Fae couldn’t believe it. She was seeing through her own eyes again. More than that…
She felt the wind. She felt warmth. She smelled flowers, so fragrant. Senses she’d lost as an untethered soul now came back to her, and it wasn’t uncomfortable or a shock to the senses.
It felt… right.
I’m… back.
She stood beneath the great tree atop the hill, the primary landmark at the Orphan of the Dawn. All around her were her friends, looking at her expectantly, excitedly. Smiles were on almost everyone’s faces. Tears hung, threatening to fall, in many eyes.
Fae began to smile, too. But then…
“She’s-really-back-I-can’t-believe-it-there’s-no-way-is-it-really-do-I-dare-hope-is-she-okay—”
Fae felt a sharp pain in her head, as six voices all jumbled together in her mind, all speaking at once, over each other, mashing together, until she couldn’t tell who’s voice was whose, couldn’t tell where one thought ended and another began.
“Oh, ow, that’s weird!” Jupiter said, clutching her head. That was all Fae heard spoken aloud, despite everyone speaking, because their voices, their inner thoughts, raced through her mind, louder than what was spoken.
“Please calm down,” came the Orphan of the Dawn’s voice, calm and soothing, cutting through the psychic noise. “Quiet your thoughts. You will not always be able to do so, but start there to grow accustomed to the connection. As I said… this will be difficult. And the pain and weight of each other’s thoughts and connections is lessened here. I cannot say for certain what kind of struggles you will face when you leave this place.”
“So we — ow!” Jupiter started, cutting off at an elbow jab to the ribs from Mercury. But Mercury winced as well, and so did Neptune, and Madeline.
“Hold up, you felt that, too?” Mercury asked. Neptune and Madeline nodded.
“What about this?” Sonya asked. She reached out and poked one finger against Olivia’s cheek. Fae felt it, too, though, and gasped in shock. There was nothing pressing against her cheek, but she felt a soft, warm pressure in the same place that Olivia was being poked. Sonya stepped back, raising her eyebrows. “And I felt it, too.”
“Same here,” Madeline said.
“Let’s all just calm down,” Fae said slowly, carefully. She felt on-edge, expecting another spike of pain and flood of thoughts. But everyone was being careful with their thoughts, staying quiet not just aloud but internally. Occasionally a word or two fluttered through Fae’s mind, but they didn’t hurt. They just felt strange. Like butterflies in her brain.
“As I warned,” the Orphan of the Dawn said, “this is not a permanent solution. Or rather, it is not meant to be. The connections all of you have forged with Fae — and with each other — has made this possible. Fae is back in her body, but only because all seven of you together are bearing the weight and consequences of what the wicked Dragon did to her. It does not reverse her transformation, only protects her from its adverse effects.”
“So we still need to —”
“So-we-still-need-to-find-a-way-there’s-gotta-be-okay-but-maybe-if-I-want-to-know-can-you-quiet-there’s-so-little-I-don’t-like-this-please-guys-don’t-think-so—”
Fae clutched her forehead, gritting her teeth against pain, against noise that drowned out her own thoughts, voices washing over each other like vicious, wild waves.
“Quiet down, all of you!” Madeline said, in a rare moment of raising her voice. Slowly, the voices began to fade in Fae’s mind, and she could think for herself — but she tried not to, to avoid harming others with her inner voice. “If we think too loudly, or all at once, Fae gets the worst feedback. We all hear each other, but it’s clearly worst for her. Right, Fae?” She turned a worried look on Fae, who nodded, saying nothing, keeping her thoughts quiet.
“That is the natural consequence,” the Orphan of the Dawn said. “I am sorry. I know it is painful.”
“You warned us,” Fae said softly, shaking her head. “Very specifically. And we agreed to it. So —”
“There’s-no-way-I-don’t-like-please-HEYNOWSHUTUPWILLYOU—”
Fae dropped to a knee at that last blast of thoughts in her mind, intense pain that lanced through her skull. It was brief, but cut off at the worst moment, louder than ever.
“Sorry,” Mercury said softly, bowing her head. “I… I tried to shut everyone up but…”
“How are we supposed to deal with this?” Sonya asked. “Do we just take turns thinking? That doesn’t sound right at all, or feasible.”
“You have to think to talk,” Neptune said. “So it’s a matter of keeping our verbal thoughts quiet. No one’s getting images or any other kinds of thoughts from each other, right?”
“All verbal here,” Jupiter said.
“And you’re the loudest thinker, so be more careful,” Mercury said, stopping an elbow jab just before it would have struck her sister. “And I guess I need to come up with a better way to dissuade your bad habits.”
“We all have to be careful,” Sonya said. “But… hmm.” She had a thoughtful, inquisitive gleam in her eyes. “When we’re all talking like this, there isn’t all that psychic feedback. Perhaps our best hope is simply… to always… say what we’re thinking.”
“A recipe for disaster,” Jupiter said. “Come on, part of why you don’t say what you’re thinking is so you keep yourself from saying mean things. You’re supposed to filter the bad stuff out in your head before it comes out of your mouth.”
“So we’ll just have to be nice to each other,” Neptune said. “Always.”
Slowly, Fae rose, recovering from the most recent psychic spike. “Is that our only hope?” she asked, looking up at the tree. “Our only chance is… to say everything we think, always?”
“No,” the Orphan of the Dawn said. “You are all thinking more than you’re saying right now. Perhaps you can hear some of the whispers, if they aren’t drowned out by your own thoughts. It’s a matter of controlling your thinking, quieting your minds. That does not mean emptying them, for that would be both impossible and foolish. It simply means being more than a filter for thoughts, but also a controller of intensity of thought.”
“There-was-a-time-in-years-past—” came a sudden blast of thought in Fae’s mind. But… it sounded like her own voice. The speedy words were brief, and the spike of pain brief as well, and lesser than previous ones.
“Sorry,” Sonya said, shaking her head. “I… was testing something.”
“Testing?” Mercury asked. “That hurt!”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Sonya said. “I… I might be the most problematic one here.”
“Why’s that?” Madeline asked.
“I’m a writer,” Sonya said. “I’m always having thoughts, verbal thoughts. Words, sentence structure, story ideas… I frequently play with words in my head before putting them to the page. I… tend to think quite loudly. It’s quite an effort right now not to cause all of you discomfort. It’s difficult to adjust my thinking in such a way.”
“Well, we’re not so different,” Mercury said, pointing to Neptune and herself. “We’re always thinking up lyrics, playing with words and music in our heads before giving them a try out loud.”
“Yeah, you guys are the big lyricists,” Jupiter said. “So I guess I’m off the hook.” She grinned, but that was followed by a powerful spike of pain through Fae’s mind, along with —
“There’s-so-much-hey-rhythm-what’s-your-name-I-don’t-know-about-wow-it’s-pretty-I-like-flowers-I’m-hungry-what’s-next-can-we-I-know-you’re-hey-but—”
“Stop it!” Mercury said, smacking Jupiter in the head, flinching at the same time — Neptune and Mercury winced and their heads bobbed at the same time. Even Fae felt the hit this time, though only as a light tap on the back of her head. “You think about a million things every second, and you think so loudly! And I… hit harder than I thought I did.” Mercury stared at her hand. “Sorry about that.”
“You just realized it?” Jupiter asked, rubbing the back of her head. “Geez. Well, it’s better to hear that you don’t know your own strength than that you were always just wailing on me for the fun of it.”
“It wasn’t just your thoughts, anyway,” Neptune said, looking at Jupiter. “I heard two other voices in there, at least. It’s hard to be sure.”
“We’re all screwing up,” Mercury said with a sigh, which turned into a yawn — a big yawn. “Wow, is anyone else feeling super drowsy all of a sudden?”
“I’m wiped,” Jupiter said, slumping her shoulders. “What the heck is this?”
“You are carrying a great mental, emotional, and physical burden,” the Orphan of the Dawn said. “It is not just sharing thoughts and physical sensations. Even when you do not hear the thoughts of each other, you are still carrying that weight. It will exhaust you quickly, especially at the beginning.”
“Great,” Jupiter said with a sigh.
“Mental, emotional, and physical,” Sonya said thoughtfully.
“Why’d you stress the second word?” Mercury asked.
“It’s not just what’s obvious,” Sonya said. “Our emotions, our feelings… we’re sharing those, aren’t we? Even when we don’t notice it… we’re all influencing each other emotionally. Right?”
“That is correct.”
“No wonder I feel weirdly bouncy,” Mercury said, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, glancing at Jupiter. “You’re hyperactive even when you’re tired.”
“You should know that by now,” Jupiter said.
Fae spoke little, because she fought so much against her own thoughts, and braced herself for feedback from others. But as she listened and slowly adjusted, she began to notice something. When she finally spoke up, everyone listened. “Olivia, are you all right?” she asked. “You’ve bene silent this entire time.”
Olivia had raised her hood, though she hadn’t pulled it so far forward that it hid her face. But she’d had her head bowed, and when she looked up, there was an anxious fear in her eyes. “I…” she started, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I am simply… fighting my own thoughts. I don’t want to be a burden on the rest of you.”
“Well, we’ve all got to do that,” Mercury said, flashing a grin. “It’s gonna take time, right? But we were only able to do this together because we’re all bonded, because we love each other. So we’ll be able to make it through this.”
“You were always a pro at those cheesy lines,” Jupiter said.
“It’s not cheesy,” Mercury said. “It’s just truth. Though it’s probably cheesy to people without the emotional maturity or vulnerability to handle it.”
“You’re not usually so sassy,” Jupiter said, frowning.
“I’m trying to say what I think instead of hurting everyone’s brains,” Mercury said with a grin.
“Your brain-to-mouth filter’s never been all that effective, anyway,” Neptune said. Mercury just laughed.
“So… what do we do now?” Sonya asked. “Aside from adjust to our new normal, I mean.”
“Fae?” Madeline asked. “What do you want to do first?”
Fae stared, surprised, as everyone turned their expectant gazes on her. No one spoke, and their thoughts didn’t bombard her brain. “I…” she started.
I really want to take a shower.
Mercury smiled. Jupiter giggled.
“Ah…” Fae started, then ducked her head, embarrassed. “I just… it’s been a really long time. Since before we entered the Silver Star Sanctuary… ever since our last visit to Eventide Archive, I haven’t even washed my face or brushed my teeth. I feel… really gross right now.”
“Is there anywhere to get cleaned up here?” Mercury asked, looking at the tree.
“I do not have shower facilities,” the Orphan of the Dawn said, “but there are extensive baths. And I can provide clean clothes if you do not have any of your own.”
“Well, let’s give her some privacy,” Mercury said with a smile. “Or, well… as much as we can. We’ll try.”
“We’ll definitely try,” Madeline said.
A door appeared, and Fae stepped through it. Immediately she was hit by a change in humidity, though it wasn’t unpleasant. Fragrances tickled her nose — soap, a variety of soaps, she could tell.
The space was indoors, and huge. There was a large, tiled changing area before her, and dozens of fresh white towels were folded and stacked. From that changing area, Fae stepped into a huge bathing area, with dozens of large baths separated by partitions. Each bath was a deep circle, about twelve feet across — so much space! The tiles and stonework were gold, but not in a gaudy way, appearing somehow soft, relaxing, and inviting. The water was crystalline, perfectly clear, and a great array of soaps were in shelves on one side of the bath, easily accessed from within.
Fae eyed the bath for a moment, hesitant. She spoke aloud, rather than keeping her thoughts to herself — because there wasn’t a way to keep her thoughts to herself, not anymore. “I really don’t like baths.” But her desperate need to clean herself was inescapable. She’d always kept up a fierce personal hygiene routine, and took cleanliness so seriously, and now… “How long has it been? A week? Two? I don’t know exactly how long it took us to reach the Silver Star Sanctuary, and how long I was imprisoned inside… and how long it took to get back to Grimoire from there… anyway, it’s been way too long. I’ll just have to deal with it.”
As soon as she submerged herself, though, a sudden, powerful relief flooded her. The water was hot, but not too hot, and without any soap it already seemed to be washing away the dirt, sweat, and grime, and with all of that, Fae’s own worries and anxieties. The sediment and such that washed off of Fae’s body swirled in the bath’s water only for a few moments, then seemed to vanish — drained away? Filtered out? Magically dissolved? Fae had no way of knowing.
Fae looked at her arms. She could pick out each individual point where she’d been injected by Wasuryu’s wicked machine in the bowels of the Silver Star Sanctuary. They weren’t simple IV pricks, but noticeable circular scars, with bruises around their edges that still remained after so many days. The wounds themselves had closed, but the wrinkled, misshapen scars that took their place made Fae’s heart clench.
Will they —
But she stopped herself from merely thinking it. “Will they be like this forever?” she muttered softly. She let out a sigh, then took off her glasses, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and dunked her head in the water. She scrubbed at her face with her fingers, raked through her hair gently, working at some of the easier tangles and knots. She stayed under as long as she possibly could before emerging, getting her breath back.
“It’s not… the best solution,” she whispered to herself. “And I hope we can find something better, an actual cure. And all of this… it’s because… of our bonds? Of our friendship?” It seemed so strange to Fae, but as she thought back to all that had happened, back to where she’d started…
“I… can see it.” A smile played at her lips. Memories without words went through her mind. Mercury, approaching her at Grim Night’s, with an effortless smile, promising her the answers to all of her questions. Her and all of the Star sisters, traveling across the Enchanted Dominion. Cartographer’s Waystation, the Plains of the Fallen, Eventide Archive, the Basin of Antiquity, Sunset Square, the Crimson Docks.
The Crimson Docks… was that a turning point? “It’s hard to pick one out. But… that was definitely a moment. I started to really enjoy the journey. And… traveling with them.” Then things had taken a sudden, frightening turn — but they’d escaped the Collapsed Fates, to the City of Anguish. Fae chuckled. “Mercury was so mean to everyone there. But it was a funny side of her to see.” And then…
“We saved the Fates. Together. I keep getting all the credit, but… I never would have done all of that without them. Not just because of their abilities or knowledge, but because of… their emotional support. Their friendship. They claimed me as a friend almost instantly, and I… I thought it was cheesy. I thought they were childish. But they meant it. They were serious from the start. I… never deserved them. But… I’m really glad they didn’t give up on me.”
Madeline was her best friend, but so much of Fae’s journey, so many of her fondest memories, were now filled with the Star sisters. And her two darkest, most painful moments…
Nightmare Road. All alone, with a broken leg and bleeding hands, she’d been found by Mercury. Right when she’d started to lose all hope, Mercury had sung her stupidly silly song, they’d laughed, and…
“Because of her… I found the light.”
And then deep in the bowels of the Silver Star Sanctuary, being transformed by Wasuryu…
“Madeline was there. She saved me. I know she thinks she was too late, she still feels so guilty about everything that happened — with me, with everyone else’s memories — but seeing her there, when I finally thought it was all over… that saved me. Just seeing her… before she actually saved me, she’d already saved me.”
Saying all of this aloud felt strange. Fae was an internal thinker. She wasn’t a talker. But the more she talked out her thoughts… and maybe it was the warmth of the bath, maybe it was the smell of soap, maybe it was that she was finally back in her body again and just wanted the sensation of talking, of moving her mouth… but there was something different about getting her thoughts out in the open. “It’s almost like thinking them twice. I get to see what they really sound like, what they look like, what they feel like. That’s… super cheesy, isn’t it?” She sunk a bit in the water, blowing bubbles. That got her laughing, just for a moment. “It’s… okay. To be childish now and then.”
It reminded her of one of her favorite quotes from one of her favorite artists about childhood and adulthood, about maturity. About how rejecting the superficial elements of childhood as an adult, how pursuing superficial elements of adulthood from a child’s eyes, was truly childish. And how, as an adult, that artist had found it more enjoyable than ever to read children’s stories, to engage in “childish” elements of life and living.
“Shana’s got the right idea. I’m not totally sure about Mercury and Jupiter just yet, but Shana… she’s got such a good balance. She’s so mature. I… really wasn’t, was I?”
That was a hard pill to swallow. She was the second child. Only Caleb was older than her, and she had two little sisters who, theoretically, should look up to her, and she should set herself as a role model for. She should be the one who showed them the way to maturity.
“But I was… well, I still am. Insecure. Scared. This new situation… being bonded psychically with everyone… it’s terrifying. I don’t want to let them see who I am. I don’t want to show myself. I… I’ve always liked being alone. But did I really like it? Caleb always seemed so stupidly happy, even by himself. But I… was I happy, being alone? Or was I just… pushing people away?”
And now… now, who was she? Who would she become? Was she still the Fae from before meeting Mercury, or had this journey really changed her?
Fae stiffened suddenly at the sound of soft footsteps. Was someone else in here? Why? Sure, there were a ton of baths, but no one had said she wouldn’t be alone!
“I’m sorry,” came Olivia’s voice. Fae didn’t turn — the footsteps had been barefoot, so Olivia had probably already undressed to bathe. “I… I won’t bother you. I just… I was feeling the need for a bath, too. And… to be… well, not alone. But… to just be with you. If that’s… all right.”
“Y-yeah, sure,” Fae said, wincing as she stuttered. She almost asked Olivia not to use the same bath, but she couldn’t bring herself even to fully think the thought. And she needn’t have worried, because Olivia chose the bath beside hers, and through the partition, they could only see the silhouette of each other’s head.
But why is she —
Fae started, then shut her brain down. She waited with bated breath, terrified that Olivia had —
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said again. “I… I’m not entirely comfortable being around other people, either. Especially not… like this. I didn’t expect it to be a bath, or to be so… open. But I… I don’t mind… being vulnerable around you.”
The words hung in the air, unanswered. Fae didn’t know how to answer them.
“I’ve been able to see more of my life,” Olivia said. “Still, almost entirely, as if reading a book or watching a film, not as my own memories. But… well, even with my brother, though I loved him dearly, I never… I was never comfortable. I could play with him, and enjoy his company. But I couldn’t… bare my soul to him. I never burdened him with any of my own problems or concerns, my worries or fears. Perhaps that was my error — seeing them as burdens in the first place. But I still often view them that way. My thoughts… my fears… my own concerns… are they burdens? Perhaps… that’s why I was alone, back then. Why the Orphan of the Dawn reached out to me in my solitude. Now… I have no choice. Vulnerability is the ‘new normal,’ as Sonya put it. It… terrifies me.”
“Yeah,” Fae said. A simple, almost annoyingly so, response. And yet…
What else was there to say? She agreed. One hundred percent. She was terrified, too.
“But, Fae… I’m not afraid around you. From the moment you rescued me, I never have been. I wondered, at first, why. I thought perhaps it was because we share the same face, voice, but… no. Honestly, I’m the kind of person who would normally find that eerie, not comforting.”
“Me, too,” Fae said.
“I don’t entirely know why, but I do feel at ease around you. I’m grateful that you’re with us in this journey. And… I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“I failed to protect you. None of you are fighters, but I… that is what I do best. But when Wasuryu struck, I was powerless to fight against him. And now so much has happened to you, and you still suffer. I… just wanted to —”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Fae said. “He’s a Dragon, so he’s already so much more powerful than any of us. And he set up the entire trap ahead of time. He used the Silver Star Matron to trick us, make us feel safe. None of us were prepared. You can claim you failed, but it’s not fair to the rest of us for you to take all the blame. We all failed.”
“Madeline did not.”
“She got lucky. And that’s not an excuse — luck is the only thing that could have helped us in that situation. She happened to be in the right place, have the right abilities, and meet the right people, at the right time. That’s all there is to it. We all failed, and then did our best to make up for it. And in the end, we all got out alive. We did better than that. We made it here, to the Orphan of the Dawn, despite everything that’s stood in our way. And you were a part of it. So… don’t sell yourself short.”
Fae and Olivia were both silent for a long time after that. Fae, because she’d said so much and was surprised at herself. She busied herself with picking out and applying soap, properly scrubbing herself down, untangling her hair, and returning herself to a state that she could be comfortable with. She was back in her own body, now. There was a “new” normal for everyone, but here, washing away all the miles of travel and struggles of conflict, Fae brought herself to a semblance of the familiar normal.
“Thank you,” Olivia said after a while. “And you’re right. I… I know that I set a high bar for myself, always. And in this group, I’m not always comfortable with anything other than fighting. I don’t like large groups, I don’t really like talking, and I’m… not very good at this new normal. I’m not good at expressing myself, and I’m uncomfortable even saying as much as I’ve said. I did agree to this, for your sake, and I won’t attempt to take it back. But I’m… so used to fleeing from this kind of vulnerability that I…”
She trailed off, and Fae offered nothing in reply. She didn’t have to. She could feel it, and she thought Olivia could, too — a comfort, a trust, an understanding.
We’re the same.
Fae didn’t cut that thought off. It would probably reach the others. But that was all right.
She’d struggled to see herself and Olivia in that kind of light. Outside of physical features — and even then, it was clear that Olivia had a body trained for combat, while Fae did not — and the fact that they were both soft-spoken, Olivia often dazzled Fae with how different they were. She was so capable in combat, so decisive and fearless. She was so unlike Fae.
But…
Now Fae saw more. That they were so much more alike than she thought, and that, in many ways… they really were the same.
“I’m constantly judging people,” Fae said. “I take first impressions and make that all I know of someone. But lately… I’ve been remembering that people have layers. I’m so used to applying that to fictional characters with Madeline, but it’s true of real people. Of course it is. And you can’t get to know who someone really is from a first encounter. You especially can’t get to know who they are… if you won’t let them show you. If you won’t show them who you are in return.”
A long, comfortable silence filled the space between Fae and Olivia. Nothing more needed to be said. When Fae was satisfied she was as clean as she wanted to be, she turned and grabbed her bag. While still in the bath, she balanced her drawing tablet on the floor and began drawing. So many experiences, so many memories, so many thoughts that she needed to get down. She kept notes through sketches and visuals, and since she was focused on thinking visually through what she’d experienced, she hoped that her thoughts weren’t reaching out and causing trouble for others.
Olivia left the bath first, dried, and dressed, and then stepped into a separate room to afford Fae the privacy to follow suit. The clothing afforded by the Orphan of the Dawn was soft and comfortable, and Fae, as she often did, chose a size slightly bigger than required — she didn’t like close-fitting clothing. There were other stations besides the baths, with mirrors, sinks, washcloths, brushes, combs, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and much more. Fae went to work on her teeth, rinsed and washed her mouth extensively, and only when she was satisfied with a mouth that didn’t feel even the slightest bit of grime did she finish off by brushing her hair, working it back to how she liked it. For a long time, she stared at it, leaving it down and free like she often did. And then…
“Olivia?” she asked. Olivia came in. “Could you… help me with my hair?”
“I’m not sure I can,” Olivia said. “I’ve only ever done my own hair.”
“Well, I was just hoping… I’d like to try something different. A… braid. Like yours.”
Olivia seemed surprised, just a little bit, for a moment. But then she came to sit beside Fae, and worked with her to tie her hair into a long, single braid.
Fae had never done that with her hair before. But she thought it looked good, and it felt good, too. A bit lighter, a bit more contained, a bit more comfortable. And it was with this matching style that she realized, her and Olivia’s hair wasn’t exactly the same.
Fae’s was slightly longer.
She and Olivia left together, and when they returned to the hill and the tree…
“Well,” Fae said, raising an eyebrow. “I guess they really were tired.”
Madeline, Mercury, Neptune, Jupiter, and even Ciel, were all asleep. They lay beside each other in the flowers, and someone had draped white blankets over each of them.
Sonya, however, was awake. She certainly looked like she could use some sleep, but she was writing, and yet somehow, there wasn’t any psychic feedback, no loud thoughts penetrating Fae’s mind. She looked up as Fae and Olivia returned. “Oh, good,” she said, seeming genuinely relieved. “I was hoping I could get it right. I… really want to be able to keep writing. But I don’t want to trouble anyone with my thoughts. It’s a lot slower this way, and I don’t think it’s anywhere near as good as my usual work, but… it’s just something I’ll need to keep practicing.”
“It seems like we’re all adjusting quickly,” Fae said. “I hope we can keep that up.” She looked around. “Where’s Toryu?”
“He’s having a moment,” Sonya said. “He said we should feel free to interrupt him once you two were ready.”
Fae looked where Sonya indicated. High on the hill, on the other side of the tree, Toryu sat, puffing at his pipe. He spoke softly, so Fae couldn’t hear him, but she wouldn’t have wanted to eavesdrop if she could. She remembered, when they’d first met, how he’d said that he had been here to the Orphan of the Dawn, long ago. How he’d become friends with her. And how, after he left… he couldn’t find his way back.
How long had it been? Fae didn’t want to interrupt him, so she and Olivia sat with Sonya. They spoke amongst themselves softly, sparingly — they didn’t have much to say. The Orphan of the Dawn was such a calming, relaxing place, it created an atmosphere that lent itself to comfortable silence.
After a while, though, Toryu noticed them, and he approached them. “Come, girls, come,” he said, “you shouldn’t be kept waiting. After all, this journey was for your sake. And you three have a great deal to discuss with the Orphan of the Dawn. There will be time, time enough, to reminisce later.”
The trio stood. They looked at each other for just a moment, but didn’t need to say anything. Anxiety and excitement, hope and curiosity, filled the air, was shared between them.
The Orphan of the Dawn had reached out to them across the vast reaches of the universe, and called the three of them to her. For what purpose? What hope, what healing, could she offer the girls?
Together, Fae, Olivia, and Sonya climbed the hill to discover those answers.