Khatmi’s whispered assurances barely seemed to register with Aaleahya, at first. She was still so wrapped up in her own confused thoughts, wondering where the hell that speech had come from. But then Khatmi grabbed her hand, skin warm against her own still-cold palm, and Aaleahya gave her a nervous smile. The loss of contact was lamentable, and Aaleahya found her palm absentmindedly grabbing at nothing in the seconds that Khatmi withdrew. Again.

Aaleahya bundled her hand in her skirts before smoothing them out once more.

“Between the two of us,” She whispered with humor still sparkling in her eyes, “I don’t doubt that for a second, my dear.”

The pixie- Flora, as she introduced herself as a moment later- led them through another curtain at the top of the ladder, issuing a warning once more that they could not tell anyone what happened within these walls. Aaleahya had to curb her anticipation as she was gently pulled into a room that looked more like the inside of a tearoom than a place where nefarious alchemical potions of love were concocted. Women were draped on loveseats, giggling and whispering amongst themselves, and the soft smells of incense permeated the air. Tapestries hung from the walls, and the windows were coated in curtains that fluttered from the soft breeze outside. The entire room had a welcoming feel to it, even as Flora disappeared into a back room and the eyes of all the women in the room turned towards the two newcomers.

Aaleahya was thrumming with nerves, but for an entirely different reason than Khatmi- dearest Khatmi, who was never quite sure what to do with the attention on her. Aaleahya flourished under it. The world was her stage, and every moment a show in which she fashioned herself the star. And right now, she was the solo act.

“I was born for this.” She whispered back.

Though that wasn’t entirely accurate- she hadn’t been born for this role.

She’d built herself for it.

And then Aaleahya resumed crying once more.

There was one misconception most had about a performance- that each note had to build on one another, a dawning crescendo where each moment was more ridiculous and exaggerated as the last. This was not true at all- while Aaleahya threw all her energy into everything she did, that didn’t make for good acting, not when you really needed to convince someone of your emotions. There needed to be peaks and valleys, moments where the energy dropped to draw the audience in, give them a moment to breathe before jumping back in with aplomb.

This moment was one of those rare, quiet parts of the show- Aaleahya was not a weeping willow right now, but a curious, if not hopeful bundle of nerves. She dabbed delicately at her eyes with the handkerchief before huddling closer to Khatmi, as if scared.

“Hello…” She greeted, voice suddenly demure. “P-Pardon the intrusion… Miss Flora said she could help me with something, but I don’t wish to intrude… you’ll have to forgive me. Oh, I’m such a mess right now.”

A few of the women exchanged glances, the same kind of understanding that Flora had worn on her face. One of the older women stood from her seat, one whose eyes held the weight of maturity behind them, and her dark hair was streaked with silver, like starlight sprinkled in the black of night. But what was most interesting about her was not the sheer allure in the way she moved, almost like a cat swaying through the tall grass, or the shimmer of the gossamer shawl draped around her shoulder. No, it was in the sharpness of the slitted pupils in her eyes, the point of her teeth, and the blue scales that littered her pale skin.

Aaleahya may have been a scorpion, but this woman… she was a dragon.

The other girls seemed to respect her authority as she approached the two, taking in a long drag from her cigar and released a puff of smoke that crackled with ozone. When she spoke, her tone almost sounded amused, barely a quiet, rumbling purr. “There’s no need to apologize, my darlings. You’re hardly the first heartbroken little thing to wander in through these doors, and you won’t be the last. You see, we have a habit of bringing in little lost souls like yourself and patching up their heartbreak. In fact… you might be surprised to learn that many women here today were once in your position- lost, betrayed, and afraid.”

A few of the women behind her nodded, solemn expressions on their faces.

“So you see, my dears? There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re all here to help you win your heart’s desire. Every woman deserves to be happy and loved, and we simply… speed that process up.” Another drag from her cigarette. Aaleahya could practically feel the lightning crackling in the air. “We only have one little rule- no telling, okay? There are those who would disagree with what we do here. But how could something like love be evil?”

More nods of agreement, accompanied by nervous chatter- more enthusiastic this time.

“Now, if you both agree to follow that one little rule, then I’m sure we will get along just fine.” She regarded the two of them with sharp eyes, taking in their features, expression a facsimile of maternal kindness that masked her calculating gaze. “You may call me Mama Tempeste. Everyone here does. Now, why don’t you tell me your tale of heartbreak, my dear?”

Aaleahya dropped into a shy curtsy. “I am… Aaleahya Chandrika. Miss Khatmi here found me after I learned that my fiance was unfaithful… she promised me that she would help, and we found this place together.”

Tempeste laughed- a low, rumbling sound. She brought her hand up to caress Aaleahya’s cheek, only for a moment. The metal of the ring adorned on her middle finger was cold against Aaleahya’s skin, the point of the claw sharp enough that it would break skin if she applied just a little more pressure.

Aaleahya swallowed.

“Oh, sweetling. Rarely is a man ever truly faithful, but broken promises carry venom to them. I’m sure that Flora will have just the thing for you. And,” She turned to Khatmi, golden eye shining with mirth. “Let’s hear your story, my dear. I see love in your eyes… a deep yearning, but sorrow.” She tilted her head. “A love lost, or one never held in the first place? Tell Mama Tempeste your troubles. We have a remedy for all ills… including heartsickness.”

Aaleahya’s eyes widened, barely glancing at Khatmi, but surprise thrumming in her veins all the same. What was Tempeste talking about? Was Khatmi in love with someone? No, surely she could not be- Aaleahya would know if she’d gained affections for another. No, this was all some delusion on Tempeste’s part. It had to be. Aaleahya was Khatmi’s closest friend and confidante, Khatmi would have told her if she was in love. Wouldn’t she? Yes, this had to be a mistake.

And yet, Aaleahya found herself waiting to hear Khatmi's answer all the same.

It truly is amazing the kind of command Aaleahya has over a character, the ease with which she can command a room; as soon as the eyes of the Sirens lingering about the room flit their way, curious about the two strangers that have walked into their midst, she crumbles, softly-- there's the quivering of a lip, the look of trying so desperately to maintain composure before it all unravels and she leans against Khatmi's side once more, tears brimming in her eyes as she seeks sanctuary in Khatmi's arms, somehow seeming shy.

Such a thing is a testament to what a fantastic actor Aaleahya really is; in all the time Khatmi has known her, she has never once thought the word "shy" to be an apt descriptor. But here, as she curls up in her arms, her breath shuddery and soft and intercepted by fragile, hushed sobs, body trembling just so with the weight of fabricated sorrow and the unease stirred up by having so many unfamiliar eyes fixed directly on her, she truly is the picture of timidity.

Even knowing this is all part of an act, Khatmi cannot resist the way she moves to hold Aaleahya close, arms wrapped around her smaller form, trying to console her as she staves off her weeping with a feeble greeting. This is the part she excels at; Aaleahya shines her brightest at the center of the room, when light falls upon her, when she can command the attention of everyone around her, seize the narrative by the ink and write it to her liking, but Khatmi is best in the background, a silent presence, an accent. Aaleahya is and always will be the sun, brilliant and golden, bestowing her light upon the world and demanding its attention and thanks, and Khatmi will always be the moon, cold and silver-pale and alone in the dark, caught up in that celestial waltz, but giving no light of her own.

She likes it that way.

She does not bother speaking or explaining or doing much of anything to add on to the narrative Aaleahya is constructing, unwilling to muddle the careful lettering of the story she's built; she is content to be forgettable, to slink around and let these ladies fawn over Aaleahya all they would like so that Khatmi can slip about and fetch the potion samples they need so they can get out and get these back to the Consortium for confiscation and investigation. If she goes forgotten, it will be easier.

But oh, all notions that this mission may possibly be easy start to shatter as soon as one of the women who had been draped over one of the seats rose to her feet, her stride leisurely but confident, every move she makes imposing. Her eyes are sharp, circumspect, interest flickering in her gaze as she walks over to the two of them, blue scales glittering beneath lamp-light as she approaches.

Mama Tempeste, she calls herself, and she is a storm of a woman; it is impossible to say what might be going through her mind as she looks the two of them over, but she demands the attention of everyone in the room, all eyes on her with every word she speaks. Her voice is clear and calm, that of an orator, but it's wrapped up in maternal grace that masks catlike amusement. She is as beautiful as the sight of lightning dancing through clouds and equally as terrifying as being caught beneath it, and oh, are they caught beneath it.

Khatmi winces as she watches Tempeste's hand slide against Aaleahya's cheek, a surge of protectiveness flooding through her as that sharp metal ring sits a moment too long against her skin-- she cannot ruin this, she cannot move and make this all fall apart, but the vial of poison still stored carefully against her chest feels all the colder as she watches the way this woman interacts with the person she adores above all. She bites her lip, piecing herself together as well as she can, figuring she can just stay quiet and get through this just fine--

...but then the question falls to her, and so too do those prying eyes.

Her breath hitches.

Khatmi is not a good liar. She does not know if she was in the days before Kasra took root in her skull, but she certainly is not, now; she cannot sow seeds of mistruth when truth is all she has, cannot lay the patterns for a lie when ancient claws will tear through them before she can even measure out the patterns. It is only natural, really, that Tempeste would be capable of seeing right through her, and now, Khatmi does not know what story to fall back on.

She is well-acquainted with love. She knew it, once, when it led her across a continent to chase a life in a nation she did not know with an awkward, kind warrior of the desert, one who thought he was stronger than he actually was and try to prove it to her with mirthful eyes and then would stumble back to her with open wounds from trying to battle giant scorpions. She knew heartbreak as she watched the love fade from his eyes with each passing day, as she called out for a dead woman instead of a living man, as frustration festered and killed the roots of adoration until he, in not so many words, told her there was nothing left for her there. That she was dead, and so too was their love.

She knows love again, now, in the wake of lantern light and countless journeys and the whirl of ash and snow, has found it in clear blue eyes and gentle hands and pocketfuls of man-made stardust, has found it in commitments to horrid, rotten work and gentle promises to remember her, and she knows heartbreak again for wanting what she cannot have.

"...I..."

She swallows.

"...my name is... Khatmi Kazemi," she whispers, the part she's practiced. This is easy. "...I... I am utterly and desperately in love with someone I cannot have. They make me feel whole again, but I... they deserve more from the world than a woman like me can give them."

Her voice is soft, haunted, carrying the ghosts of a not-so-old ache.

She cannot look at Aaleahya.

Aaleahya was not entirely sure what Khatmi’s words stirred in her. She wasn’t sure what she had expected- an attempt at a lie, perhaps. Khatmi was honest to a fault, and playing the part of a character was even pushing the boundaries of what she could do, so long as Khatmi was not too fundamentally different from Kvasir. But this Tempeste- for Aaleahya refused to refer to her as Mama Tempeste, no matter how saccharine-sweet her maternal act was- seemed convinced of the love in Khatmi’s eyes. That was something they could use. The sirens would never be able to resist two love-stricken maidens, let alone one. But then the answer Khatmi gave was an entirely honest one, and Aaleahya’s world seemed to tilt on its axis.

I am utterly and desperately in love with someone I cannot have.

Khatmi was… in love. This was no schoolyard crush or innocent passing fancy- no, Aaleahya recognized deep affection when she heard it. She knew how to recognize the emotions of others like the back of her own hand, twist them until those perceptions were like putty for her to play with. She would be doing no such thing now, not only because she could no longer bring herself to do such things to Khatmi, but because Aaleahya was not sure what to make of that information.

Who could possibly hold Khatmi’s heart in such a way, inspire a deep yearning that had planted itself so irrevocably within her heart? And more importantly, who could it be that she wouldn’t tell Aaleahya about it-?

Mehr.

A name Aaleahya had only heard spoken once, but one that they had committed to memory nonetheless. An old lover, a lost one- by Khatmi’s own admission, one she’d left after Kasra had gotten his claws into her. That part of the story had made its way into the pages of Aaleahya’s retelling, that collection of bits and memories she kept only for Khatmi’s sake, to recite them when she herself could not recall them.

Although based on the way Khatmi spoke of Mehr with such a weight to her words, Aaleahya doubted that Khatmi would forget him anytime soon.

What made this Mehr guy so special? He was the son of a chief, someone who’d whisked Khatmi off her feet to sands unknown. Clearly, he was someone that she regretted leaving behind, no matter how much she thought it was for his safety. Because that was just how Khatmi was. Stupidly noble, self-sacrificial… it made perfect sense that she would flee the tribe she’d once journeyed with for the sake of love, all the while still harboring feelings for him.

I hope you’re worthy of it, Mehr.

“Oh?” Tempeste clearly hadn’t expected such a clear and honest admission of Khatmi’s own feelings, either. The woman’s mouth hung open in the perfect shape of an O before settling into an expression that could only be called pity. “Oh, you little lambs, the both of you. Come here.” There was a beat of silence before the two were pulled into a hug from the elderly woman, one that did not radiate warmth. “I can sense the passion in your hearts. Such strong emotions are rewarded here. Come, sit. Mama Tempeste must see what Flora has gotten herself into, but my ladies will take care of you.”

She turned her head to the gaggle of women that were still watching them with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, as if the declarations of love were scandalous. “Ladies, please take care of Miss Chandrika and Kazemi. We have food and drink to share- make them feel welcome. And my lambs…” She smiled, revealing a row of teeth as sharp as Aaleahya’s own. “You are home here. Feel free to tell my little mermaids everything your heart desires. We all love love, don’t we? And I am sure they’re especially interested in this mysterious man of yours, Khatmi.” She added with a wink in Khatmi’s direction before sauntering into the back room, where Flora was still working.

Aaleahya barely even noticed the gaggle of women that immediately pounced on them, showering them in twittered questions and kind affections. One was patting at her hair and another dabbing at her runny face with a napkin in an attempt to clean up the mess of her eyes. She was sure that Khatmi was receiving the same treatment- between the women surrounding them and ushering them to the couch, Aaleahya managed to meet her gaze and smiled.

It was okay if Khatmi didn’t want Aaleahya to know about her secret love- truly, it was. She wasn’t sure what to make of that particular thought, either. It reminded her of a promise pledged on snow-capped mountains, the first time she’d ever put someone else’s life before her own without a thought.

Aaleahya’s life had been about protecting herself for as long as she could remember. Gathering power and collecting money from others for the day she could run away from a home that did not even believe in her own survival- to escape from their whispered names and laments when they thought she was simply too empty to care. And Madam Medb had taught her the criminal’s way, a tightrope only meant to be walked by one, where there was no room to care about others lest they grab onto you and pull you down. And yet, somehow, these mindless sacrifices came easy for Khatmi’s sake. A lifetime of Aaleahya being the only person who occupied her heart, the only one that mattered- and yet, Khatmi fit so naturally there, like she belonged.

What did that mean for Aaleahya?

She didn’t know, and right now she didn’t care. Perhaps later, she would remember the way her chest twisted unpleasantly when Khatmi mentioned a love she could not have, and Aaleahya would learn what it meant. An emotion she’d only heard described in fairy tales, but never felt for anyone. The kind of sentiment that only knights in shining armor felt for their princesses. A yearning a single man in a prison cell felt for Solaria’s warmth.

But that did not matter right now. Aaleahya had a game to play, and they needed to find a way into that back room. If only they could manage to get to where Tempeste and Flora were doubtlessly making the love potion-

Aaleahya needed a way to get one of them back into that lab behind the curtain.

It is hard to say whether or not Aaleahya can see right through her or not.

Perhaps it is just the anxiety clawing its way down her throat, trying to find its way down to her ribcage so it can make a home beside her too-fast heart, but Khatmi cannot help but feel as though it should be obvious who she is speaking of. There is no one across all of Charon, no one in the height of the mountains of the Dragon’s Cradle or Frost Gale or in the depths of the King’s Valley or in the shining shadow of any temple who could ever compare to the woman right by her side, to her diviner, enchanter, and heavenly heart attack, her princess and knight and lilac star plucked from the skies and placed in her hands.

She does not know when it was she fell, still; if it was somewhere in the streets of the High Market of Zeinav City as they laughed and chatted over tea and vendors’ wares together, if it was somewhere in the midst of countless camping trips across Charon, over campfires and beneath the fabric of tents and the light of endless, fathomless stars, or if it was merely in the moment blue eyes landed upon hers and that voice softened more than she’d ever heard it do so before and whisper “I will always remember you” with so much sincerity and weight it was as if it was some infallible oath, some promise she would never dare break, a vow in five words and eight syllables. All she does know is that somewhere along the way, her veins lit up with what could only be love, her heart a lamp aglow with adoration, an eternal flame kindled by every kindness she’s been shown, locked away beneath wire frames, licking at glass panes like it can ever hope to be set free.

Khatmi continues to stare at the ground even as Tempeste tugs her and Aaleahya forward, cradling them both against her chest, the embrace strangely frigid and distant despite the warmth and closeness it should promise. She feels those arms unwind and withdraw as Tempeste slips off to go and find Flora, feels the fingertips of other strangers tug her over toward one of those chaise lounges, feels the resonance of unfamiliar voices ringing in her ears, but she can hardly parse what they're saying. She manages to lift her gaze for one moment, searching--

And her eye meets Aaleahya's, that same glacial blue flickering with something she cannot read, a smile pulling at the corners of faintly-painted lips.

If she knows, she is not making it very clear.

An uncomfortable pressure builds in Khatmi's throat, one she fights to swallow down as she's pushed to sit down on one of the couches and crowded by two women-- a koi-triton lady with long, sweeping waves of white hair and drooping eyes and feathery eyelashes, perpetually sleepy-looking, as though caught up in some joyous dream, and then a human woman with dark skin and dark tight curls of hair and eyes that glint like padparadscha, like rose quartz, some shining trinket hung up in Zeinavian marketplaces.

"Oh, do tell us about this man of yours, Miss Kazemi," the triton lady says slowly, her voice as lethargic as she looks, a pleased and sleepy smile pulling at her lips. "I'm ever so curious."

"Mhm," the other lady assents, eyes still gleaming like gemstones. "What's he like? How did you meet? What makes you so sure he's someone you can't have?"

Khatmi falters, hesitant, letting out a quiet, nervous hum. "I... we met in the Moonglade. In the woods. I... I happened to patch... him up after a nasty encounter, and... we became inseparable afterwards," she whispers, her mind wandering back to the gentle roseate glow of the Lantern Light Wood, to the flutter of her heart as she'd fallen into easy banter with someone for the first time in ages, the devastation she'd felt after nearly watching someone who was little more than a stranger at the time suffer in her stead. "But I... I have a lot of... um... baggage, and I... I don't want to burden him with that."

"Everyone has some sort of baggage," the triton says, almost indignantly, a strange sound considering the exhaustion in her tone. "Has he told you you're a burden?"

"Ah... n-not in so many words, no--"

"Then why would you go and guess as much?" Another lady calls, perking her head up from where she sits by Aaleahya's side, swiveling to face Khatmi. Her accent is gentle, delicate, clearly noble in some sense. "Oh, dear, you have to have a bit of confidence! Love could be right in front of you-- what if you're the one holding yourself back?"

Khatmi blinks at that, blinks further as more and more of the ladies present chime in with their opinions, their incredulity sparking to life as they turn their focus to her. It's overwhelming, really, and she wants to shrink away from it-- but oh, oh, this is the perfect opportunity, isn't it? If all of these girls are so focused on her, on bolstering her confidence so she can chase after a dream, then...

That leaves Aaleahya an opening to go searching for the potions.

"...but I feel like such a waste of space," she whines, punctuating her sorrow with a sigh, turning her face away for a brief moment in faux heartache-- if only to shoot Aaleahya a wink, and to mouth "go, run" before the girls catch on. "I... I love him more than anything, but he deserves someone who could give him a normal and happy life!"

The Sirens burst out into quick attempts at comfort, words of incredulity, all manner of responses that draw their focus to her and her alone, caught up in the love story she's woven with the threads of truth.

All she has to do is ensure she can weave it for long enough.

Truly, Aaleahya was attempting to figure out a way behind that curtain, to the alchemist’s laboratory. And yet, they couldn’t help but be distracted as a handful of lovely ladies dragged Khatmi to another couch, determined to glean more about Khatmi’s love. Aaleahya’s ears strained as she tried to pick up Khatmi’s hesitant retelling of the story of how she met Mehr, unsure why she still cared so much. Of course she wanted to hear more about the man who’d swept Khatmi off her feet and out of her home country. But before she could make out anything more, she was swept off her feet by gentle hands and even gentler voices calling out to her.

Suddenly, she was surrounded by a handful of ladies herself - a dwarven woman on her left whose long, sunset-golden hair and beard were braided with glittering gemstones in every color of the rainbow, and the other, another tiefling whose skin reminded Aaleahya of Zeinavian midnights, ebony with a smattering of white freckles that looked like constellations.

The tiefling produced a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress, dabbing gently at Aaleahya’s eyes as the dwarven lady produced a chocolate-covered strawberry from one of the plates on the table, handing it to Aaleahya to eat.

“Oh, sweetling,” The tiefling crooned, “There’s no need to look so distraught. Your love, he will come around eventually.”

“You’re too adorable for him not to.” The dwarf added, tapping Aaleahya’s nose gently, producing a wet giggle from her. “But why don’t you tell us about him? He must be something incredibly special if you’re willing to go through such lengths to earn him back.”

And it was time for Aaleahya to play the part of the doting fiance once more.

“Oh, he is wonderful.” She said with a wistful sigh, cradling her cheek in her hand. “He’s…” She paused as she realized that she had yet to actually come up with any defining features for this mysterious man. Thinking quickly on her feet, she chose the first traits that came to mind. “He is so utterly selfless, and cares greatly for everyone around him. So much so, that I worry he will simply give all of himself away without a thought that there will be nothing of him left.”

“He sounds lovely.”

“He’s a doctor, too.” Aaleahya added before her mind could catch up with her mouth.

“Oh!” The dwarf squealed. “Rich, as well?”

“Could there be a more perfect man?”

Here, Aaleahya managed a teasing grin, swatting at the dwarf playfully. “Oh, you’d think that, wouldn’t you? But he’s so generous that all of his work is pro-bono. He says he simply cannot bear to force people to give up their money for something that takes little effort on… his part…” She trailed off, the smile slowly falling off her face as she realized exactly who she was describing.

Huh. That was strange. Perhaps she’d simply picked Khatmi because it was not difficult to see that Kvasir was, on paper, the perfect man. Kind, honest, but with a snark that made him incredibly easy to talk to. It was one of the things that had endeared Aaleahya to him so long ago. Yes, that must have been why she picked him without thinking about it.

The dwarf and the tiefling exchanged a worried look.

Someone squeezed her bicep in an attempt at comfort, but Aaleahya could not help but be disgusted by the pitying touch.

“Well, he could not have been all that perfect if he left you for another, no?” The tiefling asked while the dwarf nodded in agreement.

“He’d have to be mad to turn to someone else when you love him so.”

Aaleahya turned her attention to Khatmi, where she was still weaving a story to the other ladies, and suddenly, this ruse no longer seemed as fun as it had this morning. A frown tugged at her lips, tail flicking behind her as she spoke, almost absentmindedly. “It’s not his fault, I suppose. He was… to be wed to another before me. Their bond was long and deep, and to this day, I think he still regrets leaving h-her.” She nearly stumbled over the pronoun as her mind caught up to her once more.

What was she doing? Still going on about Kvasir and his fiance like this. But now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop, whatever sick and twisted feeling that had burrowed in her gut over the revelation that Khatmi was still in love with Mehr coming to a head.

“Our acquaintance was not long before we knew we had- had something special. I was not aware that his heart still harbored love for her, though perhaps I should have known it from the way he spoke so fondly of her… but I did not want to admit it to myself. I do not share easily, you know.”

Here, she let out another small laugh. Both the dwarf and the tiefling had fallen silent.

“I have always taken what I want from life. And yet, when it comes to him…”

The dwarf offered her an encouraging smile and another strawberry. “We’ll help you get him back. You deserve him.”

That’s the thing, she thought with a touch of irony. I don’t rightfully think I do.

That was when Khatmi met her gaze, and Aaleahya’s chest made another strange fluttering feeling as she watched the other woman make another one of those stupidly endearing attempts at a one-eyed wink before mouthing “go, run”.

And then in a show of theatrics worthy of the great wizard of the wastes, Khatmi burst into tears.

That was all it took to get the other women to flock to her side, as if surrounding an injured dove - including the two who had been taking care of Aaleahya. Somehow, she’d been left alone, given free access to the room behind the curtain.

She turned back to Khatmi, a heavy weight in her gaze that perhaps even she was not aware of. Thank you, she mouthed back, blowing Khatmi a proper wink and a kiss before sauntering behind the curtain. Aaleahya was going to get her hands on those potions, and make these ladies pay for using their strange, love-voodoo to make her feel things she didn’t want to feel.

The one trouble Khatmi had going into this mission had been a rather glaring one.

Where Aaleahya's calling is weaving stories, taking the threads of a role and breathing life into them, her whole body the loom that spins a story into being, Khatmi has never been one for acting; she stumbles over aligning the strings to their proper hooks, fingertips fumbling with filaments as she tries to pull together something cohesive in that same effortless way, but she has never been a weaver, never known where to start. She scarcely knows how to act like herself some days, so acting the part of someone else feels like one hell of a ludicrous demand.

And yet, as she sits here, in the heart of a situation that should be impossibly uncomfortable, crowded by strangers and spinning a story for them while they listen to her every word, she does not flinch away, does not struggle to keep the words flowing, the sorrow pouring readily with every syllable she speaks. It is astounding, really, what hiding truth in plain sight can do to change a girl who cannot lie to save her life into one hell of an actress, even if for one moment and one moment alone.

It is an easy thing to talk about Aaleahya, even wrapped up in the veil of anonymity. It is no different from Khatmi's average daily life, where she'll talk so fondly about a person with skin like lilac blossoms and eyes like pale forget-me-nots, with a smile like edelweiss and a heart as vibrant and all-encompassing as a sunflower, a garden of color and so much life spun into flesh and bone. She'll chatter away to anyone who will listen about the person she adores most in the world, the person who she is happiest beside, the person who introduced the gentle light of flame back into the recesses of a place she thought had gone forever dark, and some might say she's hopeless and they'd be right because she is, she is hopeless, she is hopelessly entangled in the strings of a bright-smiled story-weaver's loom and she hopes she never breaks the knots.

She is hopeless and entangled and it is her tether, her tether to this world and this life and this love, and she will seize it with all she has and hold it close to her heart, even if it means it must be hers alone to hold.

"...I-I just want to be the kind of woman that can give him the stability he deserves," Khatmi whispers, her voice fragile, shaking just so as she stares at her own lap, hands folded, the picture of a wilting flower that cannot sustain itself any longer. The Sirens clustered around her are caught up in the world she's dragged them into-- the piece of her world she's let them be privy to, spellbound by the bits of truth woven between the melodrama. "I-- I've never wanted someone so desperately in my life, a-and yet... it feels wrong to want th-- him, y-you know?"

There is a series of nods from the ladies around her, some of them pressing handkerchiefs into her hands or setting comforting palms against her shoulders, cooing words of consolation; she doubts all of them truly understand, but for a moment, it is... admittedly nice to get lost in this half-act, to pour her heart out and drink in the comforts of strangers who do not and will not know her.

...she does not know exactly how long Aaleahya will need, how long she will need to keep the attention of these ladies. If it is... necessary to keep this going a bit longer, then...

So be it.

"Oh, doll, I know exactly what you mean," a humanoid girl with cat's ears sighs in pity, her hand smoothing up and down Khatmi's upper arm. "But really... what makes you believe that loving him could be so wrong?"

That question gives Khatmi clear pause, hesitation painted across her face as the question and its implications settle on her shoulders. The truth is not an option, here; she cannot speak of sand and gold, of the divine parasite rooting in her skull, of the whirling snow on the mountain and the fact that she'd had her very consciousness stolen from her, her very body forged into a puppet to try and harm the one she adores most. Kasra has no place in this conversation. And yet...

"...You-- You must promise not to tell a soul," Khatmi whispers, her voice weak as her gaze flits about the group of women around her. "I... I had a... curse placed upon me when I was born. A curse of ill fortune. I am meant to bring ruin to those I love most as long as I dare to go near them, and I... I do not know how to reverse it. The best thing I can do is give this man space and pray he finds someone better."

Khatmi expects a chorus of sympathy, of more whispers and consolation.

She does not expect silence.

The women around her are eerily quiet, eerily pensive, weighing her words carefully in a bubble of lost sound. It is not a whole mistruth-- Kasra is as close to a curse as Khatmi thinks she can get, after all-- and the misery in her tone is not fabricated, so it's... worrying that they've all gone so quiet.

"...Oh, Miss Kazemi," the triton girl sighs softly, patting her shoulder. "Life is too short for such things. How miserable it sounds to sequester yourself away like that..."

"Indeed!" another girl echoes. "What if the curse isn't as bad as you think? Or what if he doesn't care? Or what if he wants to help you find a way to break it?"

"Yes! Oh, that'd be so romantic!"

"Miss Kazemi, really, it couldn't be that bad!"

"But it could!" Khatmi practically squawks back, an edge of indignation clinging to her tone, though it is feeble. What in Charon...? How are these ladies so nonchalant about such a thing as a curse? Do they not understand how serious it is, how destruction is etched into her very veins, how every time she stands in a room alone with Aaleahya she fears she will lose her?

"...Khatmi," a voice sounds, and Khatmi swivels around to find that human girl staring at her, those eyes warm and gentle and so very serious. "There is beauty in ruin, don't you think? There is beauty in fire, beauty in watching the way it loves wood and paper, changes it forever so it will never be the same. Don't be afraid to light the match because you fear the ashes."

For a moment, all Khatmi can do is blink, eye wide and wild with shock and confusion and so many other twisting and confusing feelings she cannot pretend she wants to understand, her chest suddenly feeling strangely tight. She does not know what this girl means, and yet...

...

She hopes Aaleahya's part of things is... going okay.

Behind the curtain lay an entirely different world than the one in front of it. The space that the Sirens occupied, where they perched on their rocks and watched unsuspecting sailors over the waves, luring them in with sights and smells and feminine wiles. If that front room was the glamour, the magic that concealed sharp teeth and sharper intentions, then this back room, barely lit save the faint luminescence from alchemical reactions taking place on tables with second-hand equipment, was the dark cavern, where men were drowned and devoured.

She had not expected to stumble upon such a room immediately - it was only quick thinking as she dove around a table that prevented Aaleahya from being spotted by Tempeste and Flora were speaking in tense, hushed tones in the back of the room. It was a small miracle that they were so absorbed in their conversation that they did not notice her entry. She could make out the sound of their conversation, Tempeste’s authoritative voice and Flora’s diminutive one, but not the individual words. She would need to get closer if she wanted to make anything out.

Shuffling around in her dress was an awkward ordeal, and eventually Aaleahya was forced to bundle her skirts as she ducked behind cloth-covered workbenches and rolled around awkwardly on the floor. She was far from the stealthiest person in the world. Telling Aaleahya to dim her natural light was like asking the stars to stop shining in the sky… in other words, impossible. Aaleahya was unabashedly loud and carried a presence despite her short stature, one that had grown so natural she no longer knew how to step out of it. She no longer wanted to. Trying her hand at stealth was like a baby fawn attempting to mimic the grace of its mother. But there were enough idle sounds from glassware and churning concoctions that it seemed to cover up her clinking jewelry and muted shuffling.

As she progressed, Aaleahya managed to get a better look at some of the brews that they had stacked on tables, all packaged with neat labels and swooping letters, advertising their love potions in any imaginable color of the rainbow. And she knew she’d hit the jackpot. As she snaked around tables, every once in a while a lavender hand would reach up and snatch one of the potions off a table with lightning-speed. By the time she made it close enough to where the women were arguing, Aaleahya’s bust looked far more substantial than it had when she entered.

“I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, Mama…”

Flora sounded more despondent than frustrated, her wilted voice akin to the sad tinkling of windchimes in the dying wind. Aaleahya peeked around the corner of a cloth-covered table a couple of feet away - from this position, she could not make out the young pixie’s face, but she could see Tempeste’s just fine. Despite the sadness in her voice, there was no sympathy on the matriarch’s face. A far cry from the care she’d shown for a few heartbroken young things just moments ago. Now, she wore a stormy expression, tapping her nails - one of which bore the metallic-claw ring on her middle finger - against the table.

“And I don’t understand what is so difficult about following a recipe.” She replied, taking another drag from the cigar clutched between her fingers. Disappointment dripped like venom in her words, enough to make Flora flinch. “Oh, Flora, I wish I knew how to teach you. The other girls have picked up on these techniques with no issue. And yet, you still struggle. Why is that, do you think?”

“I… I don’t know.” Flora admitted. “I am no alchemist. And love potions are… difficult to make. I know I’ll get it right this time, I swear.”

“I trust you will. I can’t keep covering up these little incidents. Sooner or later the Knights of Duros will catch onto this, and we don’t want them poking their noses where they don’t belong. Or worse, sending their golden chemists after us.”

Too late, lady, Aaleahya resisted the urge to snicker. We’re already here.

“I know. I just need to figure out why my potions keep having this reaction-!”

“I hope you do soon. We’re doing work here, my flower. We’re planting the seeds for a happier, peaceful Sol City. And what do you do in a garden when you have a rose that just isn’t as pretty or lively than the others?”

“You… you prune it.”

Nails on Flora’s cheek. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch that. You really need to remember to speak up, darling.”

“I said you prune it, mama.”

“That’s right.” Tempeste picked up one of the bottles on the table, inspecting it. From where she was hidden, Aaleahya had to contain her squeak of surprise by clapping her hands over her mouth. Flora was the one making the explosive potions? She almost felt for the girl… but the sympathy was short-lived in favor of getting her hands on that brew. She wanted to figure out what the hell that girl was doing to cause that violent of a reaction!

Er, for the Consortium, of course. Not because Aaleahya wanted to replicate it herself.

That would be irresponsible.

Oh, who was she kidding? Aaleahya wanted to get her hands on that potion. No one was around to see her, they didn’t have to know that she’d snuck a sample for herself. All she had to do was reach out and grab them from the table…

That was the moment she tripped on a tablecloth and sent a handful of potions smashing to the ground with a loud, clattering SMASH. Glass fell everywhere, liquid coating the floor around her, and worst of all, leaving Aaleahya exposed where she’d fallen on her side, where both Tempeste and flora could see her.

Fuck.

Both pairs of eyes turned her way, Aaleahya only had a moment to figure out what to do. Which, naturally, meant this was exactly the best time for her to act natural. Immediately, she struck a familiar pose with one leg draped over the other, and a hand resting on her cheek. “Oh, my, I just realized this isn’t the bathroom! How silly of me! Perhaps one of you ladies could point me in the right direction…?”

It is astoundingly difficult to uphold a facade when someone has struck the bedrock of your resolve.

Khatmi does not understand how Aaleahya manages; for the entirety of this wild venture, not once has she seen Aaleahya's carefully-constructed act crumble-- not in the face of sharpened synthetic claws pressed against her lilac skin, not in the face of questions about a life and person that does not exist, not in the face of the danger that hangs over them both. With each and every minute that trickles by, the solid foundation of her act only continue to vex Khatmi more-- where Aaleahya walks on water, a shining miracle, Khatmi struggles to keep her head above it, every word that dances on the edge of mistruth so hesitant to spring from her tongue.

She doesn't know why this human girl, with eyes like shining gemstones and words spun of some fathomless wisdom, is somehow so capable of cleaving through to her heart, to her most solid ideals-- she does not know why or how she's mined so deep, striking into the fragile crystals that house her resolve and forcing Khatmi to stare at the pieces that have chipped away, to wonder if the decisions she's made make any sense at all, but she somehow has, and now Khatmi holds those scattered fragments in her hands and wonders--

What has she been doing?

Her memory is cruel enough to allow her to remember that firelit night in the White Sand Sea, to remember the resignation and quiet fury dancing in the eyes of her first love, amber alight with a sorrow so powerful it wore the mask of anger. She remembers Mehr's calloused fingertips against her cheek, slipping beneath bandages and lifting them away to behold the gilded eye of a god. She remembers how his hand had trembled as he searched for a trace of her in that endless gold, his fingers twitching against her skin until they finally fell away, letting the cold of the desert night creep into the ghost of warmth his hand left behind.

She remembers his fear, buried deep beneath a stalwart warrior's shield-- she remembers the hardness of his gaze as he'd stared and searched and searched some more before he finally turned away without another word, letting silence wash over the still night.

She remembers inexplicably knowing that this was the most helpless she had ever seen him.

She remembers realizing she was already dead.

All she has done in the years since she left has been to atone-- to atone for being someone she cannot recognize anymore, to atone for the wrongs contained in her inherited memories, to atone for being incapable of being a good wife or a good daughter or a good sister the way she should have been. She's been content to be half of a person, the kind of individual who lets herself be forgotten as soon as she's stepped out of the frame of one's vision, uprooting weeds and yet never planting new seeds to flourish in her wake. And yet, all it took was kind eyes and kind smiles and the offer of companionship to shatter everything--

And inevitably, flame had caught up to her. Inevitably, someone had gotten burned.

Inevitably, she'd resolved to cover the flame for good.

But now this stranger she will never meet again stares at her a moment too long, her words about the beauty spun from ruin still hanging in the air, and Khatmi does not know what to do.

She has treated countless burns in her life, seen the devastation they can leave behind: scars and ruined skin, blindness, withering, all manners of horrid marks fire sees fit to leave. And yet, she has seen people heal, seen people bounce back and adapt and go on with their lives, seen people somehow leave their ghosts back in the fire that tore things apart and walk on, and--

And in the midst of all this chatter, in a place that crawls with danger and shattered dreams desperate to piece themselves together, Khatmi cannot help but wonder over all her fear has robbed her of.

She isn't given very long to ruminate over it, of course, because as her thoughts run wild and as the women all around her continue their musing chatter, the raucous sound of glass shattering against the ground sends silence washing over the entire room.

A quiet surge of panic rises in Khatmi's heart as the women all around her give each other nervous glances, worried chatter quick to fill the space the silence left behind-- what had Aaleahya gotten up to back there? Had she gotten caught? Oh, of course she had-- there's no way anyone could have missed a sound like that! And considering the fact that Tempeste was doubtlessly back there...

Khatmi does not think before jolting to her feet, panic painted across her face as she rises up and starts away--

"Miss Khatmi?"

"I--" she pauses and swallows, protectiveness for Aaleahya surging up in her heart as she glances between all those worried faces fixed on her-- she has to keep it together, keep her facade strong, all for Aaleahya's sake. "I... I'm worried about the noise I heard, is all. Glass is extraordinarily dangerous-- I... I need to go make sure no one got hurt! And if they did, I... I am a child of Solaria, and I should be able to help!"

Despite the nervous quality straining her voice, her reasoning seems solid enough for the other women to believe it, and they voice no protests as she makes for the curtain, leaving them to muse over the mysterious noise together. Dear Solaria, she hopes they stay in place.

Khatmi is careful as she navigates to the back, slipping through the curtain like a shadow, quick to duck out of sight so she can observe the scene before her: Aaleahya lies at the heart of a mess, a garden of shattered glass flowering around her, a chromatic puddle of coalesced potions seeping over the floor. Both Flora and Tempeste stand over her-- the former with a look of shock plastered over her pretty face, the latter with that same sharpness in her gaze, the face of a woman who knows everything, and--

Once again, Khatmi does not think before slipping a hand past the neckline of her dress, plucking a vial from where she's hidden it-- a sparkling swirl of indigo sparkles spirals past the glass, tiny drops of space contained in a glass prison, the perfect escape tool. She does not think before she tosses it to the ground between Aaleahya and the two Sirens, letting clouds of sparkle-woven smoke spring to life from the ground, erasing any line of sight the two might have had on Aaleahya.

She does not think before she hisses into the sparkling shadow, voice low as she can get it.

"Aaleahya! Run!"

“Oh?” Tempeste’s voice dripped with poisonous curiosity, a spider who was quite proud of the fly that she had caught in her web. The smile on her face said she didn’t believe Aaleahya’s excuse in the slightest. Aaleahya’s breath hitched as Tempeste took a step forward, heels clicking in the silence. “Flora, dear, it seems we have a rat in our midst.”

Aaleahya chuckled, batting her eyes innocently. Anxiety was beginning to creep up the back of her neck, though she would not give up the ruse. First good rule of any con - never admit your lies. “I’m not sure what you mean… I’ve been so distraught I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going through the tears.” She let out a nervous giggle, cut off as Tempeste took another step closer to her, kneeling down in front of the prone fellblood.

And then Tempest grabbed her chin, forcing Aaleahya to stare into her golden eyes. Metallic nails from her ring dug into Aaleahya’s flesh. “And yet, I see no fresh tears on your face, and no running mascara as it has been wiped off.”

The smell of ozone filled the air as Tempeste’s ring against Aaleahya’s cheek began crackling with electricity.^[1] Sparks jolted against Aaleahya’s skin, the beginnings of lightning striking in the air that threatened to burn. Aaleahya reached up and grabbed Tempeste’s hand, wrenching it off of her face. As Aaleahya held onto her, the magical electricity began to fizzle away, as if Tempeste no longer had the power to sustain the spell. No - perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Aaleahya was absorbing it.^[2]

Aaleahya smirked as Tempeste stared at her hand, momentarily confused about what had happened to her spell. And then a coy, knowing look grew on her face. “Oh, I see. I never thought I’d meet one of your ilk. How unfortunate for you, that you’ll never be able to feel the kiss of mana in your body. Must be a rather sad existence, I think.”

And Aaleahya’s blood ran cold.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She hissed.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. It isn’t as cute as you think.” Tempeste stared at the hand Aaleahya was still holding, considering her options. It would be useless to cast a spell while Aaleahya was in such close proximity to her. Yes, it would be best to dig, bide her time for a moment. “So what brings you here, little liar? A competitor, looking to steal our recipe? Or…” A thought occurred to her. “A little aspiring chemist here on behalf of the Consortium? I wouldn’t waste my time with them, if I were you. They’ll only keep you around until they can find no more use for you. And if they like your recipes… well, they’ll take those as they see fit, too.” She waved a hand. “See how they send you here to confiscate what they believe to be dangerous? Potioncraft does not belong to them alone. You could pretend you saw nothing, here. Tell them that we’re doing nothing. And perhaps I could be persuaded to let you live.”

Aaleahya pursed her lips together, utterly serious, as if she were truly considering the offer. And perhaps if she’d truly been here with the Consortium’s best interests in mind, Tempeste’s persuasion might have worked. But no one - not even the smooth words of a temptress or the gilded promises of the academics in Sol City - could change her mind.

She stuck her tongue out at Tempeste.

“I’m afraid mother will simply have to get used to disappointment.”

Tempeste’s nostrils flared. Lightning crackled from the smoke that left her nose as she reared up to cast another spell…

Right before Aaleahya’s vision was obscured by a familiar wave of smoke and glitter.

“Well. It seems that this rat has turned into an infestation.”

And then there was Khatmi’s voice, clear through the glitter and the smog, as if she were a lighthouse beacon guiding Aaleahya to shore. Aaleahya didn’t hesitate to whack Tempest in the side with her tail, sending the older woman staggering backwards. The action was not very strong, but it gave Aaleahya a moment to whip out her dagger where it was strapped to her thigh, slashing wildly in the air, hoping to strike gold. She knew the side of the blade hit true when she heard a hiss of pain, and Tempeste’s angry shout of, “You whelp!”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Aaleahya cackled as she pulled herself to her feet and ran for her life in the direction of Khatmi’s voice. “Good luck next time - oof!”

She grunted as she ran SMACK right into a table, scattering more glass to the floor. Pulling herself up, Aaleahya frantically grabbed more potions that she shoved into her bra, hoping that at least a couple of them would be Flora’s. She didn’t have time to check. Sticking her hands out in front of her to make sure she hit nothing else, Aaleahya ran through the glitter bomb until she was out of its range…

And ran straight for Khatmi.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

The pounding in Aaleahya’s chest must have been from the adrenaline of running.

She grabbed Khatmi’s arm, a bright, wild grin on her features. Seemingly impossible considering the situation they were in… but Aaleahya seemed bright, and excited as ever. Everything was getting fun! “Come on, Mama Tempeste turned out to be a real hag! We gotta go!” But where would they escape to? The next room over was full of scorned sirens, and they were on the second floor. They had to choose between the pyre and walking the plank.

---

1. Charged Object (Tempeste)
2. Spell Drinker (1/2)

Admittedly, perhaps Khatmi should have thought about it before tossing a flask full of glitter and smoke reagents out into the open.

Where once the scene of blooming tension laid so clearly before her now lies clouds of thick, indigo smoke and glitter, a nebula carved straight from the heart of space lazily drifting through the carefully-sequestered space, concealing the silhouettes of Tempeste, Flora, and Aaleahya alike. Any and all vision she had of the scene was lost beyond the haze, their figures indistinguishable, even as shadows-- but oh, it's moments like these when she's thankful for the ears her bloodline gave her. They perk as Tempeste's voice sounds into the open, sly and smooth, barely concealing blooming agitation-- she's hardly moved, the sound resonating from the same place she was before.

She can hear footsteps, hear the sound of motion, and then the muted sound of skin striking skin, fabric lightening the hit. For one aching moment, Khatmi's unsure of who's struck who, if she needs to mindlessly risk the sightless depths of the smoke cloud to come to Aaleahya's rescue, but then there's a hiss of pain, words spat out in that conniving voice, all its rich smoothness faded, and she knows that Aaleahya's the one who's managed to strike.

Then there's hastened steps hurrying her way, Khatmi's ears twitching as they pick up on the sound of sandals slapping against the tiled floor, the sound of Aaleahya rushing to her, rushing to a split-second of safety--

and then there's a crash, a sonata of glass shattering against the floor and whispered, pained swears, and Khatmi holds her breath for what feels like forever.

But then, like a siren bursts from the veil of glistening seafoam against the surface of the Luna Sea, Aaleahya emerges from the cloud of smoke and stardust, glitter shining against her cheeks and hair and dress, and Khatmi cannot stop herself from reaching out for her. Her heart pounds in her chest as Aaleahya takes hold of her arm, that smile luminous as ever with excitement and what might be relief, and Khatmi knows she should be panicking, knows she should be consumed with worry over the danger they're caught up in this way--

And yet, it is not anxiety that sends her heart racing like a hare dodging a wolf's bite.

It's joy. Excitement.

The feeling is impossibly foreign, now-- ever since that day in the White Sand Sea, she's forgotten what it felt like to live a life unfettered, her days defined by a desperation for control, by routine, by a doomed woman's attempts to preserve what of her life she could. But now, as Aaleahya holds her arm, as the two of them leave dust and desolation behind them to make their grand escape from something seemingly hopeless, she is as far from control and planning as she has ever been, and she cannot help but love it, love the freedom of it, love the person by her side in all this chaos.

She almost wants to laugh.

"...Well, my dearest alchemist, I don't think there's an easy way out of this," Khatmi says, her voice strangely light despite the situation-- perhaps even because of it. "We're in trouble back there and in trouble that way."

She pauses for a moment, viridian eye narrowing as she looks around the room, searching for a potential line of defense-- an impromptu weapon beyond the potions she's still holding onto, a possible place to hide, anything that could serve as a step to a way out of this. She still has two of those potions left, and Aaleahya has her knife, so fighting their way out isn't out of the question, but as interesting as two against tens could be, it hardly seems ideal--

And then her gaze falls upon the window at the  edge of the room, and a wicked idea blooms to life.

"...Aaleahya," she begins, glancing over her shoulder, her hand sliding to interlace her fingers with the fellblood's. "I am going to need you to trust me."

With a smile and a squeeze to Aaleahya's hand, she starts off into a sprint, ushering the fellblood forward beside her, one arm lifting to her face to shield herself as she leaps up and forward, heel striking the window as she surges through, her grasp on Aaleahya's hand still tight as glass shatters, shining like moonlit snow as they fall-- no, fly together, hand in hand and side by side.

The cobblestones are not kind as soon as they finally hit them, but Khatmi finds she doesn't care.

Her bones scream as she lays against the ground, the raw impact from even a considerably short fall still agonizing, and yet, she finds she barely feels it. Her heart races as she stares up at the sky, at the stars twinkling overhead, countless pale pinpricks against a deep blue tapestry, and it races a beat faster as she glances over at the lilac star beside her, a pile of glitter-stained fabric and skin and clear, shining eyes.

A moment of silence passes, a moment spent staring at the girl by her side, drinking in the sight of her, how beautiful she is even in dishevelment, how ridiculous and wonderful this all is--

and Khatmi finally lets herself laugh.

"Well," she manages through the mess of laughter, her bones protesting as she moves to sit up, sliding over to sit by Aaleahya's side, looking down at her with a warm smile. "Sorry about that... are you feeling alright?"

There was no hesitation in Aaleahya’s voice as she realized what Khatmi was implying. There was only one way out of this room that didn’t involve throwing themselves at the mercy of the powerful mages and irate, love-scorned woman who would no doubt tear them to shreds in a confrontation. The charlatan was no stranger to running. She’d been doing it her whole life, after all. Chasing impossible dreams as easily as she fled old lives. She disappeared with the deftness of a circus magician, accompanied by a wink and a smile. Never looking back.

Never running with someone else.

Aaleahya felt oddly breathless when she spoke.

“Always.”

And Khatmi grabbed her hand, and Aaleahya kicked off her heels once more, and the two made a beeline for the window.

With her free hand, Aaleahya reached into her bra, pulling out a couple of explosive baubles that she lit on a stray fuse left on one of the tables before tossing them behind her.^[1] If they were going to make a grand exit, may as well make it a dramatic one, no? Sparks danced behind her, nipping at her heels as the two escaped the growing fire. Khatmi kicked open the window, scattering shattered crystal below - and without hesitation, the two leapt in unison.

There was no greater freedom than the feeling of falling.

Because when you took that plunge, you did so knowing that you had made the choice to step off the ledge. Perhaps it would hurt when you hit the ground. Perhaps someone would be there to catch you. But you were the one who had leapt with your own two feet, throwing your whole body into the action. There was no backing out of it once you had started. And no one could stop you from making the jump.

This fall was going to hurt.

But, oh, wasn’t that what made it worthwhile?

Aaleahya could not contain her squeals of delight as the the two women plunged towards the ground, hand in hand. Khatmi’s skin was warm against her own, the stinging cold and the air making her skirts flutter in the wind, leaving a trail of soft greens and purples behind her, leaving behind a trail of flower petals in her wake. Persephone brought to life, dressed for her wedding with the lord of the underworld, a brush with death, only to flee before she ate the pomegranate seeds of temptation.

Yes, she wanted to scream over the wind in her ears and the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Be free with me!

And then they hurt the ground with enough force for Aaleahya’s ankles to shatter from the force of the impact.

The fellblood groaned as she landed in a mess of black silks and glitter, the both of them tumbling and rolling until they came to a stop on their backs, staring at the sky. Aaleahya’s chest heaved, every bit of her body feeling the soreness of the fall. It ached - a wonderful, terrible reminder of her life, of her thin threads of mortality.

She’d fallen once more. And yet, she’d lived.

She’d flown.

The night sky twinkled, a blanket of unfamiliar constellations that seemed to serenade them as they lay there, neither one willing to move, unwilling to break the spell that settled over them, as if everything would fall apart if one of them moved-

And then Khatmi burst into hysterics.

The sound was infectious.

Aaleahya remembered, once, standing in the middle of a frozen tundra while Kasra demanded to know what made Kvasir so special, what had endeared her to the charlatan. And Aaleahya found that the answer was easier than she thought it would be. The answer did not need to be complicated.

Kvasir made her smile.

Aaleahya loved collecting beautiful things. Precious jewels from the bowels of Zeinav, fine clothes from all over the world. Liquor that cost a king’s ransom. And yet, while she laid there with Khatmi, laughing alongside her until her sides burned and she could no longer draw in breath - she had the most beautiful thing from her collection right next to her. Solaria’s favorite flower whose fragrance never failed to bring Aaleahya joy.

And gods, how much fun she’d had today.

Aaleahya squeezed Khatmi’s hand before the other woman maneuvered herself into a sitting position, staring down at her. Blessedly forest-green eyes. So beautiful in her divinity. And despite it all, she was here. With Aaleahya. Mine.

She thought about what she’d said to the siren earlier. Aaleahya had always taken what she wanted from life.

… And perhaps that included Khatmi.

It didn’t matter in what capacity. As a friend, a lover, a partner. Khatmi was not in love with her, and Aaleahya did not know what love properly felt like. But she supposed that did not matter - no one truly did, after all. Love was something you could capture in a bottle. It was something that turned women into madmen. Love was laying next to your best friend after blowing up an illegal laboratory while you both giggled until your breath was hoarse and your lungs ached, giddy because you were by their side.

Aaleahya didn’t know what love was.

She’d never learned in her youth. Parents who’d never shown her affection because they feared what that loss would feel like. A mentor who thought warmth was weakness.

With Khatmi, though - Khatmi, who possessed an infinite wealth of love and care for others - Aaleahya was beginning to learn how easy it was.

“I am well, my dearest medic.” Aaleahya’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “I’ve never felt better. If you asked it of me, I could fly.”

---

1. Explosive Ornaments

Adrenaline is a powerful thing.

Khatmi can hardly say she’s ever underestimated its sheer strength, of course– she’s a doctor above all, her first language forged in bone and blood, in the purpose and capacity of organs, in the chemicals and motions that define deep rage and unfettered joy and boundless sorrow. She knows what adrenaline can do to the mind and body– it can numb the bite of pain and amplify the highest of feelings, dragging them from their dance among clouds to higher among the heavens, can make a fallible, fragile mortal frame feel immortal before it sends it crashing back down to earth and sea. She’s spoken with dozens of patients who’ve experienced that very thing– felt the taste of the divine somewhere in the seawater and soil that burdens their bruised and bloody mouths, felt heaven somewhere in the bite of the earth.

She knows it well herself– adrenaline has pushed her through sleepless, urgent nights, through caring for patients teetering on the edge of the veil, through wounds she could not heal if she’d been even a moment later. It is her bedside companion, the one that convinces her of the people she can save if she stays awake a little longer– it is her shadow, guiding her hand when she draws her arrows, urging her along when her legs burn from standing and walking and running around, between patients or from monsters or toward something out of reach.

She knows adrenaline like an old, untamable friend, and that is how she knows that this feeling flowering in her heart and bones and lungs is not it.

Pain scream-sings in every crevice of Khatmi’s body as she sits up and settles by Aaleahya’s side, but beneath each dull pulse of pain, a sense of joy blossoms to life– her heart hammers with all the speed and force of a hummingbird’s wings against the air, her pulse audible, tangible, alive. It’s easy to ignore the way her bones wail as Aaleahya gently squeezes her hand, the pain falling into a quiet, background hum as Aaleahya speaks, voice and eyes alike warm with radiant mirth.

“If you asked it of me, I could fly.”

A soft laugh spills from Khatmi’s lips at that, the sound gentle, fond, despite the ridiculousness of the words leaving Aaleahya’s mouth. They’ve both just crashed down from the second floor of an illegal potion ring’s hub, their bodies studded with glass and glitter, having just narrowly dodged the snapping jaws of danger, and yet, light still flows in the undercurrent of her words, her tone easy and sweet, and for once, instead of the violent fear she’s so used to feeling, Khatmi’s caught along in the current, her heart pinned to its pyre.

She is aflame, there, burning like the wicked sun that cast Icarus to the sea, the flame that doomed Prometheus to the eagle’s beak– and yet, though she burns, she has never known anything sweeter. She is aflame. She is alight.

If this is what ruin feels like, then why has she feared it so?

"Oh, you're well, you say?" Khatmi coos in amusement, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips once again, her sharp teeth flashing with quiet jubilation, her glitter-stained tail swishing lazily back and forth. She leans forward again, fingertips gliding along Aaleahya's temple, brushing wisps of lilac hair out of her face, thumb pausing against her cheek to clear away smudges of glitter and dirt. "I take it that horrible little crunch I heard just so happened to be potion bottles, then? Glitter jars? Something of the sort?"

She doesn't wait for a response before letting her eye flutter shut, turning her focus to the magic stirring in her veins-- shining spring mornings, summer sun-showers, gold filtering through autumn leaves, the last vestiges of warmth before winter, a soft and familiar smile through every season. It's strangely easy, this time, to call upon the light that swirls in her veins and spin it into something soothing. There's no dread, no anxiety, no fear over whether it will be enough-- it is just light, easy, effortless, and she can feel the glow at her fingertips seep into both of them, making a home in their skin and sewing their bones and bodies back together, carrying the pain away like the tide carries shells off the shore. [1] [2]

"There," she whispers, eye slowly reopening, Aaleahya's form swimming back into shape in her vision. "All better. What do you say to taking our chance to get out of here before we have a group of angry Sirens on our tails?"

Even with their wounds patched up, both of them are still messes-- dirt and glitter and vivid stains still cling to their skin, their hair, their clothing, prismatic shadows of havoc leaving their marks behind. The green and lavender fabric of Khatmi's dress is stained pink and indigo, colorful as the flesh of a spring flower, adorned with fallen stardust; the dress is practically ruined, really, but she finds she doesn't care. Hell, she'd probably wear it again, even so-- don the physical memory of this night, a testament to the first time in a long time she'd let herself dream of flight.

And as she stares down at the smile of her sea-touched Icarus, the willful eyes of her defiant Prometheus, the strength of her Aaleahya, her Morrigan, Khatmi lets herself pray that if she flies again, it's with her. Who better than her to fly beside, after all? Who better than to be beside? Aaleahya looks the part of an angel right now, the ink-dark fabric of her skirts fanning out beneath her, stained in strokes of powder and glitter and color, like chromatic feathers against shadows-- like wings.

Perhaps it's time Khatmi learns to trust that those wings won't burn.

---

[1] Major Healing

[2] Living Aura