Realistic or Modern ˗ˏˋ TRUST FALL. | ( *starboob & ellarose. )

[ellarose]

"Five questions. Take it or leave it, beanie-boo." Valentine says, shaking her head in exasperation. Granny used to say she drove a hard bargain, but she may have met an unexpected match in Miro Syke. She turns onto a back road, tires crunching over the pebbled path. Ah, she's got a hardcore hankering to write down everything they just said. To ask follow up questions about what they see, the emblems and the shadowy something they followed to Bellwick Springs. She'll have to clear her evidence board, break out the thumb tacks and red thread. Already, she's visualizing it and organizing the pieces. The symbol-covered booklet, a clipping of the newspaper-- would Miro would lend her a few of their photos if she asked? Um. What subject are they on again? "Favorite things to do when I'm not..."

The fact that Valentine already has to remind herself of their question may be telling. Oof. When isn't she the good witch of Bellwick Springs? The matter of who she is becomes irrelevant in the face of a mystery she can sink her teeth into. Everything else fades away.

"I like gardening and cooking." Valentine says before the silence can stretch to the point of being painfully awkward. She draws on thoughts of her everyday routine to help her get started. "I pick fruit from the trees in my garden and use them to make jams and juices. I make a mean apple cider. It's a smash hit at Autumn Fest." Her lips quirk into something just shy of a grin when she remembers their conversation the night before. "Bellwick Spring's famous apple pie? Baked with my apples, thank you very much." Fresh fruit and sandwiches made with homemade jam might be in their future, packed neatly in the back of the car. It's truly the lunch of legends, so Valentine doesn't tempt Miro with it lest they lose focus.

"I climb trees. I want to climb every tree in Bellwick Springs. I have this thing where I carve a heart into the trunk when I reach the tallest branch." Valentine's cheeks dust pink with the admission. Oh, why'd she go and tell them that? It must sound so boring and small town to someone from the big city. "I have picnics with the chickens and go for swims. I read and attend book club with the woodland cryptids when I have time. I do puzzles, go to the drive in, sew badly, paint landscapes on rocks. I love dancing during thunderstorms with the windows open. That's my jam." She sighs dreamily. The smell of rain, the pitter-patter of it, combined with her tunes? The cool breeze blowing in through the curtains? Perfection. "Sometimes when I'm a little tipsy on magic I'll get dressed up and frolic across the rooftops on main street. I have a ball. So, you know... normal stuff." She shrugs. "Oh. And bubble baths are the bee's knees."

When Valentine considers her answer satisfactory, she nods. She may only take five questions, but she won't half-ass them. That's not her style. She's almost tempted to ask Miro the same question they asked her... but then she remembers the shadows. The emblems. The mystery. Don't be a dummy, Valentine Thorne. Don't get attached.

"Now... let's get this next question out of the way before we stop for lunch." Valentine says, sharply changing the subject. "Have you ever killed someone?"

 

[starboob]

The gold flecks in Miro’s charcoal eyes dance and sing like embers. Their breathing slows as images flit through their mind, playing out the supercuts of Valentine’s life outside of her role. It’s a slow life. A nice life. One they couldn’t imagine for themself, but one they wouldn’t mind having after all they have been through. It might provide the quiet they need; a place to rest and let their woes melt and disappear like ice on hot pavement.

But when Valentine wheels around and asks them that, the gold in their eyes dims and they turn away from her, resting their head against the glass. Their head bumps along with the car, somewhat cushioned by the fold of their beanie, as it skates over loose ground. Their fingers curl into the fabric of their red corduroy jacket, eventually digging into their side. Eventually clawing at their side through the layers of clothes.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

Green lightning flashes in front of them. A silhouette. Two memories become one. Their nose fills with —

“Pull over.” It’s a command, not an ask. Their face is green as the lightning in their head. “I’m gonna hurl – pull over.” Miro isn’t even certain Valentine has fully stopped the car before they’re spilling out the door and scrambling over to the bushes, retching black stuff almost immediately. (Retching may be imprecise. The black liquid more or less crawls up from Miro’s throat and escapes out of their mouth.) Their hand braces against the side of a tree, covering one of the knots. When they look up, dazed, the knot blinks. They yelp, hopping several steps back as the trees shiver and takes the form of

a forest of burning fairies.

In flashes, each fairy – tree – goes up in flames, one by one. Heat beats their face. (The forest is fine. The forest isn’t burning. The forest isn’t fairies.) Miro stumbles back towards the car, falling against it as all their limbs freeze. Emblems dot around the forest, hover over Valentine’s car. They tuck their hands firmly under their armpits. ‘Keep it cool, man. Keep it cool.’

They fold themself in half, staring at the pebbles, counting them. ‘Keep it cool.’ It was an accident, they remind themself. It could have happened to them, they remind themself.

“It was an accident.” Their voice is small, ten feet too small and sinking into the earth with the weight of their guilt. They were still learning and had they known that all it would take is a touch and she’d go up in flames, they never would have done it. But they were drunk. But they weren’t thinking. But she was touching them and then they were touching her and

but, but, but!

Eventually, Miro lets themself fall completely forward. Pebbles scrape, making way for their body to fall heavily into it. Valentine should just leave them here. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s cool.” Some black goo runs from the side of their mouth to join the rest.

 

[ellarose]

"Alright, cool." Valentine agrees with them, nonchalant, knowing full well this is anything but cool. "Cool, cool, cool." Now's not the time to correct them, to start a meaningless debate over their definitions of the word 'fine'. Wasted breath does nothing in a crisis. The good witch has already sprung into action, treating the situation with the gravity it deserves. She's already snapped for her emergency kit and in no time all, hefts Miro Syke off the ground and over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Valentine finds a shady spot off the side of the road, down by the stream, and summons a red gingham blanket to spread over a soft patch of grass without lifting a finger. "There you go, cool cat." She says, laying Miro down on their side, carefully adjusting their limbs so they're not entirely too uncomfortable. Before long she removes their beanie, presses a wet cloth to their forehead and mops the black goo from their mouth. Discreetly, she sends a swab of it back to her study in the cottage. Like the booklet, she'll have to take a closer look at that later.

With a twinge of guilt in her heart, Valentine watches over Miro. She's dealt with a lot in her years of experience. There've been countless cases where she explored various dead ends, beat her head against wall after wall, all because someone asked for her help but failed to tell her the whole story. The truth. As a result, she can acknowledge that she has a habit of playing hardball right out the gate. Especially when she catches someone talking in figure eights. Constantly breezing past the subject. Like Miro Syke. Sometimes... she needs the reminder that there are several reasons why people struggle to say certain things out loud.

These days it's most often embarrassment, whenever Valentine's helping the teens out of their ridiculous schemes. Always trying to prove they're the baddest baddies on the block, unafraid of everything that goes bump in the night... and they end up in some creatively unfortunate situations as a result. Situations where their pride gets in the way of honesty. Anyway. Valentine's firm, no-nonsense approach might work with the kids in Bellwick Springs. It's been a while since... well. As light as Miro Syke's behavior might be, they're going through something heavier than that. Seeing them on the ground grounded her fast.

"Touched a sore spot, didn't I?" Valentine says. It's an understatement, they both know it, but she figures Miro might appreciate it if she meets them on their level, all things considered. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be insensitive. It's... it's important that I know these things sooner rather than later. It's safer for the both of us. For the town, too." She leans back against a tree, gazing up at the swaying branches overhead. She hasn't climbed this one yet. "You're wielding incredible power... power I'm sure you didn't ask for. It sounds like it was an accident."

They didn't choose this, did they? Sure doesn't seem like it.

"I'm sure it's confusing and scary. But I need to know everything you know about your power so far. It'll give us a place to start. To help you control it, or... find a way to get rid of it, if that's what you want." Valentine says, reaching into her emergency kit for a water bottle. She sets it at Miro's side, welcoming them to it whenever they're ready. Then, casually, she adds, "...I've killed someone before. And I did it on purpose. So if you think I'm going to condemn you, then don't."

 

[starboob]

Somehow, Miro ends up beside a stream. They know it was Valentine and, somewhere, they know she used that strength of hers to carry them. (She really should consider the rugby team. All the girls are bigger than her – short and squat like Miro – yet Valentine could probably smoke them all.) They curl into themself tighter, watching the sun glitter off the water. Valentine’s words mix with the sound of the lolling stream, but they hear her. They’re listening.

And she’s right. Miro didn’t ask for this power. Maybe, once upon a time, they would have wanted this. It’s pretty cool – on paper, at least – but they can’t stomach the danger it comes with. Getting rid of zombies, ghosts, and killer bugs is fine – it’s self defense, and while exhilarating, it’s never for their own amusement. But she wasn’t a threat. (So why did the emblem appear?) They were having a good time. Miro…

Miro didn’t even get her name.

“Did you know them well?” They glance over at the local good witch, taking her own admission in stride. She’s powerful. It’s not surprising, they suppose. “The person you killed.

“'Cause I didn’t know the girl I killed, aside from her being a fairy.” They aren’t sure if that makes the guilt worse or if they would have preferred knowing more about her. Their stomach clenches all over again, threatening to revolt against them. Snatching the water bottle, they tear the cap off with their teeth and down half the bottle in a single swallow, drowning out the bile. “We were gonna hook-up, then – boom. She’s a sparkly fireball, then dust.”

Miro rolls onto their back, scratching the top of their fuzzy head. Everything is so strange and all they want is to fix it – it being everything from the fairy to that night. “I don’t know much about my powers. I see the emblems, I touch them, they go up in flames. But…” Miro screws up their face, crossing their arms over their stomach. “The bandages help. Took a minute to figure out, but if I have gloves or if I’m reasonably covered, I can’t activate them. Wish I had known sooner.”

They wish these powers came with an instruction manual. Then they wouldn’t be such a danger to others – not that it has happened since. They made sure of that, wearing bandages they don’t need.

They close their eyes, play it back. “The entire forest went up flames back there – in my head, duh.” They laugh, something airy and light, like they'd like to be right now. Instead they're heavy as lead. “I could feel the heat, but I knew it wasn’t real.” It felt real, the heat and her wounded eyes, but that’s also how they knew. They never saw her betrayal; it happened too fast. “I’ve seen things before, but never that vivid. Just the shadows and the emblems.

“I just want life to go back to the way it was. I don’t want these powers and I sure as hell don’t know why I even have them in the first place.” They’re just Miro Syke. Miro Syke with a meager social media following and a struggling career in photography. "Is it always this lonely?"

 

[ellarose]

"Skin contact, I see..." Valentine whispers to herself, her thinking face making a comeback. Hence the bandages. It makes sense. Truthfully, she's impressed. The fact that Miro figured that much out on their own shows a quality of resourcefulness and care that she can't help but admire. "The vivid visions may be Bellwick's doing. We're getting close to the field of prophecies. It was going to be our first stop, to see if it could give us a nudge in the right direction. If it's too overwhelming we can start someplace else."

Follow up questions flow through her mind, not like the quaint little stream passing them by, but like violent rapids that roar in her ears. Before she can attempt to navigate the treacherous waters in her metaphorical boat, Miro's question crashes it into a bed of dagger-sharp rocks. Is it always this lonely?

"...I'm counting your questions as three and four." Valentine says, though her heart's not really in it to argue with them right now. She reaches for her necklace, smoothing her thumb over the locket's hinges. It's closed. "As for me... I knew the person I killed. Better than I would have liked." She inhales a sharp breath and closes her eyes. "I was seventeen, facing off against someone who went past the point of no return long before we met. Rotten to the core with power."

New in town, just like Miro. That's why...

"I didn't want to make that choice. I hesitated. And hesitating cost me dearly." Valentine shakes her head, stands, and brushes her hands over her thighs. She leaps up, grabbing hold of one of the branches on the tree. Pulling herself up to sit on it, she dangles her legs and tries to shake the grief. It never goes away. "It kind of... shocked me into it. I had to do something and it was the only thing I could do." Shocked. Tracing patterns in the bark under her fingertips, she thinks about green electricity. The symbols she saw in Miro's booklet.

It's unsettling, catching glimpses of the shadows. Unknown, sinister forces are already hard at work amidst them. Valentine sees Miro at the heart of it. Their sad eyes break her heart. This is a person who just got physically ill with guilt. A person who wolfs down ice cream and cracks jokes. A person who gained Sharona's seal of approval. A person who didn't ask for any of this. In other words... nothing at all like him.

They have to figure this out before it's too late. They may find themselves in an impossible position otherwise.

"Yeah, it's lonely. Lonelier than you can imagine." Valentine says, shifting to sit sideways on the branch, leaning her back against the trunk. She closes her eyes. When she realized no one was coming to save her, she decided to become the kind of person who saves others. It's fulfilling enough. "It's not so bad. I'm used to it." She disappears, because that's what she does, and reappears at Miro's side. "I'm going to do everything I can so you don't have to get used to it. So you can go back to your city and your rugby team. We'll figure this out together." She offers them her hand to help them up, tilting her head curiously. "...Say, have you seen any emblems on me?"

"I was just thinking... fire's a passionate element. Maybe the emblems show up in response to your emotions." Valentine continues, not in the slightest bit concerned about the idea of emblems showing up on her. Instead, she rolls along on her train of thought, mesmerized by the mystery. "Have you noticed any patterns when the emblems appear or does it seem completely random?"

 

[starboob]

“You can join the rugby team – you should join the rugby team.” Miro sits up, a little too fast for their current state. The world spins around them, and they muscle through it with a wince, not at all letting this stop them. “You don’t have to be lonely. You can come to Undersky – I know it’s scary to go somewhere new, but you’ll know me and I’ll introduce you to all my friends.” They start counting them off on their fingers, “Vega, Carter, John-Jon, Sage, Daphne, Emilia – the whole gang. They’d love you, I think. We know all the best spots – you’d get adjusted in no time.”

It’s an earnest offer and maybe one they're making too soon – Vega and John-Jon are always joking that Miro would probably accidentally befriend a mob boss – but they have a good feeling about Valentine Thorne. She has a whole résumé to prove it. “Just think about it – I know you’ve got strong ties here, too.”

That might be an understatement, given how many locals were telling them just yesterday that without the local good witch, Bellwick Springs would have been swallowed whole. But maybe they can help her in the way she’s helping them, if she’d want to see something different, that is. No one should have to suffer through loneliness.

Miro rests their chin on their knees, bunching them up against their chest. They think on Valentine’s questions, counting the instances they’ve seen the emblems. “Usually they show up when I’m in danger.” Without them, they would have been zombie food or subject to poltergeist murder by now. “The fairy… I don’t think she was going to harm me? We were having fun.” Fairies have a reputation for being dangerous, but Miro doesn't see how they can be anymore dangerous than a human or anything else. They're just people.

As they think on it more, trying to find patterns, the less it makes sense. “I saw one above Holly Pinkett – it’s why I was taking pictures in her direction. I don’t know what would have happened if I had touched it.” It’s hard to say if they even would have. Holly Pinkett chased them off with her rocket launcher arm and sack of newspapers before the thought could even cross their mind. Maybe that’s for the best. “I’ve never seen them around you.”

They pause, narrowing their eyes like they’re looking out into the distance. “I did see something behind you last night. Right before Mothra Jr. yeeted me sky high.” They know they did, but if asked to describe it (and they’d bet money Valentine will ask) they couldn’t say. It was most certainly that figment they've been chasing; the one that appears at the corner of their vision. Taunting them. Watching them. “I couldn’t describe it. It’s like a dream, just a certain feeling that it was there.”

With another hearty swallow, downing the rest of the bottle and crushing it with the force of their gulp, they rise (unsteadily). "Let's go to the field of prophecies. If you think it'll give us leads, I'll grin through the visions." They offer her a hand and a grin to prove they're serious.

 

[ellarose]

Miro's offer competes with the mystery as Valentine settles into the driver's seat.

It's dangerous. The second Valentine slips into daydreams of what her life could be somewhere else, the magic at the core of Bellwick Springs wraps around her feet, her calves, moving up to her shoulders and pressing down, down, down. It's only a feeling, nothing that can be seen, but the threat is real. You don't have to remind me, buddy. She squeezes her eyes shut as she fastens her seat belt. I'm not going anywhere. I know, I know, I know.

Valentine considers telling Miro everything. She shouldn't have told them anything. You don't have to be lonely. Their sincerity might as well have ripped her heart from her chest. If only they knew it wasn't a matter of convincing her. Valentine Thorne doesn't exist outside of Bellwick Springs. Period.

"There was a ghost on the roof with me yesterday. Dark hair, cheap pirate getup... though I have a feeling that's not what you're talking about." Valentine says, rewiring her thoughts with the haste and caution one might exercise while deactivating a bomb. "I didn't see anything, but I sensed a presence there."

Valentine turns the radio up, offering Miro a short respite from her questions as she drives further down the road. Two songs later and they're stopped again. Not at the field of prophecies, but by a tree marked with a red ribbon. It's tied in a bow, the ends frayed and weather-worn and flapping in the breeze.

"Lunch first. You're a trooper, I respect that, but I'm not a fiend." Valentine says as she gets out of the car. "I won't have you tackling the field of prophecies on an empty stomach." She swirls her hand, materializing the picnic basket from the back of the car, and leads the way past the marked tree and into a wooded area surrounded by big, mossy rocks. The rocks with the flattest surfaces are painted with landscapes-- city skylines, beaches, castles. Some of them are covered in peculiar symbols.

Valentine sets up in no time at all, conducting magic with her finger as she spreads the blanket in the grass and unpacks the basket until the spread looks positively stylish-- like something straight out of a magazine. What can she say? She's a mother flippin' pro at picnics.

"I made veggie wraps and PB and Js. Help yourself to either. Or both if it suits your fancy." Valentine says, nodding at the neatly stacked assortment. (She made plenty, taking Miro's appetite the night before into account.) Across the blanket, there are bowls filled with fresh fruit and veggies, cheese cubes, and a tiny dish of brookies for desert. Inclining her head towards the chilled mason jars, she continues, "That's apple juice. There's also water if you need some more." She takes a PB and J for herself and immediately summons her notebook (tome) into her lap. She gets right to work, jotting down everything she just learned, pausing only occasionally to take bites of her sandwich.

"So you've tried capturing the emblems on camera..." Valentine speaks mid-bite, covering her mouth as she finishes chewing and swallows. "Have you ever tried drawing one of them?" She hums, pauses to bite on the end of her pencil. "You scribbled sigils all over my booklet earlier. Are those what you've been seeing?"

I wonder if you could set a physical emblem aflame. If not, we could test that later on." Valentine says. She's not particularly inclined to test this theory on her booklet. She needs to preserve it for research purposes. Besides, there's got to be a way to make this lesson a little more fun for Miro. "You could try piping melted chocolate on marshmallows. See if you can toast them... make some s'mores. That'd be nifty." She pauses. "Do you have any of the photos you took? Can I see them?"

 

[starboob]

Miro spends a good seven minutes admiring the paintings, getting so close that their nose almost brushes against them. The symbols make them dizzy, so they avoid staring at them for too long and instead focus on the brush strokes and the subject of each painting. They wonder if it was Valentine who painted these or someone else and, if it was someone else, who? And how long have these paintings been here, preserved by some miracle? But they only have one question remaining and they refuse to waste it on something so small as a fun fact. Instead, they hint at the question by way of looking back and forth between the local and the painted rocks, their eyes big and pleading. The gold in them even dances.

After snapping a few pictures with their phone, they settled onto the picnic blanket, lounging on their side. While they might not have been so cautious with kicking their shoes up on the dash, they do make sure to position their feet off the blanket. (Daphne always had a fit if someone's shoes got onto their blankets.) They then polish off two PB&Js in a matter of seconds before they even consider one of the wraps. Vegetables that are not bok choy typically never make it to their plate, but they recognize the effort that went into this spread and figure they owe it to Valentine to try everything to make up for their tardiness earlier.

And while they're inspecting the wrap, Valentine seems to still only be on bite three or four of her sandwich. She's not even on her fifth bite by the time they're sucking each finger clean. “I don’t think I’ve had a PBJ since I was five." They pause, burp, and continue. "And I don’t think I’ll ever have another one again unless you make it – that shit was fire. And the wrap? Almost convinced vegetables can be okay sometimes.” They give two thumbs up, reaching for the mason jar next. Sweet. Tart. Not too syrupy. It's gone within seconds, their eyes wide and enlightened. “Holy shit, Val – you made this?" They clap their hands over their mouth in horror. "Wait, no! I didn’t ask that. I don’t need to know.” They shake their head, hoping the good witch won’t count that measly question for their last.

As Valentine circles back to the topic of the emblems, they settle onto their back. "Did I?" Their brow rocket up to their hairline. "I thought I was writing the lyrics to My Sharona. Fuck.” Are they losing their mind? Are they breaking from reality? Should they even be following their dreams, no matter how real and tangible? Should they abandon their mission? Accept that what’s done is done and that they can’t fix this?

No. That's not an option.

This doesn't stop the spiral of questions, the panic in their heart. It takes everything in them to pin themself to the investigation, to the hope that Valentine provides with her willingness to help before they spiral any further. "I have, but I'm lousy drawer without any reference. I just end up drawing, like, the X-Men logo every time I try. Didn’t know all I had to do was attempt to write friggin’ lyrics.” They sigh. “And I left all my equipment and prints back at the inn. Mrs. Mulberry might have rifled through my things, too. She said she might.” At least she was honest about it. They can respect that. “Even if I had it with me, I doubt it’d be much use. They never showed up on film.” It doesn't stop them from trying, even if the likelihood of capturing what they're seeing is zero to none. “Maybe I need to add, like, eye of newt or something to the developer?” Not a question. Just a statement that sounds like a question.

Miro scratches their fuzzy head, mulling over the idea of using their power for s'mores. (Some part of them wants to lash out against the idea. As if they'd ever use this power to toast some fucking dessert when they could just as easily turn Bellwick to ashes.) It'd be cute and it would be nice to try to apply their powers in a contained setting, figure them out. Learn to control them so they never burn another innocent. "I'll try it, but no promises we won't just end up with hard chocolate and cold marshmallows. You cool with that?"

 

[ellarose]

"Oh. Is that your last question?" Valentine asks with a severe expression. Miro Syke is ridiculous. She leans back casually, rolling her eyes. "Relax, I'm joshing. I'm only counting personal questions. If there's something on your mind, ask." She polishes off her sandwich and snaps her notebook away. "I'm sure we'll find ways to toast 'em ourselves if nothing happens. And if something does happen, then what better way to practice? Especially on your control. I've no doubt you could burn a marshmallow to a crisp, but could you turn one a fine golden brown?" She rolls her wrist fancily. "Chiaroscuro, but with marshmallows. Treat magic as an art. The only way you improve is with practice." Like photography!

"Holy smokes, Miro." Valentine says with a winsome smile, clapping a hand over her skipping heart. For the first time ever she gets to be a professor at wizard school. Or, okay, more or less something adjacent to that. She's coming up with lesson plans for magic! It's a childhood fantasy come true. 'Wait 'till the book club hears about this.' Her excitement is a thousand percent sincere. "If this works, it'll be perfectly educational!"

Valentine practically sings the word educational. And maybe it sounds silly, but it's better that than practicing with sheets of paper in the middle of the woodland. Less risk. A few bags of marshmallows will give them plenty of willing participants to work with and will make a fantastic visual example. What better reward for progress than a perfectly toasted s'more? Provided it works, anyhow. (And provided the marshmallows don't start singing. Oh please, no.) "Up and at 'em. Let's skedaddle." Valentine hops to her feet, packs up their picnic in a jiffy and leads the way back to the car.

"Oh, I swear." Valentine mumbles under her breath as she drives further down the back road, thinking back to her night at the Plumbridge house. "If the field of prophecies is filled with singing marshmallows..."

There are no singing marshmallows in the field of prophesies. (Yet.) There's no way of knowing, really. When Valentine pulls up they find the field swallowed by thick, ominous green clouds. Lightning strikes overhead with horror-movie timing. That's a good sign.

"First thing to remember about the field of prophesies-- none of what you see is real. It's like walking through a dream." Valentine says. "None of it can physically hurt you. However, if there happens to be a real life creature lurking in that fog, that's another story. So you can either hold my hand the whole time, or..." She snaps for a bundle and hands it to Miro. It includes a laminated map, another water bottle, and a notecard with neatly penned affirmations and tips. There's also a folded t-shirt. "Wear the shirt. At the very least, make sure to carry it with you." It reads 'If Lost, Return to Valentine Thorne.' (It's corny, she knows, but her full name on the shirt sharpens her senses.) "If all else fails, remember to say my full name out loud if you're in a pinch. Valentine Thorne." She snaps her fingers. "And I'll be right there."

Valentine gestures for Miro to follow her out of the car. Using two chicken feathers to summon Jude and Jolene, she sends them to scout ahead. The outlines of their little chicken bodies in the fog warp into something monstrous as they run off.

"You ready?" Valentine offers Miro her hand. Lightning strikes again, green lights strobing over their faces. "If you have any questions, now's the time to ask."

 

[starboob]

Valentine Thorne is a complete and total nerd.

And Miro Syke is the doofus willing to go along with all of her plans – if not for her clear expertise on the subject of all things paranormal and supernatural, then because they can’t help but to be charmed by it. They wear their new shirt with pride as they stare into the depths of the fog, thicker than pea soup. Nothing can touch them so long as they have the protection of the local good witch. Not even those green scraggles of lightning or the swell of memories, shock, and horror they bring with each staccato flash. They swallow thickly in the face of it.

It only serves as a reminder of why they’re here in Bellwick.
This is the only way. This will bring them closer to resolution.

“Nah, I’m good.” That’s a lie – questions ping around their skull like pinballs – but their eager heart pulls them forward, determined to bring themself closer to the Seam. “I’ll just stick —”

“Miro, c’mon! We’re going to miss it.”

The world stops turning. Their heart squeezes and tugs them forward into the fog. Valentine said that the field of prophecies would be full of tricks, things that aren’t real – she suggested that what they would find would seem dangerous, and all of those warnings slip from their mind in seconds. Their eyes narrow to sharpened slits, an ill-attempt to cut through the fog.

Lightning flashes, revealing silhouettes and shadows – giants with horns and spiked tails, six armed beasts with fangs strung up with entrails, scorpion women – Miro almost balks, almost turn back only to be stopped when

A thick rope of lighting strikes two inches from them (just like – ), their arms go up to cover their arms (just like –)

They’re on a desk the size of a small office (not at all like – ). Giant jeweled seeds are scattered over the surface, colored like rubies. At the edge of the desk rests a broken split open pomegranate. Miro blinks as an octagonal study materializes around them with great oak bookshelves surrounding them on all sides, reaching so high up that they cannot even see the tops of the shelves, let alone the ceiling. Lightning continues to spark above, adding to the green lighting of the candles that flicker throughout the study. Aside from books – ancient tomes that put Valentine’s tome (notebook) to shame – apothecary jars full of bones, souls, a quarter of a heart, and critters decorate the shelves along with garlands of pomegranates reminding Miro of strings of garlic.

“What…?”

“You aren’t supposed to be here.” A voice punctures the air, the reverberations enough to knock Miro’s feet from underneath them and send them skidding to the edge of the desk. “Neither is she.” It hisses, so sharp they have to cover their ears. “Has it been so long that the lessons on witches have been buried? They cannot be trusted – especially this one, from the lineage of rot.”

Miro gathers themself to their feet, tripping more than a few times as they adjust to the force of the voice, putting out their arms for balance. “Like I’m going to trust you, Ms. Disembodied Voice,” they huff. Their fist closes around the card of affirmations. “Witches are cool as hell – they blip, make incredible sandwiches, and save the town. You’re just a hallucination.”

Lightning crackles. Thunder chuckles. “Is that what you think of me?” She – or he? the voice takes on a more masculine tone now – almost sounds wounded, albeit mocking. “You could have had me fooled, devout as you are, little ripper.”

“Yeah, okay.” They’re completely unconvinced on whatever this voice is talking about. (It’s nothing if they ignore the familiarity of it.) Miro rolls their eyes and spins on their heels, searching for Valentine. “C’mon, this guy/girl is full of beans. What’re we here for anyway?”

Ominously, as the study melts to fog, quiet chants – singing – drifts ever closer to them.

“Beans, beans, the magical fruit!”

 

[ellarose]

"Oh jeepers." Valentine grabs Miro's hand and tugs them out of the way, narrowly sidestepping a parade of singing marshmallows. It just had to be marshmallows. What a cheeky sense of humor the universe has! "Don't make eye contact with them. Let's go the other way. Come on."

Valentine leads the way through the fog, the occasional lightning flash illuminating the silhouettes of towering beasts. She's too preoccupied to notice. As far as she's concerned, they're harmless spectators. Her thoughts dart several paces ahead of her and she moves like she's determined to catch up to them. That hallucination was surprisingly observant-- surprisingly conversational-- for a hallucination. 'Is that what you think of me?'

"We're looking for a sign." Valentine says, circling back to Miro's question from earlier. "It doesn't have to be a literal sign. It could be anything." She tilts her head, scouring her thoughts for a simple example. "For instance, say we see a fresh-baked apple pie. It could imply that we'll make progress in our investigation if we go out to get some pie. The condition of the apple pie would be significant, too. If it's covered in maggots, then it's probably telling us to steer clear of apple pie. The field is like a compass. It won't spell things out for us, but it'll give us a push in the right direction. We'll have to interpret the signs for ourselves."

Valentine's tempted to ask if they recognized the voice from before or the peculiar study they found themselves in. Later. It can wait. Electricity zings between their hands as she recalls the rest of it, heat prickling in her cheeks. The venomous words the voice spoke didn't bother her, not one bit. Miro's words affected her more. 'They defended me.'

"Lightning has plenty of meanings. Divine punishment, disaster, or even inspiration." Valentine says, prattling as the memory does obnoxious things to her heart. "Though we don't necessarily have to dissect it to understand what it means in this case. It's clearly reflecting your experience. And the fog... that symbolizes confusion."

Valentine pauses when she notices something crumpled up on the ground in front of them. Upon closer inspection, she finds it's a bloodstained dress-- mottled so entirely with red that it's a challenge to see the delicate shade of forget-me-not blue underneath. Her dress. Immediately, she releases Miro's hand to clutch the locket around her neck. Severed limbs poke out of the grass around the garment like flowers. Screams and sirens echo. The lightning overhead flashes red four times, blue once, before changing back to green.

The dress erupts into green flames and wrinkles away into the earth. The flames spread and spread until they circle around Valentine and Miro, closing them in. The embers flash in Valentine's eyes, alongside the glow of horrified recognition. The Seam. It's trying to say something about her. And-- and the Seam. About...

"It's okay. It's not real." Valentine says, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. It sounds like she's trying to convince herself as much as Miro. "We can walk through the flames. They won't burn us. Keep moving forward, focus your thoughts on the future." Not the past. "It's easy. Watch."

Valentine walks ahead of Miro to show them they have nothing to be afraid of, disappearing into the wall of green flames.

 

[starboob]

Miro has nothing to fear in the flame. For the past three months, it has been their protector. Real or not, they know intrinsically to trust in its protection; that nothing can come to harm them so long as the flame is with them.

And yet they wait, hesitating before crossing through the barrier. It’s not the perceived warmth or the height of the burning wall that causes them to stall, obviously. It’s the dress, red with blood, and the mess of limbs like daisies that surround it. That’s not from their memory.

Their eyes hesitantly shift over to Valentine – or the last place she stood before she walked through the wall. ‘No. It’s nothing.’

It can’t be. That can’t be part of her story. (Murder shouldn’t be either.)

They push the thought from their mind, literally shaking out their limbs before stepping through the flame without so much as flinching. Once they catch up to the local good witch, they slip their hand into hers, holding it firm. So they don’t lose her, of course.

For a second, they stare at her, searching for any clues about what that was, what that even meant. (Maybe they can’t push it from their mind so easily.) Quietly, doing their best to strain the sympathy from their tone, they suggest, “I think we should get pie after this. Even if we see gross pie here, delicious real pie will set our minds straight.” Consequences be damned! They just want to make sure she’s okay.

Miro nods resolutely, not leaving this open for discussion as they turn to face the field ahead of them. The fog isn’t so thick here, though they aren’t exactly pleased to be staring into a field of broken porcelain dolls, monkey paws, and floating puzzle pieces – some of which have flesh hanging from them along with charred bits of clothing. They chuckle nervously, scratching their head. “So avoid puzzles and creepy shit? Check and checkmate.”

 

[ellarose]

Are their stories intertwined? Valentine has escorted others through the field of prophecies before, always playing the same role. She's the one who guides the way, Bellwick's magical girl next door. Approachable, sweet and reliable. The town's fiercest protector. Yet she remains on the outskirts, uninvolved in the stories she dips her enchantments into. Like Cinderella's fairy godmother or a spiritual mentor who lives on another plane of existence. She's the observer, a beacon sought out by the lost in Bellwick Springs.

How long has it been since a facet of Valentine's story has taken shape in the field of prophecies? She thought her narrative concluded, that the rest of her life would be an eternal epilogue of devoting herself to others. Until now.

Miro mentioned the Seam. A beckoning light in their dreams. They saw something behind Valentine, something she couldn't see. And there's no denying that their arrival stirred something inside her. The pomegranates in the garden, the way their name repeated in her mind, over and over and over--

Their hand is warm when it closes around hers. Valentine notices the way Miro's gaze settles on her without having to look directly at them. It's like feeling the sun on her skin. Their mesmerizing dark eyes see things she can't-- they can see her. Feeling strangely shy, she waits for them to turn towards the field before glancing at them herself. 'Who are you?' Watching them, she's overcome. She's hopeful. She's-- "I'm not straight."

What in tarnation? Valentine bites her lip and twists to face the field. They were talking about pie. They were talking about gosh darned pie. But then they said the word straight and-- oh, blast it. She said it quietly. Maybe they didn't hear.

"Dustin Plumbridge had a doll last night." Valentine remarks, determined to shift focus, summoning a notebook into her free hand. She checks over her notes. "Twelve twenty-two. He claimed he was by the pier to pick it up for his sister, who had left it there earlier that day. We might have to pay him a visit, see if his story holds up." Pressing her lips into a line, she strides closer to one of the dolls. They're antiques and none of them look like Sally's doll. Some have broken faces. For others it's their arms or legs. There are only two among them that look exactly alike, lying side by side-- and they're familiar if she squints. "The Normal twins?" Plumbridge house. Antique shop. Now...

"Have you ever made a wish, Miro?" Valentine asks, kneeling down beside one of the monkey paws. "If I said I could grant you three wishes, what would you wish for?"

 

[starboob]

Miro totally heard that and they wear their blinking shock plainly as they watch Valentine. Not because they’re surprised – they give everyone the benefit of the doubt – it’s just that they don’t know what exactly warranted that admission. Then again, they do have that effect on people. Approximately thirty-six people have confided in them first. (Vega keeps a tally.) ‘I really do make everyone gay. Maybe I’ve had superpowers this whole time?’

Arguably it's the only gift they would want and, instinctively, with this in mind, they blurt out, “I’d wish to make everyone gay. Or a little gay. Or to be cool with the gays – wait no, just get rid of bigotry altogether.”

If Valentine says she can grant wishes, who are they to doubt her? She blips and she’s very strong, so it’s not a far reach from there to believe she can grant wishes. Or at the very least do other things. They think hard on their other two wishes, pinching their chin and ruffling their brow. “I guess I’d wish to not go see the Normal twins.” They creep them the hell out – and their shop is just as bad as if not worse. (Vega would love it, but that shit is just not for them. Not one bit.) “And my third wish would be to eat as much ice cream as I want without getting a stomach ache, easy.”

They eventually circle back to the initial question and shrug. “Sure. I’ve made wishes on eyelashes, on my birthday, whenever I see a dandelion, or flipping coins into fountains. Who hasn’t done that, though?” They don’t get how this is supposed to help. And they also know and trust that Valentine Thorne, nerd extraordinaire, isn’t one to waste her time on pointless questions (much to Miro’s dismay). It has to be leading somewhere. They think hard on the question, brow puckered to sift through anything that might be relevant, thinking through the last three months.

Green lightning strikes both in their mind and throughout the field. One strike gets particularly close and even fearless Miro flinches. The smell of charred flesh fills their nose, curls of steam lifting from —

“I haven’t wished for anything out of the ordinary.” They stop the memory before it can root itself the way the fairy’s memory did. No. “Skateboards, Gameboys, pet frogs, to give you an idea.”

“Do you not trust her?” Their conscience whispers, raising their hackles. “She has the key. Her trust is paramount; you know this.”

“Well," they shuffle their feet, staring down at their shoes. "I did wish for everything to go back to the way it was, once. Before the green lightning and how it changed everything. But it's not like that worked.” If anything, shit has only gotten weirder. But never mind that; that's just a coincidence!

"What about you? What do you wish for?" That's a solid fifth question, they think.

 

[ellarose]

They heard her. Valentine stares at the monkey paw like it's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen while Miro makes their first wish, pivoting a little to keep them from seeing the pink in her cheeks. She's embarrassed, yes, but she can't help but find it sweet how they spin their first wish to respond. They know and the fact that they know makes it easier to breathe somehow, just like it always does when someone knows and doesn't make a thing of it. There's no explaining to be done, none of that sputtering 'You've gotta be joking-- you? I never would've guessed.' or, more infuriating, 'Are you sure?' As if she made a wrong turn somewhere, as if she's lost.

Valentine didn't expect any of that from Miro, obviously, but... it's nice that they know. She likes that they know. That's all.

"Unfortunately, I can't grant wishes. I mean, I could offer to visit the Normal twins by myself. Report back with my findings, spare you the visit... but since you're seeing things I can't, I'm afraid you've gotta come with me." Valentine says, bringing a hand to her chin. The visceral gut feeling Miro has about the Normal twins... it can't be insignificant. "Yeah, there's something in that shop. No doubt about it."

Valentine watches Miro carefully as they work out the rest of their response. She imagines a younger Miro in a frog beanie, completely enraptured by the kiwi-green Gameboy in their hands. They're sitting on a bench in the skate park and the sky is blue. They kick their legs and hum along to the chiptune song playing in their game. Yeah. That's them, alright. And then that blue sky turns gray. Stormy shadows flutter over Miro's face in the present and Valentine braces herself for what comes next. They get hurt, they grow up, and the act of wishing feels obsolete. It's not like it worked.

Of course they'd wish to go back. Now they're looking at their shoes. Miro. Something tells her they didn't entrust that wish to an eyelash, a coin or dandelion seeds. (What is that presence? What did they chase all the way to Bellwick Springs?) She's about to press on the subject when they turn the question around on her.

"I'd wish to protect everyone in Bellwick Springs from harm. I don't want to let anyone down again." Valentine says after a moment, tugging on her tie. She wraps it tight around her neck, like a noose, and then releases with a slow breath. 'I don't want to let you down.' She looks at the broken dolls and sees broken bodies. "I'd wish for more time with the people I've lost." She shrugs her shoulders. They're heavy, so heavy. "And I'd wish for love, I guess. Something that lasts."

Valentine summons the strength to take one step towards Miro, then another. She needs to know.

"How did you make your wish, Miro?" Valentine asks, her voice soft. Lightning flashes overhead. Underneath the flashing lights, the broken dolls appear as skeletons with shining red hearts. The floating puzzle pieces gather and put themselves together-- shaping into something monstrous behind the unsuspecting good witch. The flesh and charred clothing wrap around the pieces, giving the creature a patchy quilt of skin. Another flash of lightning gives it a glowing, maniacal face-- uncanny and haphazard, like it was scribbled on with pen. "I only ask for specifics because magic is drawn to our deepest desires. It could be an important piece of the puzzle."

 

[starboob]

It all comes rushing back, faster than they would like and before they can stop it. Even if they were to close their eyes, it would play back against their eyelids and they’d be forced to relive it all over again. (Over and over and over.) Feel the pain, anguish, shock, disbelief all at once and Miro never wants to go back to that place.

Their heartbeat quickens and sweat builds uncomfortably in their palms, getting sticky against their bandages. They need to be honest. They need to tell her. They need to

Stop Valentine from getting absolutely pummeled by whatever amalgam of horror is forming itself behind her. It’s not a question. It’s not a thought. They grab the good witch’s shoulders and swing her around, switching places with her just as the beast’s fists smash down. It hits the spot between their shoulder blades. They go down to their knees before they’re flat like a pancake in the grass. Pain doesn’t explode across their back, no stars scatter in their vision. Their bones do not crack or bruise.

And this is not because this monster is an illusion – no, the force of it, the feel of it is enough for them to realize that this might be one of those real life creatures lurking in the fog. Although it is weird that it would gather from elements the field of prophecies had been showing them. Even Miro can suss that, not that this is the time for analysis. (And certainly it's not the time to analyze the familiar bits of charred tattooed flesh that creature uses for its patchwork skin; nor should they think about the ruined leather jacket they know so well.)

Miro flips and rolls back up to their feet, unharmed. Unscathed. (Yeah, they’re pretty much invincible.) The creature is already lugging it’s misshapen arms to the side, ready to take another swing at them now that they’ve got its attention. It swings. Miro puts their palms in front of them to meet the fists, but Miro isn’t like Valentine. Strength isn’t their thing, so when the two clasped fists meet their palms, they go flying, skipping like a stone over the field and creating small ditches each time their body hits the ground.

When they finally stop, face down, they lift up their arm to signal a thumbs up. They're fine. No need to worry the local good witch like they had last night.

The puzzle beast, content it has taken out the young photographer, turns on Valentine. It unleashes a hideous shriek, shooting razor sharp puzzle pieces directly at her.

 

[ellarose]

"Miro!" It's too late. Valentine's already worried and their thumbs up does zilch to reassure her. That Miro Syke! Why did they do that? Why did they--

Valentine ducks down in time to avoid having her neck sliced through. Looking over her shoulder, she tracks the pieces with her gaze as they circle around the field and snap back into place on the monstrosity's body. First thing's first... Her thinking face's protective older sister, otherwise known as her survival face, makes an appearance. Her eyes are intense and hyper-focused. Show me what you've got, jigsaw.

Pieces fly at her from the right, from the left, and she dodges every blow. She observes quietly, never raising a hand against the monster, continuing this dance for as long as it takes to analyze the monster's movements. Every piece has a specific place-- it's not random. Like any puzzle, it can't be brute-forced back together again.

Unexpectedly, Valentine charges forward. She aims a punch at the monster's center and the pieces part to avoid being hit, forming a gaping hole in it's belly. With a smirk, she leaps through the hole, rolling to the ground on the other side to avoid the fist it forms and sends after her. In trying to follow her, the puzzle's fist ends up in it's stomach, stuck there before it can seal itself shut. The scrambled pieces hover like confused bumble bees.

Valentine wastes no time in throwing a second punch while the puzzle struggles to solve itself. The pieces part once again to avoid being hit, scattering themselves even more in the process, and the good witch changes tactics this time. She claws her hands through the air like she's tearing a hole in the universe, taking the lost pieces under her control, splitting them even further apart from each other until they shiver like suspended raindrops in the air. The whites in her eyes turn red. Valentine raises her arms above her head, sending the pieces sky-high, and then snaps her hands into fists. The air shivers in suspense.

Thinking of the way Miro sailed through the air trying to protect her, Valentine throws her fists down, slamming the pieces into the ground. The force of it makes a crater five times the size of the small ditches the photographer's body created. She pushes down, down, down, holding the pieces still until Bellwick's hungry soil rises to devour them. The screaming puzzle monstrosity shrivels, leaving nothing but a hissing cloud of smoke behind.

Valentine blinks dazedly in the aftermath, the reds in her eyes changing back to white. The surge of magic is still warm beneath her skin, bubbling, intoxicating. It's as though she just downed three glasses of wine. Hoo, she went too hard too fast. Now she's magic drunk. Great. In her haze, she still remembers to pocket one of the remaining scraps of fabric on the ground. Might be important.

Walking towards Miro is like walking across the moon, Valentine feels so weightless and loose. She can't be sure if it shows.

"We got what we came here for. We should go." Valentine gives Miro a concerned once-over. She flashes back to that moment, their hands on her shoulders. Trading places with her. "Are you okay?" Her brow furrows as her worry resurfaces, "You didn't have to do that. I-- if something happened to you..." She pauses. Nothing happened. "Warn me next time. Or point or-- anything other than using yourself as a human shield, for goodness sake!"

 

[starboob]

It’s an action movie in real life as much as it had been the night before and Miro isn’t sure that they will ever tire of watching Valentine Thorne kick ass. Of course she can handle herself. She’s the town hero. This is not lost on them, and the instinct to put themself in the way of danger kicked in before they could reason with what they know. Well, that’s not entirely true. They did reason with what they know of themself, they just didn’t weight that against what they know of the local good witch.

Their eyes sparkle with golden stars as Valentine walks unsteadily towards them. They’re on their feet by the time she’s in front of them, offering her their arms to steady herself. They don’t recall seeing her take any damage and seeing her like this spikes their pulse, the sparks dimming as they search her face for signs of injury as much as she searches them. But they’re fine. They’re completely and totally fine.

“Sorry.” Their cheeks down to their neck goes as red as their jacket. They loop their arm with Valentine’s as they navigate through the field of prophecies. The fire beneath her skin sizzles through them, straight to their bones. They jerk at first, looking at her arm, pinching their brow with confusion. How long has it been since they felt…? “I’m fine, promise,” they pull themself up from their bewilderment, shaking it away. (It shouldn’t be a surprise. Sensation is basic to being human. It’s just been a while since Miro’s had that.)

Miro keeps their eyes on their sneakers, weighed down by their heart. Taking someone’s place… Just like… They sigh. “I don’t hurt anymore. I don’t have much sensation anymore.” They rub the tattoo on their neck. “That's why I did what I did. I can still bleed, but it never lasts and neither do the surface wounds. My bones don’t break. I don’t feel pain. It’s weird,” they shrug as they often do when no words suffice.

“I’ll point next time. Then I’ll go human shield mode,” they grin, trying to make a joke. Though their grin doesn’t last, quickly morphing to concern as they stop and take Valentine in once more. “Are you okay? You’re wobbling.”

They open their mouth to say more and all that comes out is a cluck. Miro blinks, looking over at the two hulking monsters coming towards them through the fog. When they break through it, they shrink into chickens, fluttering a bit with their useless wings, and circle around Miro and Valentine, taking pecks at the newcomer’s ankles. This makes more sense. Of course they didn’t cluck. “Aww, hey guys – ladies. Find anything good?”

 

[ellarose]

"Oh, don't tell me you two had another tiff." Valentine says, sensing trouble just by the way the chickens are moving. When she kneels down to their level, they start pecking at each other over which one gets to sit on her lap. Drat! She thought for sure that they'd bond if she sent them on a mission together. "This worm drama is tearing you chickens apart. We ran into trouble out there and you were nowhere to be found!" The chickens freeze and look about as guilty as chickens can look. Jude clucks concernedly and Jolene gives an assertive bok. "Well, I don't know Jolene. You tell me." She shakes her head and scoops both chickens into her arms. "We'll discuss this later, you wack-a-doodles. Go home and get some rest."

Hugging the chickens close, Valentine spirits them away one by one with kisses to the tops of their heads.

When Valentine rises again, she sways a little, stumbling sideways a few steps until she's pressed against Miro's side. Did she purposefully fall towards them or did they catch her? It doesn't matter. They're steady.

"So you can't feel this?" Valentine asks, giving Miro's forearm an experimental pinch. She watches their eyes closely for a reaction as she pokes their cheek, "Or this? Or..." She bops the tip of their nose next, losing her balance and falling against their chest. "That?" Their arms are warm. They've always been warm. Not like those green flames they wield, but like-- she glances at them, her gaze momentarily lingering on their lips. (Question. Would they feel it if she...) She pulls away a little-- for air-- still holding onto their bandaged forearms for balance. She was not just thinking of kissing Miro Syke. And if she was, it-- it was strictly for research! She closes her eyes. "I need a sec."

No way can Valentine drive like this. Not right now. Nor can she continue this line of questioning without bursting into flames in her current state.

"It's the magic. It..." Valentine trails off, unsure of how to explain. It's not always like this. The magic she tapped into is built for rampages. When a battle ends before she's used it all up, it fucks with her head. (With Bellwick Springs itself.) Miro Syke's human shield heroics provoked it and her gut vehemently tells her not to inform them of this fact. "It's like a bat out of hell with nowhere to go. Does that make sense?" A tree nearby snaps right in half as if to demonstrate. Spikes emerge from the split bark before it explodes into splinters. Swallowing, she snaps to turn on her car's radio and roll down the windows. Hopefully the music will make her next request a little less weird. "Dance with me? Dancing helps. It makes the magic sweet instead of angry."

 

[starboob]

“Sure,” Miro grins, offering Valentine their hand. “Let’s boogie.”

It has been so long since Miro has gone out dancing. Memories play back in their mind as they pull Valentine into the dirt road, shimmying their shoulders and moving their feet to the beat. All at once they’re back at the warehouses with yet to be discovered DJs; they’re at dyke night with the drag kings; they’re at the straight club making it gay with their horde of LGBTs. Sage and Daphne make out and touch each other when they think no one is looking; Carter busies himself with a man in leather who he only just met; Vega is in the middle of a vogue battle, smoking the competition. Rainbow strobes fill their imagination, drawing a wide grin across their lips.

Miro steps closer to Valentine, slowly. With each step forward, they shake their thigh, two step, then take the next step until they’re fully immersed in the local good witch’s personal bubble. Their smile never fades – this might not be the club, and it’s entirely its own thing. Not better or worse, it just is. On this backwater dirt road, the worries they carry fade.

Boldly, they take her hands (they’re still warm), covering them completely as they take the lead, still keeping a fast pace as they alternate between bringing her close and then pulling apart. They even spin her at least once. Then twice, then they’re both spinning around like little kids pretending to be tornados.

Five songs later, Miro tumbles and crumples on top of Valentine’s beetle car, laughing to themself. When was the last time they felt this free and light? It feels like eons, and they know it’s only been months. The shadow watching them in the corner doesn’t even bother them. Nothing can touch them. They are invincible.

“I bet you’d be fun at parties, Val.” They keep their eyes on her, tilting their head. "Is the magic any sweeter?" It's hard to imagine that it wouldn't be sweet with a darling like Valentine wielding it, but then they suppose it's probably a shock knowing the destruction they're capable of with their own set of skills. "Or do you need another dance?" Even if she doesn't need it, the way Miro is sashaying back to her with their goofy grin might suggest that they need at least one more song before they're ready to get back to business. "We should hit up an arcade or bowling alley and then get ice cream and apple pie after this." Anything to avoid the Normal twins.

 

[ellarose]

"You betcha! I'm a riot at parties." Valentine confirms with a triumphant grin, lowering her arms from her finishing pose. "You're not so bad yourself, boogie boo." Holding her hands in front of her, she observes them closely, flexing her fingers in and out. Her fingernails don't sharpen, they're not glowing, doubling or tripling. While she's aware of the wind by the sea and the shrill clanging of school bells at Bellwick High, her magic doesn't reach out to entangle itself in any of it. Through their dances, the remaining sparks of power flowed safely into her garden. There might be some surprises waiting for her there as a result... but she can handle it. As long as the cabbages don't spit out any more babies. Oh lordy.

"Maybe I'll ask you to the barn dance in a few weeks." Valentine says, coyly twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I'm usually working through the shindig to make sure everything goes smoothly, but..." There's a twinge in her chest, her hands drop to wrap around her waist. "I guess you might be back in the city by then, huh." Depending on how quickly they can solve this mystery. When that happens, the moment they just shared will...

"Anyway, I think I've simmered down. I'll take one more dance, just to be safe." Valentine says, distracting herself by scrolling through her chicken playlist until she lands on My Sharona. She saunters towards Miro, matching their rhythm, meeting them in the middle of the dirt road. "In honor of the birthday girl." She takes Miro's hands this time, pulling them in towards her with a determined grin. "Then we're paying the Normal twins a visit."

༻✧༺​

When Valentine pulls into the parking lot of the strip mall, Abby and Perry Normal are already waiting for them on their rockers outside of Normal Oddities. Every time she sees the sign over the old antique shop, she can't help remembering what Wilder and Jovie used to call it. 'Normal Old Titties'. Bradley's face turned bright red the first time he heard it, claiming he did not want the visual of old titties emblazoned in his mind every time he passed the antique shop, while the two of them cackled like a pair of crows. Meanwhile, Valentine rolled her eyes at their antics. She misses them.

"Here we are. Normal Old Titties." Valentine says nonchalantly. Huh. She's never shared this with anyone outside their circle before. She just thought the inappropriate joke might ease some of Miro's nerves. Even if they hadn't told her that antiques give them the willies yesterday, she'd have guessed it just by looking at them. Giving their shoulder a gentle shake, she tilts her head towards the shop. "Come on."

Valentine gets out of the car first, approaching the curb where the Normal twins sit. Their rockers move together in perfect time. They're both cradling dolls in their arms. It's not creepy or anything. It's fine. "Good afternoon, madams."

"Valentine Thorne." Abby says.

"Miro Syke." Perry says.

"We've been expecting you." They say together.

 

[starboob]

The joke helps, though the difference is miniscule. It’s no Rock Lee taking off his ankle weights; it’s more like throwing off Spongebob’s plushie barbell.

They take their time getting out of the car, feeling through each motion as if it will be their last. Once they're out, they glue their eyes to the old shop sign – it really could be Normal Old Titties – and do anything they can to avoid looking at the twins themselves. This is somehow worse than yesterday.

It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. It’s just a store with the most haunting aura imaginable that’s embedded in a town where the trees blink at midnight and the cottontails are carnivorous. No big deal.

Surely, the local good witch will protect them. She did tease the possibility of asking them to the barn dance – that has to mean something, right?

“Frightened?” Perry grins, showing off a mouthful of sharpened teeth. “You should be.”

“The haunts await,” Abby nods. Then, in perfect unison, the twins rise from their rocking chairs, turn on their heels, and step through the blanket of pitch black that obfuscates whatever lays hidden within the shop.

“Do we have to?”

The answer is yes. They don’t even need to look over at Valentine to know this. As they step through the shadows clouding the threshold, the floorboard creaks like a witch’s cackle. A million beady eyes rove over them, tracking their every movement. Something scampers between the shelves.

The shop itself is dimly lit with candles and ancient buzzing light bulbs. It’s as dusty and decrepit as it had been yesterday – as much of a maze as it had been yesterday with shelves placed wherever and piles of old antiques shoved against the walls and in the corners.

“Valentine, we muchly appreciate your guidance. The feng shui is much better now,” Abby beams. Perry nods and adds, “The dolls are much happier. Rapunzel is even growing in her own fangs, much like mother.” The razor mouthed twin turns to Miro and warns, “She bites. Though if she’s being good,” her voice raises, “She will be tucked in for nap time.”

Both twins chuckle, though the outsider cannot fathom the joke. (Even this shop might be too much for Vega.) “Anyway, take a gander,” Abby starts and Perry finishes with, “I’m sure what you find will need you.”

“Don’t you –”

“No.”

Oh. Their shoulders drop. They exchange one last hopeless look with Valentine, and their plea goes unanswered. With an exaggerated sigh, they take a timid step towards one of the shelves, peaking through it without rummaging much. It’s full of dusty old books, skeleton keys, broken vases, orbs, a sleeping raccoon, and none of it really helps. Nothing particularly calls to them and, aside from the dolls that frequently appear from thin air, nothing finds them either. (It is unnerving how the dolls seem to move and how sneaky they are about it. Miro never once actually catches them crawling around. They hate it here!)

“Hey, Val –” Miro stops dead in their tracks, blinking. The chandelier above them glitters off the paltry lighting, casting shapes on the wall behind the local good witch. And rather than cast the shapes in a kaleidoscope of colors, they’re all green. Emblems. Miro walks slowly towards them, as if in a trance and places their palm to the wall. The space between the wooden panels glow green, then separate into a rounded passage that goes down a spiraling staircase. A draft hits Miro, prickling their skin even if they don't feel the cold itself.

“Ah, the forbidden section.” Abby and Perry say together from behind. “Most interesting.”

 

[ellarose]

Valentine draws her finger through the dust atop a vanity, peering into an open music box as she passes. Inside, she finds a pair of ceramic cats in Edwardian attire among pearls and a broken broach. The cats clink softly together as they attempt to arm wrestle. Or maybe they're dancing? Their movements suggest aggression. When the ceramic cats notice they have an audience, they hurriedly pull apart and she swears the pink paint on their cheeks darkens to red.

"As you were, ladies." Valentine squeaks, hurrying along when she realizes what she may have stumbled into. Those cats are not straight.

What a haunting existence, to be a sentient object. At least they're not alone. They have each other and Abby and Perry to take care of them. Although their ways are mysterious, she believes the twins have the best of intentions. They act as mothers to all things in this shop. Even so, Valentine shudders with sympathy and parts with those thoughts when Miro starts to say her name.

Valentine's about to ask what they've found when she notices a flicker of green in Miro's eyes, like the sparkle of a polished emerald. Hm? When she whirls around to see what they're looking at, however, she finds nothing there. Not until Miro reaches out for the wall and unlocks a new path for them to take. Hm.

"Forbidden..." Valentine says, gazing down the spiral staircase. She can't see the bottom. The siren song of the mysteries waiting in that darkness lures her in. "Permission to investigate, madams?"

"Permission granted." Perry says at the same time Abby says, "Permission denied." The twins look at each other. The chandelier flickers, as if this discrepancy has thrown the whole world off balance. Strange shapes dance over the ceiling and in the glassy eyes of the dolls.

"She will find her way inside regardless of our answer, sister. It is inevitable." Perry reasons. Abby sighs sadly. "Inevitable." She reaches for Valentine's wrist with a surprisingly firm grip. Her bony, wrinkled hand is ice cold. "Cover the crystal ball before it catches fire."

"Beware Clifford." Perry adds, tapping her front tooth. "And whatever you do..."

"Make a right at the bleeding heart." They say together.

"Excellent. Thank you kindly, madams!" Valentine says, ducking into a polite bow and taking Miro's hand, pulling them toward the staircase before they can run in the other direction. The wall rumbles behind them, closing them inside with the must and darkness. "Charming old dames, aren't they? Sweet of them to save us the trouble of sneaking in." Asking for permission is a formality, really-- it never stops her from breaking and entering when there's a mystery to be solved. "Golly, these stairs are endless. Since we'll be walking for a while, I suppose we should circle back to--" She pauses, sensing something amiss, and lifts her hand from the banister. Uh oh. "Hold on. I think this staircase is..."

The stairs groan and flatten beneath them, throwing the pair off their feet. It's dangerously steep. They slide down the rest of the way at a breakneck speed, spiralling, spiralling, spiralling until they land in an unceremonious heap at the bottom, with Miro on top of Valentine. Clouds of dust rise around them, something scuttles nearby. The staircase disappears.

"One of those." Valentine wheezes, blinking dizzily. Underneath Miro, feeling the press of their body against hers, her cheeks blaze red. She thinks about the cats in the music box and clears her throat, thankful for the cover of darkness. "You okay?" Remembering what else she noticed earlier, she searches their eyes for traces of green. "By the way... what did you see back there?"

 

[starboob]

“That would have been a lot more fun with a little warning,” Miro groans, deflating on top of Valentine. On top of – on top of –

Lightning quick, they roll off of their companion, pushing the thoughts of her body beneath theirs to the far corners of their mind, all but banishing them from their memory, doing their best to not think of her soft ti – no, no. No. They are not a creep. They will defeat these abominable allegations!

With an awkward cough, they gather themself back up to their feet, taking their time as they dust off their joggers. Anything to avoid making eye contact with the local good witch, lest she see the lingering desire in their eyes. “I-I’m good,” their voice breaks like a teenager’s and they cover it with another cough. “Remember, no pain? Just gains?”

Yup, totally normal and back to business – they only hope that Valentine can’t see their burning cheeks. (Why do her cheeks look a little darker?) Trying to play it cool, they look her over – avoiding her piercing eyes – for signs of scrapes, bruises, or limps. “How about you? You good?”

Miro takes another step away from Valentine, pivoting to face the passageway before them. (It doesn’t immediately occur to them to question their sight in the dark, but the gold in their eyes shines particularly bright, like cat eyes at night.) While they don’t pick up on the physical sensation itself, the hairs on the back of their neck raise and they feel the prickling of their skin beneath their bandages. Their breath fogs in front of them. They immediately go to shed their jacket, leaving them only in the ‘If Lost, Return to Valentine Thorne’ t-shirt, and hand it to their companion. “Here, take it. Seems cold here.

“And I just saw another emblem.” They shrug. “It was reflecting from the chandelier upstairs.” Speaking of stairs… How are they going to get out of the forbidden section? Ehh, best to put that thought to the back of their mind. (Where they put the memory of Valentine’s bo – no.) “Okay, so we have to make a right at the orb, put out a flaming heart – favorite emoji, by the way – and… Something about Clifford. Easy peasy.”

Clifford certainly has to be that big red dog who taught them how to read, right?

Wrong.

Something growls at their feet. A small fuzzy thing – a stuffed teddy bear wearing a ruff collar. “Aww, you’re a cutie.” He opens his mouth, showing off a row full of fangs. “Hey, wait –”

CHOMP!!

“Aw, c’mon man. I just washed these cargos!” Now they’ll have to do another load of laundry and figure out how to mend the tears. Miro sighs and lifts their leg, trying to shake off the little guy, to no avail. “Clifford! No biting – knock it off – let me go –”

That’s about when the ground rumbles and two pairs of yellow eyes blink open just down the way. It huffs. "You idiot." A humanoid figure, about eight feet tall, steps out into the clearing. "EYE am Clifford! And I am going to steal your teeth."

 

[ellarose]

Valentine bites her lip, staring perplexedly at Miro's jacket. It's a simple gesture, but it touches her all the same. Although she's more than capable of summoning a jacket of her own, she says nothing about it as she slips her arms through the sleeves. It warms her up faster than any of her own jackets could've.

"More emblems." Valentine says under her breath, considering this. Did they look the same as the emblems that caught fire? Have they ever opened secret passages before? Those questions will have to wait until later. She can't even inform Miro that they've completely butchered Abby and Perry's warnings, to the point where they'd have been doomed without her, before they're attacked by a teddy bear.

"Bad bear. Bad! That's enough!" Valentine reaches for the fluffy creature attached to Miro's leg, making an earnest effort to be gentle in her attempts to pry him off. Damn, his bite is something fierce. She tugs harder with each attempt and then, finally-- there he goes! The sound of tearing fabric makes her flinch as the teddy bear takes a mouthful of Miro's cargo pants away with him. She offers them an apologetic glance. "Sorry."

"Am nom nom." The teddy shrieks intelligably as he chomps on the fabric and swallows it down. "Nom nom nom."

"Shh, it's okay." Valentine says, cradling the bear, tracing her index finger from his fluffy forehead to his stitched nose a few times to calm him. Once he's lulled into a peaceful state, she holds him to her shoulder and pats his back to burp him. "Shh, shh." He coughs up a cloud of cargo pants confetti and slumps against the good witch's shoulder. Soon enough he's boarding the train to dreamland. Aw. "You're just a little fella, aren't you? Just a baby."

"Did you not hear me? Has my sister stolen your ears!?" Clifford's yellow eyes narrow to slits and he waves his arms above his head to make himself appear bigger. It's futile. Neither one of them is drawing back in fear. The ghosts of sentient teeth rise from the ground and run amok at his feet. "EYE am Clifford! Cower before me! Cower! Beware!"

"Oh, hush. Sir Chompalot is sleeping and you're being extremely rude!" Valentine scolds, shooting Clifford a stern glare. Irritation catches her between lecturing him further or throwing down-- but considering the sleeping teddy in her arms, she knows neither of those options are wise. "Miro, go! Take him and run. I'll be there in a jiff."

Valentine presses the sleeping Sir Chompalot into Miro's arms, offering them a confident wink before positioning herself in the hall between them and Clifford. She levitates bottle crates, a Victorian dollhouse, golfclubs, some swords and other such antiques and begins layering them on top of each other to create a barricade. Hm, this should suffice. She stops when she's sure it'll block his path, or at the very least slow him down, and whirls around to catch up with Miro.

"Beware!" Clifford calls after them, his voice echoing. Though he stays behind, the tooth ghosts phase through the barricade. "Beware, beware, beware!"