace and even Snoops settle down in a companionable row across their laps.

Juliet quietly tells Meredith what happened within that gory prison, doing her best to include everything so Willow doesn't have to recount any of the painful details herself. Though it's clear the fae has thoughts on all of this, the consensus is that Willow's wellbeing comes first. Juliet and Meredith may not be able to agree on everything-- but they can at least agree on this. The archer continues to rub circles on her back while the fae holds her hand.They consider their plans for the evening ahead.

"Willow." Dorothea speaks as she walks into the sitting room, approaching their corner. "Willow. Jules, Meredith. Let me--"

"Wait." Juliet interjects, surprising herself when she snaps before Meredith can. (And based on the way the fae bares her teeth, it's evident that she wants to.) "We came all this way to lend our help when you called for us." They risked their lives on the train and made the effort of scouring the massive city of You York. "We gave you the opportunity to tell us what was happening, to warn us about what we were up against... and you said you only knew so much." A lie, clearly. Even if there are important details Dorothea isn't privy to, it doesn't change the fact that she's been selective in sharing what she knows. The problem is that those details she neglected to mention are rather crucial to understanding what they're up against. "I believe I understand why you kept it from us. However, I cannot say that I respect it." She lowers her eyes, looking down at Gracie in her lap. "It wasn't worth the risk. Everyone's lives were at stake today. Our lives were at stake."

Kinsley's, too, if she's to consider the sorry state she was in. Juliet knows they'll need to hear Dorothea out. But for the time being... there are more important things to address. They've prioritized people who haven't prioritized them the same way. Right now, Juliet wishes to put Willow first.

"Though I am sure we all intend to hear what you have to say, we'll require a moment longer to recuperate. Can you leave us alone?"

When Dorothea grants her request, Juliet turns to face Willow, smoothing a rouge curl out of her face as she looks her directly in the eyes. "Willow... do you want to go home?" She remembers how her voice broke on that request when she fell into her arms. (How it broke her heart.) Better to address this before hearing anything Dorothea has to say. "There is no shame in that, if that's what you want. We can take a rest before we proceed on our path." It may be for the best. Taking the time to rest, to train harder without distractions, and perhaps if they ever face that bastard again they'll be ready. But that's up to Willow for now.

 

[starboob]

“You’ve changed.”

Those were Willow’s parting words to Dorothea before they left. They were her only words to Dorothea, in fact. She did not even look her old friend in the eye as she said them. The disappointment was too fresh and it hasn’t ebbed in the days following.

Needless to say, Willow did take Juliet up on her offer that they return to the Rhode Island house. Meredith even came along with them. She claimed it was for Willow's sake, but the near imperceptible tremor in her voice said otherwise. She was scared. They all were and still are.

When Willow called her grandmas from the hotel and asked if they could cast a summoning spell to retrieve them, they were already halfway done with the glyph. “Call it a grandmother’s intuition.” They didn’t even bother stopping back at Meredith’s to pack up her things. That was how desperate they all were to leave You York. That was how insistent her grandmas were that they return immediately.

The second they arrived back on the Rhode Island property, her grandmas collapsed around the trio. Grandma Elva’s big strong arms held them together while Grandma Juniper kissed each of their foreheads. “Thank the gods, all my babies are safe.”

She wasn't so thankful for them after they explained Willow's injuries and everything that had happened with the god. The story only confirmed their fears, as it hadn't taken the news breaking for her grandmas to know something was amiss. When the earthquake struck Evermore, they felt the Statue of Reputation fall the instant that it happened. They didn't and haven't explained what this all means, and Willow doesn't get the sense their silence is on purpose.

Ever since that night, Grandma Elva has remained quiet. Grandma Juniper is quick to send out invitations to her nieces and nephews, imploring them and their families to return to the property. Since then, she's been fussing with the house to keep busy, pretending that her activity is only to prepare for the arrival of all these guests. Willow sees through the flimsy excuse. Especially when she notices her grandmas reinforcing the protective enchantments surrounding the property. Especially when she catches them speaking in whispers, only to change their tone when they notice Willow or Juliet or Meredith at the door. Late one evening she even overhears Grandma Juniper sobbing into her hands, muttering, “I thought we did enough? How is this still happening?”

Willow worries a hole through her lip seeing them like that.

***​

The morning following their return, Willow wakes up with swollen and puffy eyes. She's still pressed close to Juliet and as nice as it is to wake up to the archer's steady heartbeat, she wishes for different circumstances. This doesn't stop her from snuggling in closer. Still as Juliet is, she doesn't realize she is already awake and when she does, she sheepishly moves away so that Juliet can finally move. But neither of them get up. Neither of them say anything. They stare at the sticky stars on Willow's ceiling in companionable silence for a few hours. They might have spent the whole day like that, but then Lucky starts chasing Grace around her bedroom. And, eventually, Grace escapes through the window and Lucky follows.

Willow and Juliet scramble to chase after them, only slipping on their shoes before they make their exit through the window. They spend the better part of an hour running after them and when they come back inside, panting and soaked in sweat, Leif asks if they were training, then offers to help. (He found out from their grandmas what had happened. Though he masks it better, his worry is just as apparent as their grandmas'.) Helping them train is the one way he can feel useful and, honestly, with his former life as an professional athlete, it makes sense for them to accept the offer. Thus starts their official training regimen.

From then on, they spend their mornings with Leif. He transforms the backyard into a fitness obstacle course that Willow quietly calls, "the open air suffer dungeon." Juliet keeps up with the course just fine. Willow struggles through it. Though she does surprise herself with how far she can get before her body gives out and attributes her increased stamina to all those stairs Folklorians are obsessed with. Leif turns out to be a surprisingly tough coach and pushes them past their limits, always convinced they have one more push-up, sit-up, press, tire flip left in them. He doesn't even let them quit after Willow hurls from exhaustion. She starts to hate him just a little bit after that, even if she gets it.

After they finish their morning training, they move on to magic. Willow continues going over the basics with Juliet, explaining the theory and underpinnings to a good cast to help the archer conceptualize what it is she is manipulating and working with. "Magic is everywhere, Juliet. In us and around us. Spells are how we align the magic within us with the magic outside of us. Harmony between these two sources is what creates a successful cast." Then, in consideration of Juliet's ability to manifest weapons, Willow tries to get a better understanding of Juliet's peculiar magic by asking her about what had been going on internally just before that new bow and arrow set manifested. Though when Willow asks her to try and do it again, nothing happens. It's finicky and seems similar to whenever Willow tries to summon a storm when no danger is present to stir that will inside her. She reassures Juliet this is something they can work on. In fact, they both spend time working on their abilities to summon weapons and storms. Grandma Juniper also joins the tail end of these lessons to go over potions, plants, and healing.

During the late afternoon, they practice with their weapons. Grandma Elva comes by to observe Juliet's archery the first day. She has no notes to offer, because there are none to give. (Willow doesn't say anything, but it does make her sad that Grandma Elva doesn't take the time to show-off her trick shots. It only proves how serious this all is.) When she takes a look at Willow's sword, she comments on the elven influence in the craftsmanship with a nod of approval. Then she teaches Willow a few drills for her to practice her basics. Ultimately, however, she entrusts the bulk of their weapons training to Juliet. It's too painful to see her granddaughter training like this.

After dinner, they focus on research and strategy. Meredith sits in on these conversations, mostly keeping quiet as she sips on her tea. (She's been more amicable towards Juliet since the incident. She's even been staying in her own bedroom and allowing Willow and Juliet more privacy.) Willow gets the sense Meredith is just hanging around because she's waiting for her to be ready to discuss the events of the gala. It's a known fact at this point that she's got something to say and the sorceress suspects she knows that it starts with, "I was fucking right, Wills!"

***​

It's now been a few days since the gala and Evermore is buzzing with the news that there was an attempt on Penny Worthington's life. (She is rumored to be the woman who Richard Cash left Kinsley for.) Naturally, there is no mention of Kinsley or Dorothea. The reports just say the murderer is at large, and all the identifying information is useless. Everyone who was in attendance is expected to meet with the police to give a statement. Willow, Juliet, and Meredith have yet to be summoned and do nothing to volunteer statements.

The earthquake and fallen statue barely make the news in the wake of the attempted murder. Though a few elites come together to raise funds for a new statue. All that aside, Griffith King also announces his bid to run for the open seat on the council. If he wins, and he everyone expects him to, he'll become the youngest sitting councilman.

Dorothea respects their wishes for space and does not attempt to contact them. Willow is not ready to face her, and she knows she might get to wait until she is. Dorothea has information they need and while they might be able to get it on their own, that could take too long. With their enemies so far ahead of the game and so well resourced, they need all the help they can get, even if that help comes from someone who nearly got them killed.

***​

Willow and Juliet have just finished their last sparring match for the evening and now lay in the tall grass of the backyard. (Willow managed to knock Juliet's falchion out of her hand five times. She's also getting better at getting herself out of holds.) Their breathing starts to slow and a welcome breeze comes to help cool them down. Willow rubs some of the sweat off of her forehead, staring at the slow drifting clouds above them. All of them are shaped like tyrants. She sighs.

“The scale of this… I didn’t think it’d be like this. Ever.” Willow hasn’t brought up the incident since they returned. She doesn’t avoid the subject when it comes up and it's obviously been on her mind every time they train. It's just a difficult subject for her to approach, knowing how woefully unprepared they are to take on the realms' problems if the root of evil is divine. “And I accounted for piranha hurricanes and the return of the plague. I just…” 'never suspected this.' But can she even fault herself for that? This is something out of mythology. This is a legend in the making and while that's what she wanted, this not the story she thought she would get. She's not so sure she wants to be apart of it anymore. “Are we in over our heads? No, scratch that. Are we in too deep?” 'Is it too late to turn back?'

 

[ellarose]

Juliet takes a slow, deep breath. The air here is so fresh-- especially compared to the streets of You York, which introduced her to a catalog of new smells she'd rather not encounter again. She sinks contentedly into the soft grass, her muscles tender and sore from training. Though the ache she feels is indicative of hard work, she's started to notice the bruising that once littered her chest is beginning to fade and heal. Having a safe place to land, full of caring hands and thoughtful people who look out for her... it's different. (So far from what she's used to that it could bring her to tears that such an unfathomable place exists. Where has it been all her life?) She doesn't let herself mull over the thought much too long, opting to listen when Willow speaks instead. Are we in over our heads? Are we in too deep?

"Yes, we are." Juliet answers, unhesitating and direct, as if this isn't the first time the thought has crossed her mind. What would be the point of cushioning the truth with a fantasy? Willow deserves more credit than that. (It's fair to say that she asked it already knowing the answer to her question.) She glances absentmindedly at her thumbnail, her brown eyes faraway as she thinks back to that day. The nasty, monstrous god and the wall he summoned to keep her out. She learned to climb trees in her youth and couldn't climb over it... learned to wield her fists and her weapons and she couldn't break through it. "I've been fighting my whole life and it still wasn't enough." She wears a rueful smile, raking her fingers back through her red waves. "Exhausting, isn't it?"

A soft wind combs through the grass, over them, and Juliet's eyes flit shut. Sprawled out before the open sky is where she feels the most like herself. "But we're still here. Looked that bastard in the eye and lived to tell the tale." She observes after a while. He had no intentions of letting them leave that prison alive. They escaped when it should have been impossible. (Impossible. The very word he'd begun to utter as their thread wound around them and they vanished from sight.) "All I can do is fight... so I suppose I've no other choice than to keep moving forward."

A stronger gust passes them now, whipping their hair and clothes about-- but this time, it's not the elements at fault. Instead it's Grace whooshing by with Lucky in toe. Again? (It happens so often now, she has to wonder what their motives are.) She shakes her head, somewhat bewildered.

Juliet lifts herself from the ground, offering Willow a hand. "How about you?"

***​

When the heroines find their companions, it becomes evident that the sight they're witnessing is unusual. Especially as Grace's fur takes on a misty, glowing sheen. In a blur, her form shifts from that of a fox to a tiny lizard, scampering like a flame over the rocks. Lucky trills enthusiastically in response, pressing their nose to the ground like a hound as they chase after her. Before long, Grace shifts again as she turns around and pounces back at the dragon in the form of a cat. Running nimbly across their scaly back, she dismounts off the end of the dragon's tail and takes to the sky, transforming into an orange bird. Lucky trills once again before flying after her-- they race around in circles before Grace decides she's had enough and swoops down into Juliet's arms, shifting back into her familiar fox form.

"...You've been training very hard, I see." Juliet acknowledges her companion's efforts. Grace presses her nose against her collarbone, her fluffy tail flicking back and forth with satisfaction. Unlike before, changing doesn't seem to be creating a strain on her body-- nor are there any fresh scars to be concerned about. While the change itself is surprising, while she might not entirely understand what's happening-- it's a relief that it isn't hurting her anymore. She nods appreciatively at Lucky. Now, it's clear to her what's been happening. Their companions were worried for them, too. It makes sense that they've been training in their own way. "Thank you for helping her."

Lucky lands on Willow's shoulder, dipping into what looks like their attempt at a bow before puffing their chest up with pride.

They stop by the berry bushes they passed on the way back for a short snack. Willow summons up a basket and they pick some more to bring back for her grandmothers.

***​

In the late afternoon, Juliet and Willow sit on the porch steps of the Rhode Island house with a cluster of magazines spread out between them. They point to photographs of different animals, testing Grace to see what she can and can't change turn into. It turns out she can take on the shape of just about any living creature-- though she doesn't seem comfortable maintaining one shape for more than a couple of seconds. (She cannot turn into objects and neither of them try asking her to shift into a human. It's unspoken and mutually agreed upon that such a drastic transformation might be rather unsettling.) No matter what form the companion takes, the one thing she cannot do is change color.

Eventually, Grace changes back into a fox and curls up between Juliet and Willow, panting and tuckered out. It's visibly still apparent that that's the form she's most comfortable with-- which is understandable-- and that shifting takes quite a lot out of her. They put the magazines away and bring her a bowl of water.

It's warm out, even now as the sun sinks in the sky, turning it a deep purple. They stay outside, staring at the sky change color in that companionable silence again. Insects sing and fireflies flicker about, appearing in the trees and over the grass as it darkens. The air smells like it's going to rain again soon.

"Thought you two might enjoy some treats." Juniper says as the screen door scrapes open and shut behind them. "You've had a busy day, haven't you?" She smiles knowingly at Grace in particular. "We had wondered about your hidden potential. There are a great many stories about shapeshifting foxes, you know."

There's a 'clink' as she sets the tray of snacks down for them, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of Willow's head. "Make sure to eat it before it melts." With that said, she walks back inside the house.

Curiously, Juliet takes one of the glass dishes into her hands. It's cold to the touch and the custard inside is a deep, bluish purple that matches the sky. Ah... did they make this with the blueberries from earlier? That must be it. And yet she cannot shake that there's another reason entirely why the dessert seems familiar to her. She can't quite place it.

"It's very sweet." Juliet observes after she takes her first bite. Almost shockingly so. Running her tongue along the roof of her mouth, she fixates on the familiar taste. She's definitely eaten this before. It's not like Juliet August to forget a dessert and especially not a berry dessert. Still, it must have been a long time ago. (The flavor is memorable, though. A delicacy that she'd wolfed down at a time where she'd been starving.) This feeling grows even stronger as she samples some more. Then her eyes widen with recognition. She can't stop herself from glancing at Willow, as though for confirmation. "...It's a blueberry blitzen."

 

[starboob]

Glasses clink when their metal spoons go digging. Willow silently hums, trying to pry a blueberry seed from her molar with her tongue. Her eyes are lazily focused on the wooden porch steps. She pushes the swinging bench slowly, rocking them at a gentle rhythm. Her thighs only quietly protest the movement and she’s learning to relish in these aches, knowing that it’s a sign she’s getting stronger. (She has to be stronger. She has to be strong enough.) Dazed as she is, she barely registers what Juliet is asking in her statement. She merely bobs her head up and down. “Yeah, it is.”

Her voice is as far away as her thoughts. Their earlier conversation is still rolling around in her mind and now that they’ve stopped quizzing Grace, she can’t help but wander back to it. Juliet asked for her thoughts and all she had done back then was shrug, but even in the uncertainty of that moment, she knew she wasn’t going to turn back. She’s seen too much. She knows too much. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she turned back knowing the enormity of what they have just uncovered. She just needed to get that uncertainty out of her system before it turned to poison.

Juliet makes the choice to continue an easy one too. Her answer was unhesitating. She did not soften the truth for Willow’s sake. In being so honest, the sorceress at least has the comfort of knowing she is not alone. As uncomfortable as it is to know that they are taking on something so much bigger than themselves that it might crush them in the end, it’s comforting to know that her partner in crime acknowledges it as well and still chooses to be fearless in spite of it.

Besides, if she parts ways now, who is going to watch Juliet’s back? The archer is strong, but even she acknowledged she wasn’t strong enough and yet she’s not turning back. Willow wants to be strong enough for her. She wants to be the clever and heroic woman Juliet described during her interview.

More than that, there are others she sought to help when she endeavored to save love. As she watches Snoops cautiously walk around Lucky’s sleeping form in the backyard, she thinks of Meredith and her bogus thread. Then there’s Dorothea too. Even if she nearly got them killed, Willow hasn’t turned her back on her. She’ll give her the benefit of the doubt on account of their history and their bond as camp counselors. It's not for her to decide who they do and don't help. Everyone should have their fair shot at love if that is what they want. It would take a lot for Willow James to truly turn her back on the popstar. This is not to say she’ll be letting her off easy—no, her bruises might be fading and her voice might be restored from its harsh rasp, but the mental wounds are still gaping and fresh. This isn’t something they’ll be bouncing back from so quickly. She knows she has to give her a chance to speak her piece even if the thought curdles the contents of her stomach. 'Maybe I'll call her tonight... Or tomorrow morning.'

Willow leans back on the bench, pushing the seat as far as she can then releasing and letting them swing. She looks over at Juliet, smiling when she notices her blue-purple stained lips from the blueberry blitzen. (Her mouth is also stained.) It’s like they’re both messy little kids again.

“I see you… Wait.” Her brows stitch together, belatedly realizing— “How did you know it was called blueberry blitzen? Did Leif sneak you some while you were stoned?” That’s the only other explanation she can think of and, even then, it doesn’t make sense. Willow would have noticed her stained lips. Nobody can sneak blitzens without being caught.

Her eyes narrow as she sifts through how Juliet August of Folklore knows the name of a dessert that only exists on Rhode Island lane. It nags at the back of her mind, a memory hidden behind a collection of so many others, one that she cannot quite grasp beyond knowing something is there. As if an answer, the thread hanging between them brightens to a soft yellow and then that soft yellow light jumps off their thread and surrounds them in an orb that only they can see.

Salt air—fresh, not stale the way it is now—fills the orb, complemented by the sounds of lapping waves and gleeful children, screaming with abandon. Willow blinks, uncertain.

“It’s like they don’t even care that I have lightning powers.” A younger Willow’s voice fills the orb. The present Willow turns towards the sound, startled that she’s even hearing her old self. Startled that she can still remember what led her to exasperatedly saying this. This was many years before she had Meredith as a friend. This was still when Leif didn’t quite like her. This was before Lucky. This was back when she used to be excluded from playing games with the kids of the cove.

Young Willow then steps into view, sniffling and kicking through the wet sand with her barefoot. She has her hair in two curly buns and is wearing a green bathing suit she remembers begging her mom to buy. “Well… I used to have lightning powers. Stupid magic rules...” She kicks a seashell into an enclave that has a tendency to fill up during high tide and makes for a great hiding spot during low tide. “Now I don’t have friends, lightning powers, or friends with lightning powers.” Her little self slumps down in the wet sand, resting her fat cheeks in her hands, sitting cross legged while she watches her cousins, brother, and neighborhood kids playing ‘shipwreck’ with the mermaids. She blows a curl out of her face, throws her hands up in the air, and flops backwards. “Does anyone wanna be my friend?” The question echos through the cave, taunting her. But she knows she's alone—or she thinks she is until something shuffles behind her, causing the kid to jump up and spin around. "Wh-who's there? I have lightning powers!"

 

[ellarose]

Oh. Is that... Juliet looks bewilderedly between Willow and her younger counterpart, noting the resemblance. When Willow's child self flops backward she's vaugely reminded of all the nights they'd sighed and collapsed into bed throughout the duration of the tournament. And she looks just the same when she's thinking. Then there's the green swimsuit, the dark curls. When she speaks of lightning powers there's no mistaking it. This is indeed a younger Willow James. She's so small and darling... though it tugs on her heartstrings, hearing the girl's lonely plea for friends echo back at her.The archer isn't quite sure what this has to do with blueberry blitzens-- or why their thread it showing it to them. (How it's showing this to them.) Still, she can't help but watch on as Willow's child self reacts to the noise behind her.

There's a suspenseful beat of quiet where nothing happens. Then the shuffling sounds closer and closer and a pair of eyes appear, gleaming like gemstones in the shadows of the cave. Moments later, a small fox pup leaps into the light! In a flash of orange, she trots towards the open mouth of the cave, leaving a trail of paw prints in the sand. She tilts her head to the side as she offers her new surroundings a cursory glance. When the children playing nearby start to shriek and splash louder than before, the kit takes a cautious step back. She blinks slowly as she watches, crestfallen. Whatever she's searching for, it isn't here. Nothing but lots of water, lots of sand and... the fox approaches Willow, giving her hand a curious sniff. Her triangle ears perk up, alert, and she gives a thoughtful flick of her tail. She looks left, right, and then bolts out of the cave, her twitchy little nose leading the way.

The scene unfolding around them follows the fox as she runs, making her way towards the spot on the shore where the kids haphazardly piled their shoes and beach bags. She rummages through them, eventually reemerging with a brown paper bag in her mouth. The kit's eyes shine with satisfaction as she takes off with the packed lunch, darting back into the cave where she came from.

Juliet tilts her head, glancing from Willow to Grace and back again. What does this mean? They've met before? The memory continues to follow after the thieving little fox pup as she ventures into the darkness of the cave and leaps through a thin, misty veil within. A gateway?

On the other side, the fox emerges from the opening of a hollow tree. She carries the brown paper bag through a forest of tall trees, their tallness accentuated by how small she is. She navigates twists and turns before reaching a cluster of bushes by a stream. A small, redheaded girl is curled up in the grass beside them. She's a small and pitiful thing-- all skin and bones-- and her breathing is shallow. The dress she's wearing, if one could even call it that, is severely bloodstained and torn. Grace sets the paper bag down, nudging it towards the girl with her nose.

Juliet takes a sharp breath when she realizes. It's been so long... she hardly recognizes the sight of herself at five years old.

"Gracie, where did you run off to all by yourself? It's not safe." Juliet asks. Her voice as frail as she looks. Still, she clucks her tongue chidingly and bats at the fox's nose. In response, Grace nibbles playfully at her fingertips. "What is that?" She reaches for the bag, hesitates, and then digs inside eagerly. The first thing her tiny hands find are a fresh red apple. Food. Visibly moved, her brown eyes glitter with unshed tears at the sight of it. She doesn't pause to examine it in her usual way, instead sinking her teeth down into the fruit as fast as she possibly can. The girl doesn't seem to breathe as she reduces the apple to its core bite by bite. Tossing it aside, she eagerly moves onto the next item in the bag-- a sandwich divided into two triangles. Those disappear even faster than the apple did. The carrot sticks go next, and then the chocolate chip cookie.

The last thing that tumbles out is a box of some kind. Printed on the side are some words Juliet cannot read along with a picture of an apple. She furrows her brow, but that doesn't stop her. Determinedly, she bites into it the same way she would any other food. It's tasteless and her teeth don't sink into anything, but rather make a crescent shaped dent. "Bleh." She glares confusedly at it, as if to say 'what is this?' She shakes it, even more confused by the peculiar sloshing sound it makes. Never mind. She tosses it aside. The little girl shakes the brown paper bag upside down, disappointed when she realizes it's empty.

"...Where did you find this, Gracie?" Juliet casts the bag aside and opens her arms to the fox pup. Grace settles into her lap, nuzzling affectionately against her chest. "Will you take me with you next time?"

 

[starboob]

Willow of the present blinks and slumps against the seat, never once taking her eyes off of that emaciated child. Juliet. Her heart squeezes, aching. The truth of the archer’s upbringing has never been much of a secret—it’s been brought enough times at court in Amoria, no thanks to Lavinia Laurence—and yet to know and to witness are two different experiences. Seeing her in this state breaks something inside of the sorceress and adds layers to her understanding of Juliet August. The pickle incident suddenly makes sense. Again, her fingers twitch with the desire to reach out. She buries the urge in Grace’s fur, stroking along the side of her back.

When the young Juliet finishes scarfing down the sack lunch, she finally tears her eyes away from the scene. Bits of her own memory start to return to her in more clarity than she realized she was capable of. (Is this the thread’s magic?) “I remember that now.” She remembers the frustration of being left out and alone. Her resigned exasperation and the sparks that lit up her eyes when Grace jumped into the light. “I thought Grace was my wish come true. I thought she was coming to be my friend. I was so excited, I didn’t realize she was stealing one of the lunch sacks.”

As Willow talks, the scene pans back to young Willow, alone in the cave once more. Her green eyes blink, completely wonderstruck. “I tried to follow Grace, but when I saw her jumping through mist—at least, that’s what I assumed it was—I turned back around and ran… Directly into Meredith.” The scene shows the scared tyke bursting from the cave, only to be tackled by a rambunctious young fae with slate colored hair and two nubs where her horns are now. The two of them tumble in the sand. Leif laughs in the background, flecks of half chewed food flying out of his overstuffed mouth. “She accused me of stealing her lunch and no one believed me when I said it was a fox. Crimson had to pry us apart, then Meredith took my lunch. It was only fair, she said. Crimson split her lunch with me and Clover reluctantly shared some of hers too.”

The gang of children are now comfortably sprawled out on beach towels and it's like the fight between Meredith and Willow never happened (though they do sit as far apart from each other as they physically can while remaining on the beach towels). Their mermaids friends are sunbathing on a large rock that sticks out during low tide while they eat their own lunches. The two groups of children yell taunts and jokes, each side convinced they'll win the next round of whatever game they choose. Little Willow has the optimism of a child not yet defeated by the reality of life, excitedly hoping she might be included in this next round or that Isla won't want to play, as sometimes happens, and they can play together.

When the children finish their lunches, Willow tries to remind them that they have to wait thirty minutes before jumping into the water again, but Leif is already brushing off his kid sister's caution and leading the pack back into the water. At that same moment, a figure comes down from the steep path that leads from the Rhode Island house down to the beach. She wears a flowing lavender dress that moves with the breeze, making her appear like she doesn't quite belong on this plane of existence; like she is more wind than form. Her dark brown curls cascade down to the middle of her back, healthy and bouncing with the breeze. She carries a little blue tube in her hand and when she turns to face the children, her green eyes flash, amplifying her voice across the distance between herself and the kids. “Aht, aht, aht—Leif Declan, you get over here right now, mister. You need sunscreen. All of you kids, over here. I won't be returning you to your families with sunburns.”

Willow stops talking here. Actually, she stopped talking sometime after explaining what happened in the aftermath of the stolen lunch. Yet the memory continues on its own and the sorceress is transfixed by it now. A lump forms in her throat (she couldn’t talk if she wanted to), tears welling in her eyes. ‘Mom.’

She doesn’t understand why she’s being shown this and it twists her heart into knots to see her—to hear her voice after so long. (She almost forgot how much she misses it.) Their thread does nothing to provide an answer. It waves innocently with the breeze. The memory waves away with it, drawing up another beach side scene—either from the next day or a few days after.

Young Willow's hair is in two neat braids this time and her swimsuit is the same as last time, though she is wearing a pair of shorts over it. She sits alone at the edge of the cave watching the other kids try to push Leif off the rock. Distantly, he can be heard declaring, "I'm the king of the rock!" A wooden sword is right beside her. (Her father made that sword. She almost forgot about that sword.) She’s got a plastic wrapped string cheese on her knee while she works through peeling a tiny orange.

She hums a little tune to herself, breaking off the orange slices. One for her and one for her sock bunny doll. “Maybe my companion will be a bunny.” She adjusts the doll so that it’s sitting up straight before she places two more orange slices in its lap. “I can’t wait to get my companion. Then I’ll have a friend and we can play games together. Like duck, duck, goose!” Her hands fly up carelessly in the air and, in her excitement, her orange slices go flying backwards. The little kid mumbles under her breath, scrambling to turn and collect her snack. When her hand reaches for the furthest slice, she doesn't notice the kit until she accidentally brushes her fingers against Grace's wet nose. Her hand jerks back before recognition lights up in her eyes. "You again! Are you here to be my friend?" Her brow wrinkles together for a moment and she asks, "...Are you my companion?"

 

[ellarose]

Grace stares deep into Willow's eyes when she asks her question. She blinks once, twice, and then tilts her head to the side. Though these subtle gestures appear perfectly innocent, it's apparent from this angle that this is a diversion. Behind them, Juliet tiptoes in and snatches the bunny doll's orange slices. She inhales them right then and there, haphazardly discarding the skins next to the doll. Afterwards, the girl pilfers the string cheese and runs away fast enough that one could genuinely wonder whether or not the bunny doll had actually eaten the food they'd been given. (...It only makes sense to be as quick as as she is cautious. The other girl has a sword.) Once her companion is safely at the mouth of the cave, Grace turns around and races off to follow her-- leaving Willow to find what little remains of her afternoon snack.

A series of similar afternoons continue to flash before their eyes, the sky and clouds rapidly changing around them. Most of the time, Willow would wear the same green swimsuit. Sometimes her hair would be styled differently or she would be wearing a different pair of short pants. On a few occasions, the color of her swimsuit would change. The green appears the very most, her obvious favorite of the bunch. Once she settles down, Juliet and Grace will make an appearance, always finding some new clever way to run off with most-- if not all-- of her food. Over time, Willow starts to bring a larger portion of food along with her, undoubtedly anticipating visits from the orange thieves.

One day Willow leaves a note next to that day's snack and hides behind some trees. When Juliet approaches, however, she tosses the note aside, takes the snack and runs off to the cave. (It wasn't out of disinterest. At the time, she simply couldn't read yet.) There are other days where Willow leaves trails of snacks leading to another of her hiding places. But just as she had during their training sessions, she excitedly announces her surprise attacks before jumping out, alerting Juliet to her presence. In those instances, she sends the redheaded girl scurrying off like a startled cat.

The Juliet of the present can't help but turn red at the sight of herself, a street rat in the making, practicing her earliest tactics on a young Willow James. The more she sees, the more she can feel herself remembering. Those days had been excruciating, her memory mottled for it... forgetting was a shield that protected her from what was painful back then. Was it thanks to these visits that she was able to find enough food to survive before Lara came into her life? Each time her younger self appears in the memories, her tangled hair and tattered dress look worse and worse-- her life alone in the wood taking a visible toll on her. Death was creeping closer and closer.

A new scene paints itself before them, stroke by stroke. Willow's sitting in her usual spot this time. In her tiny hands, she holds onto two bowls filled with a familiar, vibrant blue-violet dessert. Determinedly, she doesn't let go of either of them go for even a second. Her mind is set, her latest plan foolproof.

When Juliet eventually pokes her head out of the cave, she has no other choice but to watch from where she is, waiting for Willow to set her food aside or become distracted by something else. But she never does. It challenges the young Folklorian to come out further out of hiding, to physically approach her-- no diversions, tricks or games.

"It'll melt if you don't come soon." Willow prompts her, holding the desserts up carefully. She adjusts the spoons just so and wears the sweetest smile. "There's two, see? I brought one just for you."

Juliet hesitates, chewing on her busted lower lip. (Her hands and knees are all scraped up. It'd been another rough day of running, of hiding. She's too hungry to refuse.) Slow and cautious, she makes her approach across the beach. Gracie's at her side every step of the way, her ears up and alert for any signs of trouble.

"You didn't bring your sword, green-eyed huntress." Juliet observes once she stands a foot away from Willow. This marks the very first time Juliet ever looks at Willow-- truly looks at her. She's cautious, but there's something in the way she fidgets that's fighting an urge to move closer to the other girl. "This isn't a trap, is it?" Her gaze flicks down to the bowls in the other girl's hands. Standing across from her, it's painfully apparent what a mess she is. Her toes curl with shame. "...You're not going to hurt me for stealing all those times before?"

 

[starboob]

So close. Willow remembers thinking that she had been so close to making a friend when she devised this deceptively simple plan. Her big green eyes reflect her eager desperation. The child of herself might as well be begging the young archer to take the blueberry custard from her hand and accept this offer of friendship. She wiggles the bowl enticingly in the air just wanting the other girl to take the spot next her—maybe they don’t have to be friends, but maybe they can share this snack together and maybe it will be a nice time.

When the other girl asks her question, her brows furrow together and she shakes her head rapidly. “My brother and his friends broke my sword.” It was an accident and the reminder almost has her let go of the treat so that she can cross her arms and glare in her brother’s direction, but she remembers her mission and sticks with her resolve. She will make a friend. Then she’ll introduce her new friend to the others and they’ll realize Willow isn’t lying and her friend isn’t imaginary. But she still has to be careful. A week of spying has taught her this girl is quick. “So I don’t have one anymore.” Her sigh is wistful, forlorn. “My pops hasn’t been around to make me a new one either, but that’s okay. He promised to build something even better than a sword when he gets back. I’m gonna get a whole castle.”

Willow remembers that promise too. He said it all the time until she was ten and grew suspicious that Leif had been right. He’d never build that castle for her.

“If you want, you can live in my castle with me. It’s gonna have one bajillion rooms.” She nods her head, confident in this. One bajillion rooms and a big pool with a diving board in the backyard. Yup, she drew up the plans just yesterday.

As she thinks on the girl’s other question, she considers it carefully—part of her having forgotten all that food was stolen and the trouble it got her in. Recently, she’s begun to think of the thieving as a game, like Mouse Trap! “I don’t have my lightning powers.” Willow shrugs, as if this is a reasonable explanation. “I’m not a danger to anyone anymore. I just want a friend. You seem fun and you already have your companion.” She figured that out just yesterday while coloring in her castle. “That’s like… Um, two friends!”

At this point, the dessert is starting to melt over the sides of the bowl, yielding to the unrelenting sun—not even the chilly ocean breeze can prevent this from happening. Willow waves the bowl around again and pats the spot next to her with her foot. “If you don’t want this, then I guess I’ll just have to eat both and get a tummy ache.” She scrunches up chubby face.

Juliet obediently plops down near Willow. Not next to her, there’s still a good bit of distance between. Enough that, if needed, she likely could scamper off in an instant as she has each time Willow has tried one of her sneak attacks. When the child leans over to hand off the dessert, the other girl jerks back (it seems instinctive, though Willow at the time didn’t know that) so she sets it in the sand and pushes it over. As she starts to pull her hand back, Juliet is quick to lurch for the bowl and the tips of her fingers brushes against Willow’s.

The young sorceress gasps. Their eyes lock, bright green and rich brown. Whorls of gold dust spill out of their chests, wrapping around the young girls before either of them can so much as shrink away from each other. It happens too fast and by the time the golden dust settles around them, Willow cannot place where they are. (It’s familiar though. Present Willow narrows her eyes as this new location builds itself from the ground up, her memories spilling free from whatever dam they had been trapped behind.) Sparkling pink trees twist up from the ground as a grassy lilac colored field sprawls around them. Blue, orange, and purple frogs jump around them and shapeshift. Some into butterflies, others into dragonflies. The skies above them are the clearest crystal blue with the fluffiest most promising clouds that Willow has ever seen. Her young and present self both gasp in unison, their green eyes twinkling over the sight.

Her young self drops her blueberry custard as she gets up, spinning around to take it all in. “Woah.” A breeze rifles through her curls, the sweetest thing she’s ever smelled. As she squints over the horizon, her little eyes widen, spotting the very castle she drew up yesterday! It even has the green brick she chose. “That’s my castle! Wanna come see it?”