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

[starboob]

Willow doesn’t know what to make of the memory that plays around them following her invitation— whether it’s a subconscious response or an explanation. But the fire stirring inside of Lucky is her fire, too, she is certain of that, watching, as helpless as Juliet in that moment, as she’s held down and sedated while that awful man coaxes her into her unawareness. A living and dying sleeping beauty. It stirs a storm in the storm child, but now is not the time to be swept away by the past. Now is not even the time to reach out to Juliet, once more, and offer her support. At another time, she might be able to say something, but her companion is right. This place is unstable and will only become more unstable the longer that they, themselves, get lost in their own pasts. And she is thankful for this reminder. Even if she let the labyrinth in only moments ago, it’s not exactly an oceanside walk at sunset to relive some of these memories.

The sorceress hardens herself to focus and nods in agreement, still trying to silently reach the archer through her gaze alone— hoping she sees that Willow is not ignoring her, is not ignoring any ounce of her past pain. But they both know that now they must focus on being the champions of love and that they must figure out some way to crack this coconut. (Willow has henceforth decided that worse than a walnut is a coconut.)

The three of them gather onto Lucky’s back, Willow at the head, and it only takes a few wing pumps for them to break through to the next level in the labyrinth where Alfonse and Edie fight. Heat rises in the sorceress, once more, as the count tramples and steamrolls over Edie as if it is his right and, passively, Willow notes a change of tune in Edie. (It seems the women have since grown closer following their tumultuous childhood rivalry.) Then, all too soon, they’re back at the port and, with this new context, Willow wonders if there might be a way to break through to the count now.

Juliet whispers next to Willow and a smirk pulls at her lips. After what happened earlier, she’s glad to see the Juliet she knows returned and ready to see this through. (She knew Juliet was too strong to succumb to herself.) Her gaze flickers over to Edie, considering Juliet’s suggestion and knowing that Edie is the part of Alfonse that is reasonable— even if shrouded in shadow and buried, she still exists within him. “Edie, what do you think will work? Juliet and myself only know so much about the count, but I do think she’s onto something.” She shoots a quick encouraging beam over to the archer, before returning her attention to Edie. Edie considers this a moment and nods slowly as she mulls over the idea. “Yes, I do think this might work, but Alfonse must not suspect us. He must be convinced that this is his own idea entirely, for he is as stubborn as he is proud and trying to reach him directly will only result in another banishment to the depths. And I am not convinced we are afforded the time to make mistakes.”

Knowing this, the first thing Willow does is will their appearances to change, changing their clothes into men’s dress, making them appear as the other sailors as they follow Alfonse onto the ship and set out, once more, to find Penny. Willow also adds a hood to her own clothes, drawing it up to obscure her face. Aboard the ship, they keep their distance from Alfonse while he contemplates over the railing, no doubt contriving ways to win his childhood love over, despite knowing, deep down, that she will never be his. (And Willow wonders if he knows who might have replaced him in her heart, because she has a feeling she knows it herself.)

“Since we have a few minutes before he docks, what do you think might work, Edie?” Willow peers around a corner to take a look at the man, noting that his shoulders seem more tense than before and she wonders if that tension is the knowledge he’s running out of time or frustration or both. She notes, too, that the mists that follow the ship are starting to lap at the edges of the ship. They are not quite within reach, but the proximity makes the sorceress weary, knowing what she knows about mist. She turns away from it, focusing on the shadow. The shadow crosses her arms over her chest and paces back and forth. “For certain, I know we shan’t burden him with what he knows— neither that Penny is not for him nor that she might have since discovered who her thread might be attached to.” Willow might be imagining things, but she swears the shadow of Edie blushes. (Looking at the shape of the shadow, it is reminiscent of one of Penny’s sculptures.) “No, we cannot use fact against him. We must use this fantasy against him. He is a spoilt man and so we shall spoil this fantasy.”

Edie isn’t able to detail a solid plan before the ship launches itself through space and time and it becomes apparent they’ll need to get onto that invisible conveyor belt before it takes Alfonse out of reach. Still, what the figment has offered is enough for Willow to work with. As they make their way to Alfonse, standing close enough to be swept in his storm, but not close enough that he might look over his shoulder, Willow bumps against Juliet, whispering, “Considering what Edie just said, I think if we use ‘disappointment’ as an anchor point to change the fantasy, that might get us somewhere.” Willow bites her lip on this idea, taking on the archer’s tell, as something within her warns her that this is close to manipulation. (Does the end justify the means? When the alternative is the count losing himself forever, maybe they are justified. She supposes that is for the gods to decide.)

As is pattern, they cycle through the city and, this time, Alfonse makes his way straight to the ivory tower, exchanging pleasantries with Penny as he has probably done a thousand times already at this point. From around the corner, where the three are hidden, Willow concentrates her energy on Penny, channeling a memory of Meredith so that the artist asks, in Meredith’s cigarette roughed voice, “Please, please, pleeease! You have to come to my gallery opening.”

This pleases the count, the excitement and the way Penny grips his shirt and spins him around (as Meredith once did with Willow). He doesn’t even seem to notice the change of her voice or accent; if he does, there is no indication of such as he continues with the fantasy. As the labyrinth ripples, Willow again focuses on Meredith’s gallery, then Penny’s, to create a hybrid between them. The metal sculptures are displayed around a room full of raining photographs. The photographs flicker and adjust to Folklore, becoming Penny’s schematics and letters to Edie. Aside from the five of them (and Lucky and Peaches), faceless gallery goers browse through the display allowing the meddling trio to blend in and keep eyes on Penny and Alfonse.

Alfonse stares wonderingly at the artwork, spinning around like a little kid. “Penelope,” he breathes out her name in reverence, something in him changing. “This is beautiful— you’re an incredible artist, but what of your inventions? Have any worked?”

As before, Penny explains that none have worked, keeping her gaiety despite this disappointment. Then her voice changes to Meredith’s again. Penny even steps closer to Alfonse and grabs his hands, looking at him earnestly. “But, to be honest? This could be my only successful gallery and I’d be happy.” Her hands travel up his arms to cup his face. “And none of this would have been possible without you.”

“Really?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since moving away,” Penny nods, continuing in Meredith’s voice, “and we both already know my thread is connected to a—” Willow has to quickly omit what Meredith actually said, knowing Folklorians are not so crude. “A bore and who knows who you’re stuck with. Home is so tired with all those thread obsessions, but here? There are people who just ignore their threads and follow their hearts and… And mine is with you. I’ve known for a while, but it took moving to truly realize it." Penny swallows and takes another step closer. "Distance makes the heart grow fonder, you know.”

Willow squirms silently beside Juliet and Edie and, for a second, Meredith’s image replaces Penny’s and a figment of a younger Willow layers over Alfonse. The sorceress recovers, restoring the fantasy. Alfonse doesn’t seem to recognize this beyond blinking a few times and must chalk it up to the lighting, as he doesn’t react beyond that. Rather, he’s so caught up in what “Penny” is saying that his cheeks color and the sound of a thumping heart fills the gallery. (Willow’s or Alfonse’s?) His hands reach for Penny’s wrists, tears shining in his eyes. “Finally, my love, you understand that it is you who is meant for me and I for you.”

The labyrinth gives a violent shake, dust rains from the ceiling, and from the cracks in the wall, mist starts to slip in. 'Mist!' Willow looks to Juliet and Edie, begging silently for ideas.

 

[ellarose]

Willow is using her own memory to puppeteer Alfonse and Penelope through a fantasy. Juliet considers this from the perspective of a student observing her teacher, tilting her head. The depths are comparable to Wraith's Valley when she looks at it from a distance-- only the energy that permeates the depths is especially treacherous. The sorceress's mind is sharp and strong for it to be wielded like this. Juliet knows better than to try such tactics herself. Unwrapping too many of her memories would easily damn them all. Willow's memories built staircases... Juliet's destroyed them. In that way, they are opposites.

'And who knows who you're stuck with.' Faltering, Juliet briefly glimpses the thread hanging between herself and Willow. (Why couldn't she have been connected to someone better than Juliet? What are the fates thinking?) Uncertainly, she tears her attention away from the memory and focuses on her observations instead. If she's to survive the labyrinths, she needs to be diligent and better understand how they work.

Evidently, there is more to labyrinths than memories. More to the mind and the heart than memories. While 'Penelope' professes her love in spite of their threads, Juliet glimpses their feet and experimentally envisions flowers growing. (If Alfonse of all people can summon the Kraken with his imagination, surely she can figure this out as well.) The sharper she visualizes them-- the razored ends of the leaves, the veins upon them, the fragrance of roses, the surer she is that this will work. Childlike wonder flickers through her brown eyes as a patch of greenery spirals outward next to her boot, tiny red buds popping out before unfurling their petals. Blooming. She... she made something beautiful. The archer almost loses herself to the whim to see if she can create an entire field of these flowers-- but then she senses something amiss with Willow beside her.

Perhaps the memory touched upon a sensitive topic or the labyrinth has reached its limit.... either way, it becomes apparent that something must be done. (And Willow seems to still be looking to her for ideas, in spite of her stumble earlier. This is her chance to make up for it.)

Juliet shields her eyes from the rain of dust falling over their heads, watching warily as the mist seeps into the gallery at a slow crawl through the cracks. (At her feet, the roses bow their heads and shrivel. It's either her inattention or a consequence of the labyrinth's state.) The archer stares at her creation again, willing them back to their former shape, and... they obey. Emboldened by this, Juliet wills thicker vines to emerge from the ground all around them, crisscrossing a flowery dome over all of their heads that shields them from chunks of rubble and the mist. Tall grass grows at their feet and wisteria emerges above their heads in chandeliers of blue and violet petals.

Technically, Juliet is using one of her own memories to solidify their environment. She had been safely alone and traveling through a tunnel of flowers in the wood. There are some places where she can hide. Whether that be in the wood or in her own imagination. For some parts of her life, that's what survival was for her. (Whether she was five and curled up in a hollow tree, dying of thirst... or seventeen and locked away in her bed chamber.) While the archer worries that this drastic change might give their position away, it seems Alfonse is too wonderstruck by the fantastical nature of their surroundings to notice.

As Willow's memory is overtaken by Juliet's, the image of 'Penelope' (and the mystery person) begins to flicker. Juliet quickly uses her own mind to hold her upright again. (Alfonse's mind fills in the rest quite easily-- it seems he is desperate to hold onto this fantasy now that he has it. They may need to rely on that for as long as they can to get through to him.)

"Penny. This place is magnificent." Alfonse gasps, following behind her. He plucks one of the flowers hanging above their heads, taps her shoulder, and carefully tucks it in her hair behind her ear when she turns around. "But not nearly as magnificent as you."

Penelope almost gags at this line and Juliet realizes because that is her reaction to watching this scene unfold. Fuck. She has her cough awkwardly to recover.

"Forgive me. The pollen..." Penelope says with an obnoxious sounding laugh. Oh gods. Juliet cringes at her own clumsiness in sculpting this fantasy. She tries to remember the epic romances that Elise used to read with her for inspiration, for poetic or flowery lines that might smooth this over, but she's drawing a complete blank. "It makes me sneeze." But... she coughed. She did not sneeze. Juliet hurriedly has her sneeze. There...?

"Oh. Shall we go elsewhere, then?" Alfonse asks. This is not even remotely romantic.

"No, no! I will be all right." Penelope says with another laugh, flapping her hand dismissively. Juliet bites her lip as she focuses on her leading him deeper into the wood. "I have something to show you." In the clearing ahead, they come upon a new rocket. This one is built sturdier and finer than all of the sculptures they had seen before. "I have decided that this shall be my last attempt. I was saving it so that I might test it with you."

"We will fly together..." Alfonse approaches it, pressing his hand against the rocket. "Just like we have always dreamed."

That's when the rocket door flies open unexpectedly. A donut slides out upon a bar of soap, leaving behind a trail of bubbles. And not just any donut... but the sort of donut that Willow and Juliet had described to the Laurence sisters, with their angry expression and sharp rows of teeth. Uh oh. Juliet only slipped for a second, thinking of how nice it might be to have a donut... then she recalled Lavinia's aghast expression at the story, how humorous it was, and--

"This is our fucking rocket, now! Get lost!" The donut yells. An army of donuts appears behind it, taking up every inch of space inside of it.

"...Well. I must admit, I did not anticipate this turn of events." The shadow Edie says, bringing a hand to her mouth. (It seems as though she is trying not to laugh.) Juliet bites the inside of her cheek. Um. How does she salvage this...? Well, she supposes that most fairytales require a damsel. As much as she doesn't want to follow that narrative... this is a man's fantasy. They must follow through with the predictable fucking nonsense.

"The woman knows how to fly it! Get her!" The donut leader commands. While the donuts might be small, they are also mighty. They tug Penelope along and push her inside the rocket, hissing at Alfonse to keep him away as they slam the rocket door shut. Blades of grass flutter about wildly as the rocket takes off into the sky.

"Worry not, Penny! Those scoundrels will not get away with this! I shall rescue you!"

Juliet rolls her eyes. Predictable fucking nonsense. She hurriedly schools her expression though as Alfonse comes running towards them. Edie quickly melts her shadow self into the ground to hide. While Juliet and Willow have since assumed their true appearances, it seems he's distracted enough by the narrative to pay much attention to them specifically. That may be because his attention is mostly captivated by Lucky.

"...You, dragon! Will you help me rescue the fair maiden?"

 

[starboob]

Willow James will not laugh at Juliet August. She will not. But she might have to bite her lip on a grin. (It still spreads ear to ear anyway, like the traitor it is.) And can she really be blamed? It’s just so silly! At least Alfonse does not seem to realize how ridiculous this all is, so hooked on the idea of Penelope loving him. (In some ways, she understands and empathizes with the count on an intimate level, having pined after someone who made scraps feel like bounty, who made her hope despite reality. She doesn’t fault Dorothea anymore for that heartache, but if she concentrates hard enough, she can remember how it felt.)

The little vulgar donuts have certainly given this narrative a new spin and Willow believes this is still something she can work with. In fact, the bizarre nature of it all might be what they need to get Alfonse to realize none of this can be real. That he’s still clinging to this fantasy despite its absurdity says everything. She still reminds herself to be delicate with this, knowing that the most fragile thing in existence is a man’s ego.

Then there is the mist to consider. Juliet might have bought them some more time by weaving that flower-made tunnel for them, but the mists have not backed off an inch. Their stage is shrinking. Even the skies are unsafe, though she doesn’t have to worry about the rocket or its passengers. However, she does have to worry about the man-child demanding to finish his fantasy. Sigh.

Lucky is none too pleased about being addressed by a stranger and their ruffled scales say as much. They even back away from Alfonse as he approaches, teeth bared, as they take refuge between Willow’s legs. Alfonse, ever the coconut, does not seem to understand the dragon’s rejection and continues his appeal. “Dragon, dare not refuse me! I am a noble count and I seek to rescue my damsel. Must I break you like a horse?”

This is Alfonse’s great downfall, addressing Lucky James as if they are chattel he’s misplaced. Willow is powerless to stop her companion and, quite frankly, she does think Lucky’s ire is justified even if it might very well cause the collapse of this labyrinth. (Her empathy can only stretch so far and Alfonse has already tested her enough.)

It happens like this: Alfonse storms towards Lucky, not even taking note of Willow, and attempts to snatch up the dragon’s reins. Her companion dodges and runs to hide behind Juliet. Alfonse pivots, rounds Juliet like a pillar, and tries to catch the dragon in their path, but the dragon is a dragon and launches themself into the sky, but not before batting Alfonse backwards with their tail. Lucky and Alfonse both soar through the air, though Lucky flies higher and Alfonse lands in a quickly crafted flowerbed. (Willow would feel bad if he got hurt, even if he sort of deserves it for dissing Lucky and being an entitled coconut.)

Lucky flies towards the rocket and sinks their claws into the metal hull. Alfonse’s eyes widen witnessing this. Quickly, he gathers himself from the flowerbed. “Blasted dragon! He seeks to keep my maiden from me. I shall not allow this.” As he speaks, a docile pegasus appears beside him and a great sword appears in his hand. (Willow is dubious that anyone, aside from stupidly buff pirates, could wield a two-hander with one hand.) He mounts his steed and charges towards Lucky at a breakneck pace. Willow would be concerned for Lucky, and she is, but her dragon is quick and in the time it takes Alfonse to reach Lucky and the rocket, the dragon has spun themself around, building up momentum, before they release the rocket in Alfonse’s flight path.

Alfonse veers to the side to avoid it, continuing his charge towards Lucky, apparently oblivious to the fact that his damsel is about to crash and burn. The dragon blows fireballs at the manchild and he swerves around them, wild glee on his face. He aims to slash at Lucky and they duck, then dart towards the ground. That’s when Alfonse realizes his next big mistake. (To add to the lengthy list.)

His eyes bug out, seeing the rocket, remembering Penny, and even though he tries to dash towards her, it’s too late. Willow can see the shine of tears in his eyes as he races to be the hero. She debates creating a trampoline to catch the rocket, but Lucky is already one step ahead of her. With their head start, they do manage to land before the rocket hits the ground and, using the last few seconds they have, the dragon grows enough to catch the rocket in their mouth. This startles Alfonse for a second, but he's quick to raise his great sword and swings for the dragon’s neck.

“No!” Willow shouts, finally stepping forward with her arms raised, disappearing the fabricated sword and then the pegasus. The man flails as he falls, lands on a trampoline, and bounces directly into Lucky’s chest. His body peels off the dragon and falls unceremoniously to the ground. He groans and dizzily lifts himself up so that he’s sitting. His eyes soon widen in horror as he realizes he is in front of a dragon without a weapon. The man scrambles backwards, muttering something about how he has a wife (Willow rolls her eyes), but Lucky isn’t going to hurt him. They set down the rocket gently beside the count, bonking it once to get the door to open. A sea of donuts in various states of damage pour out; some donuts are sobbing over their fallen brethren and others are still as vicious (and vulgar) as ever.

“P–Penenlope!” Alfonse cries, rushing over to the rocket, kicking away the vicious donuts and squashing the ones that aren’t quick enough to scatter. He searches around the rocket, but Penelope is not to be found. He tries to call her again. “Penelope! Where have you gone, my love?”

The sorceress prevents Alfonse from being able to summon her, knowing how hopeless she makes him. And, slowly, she wills the fantasy to fall apart until they’re in a place that nearly mirrors the depths they were banished to before.

Alfonse wheels around, his eyes full of desperation that morphs to anger when he recognizes Willow and Juliet. “You! You wenches—” Lucky growls, causing the man to reconsider. “You meddlers! Are you having a marvelous time ruining everything?” The ground shakes beneath their feet, cracks splitting the black glassy surface. “Bring her back! Bring it all back— I–I command you to send me back.” He stamps his foot, every ounce the child he is. “Or else I shall report your witchcraft to the authorities.”

Willow winces hearing that word, especially thrown in accusation. Pursing her lips together, she shakes it off in favor of embracing her annoyance. “I am having a marvelous time ruining everything, actually. How about you, Juliet?” She asks, turning to her companion for a moment. “And go ahead, call upon your authorities, Alfonse, but I think you’ll find that they’ll be scratching their heads to reach you here.” She sweeps her arm to gesture at the cracking labyrinth, forcing the count to take account (heh) of his surroundings. He stumbles back, almost falling into the mists that are lapping at his heels, however Edie’s shadow slithers across the ground and materializes behind him to prevent him from succumbing.

“My lord and my husband,” Edie coos from behind him. (Willow almost visibly gags.) “Where in Amoria do you think you are? Where in Folklore?” The count startles at the sound of her voice, but doesn’t seem to resist as he must have the first time he ran into her figment. “I–I must have been captured! A witch has captured me and I am in her lair.”

The labyrinth revolts against this answer, adding more splits in the ground. Alfonse doesn’t make this connection and points an accusing finger at the heroines. “Witches! The lot of you—” His eyes stay on Juliet for a few seconds, recognition making them go wide. “I recall the stories of you, lady Juliet, and know of your heretical practices, your involvement—” The labyrinth shakes again (and Willow wonders if she might accidentally be causing this, but decides to not investigate further). Alfonse loses his footing and Edie lets him fall. The tremors continue, breaking off pieces of the ground that then float and meander towards the mist. Lucky leaps into the air and hovers, allowing Willow to hop from her island onto their back. Settled, she reaches to help Juliet aboard.

“T–Take me with you! My wife will pay a handsome ransom if I am returned alive. She loves me so.”

“I have a peculiar fondness for you, that is true,” Edie corrects, surprising Willow with that self-awareness Alfonse must have. “And though I wish not for you to perish, neither the heroines nor myself can help you, Alfie. Only you can save you.”

“What? But— I–I don’t understand. I have done everything right here! I had Penny. Why am I still being punished?”

Edie shakes her head, ignoring him. “Alfonse, do you wish to go home?”

“Yes, more than anything. I wish to—”

“Then follow me.” When she says this, an emerald pathway builds itself before them. leading to somewhere unseen. He hesitates. “Do you trust me, Alfonse?”

“I… I don’t know,” he admits, his voice small. However, with that admission, the labyrinth stops shaking and the pieces that had been drifting towards the mist stop in midair, then drift back to place. Edie nods, not at all offended. “You need not trust me now, but if you wish to live, you must follow me.” She offers him her hand. For a second, Alfonse only stares it but then something in his features changes and he lets his hand slide into hers. As their hands clasp together, the shadow melts away from Edie, revealing her full self. The details are still lacking, but she is seen now.

Willow steers Lucky towards the path, but Edie lifts up her hand and stops them. “The count must go this alone; you have done your part, heroines, and there is nothing else for you to do. Go." With that, Edie turns back towards Alfonse and they walk together, hand in hand, towards the great unknown, until they are swallowed by it.

Soon after, the labyrinth continues its tremor and it's clear they are about to be evicted. (More like consumed, but that sounds scarier and so Willow pretends this isn't a do or die scenario.) "Alright, well, Juliet, now this part is on you." She looks over her shoulder, patting her companion's arm encouragingly. "Do you need any help?"

 

[ellarose]

Home. Juliet’s memories don’t spill free from her mind like water flowing through a stream. They don’t build a resplendent golden staircase pointing to a definite exit. She might be fast, but she cannot build a path that allows her to run. Instead her memories gather and build in her like a storm brewing as she attempts to envision what home is to her. Cracks split the ground at her feet, but she's so determined to do what's expected of her that she hardly registers it as Willow helps her up onto Lucky’s back. They go soaring into the air. (A good thing, too, as a gaping hole breaks in the ground where they were just standing.) In the archer's peripheral, she notices the complexity of the landscape below them. A network of other mazes are sprawled out beyond the one they’d been traversing-- as diverse and fantastical as the various locations in the wood. (Some are made of ice, some plants, tree bark, iron bars or blocks.) Now, however, is not the time to observe all the finer details. The labyrinth they're in is falling apart and if she doesn't do something soon, they will be lost to Alfonse's mind forever. Home. Just as Willow said, this is on her. But what is home to Juliet? She tightens her grip around Willow's waist and sets her mind to work.

It’s a shame that Juliet cannot build a staircase of all the cakes she’s ever tasted and loved. (Actually—) No. No, she will not squander their precious time on an endeavor such as that. While there is a chance it might work, Willow might think it rather… pitiful. Pitiful that the only thing she can scrounge up from her life to save their lives are sweets. (Sweets have never betrayed her, though, beyond the occasional toothache.) She must already appear so pitiful, after…

Now isn't the time to dwell on everything that recently transpired. Juliet’s process may be quite slow. But she will find a way back to Folklore.

The first golden step makes a slow and almost reluctant appearance as Juliet bluntly creates the August house in her mind. It stands regally tall at the end of Cornelia street. The elegant white pillars adorned with sculpted lions and flowers, the large arched windows that let in lots of natural daylight. Then she envisions the interior as well— the red velvet, marble and mahogany. The clearest detail she recreates is the door to the sitting room, which bears a golden lion knocker. The one that she often leaned against whenever she meant to overhear the conversations (arguments) between her mother and Lady Laurence. Naturally, a memory follows behind this thought like a shadow.

“My poor, sweet Lavinia has been suffering the most dreadful night terrors.” Lady Laurence says, her haughty voice muffled through the door. A ten year old Juliet appears, sitting against the wall beside the door. She fidgets with the fabric of her skirt in her fingers and lifts up a small object wrapped in a napkin… which she peels away to reveal a half-eaten piece of toast. It's slathered in strawberry jam. Her brown eyes shine in a rather familiar way as she stares at her food and she proceeds to snack quietly on it while listening in on the conversation. “I hear that your mangy stray is responsible. Telling the most horrendous stories about all sorts of boogaloo and monsters in the wood!”

“Boogaloo.” The young Juliet mouthes the word confusedly, wrinkling her nose. She polishes off the rest of her toast and uncaringly wipes her hands off on her dress.

“…Have you any compassion, Lydia? Juliet is only a child.” Mother says in an even, placating voice. She sounds younger. Less stressed. Less tired. (The clink, clink, clink of three more golden stairs building themselves upward ring out.) “Have you not considered the injustice it is that she has witnessed so many horrors at her age?” She pauses. Outside, Juliet gently touches the door and leans in closer. (In spite of everything that happened, she does recall the times when her mother protected her. When she hadn't yet felt that she made a mistake.) “I have seen the way the young ladies interact with her. They ask her questions and… and she answers them honestly. She has plenty to learn, yes, but she is a good girl. A kind girl.” Another stair appears.

"Hmph. That gives her no excuse to forget her manners, Mira! If she wishes to associate with the other young ladies, she must first learn to behave like one.” Lady Laurence huffs, indignant. “There are some subjects that mustn’t be discussed over tea. Or… ever.” Their voices become indistinct as they exit the sitting room, preparing for Lady Laurence to make her leave. A moment later, the door with the lion knocker swings open and the past Juliet clambers out of the way.

Mira August steps out of the room. Her silky black hair is held back in a tidy bun. She looks younger, too. Less tired, less stressed. Her skin is smooth, without a single worry-line in sight. Her almond brown eyes are strikingly compassionate in this moment. (Juliet cannot remember the last time she looked at her with such softness.) She stares down at Juliet, bewildered, and slowly brings herself to kneel beside her. “Were you listening, darling?” She asks gently. “Those words were not meant for your ears.”

“…Do you suppose she wet herself?” Juliet asks, tilting her head to the side. When mother’s confused expression indicates she doesn’t understand what she is referring to, she clarifies. “Lavinia. Do you suppose that's why Lady Laurence is so cross?”

“Juliet.” Mother says, trying to lecture when she really wishes to laugh. A small smile slips regardless of her efforts to restrain it. “Perhaps.” Two more stairs build upwards. The young Juliet grins wickedly at the prospect of Lavinia soiling her favorite nightdress and seeing this, mother’s expression becomes a shade steelier.

"What is boogaloo?" Juliet asks, furrowing her brow. "I never spoke of a boogaloo."

With a sigh, mother retrieves a handkerchief from her pocket and rubs a spot of strawberry jam off the corner of the little redhead’s lip. “I know this change has been difficult for you. But you must promise to try and behave as the other ladies do. Your life here will be… exceedingly difficult if not.”

“...So you're asking me to lie?”

The August house crumbles and one of the stairs crumbles along with it. (No, wait…) Juliet and her mother age and they’re in her bedroom now. The floral wallpaper is spidering with cracks as her mother approaches her with a bottle of that vile medicine. “Please, don’t. This isn’t helping—“

“Yes, it will. We need you to be a little less…” Mother hesitates, as if she's searching for a kinder way to phrase whatever it is she's trying to say. “Juliet tonight. Try to understand. It will help you calm down.” Another stair is reduced to rubble. (She needs to take control of these memories before they get out of hand. She needs control--)

“I am calm.” Now Juliet is a few years older, clutching the edge of her vanity as she stares at herself in the mirror. Her expression eases into the measured, apathetic one that she usually fronts. “I am calm.” Controlling her breathing, her emotions. However...

No progress is being made. Juliet grips the edges of the vanity so tightly that angry red lines cut into her palms. She is not calm.

The real Juliet steers her mind elsewhere. She can acknowledge that the Augusts gave her shelter, food, and occasionally protection. However… this path will take her nowhere. Her adopted family's house is not a home in the same way that Willow James's Rhode Island house is her home, filled with people and and life and warm memories. (...And food.)

“You need to stay calm, Juliet. Just breathe.” Lara instructs, her voice soft and sturdy. (The sentiment may be similar, but there is no condescending edge when the warrior from the wood says them.) The stairs that collapsed rebuild themselves anew. They glow brighter than the others. The woman holds a small, tearful Juliet to her chest. She runs her fingers through her hair, pressing her face against her middle to shield her eyes. They’re in a familiar boat, being rowed through Wraith’s Valley. The boatman hums a chipper tune, as if oblivious to the moaning ghouls clawing at the sides of the boat. “I’m here.”

Memories attempt to claw into Juliet's mind like ghouls into the boat, reminding her of everything that followed. She tries to pay attention to the boatman's tune instead, recalling the words of advice that Lara offered her back then.

"Just gotta keep your mind off of these bastards, that's all. For instance... try thinking about the Mushroom Forest we walked through the other day." Lara tries. She had a real awkward way of trying, but at least she tried. "You were so excited when you learned you could bounce on the tops of 'em. You remember that?"

A few sunset pink stairs stack themselves atop the dimming gold ones that remain. The magical landscape of the Mushroom Forest consumes the labyrinth around them. The tops of the giant mushrooms glow mysteriously in the moonlight. Just as Lara said, they can bounce from one to the next-- and Lucky does just that, following the trajectory of the staircase as it rises higher and higher into the air. (They seemed to avoid the staircase until now, given the unreliability of the stairs themselves. With their tendency to... combust spontaneously and whatnot.) The tops of the mushrooms change colors every time they're touched, leaving a rainbow trail behind them. At last, she notices the shape of the door. (Just a few more...) More memories flash through the air as they pass... but these ones are far more recent. They include Willow sharing her chocolate bar with the clink clanks. Willow sharing her breakfast bars with Juliet... and attempting to out-burp the giant toad for wishes. Fragments of their training session in the lake as well as their portrait game in Millicent's cottage.

...And at long last, they make it to the doorway at the top.

"Are we... going to let them pass?" A disembodied voice asks bewilderedly.

"I think we should." Another says agreeably. "I wish to reward such a fine display of determination. What do the rest of you think?"

 

[starboob]

“I say, why not? Mother cannot be bothered to help them.” This voice is smooth and crisp, like honey sweetened lemonade. But there is an acidic edge, too, as this voice continues. “And I will not lose one of our own to her wicked games. This must end. Let them through.”

“Careful when speaking of your mother in front of me, boy.”

“Stay on subject, please.” The first voice commands.

“Yes, yes,” The second voice concedes, with an exasperated sigh. “I say to let them through. Pitiful as that was, it worked and we need results.”

A chorus of agreement proceeds and the sound of gavel smashing a lectern echoes through the Afterglow, the force of it opening the door in front of them. Beyond the threshold is a landscape made up of aged pages that sweep and flip through the air, all of them heading to different tomes that are spread out through this nebulous space; the pages bind themselves to the end of different tomes that rapidly grow in size with the events that are all added to the different timelines of Folklore.

‘Duck. Mist. Duck.’

Now it’s up to Willow to not only get them back to Folklore, but to get them back to the right timeline while also ensuring they don’t skip forward or backward too much. Her heart hammers in her chest with such violence, she wouldn't be surprised if Juliet could feel it through her back. Lucky purrs beneath them, helping Willow ground herself. ‘Just don’t think about any of your tutoring sessions with Sawyer.’ Not that she believes those were total nonsense, but she still hasn’t made sense of them and they still confuse more than help. ‘What was it that professor Sands said?’

Focus on the facts. Right.

Steeling herself, she leans forward and Lucky flies through the doorway. The door slams shut and disappears behind them— totally not worrying! Willow is totally not panicking about that. (She is.) She focuses her attention ahead, eyes scanning the pages that fly around them, searching for any that might be heading towards their timeline.

Some of the pages that fly past depict horrific images of Folklore under a tyrannical monarch; this rules out at least thirty of the volumes covered in inky thorns. One shows images of Elise and Flynn ruling over Amoria and, though Willow is hopeful for that outcome, she knows it’s not so (yet). That’s another tome ruled out. (Willow won’t lie, she is tempted to steer them towards that timeline. Just to see!)

She manages to track some pages that show herself and Juliet traveling through Folklore and follows them. Their team-up apparently happens in fifty-eight different timelines and while these are still daunting odds, narrowing down the possibilities from hundreds and thousands to fifty-eight is pretty good, she thinks. Hesitantly, she hovers her hand over one of the tomes, trying to glimpse through this timeline to see how it aligns with what she knows. This tome shows her coming into Folklore through a well. “Nope,” she mutters to herself, steering over to another volume. (She does note the location of the well, however, in case that gateway is still open in their timeline.) Another shows Juliet convincing Willow to return to Evermore. Definitely not.

Finally, she finds a tome that appears accurate to what she knows has happened in Folklore— accurately depicting her meeting with Juliet, their training sessions, meddling in the affairs of Okeanos, and so forth. She looks back over to Juliet, wanting to confirm the rest of events are accurate. It’s still possible that this is only a like timeline and that they could be messing with another Willow and Juliet’s journey. Once she has confirmation that the events in this tome are true to what Juliet knows, Willow sticks her hand between the rapidly flipping pages. Her hand passes through the pages while her green eyes glitch, reflecting the history being made at such breakneck succession they appear as a blur of color.

Meanwhile, in her mind’s eye, her head is full of Folklore. It’s a struggle to remember herself as she sifts through the history for their spot in it. (While an entire history sorts itself through Willow’s mind, none of what she sees will be retained.) Willow’s body lurches forward and shudders. Lucky looks back, concerned, but it’s beyond the dragon’s ability to reach their companion. At last, Willow latches onto the first page that appears relevant to their current day. Her eyes return to their usual green as she opens the tome to a page with moving figures around a lake in Amoria. Wasting no more time, she steers Lucky into this page.

In a quick and bright flash of light, the group tumbles out in a heap behind some brush beside the lake. Lucky shrinks down and shakes themself out, looking around curiously at their surroundings. Willow groans, rolling off of Juliet into the grass, slowly bringing herself up to stand. She blinks a few times, inhaling a large gulp of air. Yup, this is Amoria.

Thankfully, none of the lakeside walkers notice their arrival and they’re able to sneak out from the brush without commotion. Willow’s not even able to get a word in before her stomach speaks for her. She pats her stomach and looks up at Juliet. “Snackity-snack time?”

They find an empty bench beside the lake, beneath the shade of a tree, and Willow covertly summons the assortment of snacks she swiped this morning from the breakfast spread. She lays out the spread between them on the bench, taking one of the buttered rolls for herself and then tossing Lucky an apple. The dragon catches it in the air and swallows after a few crunches.

Then, recalling the memory of a young Juliet unwrapping a half eaten toast while she eavesdropped on Lady Laurence and Lady August, her cheeks flame red, because after that... ‘She thought of me to get us back to Folklore.’ Willow swallows a bite of her roll, having to work to get it down as her mouth goes dry at that thought. ‘Well, comparative to the rest of her life… I haven’t done anything to make Folklore bad.’ Of course, yes, she wants Juliet to think of her as safety and home, but she does somewhat realize that Juliet summoning memories of her might not have meant anything. It could have been practical. A way for her to ensure that the staircase led them to Folklore. (...Unless?)

While these thoughts circulate through Willow, their thread reacts in thrills of pinks and blues, in rhythm with her emotions. ‘We do have our thread between us.’ The thread settles on a faint pink and yellow mixture as hope sparks in her heart. ‘Maybe she’s starting to like-like me?’ Her leg bounces as she contemplates this, stealing glances at Juliet, unable to read anything on her carefully schooled expression. ‘Well, whatever it is, if this is meant to be a slow burn, I don’t mind just being her friend for now. There’s a lot going on anyway.’ Their thread settles on a soft bubbling champagne color.

Idly, she takes one of the strawberries but does not eat it. (Willow is still not convinced any berry can be better than the berries that grow on her grandmas’ property.) Maybe she takes it to hold, maybe she’s curious if Juliet is bold enough to swipe it straight from her hand. Either way, she will not be eating it. (Lucky is eyeing the berry, licking their lips. Perhaps they will steal it before Juliet. They are a dragon and have no qualms about stealing from peoples' hands, least of all Willow's.)

After a long moment of pause, she looks over at Juliet. “Is it bad that I don’t know if I am rooting for the count or not? On the logical level, I do want him to sort through his stuff, but…” She sighs. “He was a complete coconut and altogether unpleasant with his,” she rolls her wrist through the air, “sensibilities.” But this isn’t what she actually wants to talk about (though she is curious if they should check on him at the facility). After a moment of debate, she tilts her head and her voice softens. “How are you, Juliet? I really admired you pulling through that labyrinth. Doesn’t seem like it was easy for you.”

 

[ellarose]

Pitiful as that was, it worked.

It wasn't a staircase made of food, but it was pitiful. Juliet does have sweet moments tucked away in the pages of her story. Moments that are sweeter than strawberries and sugary cakes, moments that once made her heart sing and prance and whatever else hearts are supposed to do when they're jovial. But eventually the sweetness would have melted away to reveal the bitter, lethal poison underneath. Attempted murder, abandonment, betrayal... the staircase would have built itself and collapsed the instant when reality set back in. There is a narrative in Folklore. Her skin burns and itches with the knowledge that she has the cursed mark of tragedy upon her somewhere.

Juliet's been poisoned by love hundreds of times. She dies and a new Juliet rises from the grave to take her place. Stronger. Colder. A touch more dead behind the eyes. She's tired now. Knows better now. Love will ask her to give it another chance and she'll turn it away. (Like she should have turned her away.) Love will give chase, it'll try to maim her, but she'll be faster.

'I'm not hungry now.' Yeah, well. Thinking of poison will do that to her. (It could also be that her stomach is too full of uncertainty and knots at the shift of conversation.) Not even a strawberry could tempt her now. Contemplatively, Juliet splits her roll in two and scatters crumbs towards the lake for the ducks that wade by. Her expression softens as she watches them waddle over. 'It would be nice to be a duck.'

Juliet supposes that if King Cayman turned her into a duck, she might be content to accept it and live like that. Willow would say 'oh duck' if that were to happen and it would be quite appropriate. Heh. (As a duck, she could also carry a knife into Evermore's shops. Or was that a goose...?) It's not so strange to imagine a universe where such a thing happens after witnessing all of those pages-- all of those possibilities. Maybe a narrative exists where Juliet turns into a duck. Maybe there exists one where she never spoke to Sefarina. Maybe there's one where mama never...

Willow speaks up, pulling Juliet from her thoughts. Is she still thinking about the count? While she's not particularly eager to think about the count after everything he had said to them (accusing him of witchcraft just like all of the others) her lips twitch slightly when the sorceress calls him a coconut. 'Unpleasant sensibilities' is a certainly a nice way of putting his fucking pompous behavior.

"...There are men just like him all across Folklore. I pay them no mind." Juliet confesses, instinctively panning her gaze over the surface of the lake. Searching for the distinctive nose and eyes of a crocodile peering out at her. Nothing. "It's not worth it." She tilts her head backward and closes her eyes. It's exhausting. She's dealt with so many vile men. Read so many heartbroken letters from wives, fretful brides to be, and scorned lovers. But this is the line of work she's taken on. And there are women that she's helped. She cares about what happens to them compared to the men whose hearts she's changed.

Oddly enough, it was not the Countess, Edie Weston, who sought Juliet's services. It was a woman named Penelope Fenwick. Penny. Perhaps... perhaps she'd done it to repay Edie for changing her life all of those years ago. Or perhaps Count Alfonse Weston was much too persistent for her liking. Because some men do not understand the meaning of the word no and must be educated. Whatever the case is, the deed is done now.

Rather than speak any further on the subject, though, Willow disarms Juliet with what she says next. The concerned question, the praise, the observation. She pities her. Doubts her. (...Or could it be that she's genuinely worried about her? She remembers the tight warmth of Willow's embrace, the way she'd apologized for leaving her that day at the mall, and her cheeks burn a faint pink. On the outside Juliet's the same as ever, on the inside alarms are clamoring.) No, it wasn't easy for her... but no matter how earnest her effort, the attempt was immediately deemed pitiful by their mysterious observers.

"I..." Juliet hesitates, now fully noticing the strawberry in her periphery. (If she put it in her mouth, she might put off answering Willow James's question... no, no. She's no longer a child.) "I apologize. I'm not accustomed to..." She vaugely gestures her hand when she cannot find the precise words to describe their experience in the labyrinths. (Opening up. Sharing her thoughts? Her memories? Something in her flinches back, recalling what was cast into the spotlight.) Absentmindedly, she brings a hand to her quiver. If the labyrinths are too unsafe to explore further, they should continue to use the antidote arrows. Perhaps Millie can find an alternative way to create them. "I should not have suggested we return without ensuring we were adequately prepared first." She shakes her head. "Without ensuring I was adequately prepared. You seemed to handle it..." She bites her lip. "Better."

While attempting to look somewhere other than her feet, Juliet eventually fixates on the apothecary in the market behind them. Namely Lavinia Laurence, who is exiting the apothecary. She's anxiously clutching a brown paper bag to her chest like she's just smuggled frog legs across the kingdoms. The brunette shiftily glances from side to side before decisively tugging her midnight blue hood over her head. Hm. Why not send a lady's maid or perhaps one of her flock to do such a menial task? It's unusual.

Juliet whips herself around before Lavinia catches her staring. Usually, she wouldn't give a damn what Lavinia Laurence's business is at the apothecary. However... She consider's Gerard Stanley's open cell. The blood on the floor. The fact that a hooded maiden set him free. While it is suspicious, Juliet cannot picture Lavinia of all people doing such a thing. Like her mother, Lavinia of all the Laurence sisters seemed the most excited about the wedding.

"Lavinia." Juliet mouthes at Willow, gently nudging her arm to ensure that she sees it as well. Then she motions for her not to move. She doesn't want Lavinia to know they saw her. (Just in case.) Once she's sure that Lavinia has left, her shoulders relax again. That's when Lucky James takes advantage of their short-lived distraction to snatch the strawberry out of Willow's hand. The dragon proceeds to contentedly curl up in Juliet's lap and the archer twists her lips to the side, but can't help stroking the scales on the dragon's back anyway. "...You weren't hurt back there, were you?"

 

[starboob]

Oh gods. It was totally too much for her to reach out to Juliet like that and now Juliet is going to think she’s weird or invasive or something else awful. She should not have asked— that was such a mistake and now Juliet is going to hate her forever and…

Oh.

So maybe she panicked before it was necessary, but what's new? The sorceress slumps with relief when the archer doesn’t reproach her for checking-in. Besides, it’s good she did. Juliet hasn’t eaten a bite since she laid out their spread. Juliet. (It’s like that figure from Juliet's memory said, hard to believe.) Something is obviously on her mind and Willow has a suspicion it has to do with Sefarina. Or at least in part. She won’t pry or tease it from her, but she wants her to know that she can talk to her if she wants. What happened back there nearly scared the lights out of Willow.

It flashes again in her mind, watching helplessly as those shadows wrapped up and swallowed Juliet, taking her straight to the depths. Willow doesn’t look at her companion any differently, having witnessed that moment of weakness. In some ways, it makes the archer seem more human. More real. Not that she thought of her as an idol, statuesque and perfect, but seeing that part of her… Willow feels she understands her more. She feels closer to her, somehow. She understands that instances like that are not common for Juliet and to have witnessed her in that moment is not something she takes lightly. And she knows to tread even lighter around these topics. It’s why she doesn’t outright say what she’s referring to and only acknowledges her observations and the outcome thereafter.

She opens her mouth to speak, then catches Juliet mouthing something to her. Her brow puckers. ‘Lavender?’ But, no, that’s not it. She looks over where Juliet had been spying, though is soon reared back around so as to not make her staring obvious. She catches enough to make out Lavinia Laurence, though she doesn’t put together why the archer is pointing her out. Not yet, anyway.

She doesn't get to investigate it further, distracted by a certain dragon grabbing the strawberry from her hand. She smiles as Lucky noshes on it and settles on Juliet’s lap, though she doesn’t seem to mind. She still hasn’t touched any of the food herself. Aside to feed those ducks. (Meredith would like those ducks.)

Willow sighs at the question, shrugging. “Physically, I’m fine. Emotionally?” She raises her hand and wiggles it, scrunching up her face. “I should have expected the count to be like that.” All of his accusations rubbed her wrong— whether he was suggesting they were the captain’s girls or that they’re witches— but it’s nothing she can’t brush to the side. Dealing with him, while unpleasant, was not entirely unbearable. However…

She rubs her temples. “But Sabrina? Not my favorite mistake to remember.” Part of her is glad Juliet had not been present for that second confrontation with her. As open as she is about her past, there are still some things she finds difficult to admit. The words might not even sting as much as they did and she might not believe them as she once had, but the ghost of anger’s past does linger whenever she’s reminded of those moments. Her fists close on top of her knees as she stares off into the sun-glimmers on the lake. “I knew she was trouble when she walked into my life, but I welcomed her anyway.” She fidgets with her hands. “She was good at making me feel like the sun in the sky, but that was always on her terms.”

Thinking of Sabrina again, she’s reminded of the temple back in Evermore and that ritual. A shiver runs down her spine. Absently, she adds, “I don’t think I ever knew her.” She had certainly not been aware of her cult involvement and never would have taken her for a particularly pious woman regardless. But, she supposes, a snake is a snake and they’re always changing, always shedding their skin.

“I don’t think we can compare labyrinth experiences.” She turns to hold her companion’s gaze, silently hoping she can see how earnest she’s being. “And I don’t think that we should. We’re literally from two different worlds and, even if that weren’t true, we’re two different people.” Willow might have lacked love in romance, but the love of her friends and family has more than made up for that. They are the very ones who encourage her to fight for love and be love’s champion. She can't say that it's the same for Juliet. “Either way, I don’t blame you for what happened back there. I'm only concerned. We don’t have to go back into another labyrinth if you don’t feel ready for it, but we’re both learning them together. In that, we’re going to experiment and sometimes those experiments will have…” She hums, rocking her head back and forth, “Unexpected successes.” That’s what Carmilla would say. Cold and austere as the vampire is, she has always been gentle with Willow. “Through our failings, we learn and become better. That's success enough for me.

“I’ll admit that I had hoped my quest here would be easy and linear, but it’s obvious now that it’s going to be more squiggly. I’m okay with that.” Taking note of the way Juliet had reached for her quiver, she adds, “If you want to continue healing Lightless your way for now, that’s totally cool. But I think we’ll get further if we can identify the source of these cases and the things that are threatening love in the first place.

“Of course, I don’t think we should abandon the Lightless— Sawyer warned that the ones who don’t heal on their own will become real behemoths to deal with later.” While there is Brooks to consider, Willow wonders who else has been turned and has remained Lightless for years. He might not be the only threat lingering at the Cursed Ruins. (She has a sneaking suspicion that they will eventually need to investigate that site.)

She heaves a sigh, picking up one of the cream puffs. (She’ll always think of these as Juliet’s dessert island food.) “I wonder if the origin is in Evermore, with that cult. It seems to be our only lead right now on…” Well, she supposes there had been nothing stated outright that the cult is against love, but they are taking on the seven who are guided and ruled by love. It’s not much of a reach. She hopes. “It’s a lead on something, I think.”

After a pause, she recalls something else Juliet had mentioned. “Folklore isn’t the only place with people like the count, after all. Evermore is full of them, too.” She isn’t even talking about Griffith, though he is implied in that statement. No, beyond Griffith and the other villains of Evermore’s various Charming Streets, she also thinks of people like her father. (Sometimes it feels like the whole world knows he’s scum and that she’s related to scum. Following his arrest, it really did seem that way.) She's thinking of the con artists at every level. “So I don’t think it’s wrong to think this all could have started there and leaked into Folklore as a result.” Quietly, and without looking directly at Juliet, she asks, "Do you think you'll help me investigate in Evermore? I-I'd like your help and for you to be there." Ahhh, that is definitely too much! And now her cheeks are redder than Juliet's hair.

 

[ellarose]

Willow James demands nothing and hasn’t scolded Juliet once for her lapse in the labyrinth. She’s also… open with her own experiences, open in acknowledging their impact on her emotionally. She's open in a way that no one else has been open with Juliet. Usually, the people in her life make riddles of their stories. They're hidden beneath formalities or are later revealed to be lies. The sorceress speaks of her experiences and how they affected her with a sort of fearless grace. Having witnessed Willow and Sabrina together in the labyrinth lends to the sincerity of her words. 'Either way, I don’t blame you for what happened back there. I'm only concerned.' Only concerned?

Perhaps Juliet’s life hasn't captivated her interest… or perhaps she’s inclined to prioritize their quest instead. But Willow doesn’t ask any more questions about her. About Sefarina, Lady Laurence, or… that bastard. (In this way, she holds herself much like a heroine from a story.) It becomes especially evident they've moved on from the topic as she speculates the origin of the afflictions instead. The archer tugs idly at the strap of her quiver again. While she is in some part responsible— as she was with Alfonse— she is not the root. In fact, Juliet wishes to learn about the main source of the afflictions as well. Who saved her from Paris Brooks… and why? Knowing this might help her better understand herself and her own ambitions.

Juliet has been silently wavering. Her resolve is steady, indeed, and it will remain as steady as her aim has always been. When she considers women like Lucinda and Dorothea that becomes especially apparent. Love needs to change. (It should not be used as an excuse or a shackle.) But how much can she truly change beyond the hearts of her targets? Right now, she believes the good she does outweighs the harm. Someday, the narrative might shift… and if that happens, what will she do? Juliet August is not a ruthless killer. (No. Not like…) She only wishes to give women like her a fighting chance. A new start. What happens next… perhaps that part is up to them. She is just one woman, after all, and there is only so much she can do. But so are the women she helps.

Isn’t it infuriating that such a phrase exists at all? Inferring that Juliet cannot be capable of more because she is 'just' one woman? Those she helps, too, are just women in the eyes of their narratives. The wives, lovers and daughters of men. Sprinkled into their stories to be rescued, won in tournaments, fought over, and avenged.

And if they wish to be anything more than just that? They are made out to be the villain.

Heroines are a new concept for Folklore to grasp. That is why many still sneer and insist on calling them witches, regardless of everything they’ve done thus far. (Not that being a witch is a bad thing to begin with. That is a whole other issue that Folklore must grapple with…) Juliet's not even sure if it is possible to be a true heroine in Folklore. The rules that dictate what they can and cannot do are much too strict, always written with men in mind. Evermore is different. Willow James is different. Juliet will not compare their stories, as the sorceress had advised— but there is no denying that their lives and paths will eventually diverge because of these differences. Of course the way they see the world is different. They have lived these different lives on different worlds... and for now, in a moment of time, their paths have crossed.

For now their goals still align. So perhaps they can stay together for a while longer still. Juliet’s stomach sinks with guilt, knowing that she has not yet told Willow about her part in spreading the afflictions… but she knows she must keep it close to her chest. She cannot risk having her one means of change being snatched away from her. For now… it’s all she has. Telling her might change everything.

...It really would be easier if Juliet were born a duck. She sighs along with Willow and feeds them the rest of her bread, brushing her hands off on the side of her thighs in a similar fashion to the way her child self had. She resumes stroking the scales on Lucky’s back while watching the ducklings waddle all around, pecking at the crumbs. The dragon’s warmth is a familiar comfort, at least, though she still misses Gracie.

"Yes. I will." Juliet answers automatically when Willow asks if she'll help her investigate Evermore-- sure and unhesitating. When considering the full narrative, it's the course of action that makes the most sense. While a small, selfish part of her is simply curious to experience and know more about Evermore... her search is also taking her towards the origins of her mysterious magic. In order to take full control over her own potential (and over the course of her own life) she'll need to understand just what she's capable of. And if Willow believes that it might have started in Evermore... it stands to reason that the archer would benefit from accompanying her. "If the fates brought us together as Princess Elise said, it's possible our quest will require us to investigate Folklore and Evermore both. I've traveled all across the wood and have yet to find the true source of the afflictions. Considering Dorothea's condition and the ritual we observed at the temple... it may be connected as you've said." She nods. "And we've already made progress in discovering the existence of labyrinths. I believe we'll make more progress if we continue to travel together."

Now that they've moved forward, definitively leaving the past in the labyrinth behind them, Juliet swipes the cream puff from Willow's hand. (She noticed Lucky staring hungrily at it... if she hadn't done it, the dragon would've taken it for themself.) Her appetite has come back. She cannot investigate on an empty stomach, can she?

"The tournament will be held in three weeks. King Cayman and the competing princes will arrive in Amoria." Juliet considers after she savors the last precious bite of her cream puff. (With more royals succumbing to afflictions, they ought to stay sharp.) "Perhaps tomorrow we should travel to the Midnight Mountains. We can say that we mean to search for Gerard... and we will search for him, of course. But we will also search for Flynn." She bites her lip, considering that Willow might have stayed in Evermore altogether if given the choice. "Afterwards, perhaps we will have enough time to visit Evermore again before the tournament begins." She pauses. "Or perhaps we should wait to hear from Sawyer first? Or... Millie?" Right. She's nearly forgotten that Millicent is in Evermore and Sawyer in Folklore. "What would you prefer?"

 

[starboob]

Willow is entirely committed to staying in Folklore through the tournament. It doesn’t occur to her that they might be able to use some time between now and its start to return to Evermore. (Not that they necessarily know how to return. Though she used Lord August’s hagstone to mark promising locations on Juliet’s map, there’s no guarantee that those are even active gateways. And Juliet isn’t yet ready to go back into the labyrinths. Willow doesn’t even think using the Lightless to travel back and forth is the most efficient or even the safest. There are still so many unknowns with their latest healing methods and while she knows this quest necessitates experimenting, she would still like to exercise caution where she can.) However, now that the seed has been planted, she’s powerless to stop it from taking root. She misses home, yes, but there is her larger concern that her loved ones are in danger. Beyond Sabrina’s veiled threat, there’s “sudden void disease” afflicting those couples whose threads snapped and, apparently, murders. (She can’t help but to wonder if they’re anything like or related to the string of unsolved murders that happened her senior year of high school.) Not to mention the increased bleeding at the lakes— so much so that they’re overflowing and flooding the surrounding areas. And the cult! How could she even forget about the cult she mentioned only moments ago?

All of this makes for a disturbing worry-tornado that cycles through the sorceress’s mind, causing the bud of a headache to form at the top of her head. She buries her face in her hands, burrowing her palms into her eyes as she thinks it all over. Geez.

But the glimmer in all of this?

She peaks at Juliet from the corner of one eye. The archer agreed unhesitatingly to continue their quest together. Officially, they’re partners in this. While the fates from that sketchy wishing well may have already told the princess so, neither Juliet nor Willow have formally agreed to take this on. While they have a common goal and while Juliet has been training Willow, there’s been a hanging assumption that they will eventually part ways because the occurrences in their realms demand their separate attention. It’s been assumed they’d work together while apart. But now?

Now they get to save love together.

Her heart pulses and flips and somersaults, rushing red to her cheeks. When she sits up again, comforted by the thought that Juliet will be here through it all, she takes in the heroine beside her, arrested by the way the afternoon sun catches her hair and warms her eyes. She grins at her, lopsided, unable to help herself. “That’d be nice. Hopefully, Gracie— Grace, sorry,” she flushes, “will be back before then, but if not you’ll be able to reunite then.”

She stops for a second, frowning. While she’s spent time apart from Lucky before, it’s never more than a couple of days. And they’re always in Evermore. She can’t imagine what it’s like for Juliet or Grace to be an entire realm apart and not because Gracie— Grace has a secret life. “I hope she’s getting the rest she needs. Valeria and Mallard are really sweet— those are my grandmas’ companions. They’ll be keeping an eye on her; I know that for a fact.” She imagines that Leif is also keeping an eye on the fox— she’s sure everyone at the Rhode Island home is, but Leif has always had an affinity for animals. While companions fall somewhere between animal, myth, and magic, he has a way with them as well. If school had been more for him, he might have become a magizoologist or, maybe, a magi-veterinarian. Ah, she misses him, that goof.

“We probably should check in with either Sawyer or Milfred before we head to Evermore,” she agrees. “One of them might have a reason for us to stay here or go forth and I do trust their counsel.” Weird as they are, she doesn’t believe that they will lead them astray. Herself and Milfred share a bond now that they have cast spells together; Milfred even let Willow look into her family’s spellbook and that is not something a caster should ever take lightly. Where Sawyer is concerned, she knows the wolf is loyal as any other. Especially after Willow took care of her following her first full moon and continued to do so until she adjusted to her condition.

“Now,” Willow gives Juliet a stern look, but not an unfriendly one— this is Willow James after all. If anything, she just looks like a cheek-puffing fairy. She divvies up the rest of their snacks, with a large pile going towards Juliet. “You need to recover your strength and fuel up. Eat, eat. A single cream puff is not sleuthing sustenance.” She lowers her voice just a touch. “You pointed out Lavinia for a reason, I assume?”

The sorceress still hasn’t put together why Lavinia exiting an apothecary is particularly scandalous, unless apothecaries are like Evermore dispensaries. Though that might not be an apt comparison, because she can easily imagine Kinsley walking in and out of one without worry. (Then again, she supposes that image is weird because Kinsley would probably just have one of her personal assistants run that errand for her. Heck, Kinsley probably has a supplier closer to the source.) “If you or I distract the apothecary, one of us can sift through their purchase log and figure out what she bought? Maybe it’s some extra strength deodorant for some medical grade body odor?” She jokes, amusing herself with the idea. (That would also be incredible dirt to lord over her head, but she somehow doesn't think that's what they'll find.) “In any case, we should probably stock up on medical supplies anyway if we’re going into the wood and searching for Flynn. I know the princess said Peaches can help heal Flynn, but we should be prepared for anything. And I wouldn’t want to exhaust Peaches either.” Like, she doesn’t want to assume Peaches has boundless magic. Not every companion is built the same, after all. “If it does turn out that Lavinia just has really bad B.O., we can also stock up on other provisions in the market. I’m also curious about these flaky rings of death you once spoke of— not for stocking up. I just want to try one to see how bad they are.” She taps her chin, making sure she hasn't left anything out. "Oh! And I want to gather some supplies to make our talismans. I want those ready before the tournament." For obvious reasons. "If I can get started tonight, they can cure in my lil pouch while we're on the road."

 

[ellarose]

"...You are funny, Willow James." Willow’s suggestion about Lavinia is amusing and naturally earns a smirk from Juliet, even though her suspicions do in fact run deeper than that. Is Lavinia Laurence the hooded maiden? It's rather unlikely. Lavinia hadn't been walking with a limp, especially considering how briskly she made her escape from the square. Neither of her arms were hanging at her sides and she doubts that Lavinia would have left her home at all had she sustained a wound of some kind on her face. (She hid for weeks after Juliet broke her nose.) Moreover, Juliet cannot imagine her doing anything quite so daring... nor does she see her motive for releasing Gerard from his cell after their conversation the night before. However, there could be someone she wishes to protect. A friend or perhaps one of her sisters...

Juliet August's opinion of Lavinia Laurence is unquestionably... foul. But even she can see that the other woman is good to those who seek shelter in her circle. If one sells their soul to Lavinia, she will reward them with loyalty and protection. (To an extent, anyway. Some have been cast out for breaking one of her many rules.) Or perhaps it truly is a case of extreme body odor. That would be rather surprising, though, as in all her years of knowing Lavinia, her presence is announced with all the fragrance of a lavender field.

"Yes, we can try that." Juliet pauses, though, her lips twisting when she considers the one part of Willow's plan that she cannot bring herself to comply with. The flaky rings of death. Her complexion pales at the thought. If Willow still trusts Juliet to help her survive Folklore, she ought to listen to her warnings regarding the flaky rings of death. (They've certainly earned their name.) "...Though I must advise you not to spend your coin on the flaky rings of death."

When they step into the apothecary the old bell above the door clanks noisily and announces their arrival. “Welcome!” The shopkeep greets them, unseen as they stand somewhere between the towering shelves. They’re stocked with labeled mason jars containing an assortment of spices, herbs, mushrooms, unicorn tears, and graveyard dirt— the standard goods one would find at such an establishment. The sight would remind her somewhat of the shelves in Millie’s cottage if the witch cared enough to keep them organized by color, size, and type. (Ah. If Millie knew they were paying the apothecary a visit, Juliet’s sure she would have sent her a shopping list as long as a giraffe’s neck.) While the shopkeep’s eyes aren’t on them yet, it's a challenge to be particularly stealthy when their footsteps sound so clunky against the lopsided wooden floorboards.

Juliet briefly glimpses over a silver tray stacked with pastries resting on the front counter, which sticks out amongst everything else… but upon closer inspection, she finds a sign explaining that they're homemade soaps made to look like pastries. (She might have been disappointed by this revelation if not for the spread that Willow just shared with her outside.) Such a trick could certainly end with her getting a mouthful of soap. It reminds Juliet of the donuts and the story Willow wove just the night before.

“...Aren’t those just the most precious things you’ve ever seen?” The shopkeep rounds the corner and assumes her position behind the front counter, a warm smile on her face. “My wife made them and I thought I might put them on display. See if anyone takes an interest. They look good enough to eat, don't they? But do take care not to." She chuckles a bit sheepishly. "The young lady who came in before you took a bite of one and wound up with a mouthful of soap, she did."

Juliet bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning. Their donuts have found a way to curse Lavinia Laurence after all.

"Oh…” The motherly woman tilts her head to the side, her eyes flashing with recognition. “Could it be? Are you two the heroines?”

“Yes. We’re here for supplies. Balm, gauze, and..." Juliet glances up. There are several assortments of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling and she squints, studying them with a sharper eye. "Do you have murmuring mums in stock?"

"You're Juliet. Lara's girl." The woman continues. Juliet's cheeks warm at the unexpected acknowledgement. (While she's often recognized in Amoria for something, it's rarely ever for her association with Lara.) "I did business with her back in the day, back when she used to make her delivery rounds. Goodness, you've grown so tall!" She shakes her head as she reminisces and proceeds to gather some of the things Juliet asked for. Rather than continuing that topic of conversation, though, she pauses to tap her chin. "Let me check in the back for those murmuring mums."

Stunned, Juliet remembers a moment too late that they came in here meaning to check the purchase log. She slyly peers over the counter just as the woman's footsteps clunk towards them again. The archer straightens herself back out and averts her eyes. Damn. The woman's handwriting is nearly as difficult to read as a pirate's.

"...Would you like one of the soaps as well?" The woman asks, thinking that Juliet's peering at the pastry soaps again. Faltering, the archer quickly reaches inside her brown drawstring bag for her coin. (It seems that this woman has successfully managed to distract her instead of the other way around.) "Oh, no. Put that away! You're the heroines." But perhaps that doesn't matter. "You're not the only young ladies to come in here buying balm and gauze today. Even that girl who accused me of witchcraft all those years back risked coming in here for some." Ugh, Lavinia. The woman sniffs, making no indication that such an accusation bothers her now. (Juliet bites the inside of her cheek again. Does she know what she's doing? Did she see Juliet attempting to get a glance at the logs? If she's an associate of Lara's, she's not one to be underestimated.) "It's a dangerous world out there, innit?"

"Use the coin you would've used here and treat yourselves to something nice in the market square." The woman says, looking between Juliet and Willow with a suggestive wink. She packs one of the pastry soaps into their bag and sends them on their way.

And so they go from there to venture into the market square. Juliet tugs her hood over her head-- for at this time of the afternoon, it's all abustle with activity. (Food sizzles from stalls, their mingled aromas making it difficult to decide which Folklore delicacy to introduce Willow to first.) The florist nearly backs into them as she narrowly avoids being barreled over by two boys running through the crowd with loaves of bread tucked under their arms, weaving recklessly through the crowds of people. It brings back memories. Especially with the sight of Dimitri himself, glaring towards the boys with his mouth twisted in an unattractive scowl. He runs a hand back through his oily hair and meticulously counts his flaky rings of death to ensure none are missing.

"Dimitri." Juliet nods towards him without making eye contact. She cannot risk it. (He hates her.) "...Nix is certain that he sells fried street rats." Willow needs to know. She needs to know before her curiosity gets her killed. "We made the grave mistake once of stealing from his stall when we were children. Never again." Never again. "The flaky devilfish rings are better." If she has the appetite for flaky rings, anyhow. "There are also flaming red puffs." A mixture between the flaming red cake and a cream puff. A definite favorite of Juliet August. "The stall also sells fruit whirlwinds and fluffy carrot squares. There are also meat wheels, seaweed noodles, grilled critters... corn."

 

[starboob]

Willow's pouch hangs a little heavier on her hip having also grabbed some items for their talismans— she had been pleasantly surprised that the apothecary had been so well stocked with ingredients for spell-work such as this. Back in Elsewhere, where magic is widely practiced and accepted, the spell supply shops are cautious with what ingredients they stock at any given time. Often, one has to run all over town for even the most basic charm. She supposes that this makes sense when she thinks about it; considering there are more adept magic users in Evermore than Folklore, it’s more problematic to keep powerful spell ingredients all in one location. Already there are so many regulations, permits, and paperwork to even be able to purchase certain ingredients. (Technically, foraging is also option and Willow does know of several locations to collect necessary materials; except she’s always been too scared to actually forage. The consequences of being caught with unregulated material are too damning for her to risk it and, really, she’s never had the need to.)

In any case, this works in her favor and now they don't have to run all over Amoria for ingredients.

She will admit that finding out Lavinia doesn’t have medically concerning body odor was disappointing, though she doesn’t find herself quite alerted to the supplies she did purchase. Not at first. But, again, when she imagines how odd it would be for Kinsley to sneak around getting, like, bandages, she realizes that something about it is off.

Not that she really knows what to do with this information. The moment to tail the noblewoman has since passed and she’s not sure speculation will get them anywhere. So rather than pay that woman anymore mind than is warranted, she turns her sights to the markets, taking a deep breath of the all the savory, sweet, and sizzling smells wafting through the air. Lucky joins her and even involuntarily starts lifting themselves up from her shoulder. They would have carried themself over to the nearest stall full of promising goods, but Willow pulls them against her chest before they can escape her. She does not want to be caught for their thieving. Never again.

She takes a quick step back when the boys run through and catches the florist before she can fall over and create dominoes out of the crowd. This earns the sorceress a small yellow flower to tuck behind her ear. Grinning to herself as she turns her attention back to the market, she listens to Juliet’s grave warning. Her nose wrinkles. “The thought of that makes me want to vom. Vomit,” she clarifies. “At least in Evermore when you order a hotdog— don’t worry, those aren’t made of actual dogs— you know the ingredients are shady. Same with Spam and bologna…” Why are there so many shady meat products on the shelves of Evermore grocery stores? She never thought it odd until now, when she’s confronted with the possibility of fried street rats. “Uh, anyway, definitely not looking for my curiosity to be satisfied by death. I thought you were just meaning that they were unpleasant and offensive to you, specifically.”

As Juliet lists out the other options, she brings her fist up to her lip in deep contemplation. This is a big choice to make and Juliet just may be testing her tastes. She can't fail. “The flaming red puffs are a given,” she nods, heading in the direction of the stall. “And I am curious about what a fruit whirlwind is.” It sounds like it could be one of those fancy tarts or, perhaps, a smoothie. The other options, aside from the fluffy carrot square (carrot cake?) and corn (corn), are more esoteric. Seaweed noodles sounds like it could just be a seaweed salad, but she isn’t certain. (A salad does sound good, though.) “If I can stomach it,” she giggles, referring to her small stomach capacity, “I might also be open to trying the meat wheel after I try the seaweed noodles.” She dips her head to whisper to Lucky. “I’ll share the meat wheel with you.” They trill happily at this, nuzzling against their spot on Willow’s shoulder.

It takes them a couple of minutes to flag down the busy vendor and, once Willow’s stuffed a red velvet cream puff (or three) into her mouth, she immediately understands why this vendor is so sought out and among one of Juliet’s favorites. She’s quick to order a parfait (fruit whirlwind), the seaweed noodles (salad, as predicted), and a meat wheel. Willow isn’t sure how to even describe that last one, but it’s thinly sliced, sweet, spicy, and rolls out like Bubble Tape. Lucky snatches it for themself before she even gets to her third bite. She’d be mad if Lucky hadn’t quickly employed their biggest dragon eyes ever. She also takes it as a hint that they need more sustenance, so she also orders a large portion of grilled critters; this turns out to be kraken tentacle and Willow is more than happy to not sample that. The dragon, however, is delighted.

They continue through the market, purchasing yet more snacks to nosh on, as well as provisions for their impending journey. It likely becomes clear to Juliet just how adamant Willow is about ensuring they’re well-prepared when she insists that they purchase a broom. A broom. For traveling the wood, searching for Gerard, and, perhaps, saving Flynn. She insists they have a broom. In fact, Willow has them purchase two brooms, a dustpan, and a feather duster. Though the oddest item she has them purchase would be wind chimes.

On a whim, she also gets herself a small harp. And, soon after purchasing, she’s already imagining all the ways she’s going to try to woo Juliet with her notes and melodies over romantic campsite fires. ‘I hope I’m not too rusty.’ This entire string of thoughts causes her to blush, wondering if she’s even worked the nerve enough to share this side of herself with Juliet. Then again, if she can share this part of herself with Dorothea Birdsong, whose voice is literally god-blessed, she can share with Juliet August, who will be nice even if she thinks Willow sounds like a croaking toad. And she already has assurance that she doesn’t. With that settled, her talented mind finds a new worry to chew her lip over when she also considers that Juliet might hate harp music. ‘Mist.’ Tactfully, she devises a way to figure out her taste in instruments. “You won’t harp on me for playing, will you?” Nailed it.

The market crowd has thinned out since they first arrived and there’s less need for Willow to watch her step lest she trip over a person, a frog, or a cobblestone. Despite this, Lucky still has to intervene on occasion. Some vendors have already sold out and packed up, but others, like Dimitri's, remain open. This is unsurprising. "Oh! Before we go back to yours, we should get some Angelica some chocolates. Do you think she'd like that? She's been so nice and sweet and I really want to thank her."

Of course, that's when Willow stops in her tracks, momentarily forgetting what she's just said, as she spots none other than Lavinia Laurence skirting out from some establishment, looking shady as ever. "...She looks sus. That means suspicious."

 

[ellarose]

"...You wouldn't be too nervous?" Juliet asks, thoughtfully tilting her head to the side. It's not that she thinks Willow is too nervous enough to perform-- she has grown bolder since their first meeting in the wood-- it's nothing at all like that. It's just... She awkwardly scratches her cheek, which is tinged a faint pink as she considers it. "When we first met, you mentioned being too nervous to play in front of people." She bites the inside of her cheek as she remembers the music room, the desserts, their talk. (How much time has passed since then? In some ways Juliet feels as though she's known Willow James forever... in others, it hasn't felt all that long at all.) "I don't mind listening. But if you'd like privacy to play, I also wouldn't mind..." She swishes her hand from side to side as if to imply that she can make herself scarce if need be. "Whichever you prefer."

"You were eating a lemon tart back then." Juliet points out, a bit out of the blue. (She recalls wrapping the sweets from the banquet, the way that Willow quickly claimed the lemon tart for herself before it could disappear from her plate under... ahem... mysterious circumstances.) She isn't saying this for no reason, either. Juliet August does not play when it comes to food. "Angelica likes honey lemon squares." She nods, certain of this. Her memory is quite sharp when it comes to these things, given her hyper awareness for any food in her vicinity. "She taught me how to make them once." Back when she used to need a stool to reach the higher shelves. She (purposefully) made a mess with the flour and powdered sugar and mother was quite cross, forbidding her to reenter the kitchen again. "We have much to do, however, so we ought to purchase them."

Being in Evermore did remind Juliet how much she especially enjoys homemade treats and recipes. (There was something particularly special about the treat shared with her after the fireworks that night, when everything quieted down. Even though she never had a childhood where she helped her mother in the kitchen, there was something about it that brought her a childlike sense of peace.) However, as 'the heroines', they've an obligation to use the more efficient means. Flynn Everson is suffering. And while he has found himself in Millie's bad graces (and, to an extent, her own) she doesn't wish such suffering upon him. Even before bowls of sweet-smelling ingredients, Juliet knows she would not be able to keep her mind off of the fact that he needs help.

Juliet's death would not have been just a rumor if Flynn Everson had never come for her. There's... no denying that fact. Even if he did ignore her wishes to leave her in the wood, to keep what he saw a secret.

Willow's observation pulls Juliet from her reverie. Lavinia. The archer lifts her head, cutting her eyes across the bustling crowd, taking notice of the midnight blue hood she saw before. "...Sus." She repeats, her brow knitting as she commits the phrase to memory. "I see." Before they can be taken towards Lavinia, though, her ears pick up on the sound of commotion further ahead. Through the thinning crowd, Juliet notices something even more sus. Several people are parting to make room for someone on the street. Ladies anxiously make excuses to walk by the lakeside and protective mothers usher their children in that direction as well. At first glance, one might assume the man to be a drunkard with the way he shuffles down the cobblestone road.

It's highly unusual to see drunkards here at this time of day. (There are other street corners filled with bars and taverns where one might find a drunkard or three at any time of the day, of course-- but not here.) While this street is home to a few taverns, they do not serve alcohol until sunset. As he draws closer, Juliet notices that this may not be a drunkard at all-- but a man showing late symptoms of the sickness. Not only that, but he is very finely dressed. Juliet does not recognize him. Either this is a wealthy recluse or perhaps, someone visiting from another kingdom for the tournament.

The only person who doesn't seem to take notice of this striking man is Lavinia Laurence, who is in such a rush to leave the square that she crashes directly into him. She falls backward, the armful of her purchases scattering to the cobblestone with the accompanying the sound of shattering glass. Rather than stopping to help her, most people hold their breathes and scurry by as if they hadn't seen anything at all.

"Why, you--" Lavinia begins, indignant as ever, but stops midway and thinks better of it when the man's hands clench into fists at his sides. The expression on his face is twisted and wrong and she timidly bows her head at the sight of it. "My apologies, sir. I should have watched where I was going."

"Begone, peasant. Get out of my sight." The man snarls, his eyes flashing red. (Fuck.) "Now, or I'll--!" He jerks violently, reaching for something in his belt--

Juliet rushes forward unhesitatingly as his intentions become clear to her, quick as ever as she throws herself protectively over Lavinia Laurence. It happens just as the man's ornate dagger comes plunging down. It sinks through her hood, her dress, down into her upper back and she grits her teeth against a scream of agony. Around her, she can hear the crowd reacting to what just happened, releasing their own gasps and screams. They scatter like chickens in a wild panic. She's been stabbed, yes. But she's been stabbed before. She will survive this... she thinks.

"Juliet...?" Lavinia stares up at her with wide, teary brown eyes. In all her years of knowing her, she's never seen her look so afraid before. (...Or blurry. Her vision is fading rapidly.) "W-why?"

"Hell if I know." Juliet mumbles, slinking forward. She blinks hard, fighting to stay conscious in case she has to fight. But behind her...

The man's eyes fade from red to gray as they widen with abject terror. His hands shake violently. "I-- I didn't mean--" He shakes his head, looking around pleadingly at the few people courageous people who have stayed to help if need be. A muscled baker is holding her rolling pin like a weapon, bracing herself on the sidelines. "I didn't mean it!" He nearly stumbles as he backs away, righting himself before promptly running off in the other direction. Someone from afar calls for the authorities.

Juliet unceremoniously collapses on top of Lavinia and the woman unleashes a bloodcurdling scream that could easily bring her back from the dead... had she died just then. (But, no, of course she doesn't die. It'll take more than that to kill Juliet August... and there's no fucking way she's going to let herself die for the likes of Lavinia Laurence.)

"Is... is she dead?" Lavinia promptly squirms underneath her, crawling away and pushing Juliet off-- undoubtedly squeamish at the thought of touching a fresh corpse. Her hands are shaking when she sees the dagger sticking out of her back. It's dawning on her, albeit slowly, what just transpired. "She's... she's..."

Not dead. Juliet's back moves softly up and down with the rhythm of her breathing. Peaches drifts down in her bubble, landing next to the dagger. She closes her eyes and a soft pink magic wraps itself around the hilt of the weapon, tiny roses blooming in the cloudy wisps around it. The dagger becomes slightly transparent-- but Peaches seems rather hesitant to remove the weapon just yet. The axolotl tips her head indicatively towards Lavinia's dropped packages of balm and gauze.

"Peaches...?" Lavinia's eyes widen at the sight of the princess's companion. She quickly gathers her dropped belongings, packing them back up as if hiding them now will make it so no one ever saw them. "Those are... I don't..." She shakes her head, taking notice of Willow James as well. "Surely you have something?" She fidgets. (Of course, these circumstances are a real inconvenience for her.) "What are you two doing with the princess's companion?"

 

[starboob]

Juliet is fearless as ever, stepping in front of Lavinia to take the blow— Willow doesn’t agree with her method, her body is not a shield, but it saves Lavinia's life. It’s heroic. It’s admirable. (It reminds her of Meredith who also once went out of her way to stand up for the undeserving Kinsley Prescot. Of course, she didn’t take a knife to her back (not in the literal sense), but she did try to seek justice on her behalf and got suspended instead.) Juliet acts automatically. Without thought. Willow imagines that to her fellow heroine, everyone’s life is worth saving, even if they are grueling personalities.

Lucky nudges their antler-like horns under Willow’s chin, breaking her reverie.

Screams fill the air around her as people push and brush past her to flee to safety. Only herself, the baker, and a few others remain in their places. The more acute danger seems to have passed with nobleman seeming to have come back around, his gray eyes full of disbelief and horror.

Willow hasn’t yet let herself succumb to the anxieties that threaten to pour and spill over everywhere. She can’t. Juliet’s out, but she’s not dead and it's now up to her to get things under control. Holding onto this fact helps her push aside the tremors and turn her anxiety into adrenaline.

She straightens herself out and steps up to a bystander who's torn between rushing to the ladies and staying put. She stares straight up at him and, as calmly as she can manage, orders, “Get the authorities. The guards— whoever handles crimes— now!” She nudges the man forth and he blankly nods, breaking into a run to follow the heroine’s instruction.

By the time she wheels back around, the nobleman is already hightailing it down the street. “Drat.” Though she doesn’t agree with that Lightless holding facility, someone needs to watch him. (Those eyes.) And while part of her is tempted to chase him down herself, she knows better by now than to throw herself into a situation she cannot alone handle. Plus, there is still Juliet to attend to. So instead she reaches for her keychain, feels around for the mirrorball, and sends a piece to follow the nobleman.

She then kneels next to Lavinia’s head, both amused and annoyed by all of her… Lavinia-ness. “Pull yourself together, woman. She’s not dead.” However, just because the dagger itself hasn't landed anywhere fatal, a stab wound is a stab wound. Juliet’s red cloak makes it difficult to assess how much blood she’s lost, though a pool is forming on the ground and is undoubtedly soaking Lavinia’s clothes. She puts her hand on Lavinia’s shoulder, holding her down firm. “Quit moving— you could make her injury worse and then she really might die and you’ll be a coldblooded murder’s accomplice. How does that sound? How—how do you think the ton will respond to that, hm?”

Lavinia’s eyes widen, nearly taking up her entire face at this point, but before she can speak, the baker steps from her shop and muscles her way through the crowd that Willow had been otherwise oblivious to with her focus on Juliet. She stands protectively between the crowd and the women, shooing them away with her rolling pin. “Unless you’re coming to order some dinner loaves or my wife’s delicious and handsomely decorated cakes, be on your way, you no good lollygaggers.”

Willow warms hearing that and turns to thank the baker, but a faint glow catches her eye from her periphery. Then, of course, Lavinia ruins everything by being Lavinia. Her expression sours at the veiled accusation. ‘I don’t have time for this.’ “Your mom has Peaches.”

“I— What? She most certainly does not! And leave my mother out of this!”

Willow shakes her head and rolls her eyes. (Apparently “your mom” jokes are not universal.) Content that Lavinia is too scattered to follow-up on the query, Willow changes topics as the other woman clutches her supplies close to her chest. “Don’t worry. I totally didn’t see your medical supplies.” Lavinia fidgets. Willow shrugs and reaches for Juliet’s bag for their supplies, but then thinks better of it.

Of course, before she’s able to do anything, a trio of guards approach the scene, roughly pushing the baker aside. Willow flares at that, scowling at them. “Oi, what sort of ladies dispute is this?" Noticing the dagger in Juliet's back, the lead guard smirks, finding this all amusing. "You two get into a quarrel over a man?”

Lavinia opens her mouth and Willow cuts her off. “Not in the slightest, sir. Lady Juliet saved lady Lavinia from an unprovoked attack. The attacker had clear signs of the sickness and ran in that direction.” When the guards all turn to look, as if they might still be able to see him, she casts a quick glyph behind her back. This changes her eyes into reflective pools through which she can spy on the nobleman's whereabout via the mirror piece she sent after him. She doesn’t risk holding this spell for more than a second, lest anyone see the change in her eyes. (Lavinia seems too distracted to notice more than herself, thankfully.) They return to their usual green when the guards turn back to the women. “I think—” She stops herself. These are men. These are men of Folklore. She needs to be firm. Confident. Authoritative. She clears her throat. “He went down that way and is heading towards the lodging apartments for visiting nobles." Well, she assumes that based on what she saw. "I can take care of lady Juliet and lady Lavinia.”

“With all the bustle and the lady’s injury, should you not require an escort?”

The sorceress suppresses the groan of a lifetime as these fools continue to waste time.

“Do you think you’re more effective than a dragon,” she snips, stating this question as more of a matter of fact. Lucky even flies from Willow’s shoulder and grows as large as the market will comfortably allow, growing until their neck is higher than the buildings. They huff black smoke, letting heat fill the air. “My companion can watch us just fine, sir.”

The soldiers step back, swallowing harshly, though they seem less apprehensive when they realize that, in addition to being a companion, this dragon must be the one that belongs the heroine of love if she is associating with Juliet. (Not to mention her telltale flight jacket.) The lead solider steps back with a polite, albeit curt, bow, starting to make for the direction Willow indicated. “As you would, miss.”

Willow sinks back to the ground, nerves starting to trickle over her, but she reminds herself that Juliet still needs attention. And Lavinia is still trying to slyly worm out from underneath her. The baker, who has remained on the scene, steps forward again. “I can help lift her and take her over to Madam Mosley’s apothecary? Should you need the assistance, Willow James.”

Ah, so her name is starting to whisper through Amoria. This will be something she overthinks about later, but, again, now is not the time.

She beams up at the baker. “That would be most appreciated…”

“Brigid.”

“Brigid,” she smiles, inclining her head. Both of the women then work to gently lift Juliet off of Lavinia, careful to not disturb the dagger. Lavinia, rather than thank either of them, scrambles up to her feet, dusting off her skirts and bemoaning something about a tear in her cloak and the blood splatter on her front. “Lavinia, would you like to—”

Already, however, the woman is hurrying off and, once more, Willow wishes she could follow. She debates sending a shard after her as well and decides against it. She needs to focus on Juliet. Lavinia and her sus behavior can wait.

Madam Mosley’s shop is closed, though Brigid says something about trying the backdoor to see if the apothecary is still lingering. They knock and there's no answer. Brigid knocks again and calls out, “Kinswoman, if you’re back there, it’s Brigid.”

There’s some shuffling behind the door before the top half swings open. Madam Mosley’s welcoming smile transforms to concern when she spots the slack heroine and the dagger sticking out of her back. The bottom half of the door swings open and they’re hurried inside, where the apothecary clears off a table to place the heroine. “What trouble have you two gotten yourselves into in these few hours? I thought you would have been off having a sweet time and here you are, bringing back Juliet with an injury.”

Willow flushes even if the words aren’t accusatory. Brigid speaks before Willow can. “I saw it all myself— there was a man in fine dress ambling through the streets like a drunkard. His eyes were mad with craze and it was unfortunate that one of the court ladies stepped into his path. Juliet stepped in and did what she could to stop the man from outright murdering the other woman.”

“Yes, I would have tried to get some proper wrappings on the injury, but we were out in the street and well… I figured this warranted privacy and Peaches,” she indicates to the axolotl, “bought us some time.” As they converse, the women work to untie Juliet’s cloak from her neck and loosen the fastenings on the dress. Willow then casts a glyph over the clothing so that they can remove the material without tearing it (not that she thinks Juliet would mourn the dress, but she does believe the red cloak is a favorite). Though neither woman reacts to Willow’s use of magic, she does ask for their discretion and they agree without protest or hesitation.

Peaches, who never left her spot next to the hilt, closes her eyes once more and reactivates her charm. The roses return around the dagger and it starts to glow bright neon pink, then settles, leaving only the faintest outline. Willow isn’t sure whether or not to reach for it, but soon after wondering, the dagger disappears from Juliet’s back and clatters on the table next to her. The flowers that had blossomed around the wound flake away, petal by petal, taking in the blood from the injury, then gather over the puncture to further staunch the bleeding.

The companion then rises, signaling that she’s done her work, and Madam Mosley quickly sets to work with both Brigid and Willow playing assistant. Willow asks a few questions here and there, explaining that her grandma is something of an apothecary back home but she never studied the art in earnest and is now coming to regret that with her recent affairs.

Once the wound is dressed, a warming blanket is draped over the archer and Mosley starts a pot of tea to be ready when Juliet comes to. Brigid dismisses herself and mentions to Willow that, should the heroines need it, she has some hard traveler’s bread in stock and would be honored to donate a few loaves to them.

“If Juliet isn’t well enough to make it back to her home, you both are welcome to stay here, though I imagine this table isn’t the most comfortable bed to lay in,” Mosley mentions, coming around to offer Willow some biscuits. “Though I reckon the Augusts have the means to safely transport Juliet if you would like for me to send a message up to Cornelia Street?”

“Umm…” She thinks on this a moment, considering what Juliet might prefer.

“I did hear that her mother arrived back or, at least, that her carriage was supposedly spotted.”

“Oh, then… In that case, I think it will be best if she stays here.” She isn’t sure whether or not they were seen entering the apothecary so there’s always a chance Mira will hear and come rushing anyway. That could cause problems for the apothecary, but Willow isn’t sure Juliet would prefer the alternative. She doesn’t know much about Juliet’s mother, but she understands their relationship has been strained since those first moments that Juliet came into the Augusts’ lives. “Uh, just so we don’t disturb her injury too much or interrupt the clotting,” she adds and Mosley smiles, almost seeming to know what Willow is really thinking. It’s unnerving, but it doesn’t break her trust in the apothecary. “Alright, well just holler if you need me. My wife and I live in the apartment upstairs. It won’t be a bother no matter the hour. Lara's little redhead will be well cared for in this house.” Before she ascends the spiral staircase towards the back, she also adds, “I’ll bring you down some dinner as soon as it’s ready. I believe Eglantine is making her famed stew tonight.”

With the noise all settled, she sets down on a stool beside the archer, worry pooling in her eyes. Even if she’s okay now, the anxiety she held back before catches up to her all at once, shaking her heart. Peaches comes over to nuzzle her, helping calm some of those worries before they can become a full flow of tears. Once she's given herself a moment to settle, she takes out her newly purchased harp and plucks the strings, playing nothing at first and then transitioning to a melody that sounds as though it is inspired by the first dew of spring.

 

[ellarose]

While the notes indicate spring, a howling wind outside presses against the windows of the apothecary as grey clouds are cast over the late afternoon sun in the sky. As it grows dark, it becomes evident from faint golden light outside the shop that snow is falling in Amoria. A chill creeps into the apothecary as the temperature outside dips into that of a late winter. "That's a pretty melody. Do you play often?" Before long, Mosley comes down the spiral staircase with an armful of blankets (as well as a homemade cardigan for Willow, should she want it) and with a flick of her hand, lights several candles as well as a fire in the shop's small fireplace. It crackles softly alongside the melody of the wind. Afterwards, Mosley looks meaningfully at Willow and brings a finger to her lips as if to suggest that the magic is their secret. (...And Lavinia Laurence might have been right with all those witch accusations.)

"My Eglantine timed her stew perfectly, eh? It'll be ready before long. Nice and hot to warm our bones." Mosley notes, rubbing her forearms vigorously before peeking out the window through one of the shop's rustic checkered curtains. She clucks her tongue in a chastising manner at the snow as though she's watching a child running amok through the streets. "I reckon the weather doesn't change like this in Evermore?" She shakes her head, at a loss. "Our weather maiden is still learning, bless her. Her heart is such a fickle thing, the season changes ever so easily with her moods. Nearly doomed us to an eternal winter once." She shakes her head and sighs. "Loves running barefoot through the mountains all willy nilly. I don't mean offense... but she is a mess."

Mosley helps Willow set a moss-green pillow under Juliet's head and also brings one to settle into the sorceress's chair, to make them comfortable as it becomes evident their stay is going to last through the night in these conditions. She disappears in the back room briefly and strides back in, bringing a wooden box with her. She rummages through it for a moment and then holds up a small pendant with preserved mums inside.

"Juliet's always coming in here for murmuring mums. This charm ought to last her longer." Mosley explains before pressing it into the palm of Willow's hand. She shows off a few other pendants, then-- arrangements containing different colored lilies, roses, and woodland sage. "I can't keep little trinkets like this on display during the daytime hours. It's my nighttime guests who have access to these wares... thought it'd be good for the two of you to know." She proceeds to explain the magical properties of the other flowers, the healing energies of the sage and pink roses and the lilies effects of pleasant dreams and rest. "The flowers in Folklore have various magical properties. Their language and stories give them a certain power here. Lately, though..." She shakes her head. "Their aura is off. Unpredictable. Do be sure to take care while traveling the wood."

The apothecary proceeds to prepare some items for her shop while chatting to Willow about the various types of flowers in Folklore. The murmuring mums and the way they can be used for long-distance conversation when submerged in water, the lilies that Juliet uses with her sleep-inducing arrows, among others that can poison or cause hallucinations. She mentions there are many in the wood that are undiscovered or otherwise unknown. "Lara had a keen understanding of all the plants and their uses. She used to stop in here to make deliveries. Got in the habit of leaving little Juliet outside during our meetings, though. The girl would touch something she wasn't supposed to and hell would break loose. She nearly set the shop aflame after shattering an expired bottle of fire powder! It was real toasty in here." She chuckles heartily. "Then unattended, she got into the habit of stealing sweets from the market with a few other kids... tsk. She's mellowed a lot since then." At the counter in the back, she dices some beeswax and shea butter-- pouring them into tiny containers along with dustings of various dried flower powders.

"...Chapstick. Good for this frigid weather." Mosley changes the subject conversationally as she continues to work. "The more beeswax you use, the harder it gets." With the last dish, she scatters some orange powder inside. "Rose and lavender are particularly popular in the shop. But for this last one, I'm using just a pinch of chatty calendula." The apothecary melts the mixtures in the dishes before pouring them into ornate containers and setting them aside to dry. "It might persuade the wearer to be a touch more... forthcoming than they might be normally. Makes a nice gift for someone with tight lips." She subtly scoots that container towards Willow before gathering the rest and setting them up on the shelves.

The stew is served for dinner shortly afterwards and a portion is kept warm for Juliet in case she wakes. Mosley goes to retire upstairs, encouraging Willow to keep playing her harp. Peaches keeps Lucky entertained in the meantime, floating her bubble down between their claws and floating in playful little spirals around their head. About two hours pass before Juliet twitches and her eyes flit open.

"...Hm. That's a nice dagger." Juliet murmurs groggily as she rouses, noticing the weapon that was presumably used to stab her sitting there beside her. (It's a nobleman's dagger. Of course it's fancy.) She rises slowly to mind her wound, hissing through her teeth as a shooting pain dips down between her shoulder blades. Every heartbeat accompanies a knife-like stab through her back and her breaths come ragged through it, her brown eyes glassy and slightly unfocused. Gradually, though, she settles again. Once she feels confident enough to move again, she takes the dagger into her hands and observes the aquamarine gems and cloud-shaped patterns carved into the hilt. "It must have come from one of the sky kingdoms." Then she studies the blade itself with an expert eye before nestling it into her belt alongside her other weapons. Well. That's that. It belongs to her now. When that's done, she takes notice of their surroundings in full. "We're in the apothecary...?"

She notes the window-- the dark clouds outside and the fresh coat of frost clinging to the glass. Then Juliet glances at Willow, tilting her head curiously as she wonders what's happened since she's been out. Before she can ask any questions, though, her stomach growls and her cheeks turn rosy. She smells food... but that's a given. (Willow James knows by now how Juliet August is with food.) "How long have I been out for?" She takes notice the harp sitting nearby, remembering that she'd briefly dreamt of springtime and music. The archer nods towards it. "...Oh. Have you been playing any?"

 

[starboob]

It seems that the only warm spots in the apothecary are beside the fire and Lucky’s dragon belly (currently occupied by Peaches, who is dodging Lucky’s playful swipes). Juliet also looks cozy under the piles of blankets, but Willow doesn’t dare try to slip in beside her. For one, the table is too small for that and, two, she doesn’t want to be so forward. (Juliet doesn’t need to know she’s a warmth thief as well as a clothing thief.)

Instead, she scoots her chair closer to the fire, tugging the cardigan (stolen), her jacket, and Juliet’s cloak tighter around her shoulders, and holds her hands in front of the flames. Her harp rests next to her chair and while she wants to pick it up again, specifically so that she can make sure Juliet wakes up to her playing, her fingers are too frozen.

And, it seems, they aren’t going to warm up in time with the archer waking. Willow rolls her eyes with a smile when her first immediate comment is on the dagger. (It is a nice dagger.)

“I was playing a bit earlier, then my fingies got cold.” She wiggles them, then stuffs them under her armpits as she rises and makes her way over to Juliet. “I can play something when they’re warm again, if you’d like.” The lazy smile she has widens, remembering how Juliet remembered their first night together; how she committed to memory her performance anxiety. (Then, of course, she brought up the lemon tart. It was relevant, to be fair, and also very Juliet.) “I feel comfortable enough around you.”

Knowing that she’s hungry, Willow summons the bowl of stew from the warmers over the fire and it arrives next to Juliet. The contents slosh when the bowl hits the table, some spilling over the sides. “I already ate.” And she already poured her unfinished portion into Juliet’s bowl, hence it being filled to the brim. “Mosley’s wife, Eglantine, made that beef stew. It’s scrumdiddlyumptious.”

“You were out for a few hours.” She hops onto the table so that she’s sitting beside Juliet, close enough to touch. “Missed all the hullabaloo, which is probably for the best. Lavinia was a real pill. Everyone was a real pill, to be honest— except for Brigid, the baker.” She goes on to explain a detailed account of events, everything from Lavinia freaking out and being cagey to Brigid offering to help carry Juliet to the apothecary. “This place was closest and, well, Madam Mosley seems to know you.” This reminds her of everything the apothecary mentioned of a young Juliet, causing her to grin. “Actually, she might even be fond of you. She told me about you as a kid and that you’ve always had toasty toasty tendencies.” She nudges Juliet’s side, teasingly. “And that you were a mischievous little kid, but I think I knew that from what you said about you and Nix earlier.” As well as the glimpses into her memories, but she’s not going to bring those up. Like, ever.

Though while she’s happy that Juliet is okay, that she’s up and has her wits, Willow can’t help the lingering anxieties when she recalls the events earlier. (The knife just went straight into her back, like she’s not the solid archer she knows but is something flimsier. It reminds her that she’s not invincible and that their quest is dangerous.)

She swings her legs, staring down at her hands as her expression turns somber. “I was worried about you. If it weren’t for Peaches, I really don’t know what would have happened. I mean, Madam Mosley said the dagger missed everything important, thank the gods, and I was still scared.” She shrugs her shoulders, pretending it’s not really a big deal even if her words and posture betray that. “You saved Lavinia’s life, no doubt. Had you not been so quick, I’m sure she would have been—” She pounds her fist to her chest, stabbing herself with an imaginary dagger, and lulls her head to the side with her tongue sticking out. She revives with a small grin, then reaches to touch Juliet’s shoulder. "I am really glad that you're okay. Try not to scare me like that?"

After a pause, she continues. “I couldn't get any info from Lavinia. She ran off the second she was free.” Though Willow could have sent a piece of her mirrorball after Lavinia, it’s not like she would have had the focus to actually watch her. More than likely, she would have only tuned in once the woman is already settled back on Cornelia street. “But I did find out where the dude afflicted with the sickness is staying; he’s at those lodgings for visiting nobles." That's going to make the tournament interesting, to say the least.

“Oh, and your mom’s carriage was supposedly spotted. Unrelated to that, I thought it’d be easier if we stayed here tonight.” She figures that Juliet ought to know that there’s the possibility they’d run into her mother if they were to return to the August household. Still, it’s possible lady August heard about the commotion in the market and that her wayward daughter had been a part of it. It caused quite the seen and Willow did unthinkingly name both Juliet and Lavinia. Well, at least Lavinia might now have to explain herself to Mrs. Laurence. “So that your injury doesn’t get disturbed… How is it? May I take a look?”

Once given permission, she scuttles on her knees behind Juliet, carefully removing the red splotched bandage. “Mosley said Peaches was able to make it so that the wound isn’t as deep as it would have been. Otherwise, you would have needed stitches and I would have suggested we delay our travels.” She cleans off some of the dried blood, careful to not disturb the new scab, and then applies an antiseptic, followed by a soothing balm, meant to ease movement without entirely taking away the pain. Madam Mosley said pain is important for an injury like this; it’ll tell Juliet when she’s pushing herself too far and Willow does think something (or someone) needs to be in charge of that. Lastly, she applies a fresh bandage to the injury, kisses her fingers, and touches them to it.

“Speaking of, the apothecary, she gave me this pendant.” She takes it off from around her neck and passes it to Juliet once she’s settled next to her again. “She said you go through murmuring mums pretty quickly and that this might be more helpful. Oh, and she also gave me this lip balm.” She pulls that from her pocket, but adds a warning before handing it over. “It’s charmed and will help us with people who are tight lipped. Like Lavinia.” That is and was her first thought, at least. Seems the apothecary might know more than she lets on and, again, Willow isn’t so disturbed by this. She seems trustworthy.

“Since we’ll be staying here tonight and it’s so chilly, um…” Willow scratches behind her ear, pulling her lips to the side. “We should probably stay near each other. For warmth.” Strategic snuggling. Nothing gay about it. Just two gals who need to stay warm. Totally appropriate. “Lucky is a pretty comfy bed if you feel okay enough to sleep on the floor. Otherwise…” She gestures to the table. “Mosley offered to send for someone to collect us and take us back to your parents’ house, but…” She rolls her wrist and still continues with the obvious ruse. “Your injury really shouldn’t be disturbed. Sorry it won’t be the ritz on our last night before we’re camping again, but I suppose we should get used to roughing it.”

 

[ellarose]

'I feel comfortable enough around you.' The words settle with Juliet slowly and manage to warm the soft, squishy part of her heart. (The part she thought she'd long since killed and buried. But just like her, it seems it cannot stay dead either. Even though it's vulnerable and weak and repeatedly broken like a promise... it keeps coming back. It wants love it will never have.) The feeling cools gradually at her acknowledgement, like it's afraid to be found properly if she dares to search for the source of it and dig it out with her bare hands. Idly, she tries to get her mind off of it altogether by mopping up the spilled soup along the ridges of the bowl with a nearby cloth. They have been traveling together for a while now. Willow feeling comfortable around her may be-- no, certainly isn't a reflection on her feelings for Juliet as a person. Familiarity with anyone would have likely brought with it that same comfort. Right?

Juliet eats her soup quietly (it took a few years for the Augusts to teach her how to do so without slurping) listening while Willow recounts the events that transpired after she lost consciousness. Occasionally her thoughts will drift back to her words before. 'I feel comfortable enough around you.' It twists a gnarled lump of knots in Juliet's stomach. Every time the wound on her back stings, it accompanies a fresh stab of guilt. It's as if she's some villain in disguise, concealing her true identity... not giving Willow a fair reason to run far, far away from her. She could act cold, say something quite cruel... but as the sorceress speaks, she finds she does not have the strength to resort to those means. (Juliet could not think up a cruel thing to say about Willow James even if she wanted to.) The archer puts thoughts of the future behind her, refocusing on the present as she catches up to what Willow is describing.

"Fond of me?" Juliet asks, her voice tinged with mingled incredulousness and amusement. With a slightly playful scrunch of her nose, she adds, "I doubt that. I was a terror." Everyone knew it, too, because that's what most of them called her. Most of Juliet's childhood memories consist of adults chasing her down the streets for stealing things or lecturing her for something or other. Often committing mischievous acts just to see if she could get away with them, or because she couldn't deny her curiosity to see what might happen. She was also... angry. (It would have burned her up inside, the way it does now, if she did not find an outlet for it.) Early on, the worst sort of adults she encountered were the ones who denied her existence, ignoring her when she was a starving little thing on the street. Acting a certain way, she suddenly knew how to get everyone's attention. Of course, that had it's downside as well.

Meanwhile, little Willow found every possible place to hide at her family gatherings. That knowledge scraping against memories of herself as a child... there's something strangely familiar about it. Juliet considers asking about Willow's childhood in turn, but that's when she changes the subject.

"...Better me than her." Juliet notes in a level, cool tone. (Even though she's warmed after drinking the remaining broth of her stew directly from the bowl. Because... because of the stew, no doubt. Because of the stew and not the fact that Willow admitted she was worried about her.) "Someone would have said I watched it happen or something equally absurd. If we give the people of Amoria any reason to disparage our reputation as heroines, they will grab hold of it." And given her known rivalry with Lavinia Laurence... that would have fueled it into a raging fire she could never hope to put out. (And to be honest, she would prefer to be stabbed than endure the gossip that would come of that.) She tilts her head to the side, trying to make light of it. "You needn't worry. I'm much too stubborn to die for the likes of Lavinia Laurence."

"If I was to die for anyone, it would be for you." Oh. Did she really just say that? (And why did it leave her lips so automatically, like a truth her heart knew before her own mind?) Juliet's cheeks flame and she awkwardly averts her eyes, seeing Lucky still playing with Peaches. "Or Lucky, or Gracie..." She's not going to investigate that any further. She will leave it there and hope Willow does not bring it up again.

Juliet tenses with the revelation of her mother's return. She supposes she would have returned by now, having received word that she's no longer in Okeanos. There's a chance they'll be able to leave for the wood again before she finds her. The heavy snowfall ought to dissuade mother from trying to find her here-- at least for the evening. Mother tires after traveling long distances and greatly dislikes the cold. Not to mention that the steep cobblestone streets of Amoria can be particularly dangerous at night even without a slippery coating of frost layered on top of them. With all this on her mind, she complies automatically when Willow asks to see her wound. (It's on a spot of her back that she couldn't possibly reach herself, anyhow.) Her cheeks turn pink again when the sorceress kisses her fingers and is immediately grateful for the change of subject again.

"...They help me talk to Millie." Juliet nods, turning the pendant over in her hand as she observes it with curious brown eyes. "I didn't know the apothecary sold such things." Even more curious, perhaps, is the lip balm. Considering that they could give it to Lavinia as well... "I see. We could tell her it's a gift from Princess Elise. Lavinia's birthday isn't for a couple of months, so it could be a... a 'I'm sorry you were almost stabbed in the street' sort of gift?" She presses her lips together into a line. "Magic is convenient, isn't it? I ought to know more about it, but..." She twists a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's always a 'toasty toasty' affair when I try."

Juliet nods in agreement when Willow suggests they stay close. For warmth. It's only practical. Just as it's practical not to disturb her injury by returning home. They are exactly where they need to be at this moment in time and she's brought up to speed on the hullabaloo.

"It's a good thing we didn't take our leave this afternoon." Juliet says, gazing at the frost-covered window. (She quirks a brow when she notices two rebellious pixies giggling outside, making snow angels and drawing shapes on the glass. Typical pixie antics.) It would be dreadful to be caught out in that storm... and far colder than it is in the shop. "Then we would truly be 'roughing it'."

Juliet reaches for her new dagger (it's hers now) and casually flips it between her hands. The sharp steel and bejeweled hilt flash in the orangish glow of the firelight. As she does so, she recalls their first night again and the time when she offered to teach Willow knife tricks. She also recalls how she'd tried to stab the damned roller coaster to no effect. (Perhaps an enchanted dagger would have worked against the fast beast.) While part of her wants to ask for another story, she finds herself somewhat restless when she considers all of the things they need to attend to, as well as her comments on the usefulness of magic. (The strange magic inside of her.)

"Do you think..." Juliet begins uncertainly. "I mean, if it isn't any trouble..." Her tongue is, as they say, tied. (The phrase confused a younger Juliet, who had imagined tongues tied like bows when she first heard it and was horrified.) Once more her cheeks redden as she finally says what she means to say. What she's been meaning to say for a while now. (Especially since seeing Willow James blast that horrid Griffith away from her.) "I would like to learn more about magic."

 

[starboob]

Juliet says she would die for Willow and here she is, killing Willow with those words. Her heart stutters to a stop with her eyes wide and cheeks rosy. ‘Woah.’ Even Lucky pauses their play to look over, noting their companion’s shift. Never mind that Juliet also adds that she would die for Lucky and Gracie, too; she knows that those additions are only so that she doesn’t seem so forward. (Or so she assumes, because it’s what she would do if their roles were reversed.) ‘She would die for me.’ And Willow knows it’s true, too, considering how she took those Lightless fangs to protect her when they were attacked by that pack of thirteen. In general, she’s always been mindful of her safety— making sure she never pushes herself before she’s ready and watching out for her whenever she might step on or trip over something. ‘I would die for her, too.’

Her cheeks shade even darker the more she thinks about this, barely holding onto what Juliet is saying. She only sort of catches the suggestion that they offer the lip balm to Lavinia as a birthday present from Princess Elise. (... Well, she at least got the gist of what Juliet suggested.)

She only fully tunes back in when she hears the word “magic,” being the magic nerd that she is. She blinks a few times to reorient herself to the present and nods. Magic is convenient, but it’s also volatile. It’s why she’s not necessarily surprised that Juliet’s attempts have all been toasty toasty so far. Some folks never make it past that stage. (Like Kinsley. Or her own father.)

Though Willow isn’t of the opinion that some people have it and others don’t. Magic is a skill like any other. It’s like trying to become a great painter. Most people aren’t going to pick up the brush and be Rembrandt on their first attempt. They’re more likely to be poor imitations of Picasso.

She’s just about to suggest the possibility of tutoring Juliet when—

"Do you think… I mean, if it isn't any trouble… I would like to learn more about magic."

Willow releases a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding after Juliet names what she had been thinking. The sorceress’s eyes go wide. She swallows slowly as she nods, because of course she’s willing to teach Juliet about magic. Her shock comes from not believing she has anything to teach Juliet, with Juliet being so knowledgable herself and teaching Willow so much. Everything from survival to fighting to what it means to be a hero.

“Y-Yeah.” Her voice has all the shakiness of someone who’s starstruck, but really it’s her excitement coming through. “Of course. How could I not?” This also reminds her of what Milfred once said about Juliet’s potential for magic. It had piqued her curiosity then and it comes back now ten times as strong. Just what kind of caster is Juliet? What sort of caster could she become with the right guidance? She had mostly assumed that Juliet had little interest in magic, but knowing that this is quite the contrary… Her mind is buzzing with fake scenarios.

Willow clutches the fabric of the cloak still hanging from her shoulders. “It won’t be any trouble at all.” She also finds herself wondering what might inspire the magic within Juliet. For Willow, though she has a natural affinity for wind and storms, it was never something she wanted to pursue professionally— it came too easily to her and she wanted the validation of overcoming a challenge— and she found her home working with illusions and bringing them to convincing life. (It all started in middle school, when she found out she would be in the same drama elective as Dorothea; Dorothea was naturally placed with the performers and Willow with the tech and magic crew. Creating illusions for the school shows became a passion when she realized it could get her noticed by her budding crush. Eventually, that led to her figuring out how to make her illusions more than just smoke and mirrors.)

“We can even start now. I mean, not with casting,” she clarifies. “You have to learn your fundamentals before you’re ready for that, but I absolutely can teach a thing or two tonight.” Her grin spreads without her fully realizing it, but when it comes to magic, Willow has few reservations. (Outside of actually casting in front of people, that is. But magic theory and history? She could teach an entire series on the subject.) She pulls them over to the fire, grabbing the pillows and blankets Mosley offered, and sets up a little nest for them beside Lucky’s warm belly. She sheds off the cloak and flight jacket, but keeps the cream colored cardigan on, and settles into one of the seats. (She has indeed made it so that they’ll be sitting so close together that their thighs will touch. For warmth, obviously. Strategic warming.)

“Magic is half about accuracy and precision and about two-thirds will.” She shrugs, not really explaining the fractions, mostly because it’s not important for the moment. It’s just magic maths. “Both the will of magic as well as your own and seeing how to find harmony between the two. Some will try to overpower the will of magic and, often, the types of casts that come from that are malevolent. Magic isn’t a tool, it’s an energy and you’re the vessel for it. It has to be respected or it will show no respect to you.”

She thinks on what she’s just said and adjusts her statement. “Make no mistake, however, malevolent magic doesn’t mean it’s evil, just like benevolent magic doesn’t mean good. Those are deceptive misnomers and only really refer to the will and how it’s reacting to you.” She considers an example for a moment, rocking her head back and forth as she does. “King Cayman, for example. It’s very possible his magic isn’t brute force. Based on what you’ve said, I have reason to believe he is working with the will of magic. Like, to be as powerful as he is, I would be surprised if it were a brute force of will. The types who have their butts served to them by magic are fools like King Cederick.” Not that she saw that king cast, but she doesn’t think this is a huge leap to make.

“It doesn’t take a special person to use magic, it only takes a willing person. Someone who will listen to the will and let it flow through them.” She snaps her fingers to show off a shower of sparkles that glitter over their knees and blossom into teeny tiny ballerinas. They do one of those fancy spins on their pointed toes then fade to nothing. “Magic is all around us. It’s within us, too.” She looks over at her harp and summons it over to her. “Music is a kind of magic, actually. The gods are said to have gifted us music to communicate with them. It’s why hymns are a thing.”

She runs her fingers over the strings and then begins playing another melody. It’s another soft tune that matches a wintery night beside a fireplace. And, the more Willow plays, the notes seem to wrap around them like warm blankets that are impenetrable against the cold. "See, there's magic in music."

 

[ellarose]

Accuracy and precision. Despite Juliet's 'toasty toasty' tendencies, the archer is already more than competent where that half is concerned. In fact, Lara specifically sought out the bow and arrow for Juliet because of her aim, because she knew the weapon would suit her skill. (Those days she spent alone in the wood as a child, she became quite adept at hiding and throwing things, mainly, to keep anything too dangerous away from her.) Despite that being part of it, it does not particularly make Juliet confident she's any closer to understanding magic yet. It's the other two-thirds that she's iffy about. Will and harmony. (...At least Willow is not referring to it as 'the juice', the way Millie did. That'd been particularly confusing. The witch watched amusedly as Juliet searched the kitchen for the better half of an hour, thinking she was referring to actual juice. She'd hoped it might taste like apples. But then she was disappointed to learn it tasted of nothing at all because it did not exist.) Magic has responded to Juliet's will since then. When it comes to her magicked arrows, it could be said that it's as natural to her as breathing. Her will requests one and magic responds, supplying arrows with the swiftness of one of the queen's overeager ladies in waiting.

...It has crept up on Juliet before, the thought that it is so natural for her that it's unnatural. She knows for herself that skill comes with hard work and discipline-- and the archer does not have that background with magic. Along with that, there is at least one other person in Folklore who is capable of spreading the Lightless affliction. She's often wondered whether this is all someone else's magic being filtered through her... if she is no more than a vessel for another vessel, carrying out someone else's will. Someone who is far more adept with magic than she. Juliet is not certain whether that thought unnerves or comforts her. Knowing she is not entirely alone.

Unless Juliet and this mystery person want different things entirely. (It calls to mind the dangers, the undeserving targets like Prince Zander...) Hm. What if the person on the other end of this wishes to be an all-powerful tyrant, like King Cayman? (If so, why free her from Brooks?) Or perhaps it's simpler than that. Perhaps they've a penchant for meddling in the lives of others and watch the chaos unfold from afar? Her wedding had been well-known enough that interfering may have been meagre entertainment. Regardless of this person's reasons... it set her free. And also transferred over to her. She's involved now and has the right to know why.

These are questions Juliet must hold onto until the topic is relevant. Otherwise... it'd be much too suspicious. It's likely more complex than a first lesson entails.

Juliet listens thoughtfully to Willow's explanation, catching one of the falling ballerinas on her finger and watching as she dissolves into sparkles that reflect in her eyes. Benevolent, malevolent... good and bad... it cannot be so easily defined into categories. It is a relief to hear that perspective from Willow James. It almost gives her hope that she would understand. That she would sympathize with someone like... well, someone like her. 'Perhaps if I told her...' She bites her lip, hard enough to scold herself for even thinking it. (She knows, she knows, she knows.) 'No.'

"Brooks's affliction..." Juliet breaches the subject anyway, even if the tone doesn't at all suit the beautiful song Willow's playing. (She is quite good. Nothing at all to be nervous about sharing with others... though, she knows that stage fright can afflict anyone.) This is the lovely side of magic. For now, she wishes to know more about... well, the not-so lovely. It did amaze her, what she was able to do in the labyrinth. The flowers she was able to grow. That something so lovely could come from her, too. But... "Although the people wrongfully blamed me afterwards, I cannot bring myself to think of the magic that transformed him as entirely evil." Her heart pounds fervently in her chest with this admission. Perhaps Willow's reaction will give her insight in how she would feel about Juliet... about what she's been doing. She wrings her hands in her lap. "If not for that magic, I would be..." Locked in a room, perhaps? Made to inhale fumes that render her helpless to move or speak her mind? Willow's seen some of it. To some extent, she doesn't even have to put words to it. "It saved me. So I cannot think of it as entirely bad... even if the magic is undoubtedly malevolent."

'Wicked.' A hissing voice taunts in Juliet's ear. She ignores it. The shadows in the firelight are growing and shrinking. She tries to ignore this as well, even as it reminds her of yet another reason why she wishes to learn more about magic.

"I am curious about the source of it, too. How magic like that comes to be." Juliet hastily moves the topic along, her heart beating faster yet. That's not untrue, either. She wishes to know more about it to better understand herself, as she's invariably affected by it. She furrows her brow. "...Understanding it may help us with healing the afflictions." Then she pauses, thinking even further on the subject. "We may learn more if we ask King Cedrick. I do not believe him the source of the afflictions, of course... but he did have a part in orchestrating what happened to Prince Zander. He revealed he knew who cursed him." Juliet would like to know that-- to receive even a hint of where that person might be now. (She's sure her mother would have information regarding the aftermath of their visit, having just been there herself. Despite this she's not particularly inclined to go home.) In time they will return to Okeanos to heal King Cedrick, anyway. And being a king, there are many people who will insist that she prioritize him over others.

"I suppose some of those answers will have to wait until we have more information." Juliet admits, perhaps attempting to bury her admission by rambling. She decides to veer towards a topic she knows Willow possesses a certain level of understanding for. "For now... will you tell me more about magic that protects the mind?" She bites her lip, trying to figure out how to frame this particular interest. "It may be useful to know in future labyrinths. And in Evermore as well."

 

[starboob]

Willow continues to play as Juliet talks and as the subject matter takes a darker turn, so does Willow’s music, almost without her realizing it. She only notices when she catches the pixies outside covering their ears and flying away from the window, annoyed, thanks to her mood ruining song. She takes the cue with a sigh, setting the harp aside, and bunches her knees up to her chest, hugging them, as she listens.

Willow, too, has had similar thoughts regarding whether or not the sickness is entirely bad. As Juliet says it's freed her. It's freed Penelope and Edie. It's freed Lucinda, Adelaide... And most likely, a long list of others. Save for Z, the cases do seem to have released people from the shackles of loveless marriages (or almost marriages). She can’t judge Juliet for viewing the Lightless as a blessing in disguise.

It’s just unfortunate that the Lightless do not disappear for good and instead become destructive and more (physically) powerful in their new forms. Therein lies the issue.

This also reminds her of the hexed scissors, how a pair had been commissioned and used to cut Z and Adelaide’s thread. (Though why was only Z’s heartglow affected? Is this simply a case of the heart not breaking even? Is it possible for both parties to become afflicted with the sickness?) But Juliet is right, the best way to solve these mysteries would be to go to the source itself— King Cedrick, who boldly claimed he knew who was behind his brother’s curse in front of his entire court. (Heh. Thanks to Willow’s potion.)

She absently reaches for the small jar of hexed lip balm, clutching it in her hand. Seems she’ll need to make more of this infusion if they’re going to wrangle more truths from their adversaries. She watched enough of Mosley’s process to know how it works and, now, she gets the idea that Mosley may have shown her that on purpose. (Now she’s wondering if the apothecary has the gift of premonition like Sawyer.) Of course, she can always make another potion, too. She supposes the delivery will depend on the subject and what might be most effective.

In any case, finding out who might have given King Cedrick the hexed scissors in the first place will be paramount, as that is at least one part of the problem. Because while the scissors had been involved in the initial cases, she recalls Juliet saying something about how it only took the snapping of a few threads before the effects rippled. And, again, this makes her wonder about the sickness and how it spreads in general. How does it choose its rotten victims? Why has it gone after walnuts and coconuts like Zander and Alfonse and not rotten seeds like King Cayman?

These questions and more roll around the sorceress’s mind as she considers everything that Juliet has just shared with her. It takes her a minute to realize that Juliet has stopped talking as she becomes so consumed with her own wonderings.

She lifts her head, finally, and stares into the flames. “I agree with you. I don’t think the Lightless affliction is wholly evil. There’s your case as an example; as well as Adelaide, Lucinda, Penelope, and Edie. This doesn’t strike me as a black and white issue.” She hums thoughtfully, pulling her knees in tighter. “The issue is that the Lightless become so destructive afterwards and their bad vibes are warping the fabric of their environments.” It occurs to her that, perhaps, this is love’s desperate rebellion against how she is being used in the modern (and not so modern) realms.

“I am curious how this affliction is going to fully manifest in Evermore.” Dorothea is evidence that something is happening. Sawyer mentioned similar cases with the couples they’ve been following as well. Then there was that photograph from the newspaper that also seemed to hint at something. However, in the instance of Evermore, it’s not the liars and cheats who are cursed. It seems to be affecting the heartbroken and hopeless. The ones who are trapped in their relationships. (Had Juliet been from Evermore, would she have gone Hollowheart? Instead of Brooks going Lightless?) “The effects… I wonder if it will, in a way, set those survivors free? If they’ll be happier, somehow, in those new forms.” However, she is still terrified to imagine what those forms will be and how they might alter reality in Evermore. She mainly says this to comfort herself.

“We definitely need more information.” Especially since she’s not convinced that their current method of healing the Lightless is the most efficient. It works in a pinch, but there has to be another way. “And I think… I don’t think…” She chews on her lip, turning her head and resting her cheek on her knees so that she’s looking at Juliet. “I don’t think being champions of love is going to be about restoring the status quo. The status quo sucks, Juliet. We got lucky,” Lucky sleepily trills at their name, “but Dorothea’s thread is tied to Griffith’s. Their marriage isn’t an arrangement. Meredith… Meredith is also tied to someone who’d be vile for her. I know you don’t know her, but... you do know Sabrina.” Meredith made that bitter discovery after punching Sabrina in the tit. It would have been funny had it been anyone else but her. “Leif won’t admit it, but I know he’s met his person, too, and it must be a sore spot because he refuses to talk about it.

“People shouldn’t be trapped. Love should be their choice.” The wind outside howls, matching Willow’s rising emotion as she speaks. The fire even wavers a bit as a gust is sent down the chimney. The sorceress snaps her eyes shut and holds her breath, counting, until she’s calm again and the winds quiet. “Sorry, I just feel very strongly about this, but you said something about magic to protect the mind?” She changes the topic before she can get any more riled up and chews on her lip again. It took so much paperwork to get the approval to take those mind courses and, on top of that, she had to study ethics for a year before she even got to take the practical courses. Obviously, she’s not going to make Juliet go through all that bureaucracy, but she has other reasons to be reserved. “You’re right, again. It’ll be best if we can both protect our minds from distractions and tamperings, but that sort of magic is persnickety. It’s why I mentioned talismans. Those will also do the trick. This isn’t to say I won’t teach you, but I won’t be able to until you have more skill.”

She thinks on this for a moment and then offers, “But I will give you this: it starts with knowing yourself and being confident in your history. In that sense, it’s deeply tied to belief.” The surer one is of themself, the harder it is for them to be manipulated. “The talismans will work similarly since we’ll be using objects that represent us to protect us.” And, now that she’s thinking of the talismans and all she wanted to accomplish this day, she summons the ingredients they gathered back in Celestine as well as the ones she purchased today (this includes a small cauldron). "You can watch me make this brew.

“Where Milfred uses her knack for auras and sight to draw out the power in objects, I tend to rely on smell,” she holds up some of the cuttings to Juliet's nose. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s intuitive to each caster. It's mostly based on the senses, but some people do just have a gut instinct for it. Just experiment with those and see if anything awakens, if not, that’s fine. You might just need an even stronger sample to really clue you into the feeling you should be looking for." She explains this as she breaks up the other ingredients, making sure to crunch up the leaves. She motions for Juliet to do the same after she's finished inspecting the cuttings. "Everything has a will, but you still want the best ingredients for high quality spells.”

She then summons snow from outside into the cauldron and then floats it over the fire. While waiting for the snow to melt, then boil, she goes over the importance of the elements when brewing a potion. It starts with earth; the materials gathered for any brew most commonly come from the earth. Then the winds are used to set everything into motion, literally through stirring. The flame then energizes and draws out the will and water fuses with that will to create a concentrate— aka, a potion. To finish, she draws out a few protective glyphs and tells Juliet to not worry about glyphs just yet. "We'll get there." With the brew frothing and shield shaped clouds of steam rising, she goes onto suggest what Juliet could use as her talisman. “Yours could be an arrow head or an old bowstring? A dagger? Maybe even Scaramouch, if you wanted,” she grins. “I’m going to use one of Lucky’s baby teeth that I carry around.” With that, she reaches for her flight jacket and fishes through the pocket for the tooth (it's quite big for a baby tooth), then drops it into the cauldron. The mixture glows light blue and creates a whirlpool as a steam-dragon puffs into the air. She then gestures for Juliet to drop in her item. "After that, these will cure for a couple weeks to fully set the spell. Then, voila, we'll have fully functional talismans."

 

[ellarose]

Dorothea's marriage isn't arranged? Juliet's nose crinkles confusedly at this revelation, in part with open disgust for Griffith in general. (Then why go through with it...? Unless the people of Evermore adhere to their threads as a rule? Are there consequences for those who ignore their threads? Briefly, she recalls Willow's friend-- the implication of her words, the suggestion to ignore where their threads lead them. Would there have been consequences for that?) If that is the case, it's plain to see that threads haven't had the same influence in Folklore. Many marriages are forged with the intent to gain something from it. If a wealthy woman found her thread connected to a penniless man, she would have to outright escape her life in order to pursue the connection. Because wealthy daughters are bargained off to the highest bidder, to create alliances or have their hands won in contests. (There are some who have tried to fight for love... Juliet has heard rumors of some noble men commissioning scissors to cut their daughter's threads for fear that they might rebel. Because wouldn't it be a shame for them to lose their bargaining chips? Sigh.) There are some who are lucky enough to discover their soul mates are neighbors-- those like Nix and Hazel, who are able to marry with ease because they don't have anyone in their lives trying to control them for profit. (Willow said they were lucky. Does she mean...? Juliet's mouth goes dry and she swallows hard, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation rising in her chest.) Ah. Either way. It seems that despite this clear difference, there's an absence of choice on both sides.

The dangers of the Lightless afflictions is worth the risk. (After all, what about the dangers entitled 'gentlemen' subject ladies to behind closed doors? Fuck, Juliet would tear them limb from limb herself if it were within her power to do so. If she were a goddess of revenge and not just one woman. But despite this, despite what she believes those sorts of 'gentlemen' deserve... she's not a murderer. Her thoughts might have taken her there once or twice, but she has never acted on them.) Willow will not understand, Juliet realizes. Not fully. She cannot. (Or at least she hopes not. Truly, she doesn't want her to understand it.) The archer is fighting precisely because she wants to protect other women from suffering at the expense of the men in their lives, prevent them from experiencing it for themselves. For the worlds to transform, the old status quo must first be destroyed. From the ashes they can create something new-- like a phoenix.

Destructive, but not evil. Transformational change is necessary for those who are suffering for lack of choice. That they can agree on. So for now, while their goals still align, she's content to travel alongside Willow like this. She watches with mild curiosity as the wind howls and the fire shudders in the fireplace. While Willow may not understand the lengths Juliet would go to, she possesses the capacity to feel for others-- to want the best for them. It's respectable.

"You... don't need to apologize for that." Juliet says, her voice strangely soft and quiet while her brown eyed gaze is unwavering, hard and serious. Clenching her hands tight enough that they ache serves as a reminder that she, too, needs to relax. She casually preoccupies herself with massaging a kink in her shoulder instead and... Gnats. (A white-hot stab of pain reprimands her for the slightest movements. She'll need to be more mindful.) "For feeling strongly about it."

Juliet listens intently as Willow addresses her question, biting the inside of her cheek. Does she know herself? Well... she should hope so, should she not? Yes. She does know herself. Of course she does! (...Or has her true self been buried for too long now that she can no longer reach her? No. The old Juliet died down there and she's never coming back. Juliet knows the self she is currently.) Is she confident in her history? Yes. Or... no? Somewhat? She has...history. Memories. Many of them. Some real and some... some of it....

Never mind that for now. Willow proceeds with the lesson and Juliet nods, committed to trying. (This is often the part where magic begins to twist her thoughts into confused knots and she is tempted to abandon the whole thing. The... senses. Right. Millie, while she's tried to teach her in the past, tends to make her feel ridiculous-- as if putting her through some of those strange tests just to have a laugh. Willow, however, she does not think would try to embarrass her that way.) She stares at the ingredients with the same focused stare she affords her food. Nothing. She quiets her thoughts and listens carefully as Willow crunches the leaves. Still, nothing. She smells them, but doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. (What is magic meant to smell like, anyhow? She supposes if she had that affinity, she would notice something.) That leaves taste and touch. Juliet is not sure how Willow would feel if she tried licking her ingredients... She is not particularly inclined to put leaves in her mouth, anyhow. The archer weighs whether or not it's worth risking the embarrassment of asking whether or not magic can be tasted. Before she can, however, the ingredients have all been gathered and Willow proceeds in her explanation about their talismans. She watches the smoky dragon emerge, tempted to reach out for it the way she had the tiny ballerinas before it vanishes entirely.

At the mention of Scaramouch, Juliet retrieves the tiny alien from the inside pocket of her bloodstained cloak. Holding the figure before the frothing cauldron, though, she hesitates to throw it inside. "Will she..." Be all right? She bites her lip on the second half of the question, blushing instead. "It won't melt in there, will it? Or transform into something else?" Yes, she's concerned. But her concerns aren't completely unwarranted. She's seen Millie explode enough household knick knacks in her cauldron to know it's a possibility. Once she's assured it will be fine, Juliet decides to use Scaramouch. She's a practical choice-- small and easy to carry around with her.

When the tiny alien buddy disappears into the bubbling cauldron, a version of the figure made of smoke emerges from the cauldron. It makes Juliet think of a soul leaving a body-- and she has to remind herself again that Scaramouch will be fine.

"So..." Juliet trails off, interrupted by a harsh, sudden knock pounds at the apothecary's door. Someone came all this way... in this weather? She exchanges a glance with Willow, silently asking if the apothecary said she was expecting anyone. When it becomes evident that she hadn't been, she glances warily from the door to the cauldron. It goes without saying that if caught, they could get the apothecary in trouble for casting in her shop. It'd be dreadful to repay her hospitality with trouble. The archer brings herself to stand, using the edge of the table for balance when a flash of red blasts before her eyes. She gives herself a moment to collect her bearings. "...I'll go see who it is." She nods as her vision clears. She'll try to distract whoever this is for as long as she's able, but... "Whoever it is, we shouldn't let them see what we're doing here." Not that it's wrong. It's the small minded nature surrounding witches that's wrong. But needless to say, Juliet and Willow's efforts haven't changed the world quiet yet-- and the apothecary could suffer the consequences.

Juliet's free hand lingers near her dagger as she answers the door, cracking it open as not to let too much of the cold in. She positions herself to block the interior of the shop.

"I-I... I am here on behalf of the Lady August." Barrett, her family's footman, stands at the door. Though the old man is shivering and his teeth are chattering so violently he can barely speak, he does try his hardest to remain prim and proper in spite of that as he unfurls the August family seal for her to see. Then he blinks once, twice, and comes to the realization that Juliet herself is standing before him now. "...Why, Lady Juliet! What are you doing up and about? I-- we all heard you had been stabbed, my lady."

"Indeed... but the apothecary has taken good care of me. I will be fine." Juliet answers stiffly, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. She doesn't dare to move herself from the doorway yet.

"I... I see. Very well, then." Barrett nods hurriedly. He doesn't take a hard look at her-- most likely because the cold is consuming the rest of his thoughts."Come along, then. The carriage awaits. Your mother has been ill with worry... you will rest more comfortably at home, will you not?" He does try to look around Juliet, then. "Is your fellow heroine inside?"

"I will stay here. Traveling this evening would be much too trying for me." Juliet notes the frosted roads outside with a shiver. "And dangerous, might I add. You shouldn't be out in this weather either, Barrett."

"That we can agree on, my lady." Barrett shivers. "But your mother was quite insistent that I bring you home."

"I won't be going anywhere tonight." Juliet pauses, glimpsing over her shoulder at Willow. She does feel bad for the shivering footman, though, made to go to all of this trouble because of her. And as much as she doesn't want to... they do have some belongings to retrieve from the August household before they set off on their travels. "I will see her tomorrow morning. You can take us in the carriage at first light, provided the snow melts by then." She sighs, flinching on the inside. "...I am sure the apothecary would not mind it if you stayed the night as well."

Having Barrett there with them will be... awkward. But Juliet would feel terribly if she sent him off and learned the next day that he perished in a crash or something equally devastating.

 

[starboob]

As cute as it is that Juliet does decide to use Scaramouch for her talisman, Willow is unnerved by the shape that forms in the steam. She only lets this show for a second before replacing her curled lip with an easy smile, making sure that her pupil only sees her encouragement. (Willow believes it’s important to be encouraging throughout every stage even if Juliet did not do much for this spell. Magic is a tricky mistress as it is and it’s too easy to give up on her.) Without much more to do, outside of waiting for the potion and their objects to make friends, she wipes her hands together, cleaning them of this task.

She then goes to reach for her harp, but startles when the sudden and harsh knock interrupts them. Even Lucky jerks from their slumber, turning their neck to look at the door in question. Though Madam Mosley mentioned late night clientele, she had not mentioned anything earlier that would suggest she was expecting anyone on this night.

Willow tenses as Juliet rises, watching as she staggers. She has half a mind to protest against her answering the door, given the state she’s in, because even if she is quick, she is injured; it's clear as day that she's in no shape to be defending them from anyone. Not even an aggressive mouse. (Willow wonders if they ought to postpone their travels and give Juliet the proper time to heal. Yes, they need to get to Flynn, but what good will they be if Juliet isn't at her best? Willow certainly doesn't feel confident in her own skill to make up for Juliet's injured state. ...But maybe they'll both need to bear down if they are to get to Flynn before it's too late.) The only reason she stays put is because she’s reminded of the potion brewing in plain sight; it still has a few more minutes to boil before she can take it off the fire and she will not risk their spell being weak because she took it off early.

So instead, she creates a disguise using a panel from her mirrorball. She stretches it to cover the entire fireplace and the surface ripples like a mirage. Using a glyph, she wills the reflection to change, making it so that only the fire is seen.

She doesn’t catch the entirety of Juliet’s conversation with whoever is at the door, but she joins the archer in time to hear that they are discussing going back to the August household. ‘Oh no.’ That just won’t do.

Though she isn’t certain that she prefers the alternative where the man stays with them in the small back room of the apothecary’s shop. But it’s not her choice to make and she understands this; so despite how awkward and mood ruining this will be, she won’t protest the archer’s suggestion nor will she send the man back into the snowstorm outside. That would be cruel.

“Ah, well…” The man shuffles awkwardly, looking back at the carriage, then at the ice-slick roads, weighing his options. His face seems to redden when he peers into the apothecary’s shop, perhaps considering how unseemly it would be if it were discovered that he stayed with two women. However, when another gust of icewind blasts and reddens his cheeks further, he sighs, slumping his shoulders, dropping all his poise from before. “If you insist. Your mother would be quite cross if I came back empty. Better for me to come back late than without Lady Juliet.”

Well, what’s one awkward night to Willow? It’s fine. Really, it is.

While Willow tries to set a place beside the fire for the man (who introduces himself as Barrett), he vehemently refuses, seeing the two nests they've made for themselves. Even when Willow tries to point out that there’s plenty of room, he says that it’s already too unseemly for him to be staying here alone with them, unsupervised, and doesn’t want to tarnish either of their reputations. He insists on taking the corner furthest from them and, thus, furthest from the fire. When his back is turned, Willow charms his blankets to ensure they keep him extra warm.

Once everyone is situated, the conversation they had been having earlier dies now that Barrett is present, neither of them putting forth much effort to even start on a new topic. Even when his snores saw through the air and they’re assured he’s sleeping like a rock, they don’t talk. Willow leans against Juliet’s shoulder as fatigue takes over and, eventually, falls asleep.

Some odd hours later, Juliet stirs, waking Willow. It’s still fairly dark out, still snowing, but it’s not as cold as it had been last night and the snow is hardly sticking to the windowsill before it melts. When they go to peak out the window, it appears that the roads are in tolerable condition to ride. Back to the Augusts' it is, then. Sigh.

Before waking Barrett, Willow undoes the illusion over the fireplace and grabs her cauldron. She places a lid over it, seals it with a spell, then hides it away in her pouch. It noticeably sags at her belt, reminding her to place some charms on it to make it lighter and less unwieldy to have bouncing against her hip. Once all the spells are out of her system and the air is generally clear of magic, Willow goes to wake Barrett; though Lucky decides that it’s their job and pounces on the man's chest rather rudely. She bites her lip on a laugh as the man wheezes, his eyes bugged out as they fly open to find a dragon stamping on his chest. He’s about to cry out, but Willow rushes forward and covers his mouth, apologizes, and grabs her companion. “Sorry for the rude awakening, Barrett, but it is almost first light.”

“Aye, so it is,” he grumbles, somehow burying his irritation. He collects himself from the ground at the same time Madam Mosley descends the spiral steps. She doesn’t appear concerned about the man in the room, but Barrett presses himself into the corner anyway to avoid suspicion. “Leaving so soon, my dears?”

“Afraid so, ma’am." Willow nods. "We have an escaped Lightless to find.”

The older woman nods and pulls something from up her sleeve— three savory morning buns. Still hot. (Now where did she get those? Willow has an idea, but she doesn’t say.) The two casters exchange a glance and Willow accepts the buns, hugging Madam Mosley as they depart. “Do come back. And, Juliet,” she places her hands on her hips, giving the archer a stern (and warm) look. “Mind yourself. You are lucky to have been so near my shop at the time of the attack. You needn’t accept every knife into your back.”

Willow nods in agreement, stuffing her mouth with a big bite of the savory tornado bread (as she imagines Juliet might call them), and passing out the remaining ones to Barrett and Juliet. They exit from the apothecary, pile into the carriage, and, all too soon, they’re heading back to Cornelia street where they’ll confront Mira August. Mira. Juliet’s adoptive mother. Willow’s appetite suddenly leaves her when she realizes she’s possibly going to meet Mira, Juliet’s adoptive mother. ‘Oh gods. I’m going to meet her mother. Her mother who freaking had her arranged to marry that awful man.’ Their thread shivers between them when she considers what could happen to Juliet if their thread is discovered. ‘Don’t be gay, WJ. Be boring, if you have to.’

Soon enough, they’re pulling up to a stop and Willow looks over at Juliet, offering her a wobbly reassuring smile. “Ready-edy?”

 

[ellarose]

Like clockwork, Juliet regrets her choice as the carriage turns onto Cornelia street. Seeing Barrett out in the cold tugged at her heartstrings, knowing the trouble she's caused him over the years with her numerous disappearances. Every once and while, she surrenders and offers the old footman some grace. She's only nibbled at a corner of her bread. (The carriage car bumps around as they ride clickety clackety over the cobblestone roads. Each time her back hits the back of her seat, hot bolts of lightning shoot down her spine. Proper ladies are meant to keep their posture, even if they're in pain, and the archer dreads having to hold herself upright for the entirety of their morning. Not that she wishes mother any conceivable reason to lock her away in her chambers.) If they're to leave for the Midnight Mountains, she needs to prove to everyone that she is fine. With that in mind, Juliet tears off a larger piece of her bread and makes herself eat. When Willow asks if she's ready in her uniquely Willow James way, she sighs softly. "...I suppose I must be."

Upon stepping out of the carriage, Juliet stalls their visit by walking around to the front and paying a moment of special attention to the horse-- Constantine, Barrett's companion. The footman, seeing this, gives her a handful of dried apples to feed him. (It makes her feel like a little girl again as the horse's mouth tickles the palm of her hand and she nearly grins.) She's about to wipe her hands off on her cloak... but Barrett coughs knowingly and offers her a handkerchief instead. She bows her head a bit guiltily (once more, somehow managing to feel like a little girl) and accepts it. And then there is no more time for stalling-- they venture inside the August home, through the front door as promised.

Angelica greets them at the door, relieved and fussing over Juliet and the trouble she gets herself into. (With Barrett's explanation of the night's events, however, she softens on her. On some level, she understands how much it's taking for her to come home like this at all.) Knowing she'll be scolded for wasting anymore time, she leads them to the back of the house, where Mira August is sitting in the sunroom. (In Juliet's opinion, it's one of the prettiest rooms in the house. She spent many afternoons on the velvet couch inside, napping in the sunlight nestled among all the household companions. The windows offer a breathtaking view into the rose gardens.) Mira August stands with her back facing them, poised, elegant, and framed by the flowers outside like she belongs in a painting. The rose petals wear diamond coats of ice that sparkle in the morning light. (She's still in her nightclothes, but not a single stand of the dark braided hair down her back is out of place.) Soft music plays from the gramophone and a fire crackles softly in the corner wood stove. The peaceful atmosphere is disturbed by a knock at the doorframe. Diana leaps up first, immediately hiding under the couch at the sight of Lucky James.

Mira August turns around slowly, quietly setting her morning tea down on the table nearby. While she holds herself in the most unaffected, dignified way-- she cannot hide the fact that her brown eyes are bloodshot. For a moment, she stares at Juliet like she's no more than a ghost or a figment of her imagination.

"Here she is, Lady August. Safe and sound! And look at that-- she decided to come in through the front door for a change." Angelica breaks the silence with her cheerful quip. (It occurs to Juliet then that mother has been staring out into the gardens, perhaps thinking she might catch her trying to sneak in through the balcony.) "I'll go prepare some fruit... and would you like another cup of tea, Lady August?"

"Please." Mira responds automatically, giving a hasty answer mostly to excuse the lady's maid and secure a moment of privacy. Once Angelica leaves, her gaze flickers over Willow before she again turns her attention on Juliet. Her expression is a fortress and her eyes sharp as she looks her adoptive daughter up and down. Under her eyes, Juliet is suddenly aware of every small speck of dirt on her clothes. The soot clinging to her sleeve from the fireplace, the damp frost on the hem of her dress. Her mostly untamed red hair, which she'd hastily combed through with her fingers when she woke. If mother is picking her apart for weaknesses, she has plenty of places to start. The archer holds her breath, wishing she had Grace there to ease some of the tension. (Mother has always had a soft spot for Gracie.) "Juliet."

"Mother." Juliet returns the greeting, stiff and formal. She just has to endure this, collect their things, and then they'll be on their way. (She cannot help but feel hyperaware of how very... different this is from Willow's return home. They mustn't compare their experiences, she knows, but she cannot help but acknowledge the sinking sensation in her chest when she considers it. The summery air in Evermore was warm compared to the wintery season sweeping through Folklore... but it goes beyond the weather itself.) Then she tips her head slightly towards Willow, deciding she might be able to avoid any uncomfortable subjects by introducing her--

"Well? Come here, dearest. Let me see you." Mira sighs, for instant allowing herself to reveal how tired she is. (From the looks of her eyes, she's likely been up all night long.) She glides forward a few steps to close the distance herself and takes Juliet's face in her hands-- directing her head to move from side to side before tapping her fingers under her chin to inspect her from every conceivable angle. "I heard you had been stabbed?"

"I'm fine. I was treated promptly afterwards and--" Juliet flinches noticeably as mother's hands move down to her shoulders, immediately catching her in the lie. Mira immediately retracts them upon seeing this and narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"Fine? I should think not." Mira clicks her tongue. "You are going to stay here, at least for today, and rest properly. From what I've heard of your exploits in Okeanos, you require it. I'll have Angelica fetch some medicine and..."

"The apothecary took me in after the attack. I've no need for medicine." Juliet insists, defensive. (Absolutely not. She will not trust a single drop of medicine given to her under this roof.) "We will stay for breakfast and then be on our way. There is much for us to do and we cannot waste any more time."

"You are Willow James, are you not?" Mira shifts her attention over to the other sider at last, knowing there's little she'll be able to say to convince Juliet to change her mind. She addresses her politely, as a lady should, though her gaze is piercingly observant. It is unknown from just a glance whether her opinion leans towards approval or disapproval. "Queen Cleodora told me about you and the good impression you left on her sons. You have been traveling with my daughter for quite a while now... so I must ask what your opinion on the matter is. Do you believe Juliet should be traveling anywhere in her current condition?"

Juliet might be more upset with her mother's attempts to appeal to Willow if not for the flicker of movement she catches in her periphery, causing her to bring her hand down towards her dagger. (Was that... a black snake with red eyes?)

 

[starboob]

‘Back straight and chest out. Just like a soldier.’ Her father’s voice comes to her and is not unwelcome as she recalls one of the few valuable lessons he imparted to her. When she started attending the ritzy schools with the Charming Street kids, he never wanted his kid to be trampled over by others just because of her street address. At morning drop off, the few times he was present enough to drive her to school, he never let her leave the car without hearing those words and wouldn’t let her walk more than two steps if he caught her slouching. It was embarrassing at the time, but part of her appreciates the lesson now.

‘Don’t give them reason to think of you as trash,’ he’d say and she reminds herself of this now as she crosses the threshold of the August home. While she’s obviously been staying here the last couple of nights, Mira August—Lady August—had not been present. Now the home feels like a foreboding fortress and Willow has no idea what she to expect. Even meeting Lydia Laurence hadn’t inspired this level of trepidation, but she supposes meeting Juliet’s mother warrants the heart palpitations.

She reminds herself that the Folklore nobles are as formal as the Evermore elite are fake. They’ll keep their polite face for as long as it suits them. All Willow needs to do is not give Juliet’s mother any reason to drop pleasantries or think of her as trash. ‘She doesn’t know anything about you or your family. Not like Cordelia,’ because when she (accidentally) met Mrs. Birdsong, that woman already had a fixed opinion of Willow based on what she knew of her father’s scandal. (Though Willow had felt relieved at the time that Cordelia’s attention was on the fact that her daughter was hanging out with Wesley James’s daughter and never once questioned why she caught her daughter and Wesley James’s daughter frantically pushing away from each other, cheeks flushed, and hastily fixing their shirts.) Here, she can be anyone she wants and doesn’t have to worry about a reputation preceding her name—at least one that is beyond her control. Her reputation as a heroine is something she is proud of and knows that it holds some merit in this realm, even if people here can scarcely believe women are capable of more than silly gossip.

When they enter the sunroom, Willow stands as tall as she can with her hands clasped behind her back. Lucky even tries to hold some poise from their perch on her shoulder. They don’t even tempt themself by chasing Diana around as they have before. (Willow can still feel her companion fighting the urge. It’s a valiant effort and she appreciates it.) The sorceress doesn’t dare draw any attention to herself as they wait to be addressed by the lady of the house. And if the room weren’t chilly before, the temperature becomes subarctic when mother and daughter exchange a terse greeting. Willow can’t spot a trace of warmth from Mira. The concern is obvious, but it’s not warm. Not in the way that is familiar to the woman raised in the Rhode Island house.

As Mira glides forward, Willow takes a step to the side to give the two some space, not minding that she has been ignored—in fact, she’s grateful for it and hopes that she can avoid interacting with Juliet’s mother altogether. (But she knows she won’t be so lucky.) She notes the way Mira regards Juliet, sensing her exasperation and reading it as the exasperation of a mother who worries for her daughter for all the wrong reasons. There aren’t many ways to worry for a daughter who has been stabbed, obviously, but there’s something else behind that concern that stretches beyond Juliet’s injuries. Like she sees her as something delicate made of glass and doesn’t see the archer for how capable she is. There’s a history between them that Willow does not know and perhaps these are only her projections based on the little she does know. She doesn’t have the time to ponder this further as Mira dictates exactly what Juliet is to do. Even if she agrees with her mother’s assessment, heat flares through her. ‘She’s a grown woman…’

And now Mira August’s scrutinizing gaze falls over Willow and she reminds herself to stand tall and proud. ‘It’s the only way to gain respect from these folk,’ her father’s voice reminds her. Willow doesn’t bother hiding the glow that surges through her when Mira mentions her influence over the two young princes she had met in Okeanos, but senses this lead up is to test her influence over Juliet. Or even her own judgment. ‘Be cool, WJ. You stood up to Lydia Laurence. You stood your ground with those guards back in the market square. Heck, you even raised your voice to the King of Okeanos. You can handle Mira August.’ She hopes, at least.

“Juliet’s injury is in a tender location,” Willow admits, holding her voice steady and adopting the tone she uses when discussing research articles with her peers or mentors. “However, she wasn’t required to get stitches. Had that been the case, I would side with you in a heartbeat. In this instance, however, I think so long as I can see to her wound, we’ll be ready to travel on my companion’s back after breakfast.” Lucky perks up and nods when they’re addressed, appearing more responsible than they really are. “This should ease Juliet’s injuries.” Mira starts to open her mouth to protest, but Willow doesn’t give her the room to start. She’s not finished. “Were this a perfect world, Lady August, I would agree that at least a day of rest would be beneficial, however I don’t foresee negative outcomes as a result of Juliet traveling, aside from aches. It is imperative that we keep moving on our quest. Since working together, we’ve made significant progress in understanding the Lightless affliction and with Gerard Stanley having been set free, we now must find him to give Lady Laurence the peace of mind that the heroines are not ignoring her request. As you can imagine, she wasn’t pleased when we explained that we have to give priority to the most severe cases, especially as our cue becomes never ending. With Gerard's escape, he's now become priority. So you see, were the world perfect, we would rest. But we cannot let Gerard get too far lest he arrive at the Cursed Ruins before we can get to him.”

Willow cannot read anything on Mira’s placid expression. Her eyes narrow just slightly and the sorceress thinks she sees the woman’s lips almost tighten, but that could have been a trick of the light. The noble woman then takes another look at Juliet, noticing her eyes cast to the side with her hand on her dagger. It’s all the evidence she needs to shut down Willow’s argument. “I appreciate the level of care and consideration in assessing my daughter’s state, but it seems she may yet benefit from a day or, perhaps, two at home, in her bed, where she can be looked after by Amoria’s finest.”

‘Yeah freaking right.’ She resists the urge to roll her eyes and gently sets her hand on Juliet’s forearm. (She doesn’t know what she’s seeing, because there’s nothing in the corner. But she recalls Juliet seeing and hearing things at the palace back in Okeanos and wonders if this might be another instance where she’s experiencing a moment of sight.) “Respectfully, Lady August, we cannot delay and I can assure you that Juliet will be in good hands if left with myself and my companion. My companion can protect us both from any trouble during our travels and I, myself, come from a long line of healers.” Not untrue, even if Willow herself is not a healer. She does know a thing or two and Madam Mosley left her with some tips and thorough instructions on how to care for Juliet's injury. “The medicine in Evermore is far more advanced than what is available here. Please, allow me to take care of her and trust she'll be in good hands. After all, I would hate to hear what Lady Laurence might say were we to delay for even another two hours.”

Meanwhile, as Willow tries to plead their case to Mira and as Mira tries to convince them both to stay, stay, stay, the red eyed snake in the corner seems to smile tauntingly at Juliet, flicking out its tongue by way of waving. “Hey, Juliet,” the snake hisses in a sultry voice not too dissimilar from Sabrina’s. (But is it really her? Or a figment? Was Juliet ever caught in the snake’s glare or is this just a reminder of the danger that awaits them on the other side?) “Willow might have blocked me from her mind, but yours is like a sieve with so, so many points of entry. Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.” The snake slithers across the plush carpets and wraps around Juliet’s ankles, despite what it says. "I'm just here to check in on my favorite little archer; to make sure she gets some proper rest." The snake's jaws widen, revealing it's gleaming fangs as its body constricts around Juliet's ankles, diving in to bite—!

 

[ellarose]

It's in her mind. It's only in her mind, if it's as the snake says... and she supposes that may be true, given that neither Willow nor mother react to the creature's presence as it slithers towards her. Juliet's hand twitches over her dagger as her gaze tracks it's movements, tensing as it approaches her ankles. If she were alone, she would have nimbly side-stepped and beheaded the snake without hesitation. Now, however, she does not wish to give mother any reason to lock her up in her bed chambers. While her focus is mostly on the snake, she vaguely registers the fact that mother is using her current state as an excuse to keep her there. And that is precisely what this snake seems to be orchestrating. (Dastardly. Has Sabrina entered her mind, trying to stall their progress and keep them from Evermore long enough to resume their ritual on the next moonless night?) Ignore it, then. Let it happen. Juliet endeavors to steel her mind and heart as the snake wraps around her ankles, cold scales pressing to her skin. She can feel it, though, just as she feels Willow's hand on her forearm. Willow or Lucky would have noticed by now if it were real. Mother would have, too, out in the open like this. And more than anyone else in that room? Diana. Diana would have pounced and eaten it by now. (For as much as she looks like a kitten, she is not one. The sand cat dines like a queen on snakes in the garden, no matter how large or venomous.) Her hand twitches again as it reveals it's fangs. Mother's eyes shift over to her once more. She tries to focus on the warm comfort of Willow's hand, contrasting the freezing snake at her ankles. It isn't real.

"Juliet?" Mother's voice is a faraway sound, as though she's calling out to her across the ocean even though they're standing in the same room. "Juliet?"

Juliet has died like this a few times before. Or she'd wake in a haze and be made to swallow down charcoal to absorb all the poison. Dread surges through her stomach at the thought. "Juli-eeeet! Did you think I'd leave you there to die this time? Oh, you know I would never do such a thing. I love you too much for that." Her laugh scratched permanent marks against Juliet's mind and she wanted nothing more than to forget it. "All the monsters here are scared of me. I can keep you safe in a way no one else can."

The revived desire to be comforted in the safety of her arms is just as discomforting as the fangs that sink into her ankle. The dagger clatters to the floor as the snake bursts away into inky black beetles and then nothing. (The venom from the bite burns... or as that just her mind playing more tricks?) The room warps around Juliet and then swims in blobs of black and blood red. Her ears ring. The nerves in her teeth ache, like she just bit directly into a block of ice and her leg warms with a pins and needles sensation until she can no longer feel it there. It numbs and collapses out from beneath her, sending her onto the floor.

Or it would have, had Lucky not swept beneath her and caught her at just the right moment. Willow's there, too. She's... not alone.

"We need to leave." Juliet says levelly while holding the dragon's gaze. (Appealing to Willow and Lucky alone, because mother will not listen. She never listens.) The archer's been set up on tilted stages long enough to know when someone else is pulling the strings. Whether that be Sabrina or someone else. Fear spikes through her, an imperceptible tremor shaking her. No one believes her. Will this change how Willow sees her, too? "We need to leave right now. Before..."

"Juliet. Darling, you're having one of your episodes." Mira's normally unshakable voice is tinged with genuine alarm now as she lowers herself to her side, pressing a hand to her forehead. (The archer's face flushes at her touch. Not with feverishness, but from embarrassment.) "You need to calm down and rest here for a while." Juliet's expression deadens at that. If only she could drain the red from her face, she'd be the epitome of calm. "I do not care what Lady Laurence might say. I care about my daughter. The kingdoms have pushed far too much responsibility upon her shoulders. I am indeed grateful for you and that she no longer walks this path alone, Willow James... but we will lose her if she carries on like this."

To her credit, Mira August sounds like she genuinely believes in what she says.

"No." Juliet digs in on her stance in spite of believing it, too. Mother doesn't want her to die. But she misunderstands and-- worst of all-- controls her rather than listen. "It is worse when I am here."

"I did not wish to speak so openly on this matter, but you can see as well as I do that she is quite unwell. I fear the stress of her situation will only worsen her condition." Mira disregards what Juliet says entirely, as if she's not speaking at all.

Juliet pushes herself away from Mira, bringing herself to stand. (With some help from Lucky.) It takes a moment before she's confident enough in her own balance to turn towards the door. She is fine. She will be fine. As soon as she gets out of here. "It is just as Willow says. We must go. There is much to be done and I am more than capable of--"

Juliet stops suddenly, narrowing her eyes with alarm as an armored guard sidesteps into the doorway, clunking against the floor, blocking her path. (What? When did...)

"You summoned a palace guard?" Juliet asks. Even with her apathetic tone, she can't hide her betrayal entirely. The childlike urge to cry rises up in her, but she smothers it until it disappears entirely and there's nothing left but chilling emptiness. She should have seen this coming. She should have, should have, should have. Her heart shivers with rage. "I..." A humorless laugh slips out of her before she can stop it. "Fuck."

"Juliet!" Mother sounds utterly scandalized. "I know this must come as a shock, but that is not how a lady--"

"I should have known. I should have never come back here."

"Oh, Juliet. Do calm down. Please try to understand."

"No." Juliet says quietly. Mira addresses the guard without heeding her, raising her arm to signal for him to move, but--

"No!" Juliet says hotly, her brown eyes flaring with new life. (Oh. What-- what is she doing!? Well... if it has truly come to this, why try to hide it anymore?) "Ever since I arrived, it has been solely my responsibility to change and understand." Acting in just the right way to deserve her place in the household. She's grown tired, though, and has now seen for herself how others interact with their own families. (They laughed warmly when she worried about tracking mud in the house. Here, Juliet has been hyperaware of every speck on her clothes since she walked in the door.) It brings out everything that is wrong here. "You speak of the weight of my responsibilities... but it has been crushing me, living in this house and pretending to be your daughter."

(Did she really just say that?) Mira August flinches, as if struck. (...She did.)

"What I understand is that I do not belong here. I never did. I am leaving and I am never coming back." Never, ever ever. Juliet, knowing with defiant adrenaline that she's made her choice, moves like lightning as raises her bow and shoots the guard down with a net. "We need to run. Now!" The archer doesn't dare to look at Willow, caught up in the heat of what she's just done, clutching tightly onto her hand and breaking into a run.

 

[starboob]

Willow sucks in a breath and takes a step back when mother and daughter start quarreling, not at all wanting to get caught in the crossfire. (She remembers getting stuck in between Meredith and her mom’s blowouts, often wanting to disappear, but they’d always fold her into the argument—either through comparison or asking her opinion, aiming to get her to pick a side. So freaking awkward.) Her hands fidget at her sides, eyes shifting back and forth between the two, unsure whose resolve will crumble first.

She’s rooting for Juliet to remain firm, of course, and will do anything she can to support her. Yes, whatever hallucination she is experiencing right now is a concern, but she’s more curious about what’s happening to Juliet than she is interested in trying to sedate and cage her. But Mira August’s steel is clearly hardened enough to stand against Juliet’s own. (In that, they do seem related.)

As the tension builds in the room, Willow feels herself wanting to shrink back against the wall and become one with it. Then it happens—the volcano inside of Juliet’s chest finally erupts and it does not spare Mira August more than she deserves. Her words are scathing, hot, and she imagines that this is not something any mother wants to hear—and she won’t discredit Mira just because she’s an adoptive mother—in some ways, Willow can sympathize with her, but this sympathy does not extend far enough that she would betray Juliet. So when she grabs her hand and tells her to run, she follows, and Lucky propels themself ahead of them through the air.

The dragon hops on the guard’s armored belly as they speed ahead—Willow rushes out a hurried apology as she hops over him—shouldering the double doors to the estate, breaking them off their hinges as they fly out into the garden and grow to their massive, titanic size, daring anyone to try and stop them from taking the heroines away. Of course, it’s not like Barrett or Angelica are going to stand in their way and it seems Mira only thought to summon a single guard.

The neighbors on Cornelia Street throw open their windows and gasp in astonishment over the dragon—one lady’s maid even shrieks loud enough to wake the next few streets. Willow can hardly pay any of this any mind, however, as she hoists herself onto Lucky’s back, setting herself up in the saddle and then pulling Juliet up so that she’s sitting in front of her, rather than behind her. She wraps one arm around Juliet’s waist and grabs the reins with her free hand. Once secured, Lucky needs no encouragement and thrusts themself up into the air, sending a shockwave through Cornelia Street. Willow looks back only once and catches Mira August’s astonished eye, though when she meets the sorceress’s gaze it narrows to displeasure and she can only offer a quiet apology. She doesn’t regret this choice to stick with Juliet, because while she vied for Lady August’s approval, that had been when the lady was Juliet’s mother. Juliet has since decided that Mira is not her mother any longer. (On the most intimate level, Willow can relate to disowning a parent.)

Though Lucky can fly much faster than they are currently, they seem to be taking a relaxed pace once they’re above the morning clouds and Amoria can no longer be seen beneath them. The air is still crisp, cold, and cuts into Willow’s cheeks, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She remains stunned and quiet. ‘Did that really just happen?’ Not just Juliet’s outburst—that Willow fully supports—but waking all of Cornelia Street as they fled from the Augusts’ home. ‘That totally just happened.’ She is not looking forward to returning for the tournament, but she won’t leave Elise’s fate up to chance and she’s also determined to bring Flynn back—or at least bring news of him back, in the event the queen has threatened him.

After a few minutes of thought, Willow squeezes Juliet to get her attention. (She doesn’t know why she pulled Juliet in front of her in the saddle. It hardly makes sense with their height difference, but she supposes she thought Juliet would be more secure if she held her in place, worried the hallucination might still be affecting her.) “H-Hey, Juliet?” She sits up a bit using the stirrups, resting her chin on the other woman’s shoulder. “I think we should stop by Milfred’s cottage and rest there for today. Or at least until noon. What do you think?”

Once the archer signals her agreement, Lucky veers towards the cottage, apparently having scoped it already. (Although, she does know that Lucky tends to have a directional sense for places they’ve already been.) Though it took them roughly two days to travel to the cottage on foot from Amoria, it takes them just over an hour by dragon flight.

Lucky lands in a clearing behind the topsy turvy cottage, allowing Juliet and Willow to slide off before gesturing that they’re going to take to the skies again, most likely figuring that the heroines are safe at the cottage. Though it becomes more obvious why the dragon decides on their excursion, because when Willow and Juliet make their entrance? The cottage is a disaster zone and that’s saying something for Milfred’s cottage.

The air is full of thick black smoke, making it impossible to see within the cottage, and someone is banging horrendously on an out of tune piano. When Willow tries to take a step inside, she squeaks and trips over a haphazardly placed Bankers Box set at the entrance. ‘What the—?’

“Oh! You’re early.” A voice that is not Milfred’s chimes, sounding jolly and pleasant. “Just a moment, I am having a stroke of genius!” The piano banging continues as Willow picks herself up off the ground, trying to find what sounded like Sawyer. She squints, but can’t see anything through the decorative smoke—decorative, because she doesn’t choke on it like she would have otherwise expected. After a dramatic and ear-injuring finish, the wolf stops her song with a satisfied sigh. “Ah, I do love music. They just don’t make it like I do.”

Then, without warning, Sawyer fires off three rounds of spells, clearing the cottage of the smoke, boxes and paperstacks, revealing the wolf laying dramatically over the piano bench. “Why, hello, Wilfred and Julfred. You weren’t supposed to be here until noon. What a delightful surprise this is!” She means this, because they managed to circumvent her psychic abilities. Though she does seem genuinely happy to see them both—almost too happy? And when she spins around and hops to her feet, it becomes apparent why.

She’s short. Like, she can’t be taller than Willow short. Willow has to blink a few times to make sure her mind isn’t playing tricks on her, but when Sawyer twirls from the piano over to Willow, she realizes it is no trick. (And she wishes it were.) “Milfred and I have made a most joyous discovery! We have done what the gods failed to do and have corrected our dreary height afflictions. Or lack thereof in Milfred’s case. I must say, she’s quite lovely at her true height and she says I’m quite dastardly now.” It’s clear that Weirdo 2 meant it as a compliment based on Weirdo 1’s ear to ear grin. “What do you think? Do you think I could be dastardlier?”

“I—” Willow looks over her shoulder at Juliet, at a complete loss. “Sawyer—”

“No, I, Sawyer. You, Willow.”

“Eurg! What’re you doing here!?”

“Well…” She frowns, shuffling her feet, “Evermore’s not safe anymore. I mean, you’ll be fine so long as I or another of my brethren do not bite or scratch you. But for my fellow wolves, our situation has gotten worse since those murders started happening. Quite ridiculous considering that the victims look more like they were attacked by a vampire. Not that I am going to point fingers, but it’s ridiculous that sexy vampire propaganda has shielded them from blame. Where are the sexy werewolf rights?” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly. “I’m sexy. I’m very sexy. Julfred, do you think I’m sexy?”