Chapter 5
-The Connections, September 18th, 1958-
Monday morning arrived with the familiar hum of the laboratory. The sterile scent of chemicals, the faint crackling of machinery, and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards filled the air. Yet, despite the usual order of things, Roselle sensed that something was off.
Miranda had always carried herself with an air of control—poised, calculating, untouchable. But today, there was a stiffness to her movements, a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before. She had barely spoken since arriving, her focus solely on her research, yet Roselle could see the strain behind her golden eyes.
Roselle glanced over at Miranda from across their shared office, noting the way she gripped the edge of her desk. Her breathing was slow and measured, as if she were forcing herself to remain composed.
“Miranda?” Roselle asked, her voice gentle but firm.
“I’m fine,” Miranda replied without looking up, her voice sharp and clipped.
Roselle didn’t buy it. She had spent enough time around Miranda now to know when something was wrong. And today, something was very wrong.
An hour passed, and though Miranda continued to work, the signs of her discomfort became more apparent. The subtle winces, the way she pressed her fingers against her temple, the small but sharp inhales as though trying to breathe through the pain—it all pointed to something more than simple fatigue.
By midday, Miranda could no longer mask it. As she reached for a vial, her hand trembled, and she exhaled sharply, clutching the edge of the desk.
That was the last straw for Roselle. She abandoned her own work and swiftly moved to Miranda’s side.
“Enough,” Roselle said firmly. “You’re in pain. What’s going on?”
Miranda clenched her jaw, refusing to meet her gaze. “It’s nothing. I just need to—”
“You just need to stop pretending this is nothing,” Roselle interjected, folding her arms. “Miranda, talk to me.”
A long silence followed. Miranda’s pride warred with the reality of her situation. The truth was, the mold and the Cadou within her had always caused physical strain, but lately, the headaches had grown worse. Whether it was due to prolonged exposure or the emotional stress she had been experiencing lately, she wasn’t sure. But today, the pain was unbearable.
Finally, she relented, albeit begrudgingly. “It’s the mold,” Miranda admitted, her voice quieter now. “And the Cadou. It’s... unpredictable. Some days it’s manageable. Other days, like today, it’s nearly debilitating.”
Roselle frowned, concern evident in her expression. “How long has this been happening?”
Miranda didn’t answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her tone was almost dismissive. “It’s been part of me for over a century, Roselle. It’s nothing new.”
Roselle sighed. “That doesn’t mean you should suffer through it.”
Miranda was about to brush it off again, but the intensity in Roselle’s eyes made her pause. She cared. And not in the way the other researchers at The Connections did, who only valued Miranda for her brilliance and their own ambitions. No, Roselle cared about her, about Miranda as a person, not just as a scientist or a leader.
Roselle straightened. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Before Miranda could protest, Roselle was gone.
Left alone, Miranda let out a slow breath, rubbing her temples. She hated feeling weak. Hated being perceived as anything less than in control. But Roselle’s concern was... different. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t condescension. It was genuine. And that was dangerous in its own way.
Fifteen minutes later, Roselle returned, carrying a small cup of herbal tea and a vial of something dark and opaque.
Miranda raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”
Roselle set the tea down on the desk. “A blend of medicinal herbs. It might not be a cure, but it’ll help with the pain.”
Miranda gave her a skeptical look. “And the vial?”
“A compound I synthesized,” Roselle said, her voice calm but assured. “I’ve been studying the effects of the mold since I started working here. This solution might help regulate its activity in your system, at least temporarily.”
Miranda hesitated. Trusting others, especially with her condition, was not something she did lightly. But this was Roselle. And for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she wanted to trust her.
With a slow nod, Miranda took the tea first, letting the warmth seep into her hands before taking a cautious sip. The herbal notes were soothing, the bitterness grounding. Then, with another glance at Roselle—who gave her an encouraging nod—Miranda took the vial and drank.
A moment passed. Then another. And slowly, the sharp, pulsing pain in her skull began to dull. It didn’t disappear entirely, but it was... manageable. The relief from the pain was almost immediate, and for the first time- in God only knows how long- Miranda allowed herself to truly relax. The tension in her shoulders lessened, her mind cleared, and she found herself sinking into the sensation of feeling… normal, if only for a moment.
Roselle, ever observant, noticed the shift in Miranda’s posture. The sharp edge to her presence had softened, her golden eyes no longer clouded by discomfort.
"Better?" Roselle asked, watching her closely.
Miranda exhaled, placing the empty vial aside. "Yes," she admitted, rolling her shoulders experimentally. "I hadn’t realized just how much I needed that."
Roselle smirked. "I told you to let me help you more often."
Miranda shook her head with an exasperated chuckle. "You’re quite persistent."
"Only with things that matter," Roselle countered, her voice holding something deeper beneath the teasing.
Miranda met her gaze then, studying her. There was something about Roselle—something that was beginning to unravel Miranda in ways she hadn't anticipated. She was intelligent, certainly, but it was her unwavering sincerity that unsettled Miranda the most. No one had truly seen her in a long time. Not as a woman. Not as a person.
And yet, Roselle did.
Roselle reached out then—hesitant at first, as if unsure whether to cross that invisible line between them. But her fingers lightly grazed Miranda’s wrist, just a fleeting touch, and yet it sent a slow burn through Miranda’s body.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” Roselle murmured. Her voice was quiet but firm, laced with something Miranda couldn't quite place.
Miranda’s breath hitched for just a fraction of a second—so slight that anyone else might have missed it. But Roselle didn’t miss things. Not when it came to her.
“You act as though you know my burdens,” Miranda said, but there was no bite to her words. Only curiosity.
Roselle’s thumb brushed against Miranda’s wrist before she pulled away, leaving the warmth of her touch behind. “Maybe I do,” she admitted softly.
Miranda exhaled slowly, her golden eyes searching Roselle’s face for something—anything—that would explain the way she was feeling. It was unfamiliar, this pull toward someone, this instinct to let her walls slip even slightly.
“I don’t…” Miranda hesitated, the words foreign on her tongue. She wasn’t used to admitting weakness. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
Roselle smiled slightly, but there was something tender in it. “Then don’t think about it,” she said simply. “Just… be here. With me.”
That was dangerous. Being with someone in this way was dangerous. It meant feeling something beyond her singular purpose. It meant acknowledging a part of herself that she had buried the day she lost Eva.
And yet…
Miranda found herself leaning forward, just slightly. The space between them had grown impossibly small. She could see the way Roselle’s throat moved as she swallowed, the way her green eyes darkened ever so subtly.
“You should be careful, Roselle,” Miranda murmured, her voice lower now, almost intimate. “You may not like what you find when you get too close.”
Roselle didn’t pull away. If anything, she moved just a fraction closer, challenging the warning.
“I think I’d like to take my chances,” Roselle whispered.
For a brief moment, Miranda allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to indulge in this—this warmth, this connection, this quiet understanding between them.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to reach out.
Instead, she let out a breath and leaned back, composing herself once more. But the shift had already happened. The line had already been crossed, even if neither of them fully admitted it.
Roselle, perceptive as ever, didn’t push. She only gave Miranda a knowing look before saying, “I’ll always be here, Miranda. When you’re ready.”
And with that, she turned and left the room, leaving Miranda to sit there in the silence, pulse still thrumming in her ears.
When you’re ready.
Miranda wasn’t sure if she ever would be...
-----------------------------------------
The rest of the day had passed in a blur of tension. Miranda’s mind was focused solely on the work at hand, but it was clear her thoughts kept veering toward Roselle—toward the words they had shared, the quiet, intimate exchange. It had left her unsettled, a feeling she wasn’t accustomed to. But she had to push it aside. There were bigger matters to attend to.
But then, it happened.
A worker in one of the secondary labs—someone who had been under her direct supervision—made a careless mistake. A critical sample had been mishandled, one of the most important components in her research on Eva. Miranda had invested hours into that batch, and this fool had ruined it in a matter of seconds.
Her frustration boiled over almost instantly. She stormed down the hall to the lab, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors. The worker, standing nervously by the ruined experiment, flinched as she entered, clearly anticipating her wrath.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Miranda’s voice was sharp, cold, and full of barely contained fury. “This is years of research. Years! And you’ve destroyed it in a single moment of incompetence!”
The worker stammered, clearly flustered. “I—I’m sorry, Dr. Miranda! I didn’t mean to—”
“Sorry?” Miranda’s voice cut through their apologies like a blade. She was beyond angry now, her pulse quickening as the weight of her failure pressed down on her chest. “Sorry won’t fix this! I don’t have time for mistakes! Do you understand? Do you realize how important this is?”
The worker nodded desperately, their eyes wide with fear.
Miranda stepped closer, her gaze darkening. “If you can’t handle simple tasks, I suggest you find another position.”
With one last glare, she turned and marched out of the lab, leaving the worker to their misery. She stormed down the hall to her office, barely registering anything around her as her mind spiraled.
Inside their shared office, Miranda slammed the door behind her, the sound reverberating through the empty space. She stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, her hands clenched at her sides. She wanted to scream. To throw something. To destroy everything around her, just to feel like she had some control again.
But no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she wanted to lash out, there was only one thing she couldn’t escape: the failure.
She had failed.
Miranda gritted her teeth, forcing herself to sit down at her desk. But the anger didn’t dissipate. It churned inside her, a storm that wouldn’t quiet. Every time she tried to focus, every time she tried to work through the next steps in her research, her mind kept circling back to the broken experiment. The wasted time. The wasted potential.
A deep, crushing weight settled over her chest—tight, unrelenting, squeezing the air from her lungs. She clenched her jaw, her vision tunneling, the words on the page blurring into meaningless scribbles. A sharp, familiar pang shot through her ribs, then her throat. Her breathing hitched. No. Not now.
But the panic didn’t care.
It hit her all at once, violent and overwhelming. Her entire body tensed, muscles locking up as a searing heat spread through her like wildfire. Her hands jerked, knocking over the stack of papers, but she hardly noticed. Her breath came in short, stuttering gasps—too fast, too shallow.
I can’t breathe.
Her chest burned, her throat tightening as if she were being strangled by an invisible force. Heat pulsed under her skin, sweat forming at her temple, trickling down the back of her neck. Her stomach twisted violently.
She gripped the desk hard, her nails digging into the wood. The walls of the office moved, shifting and closing in. The lights overhead felt blinding, the hum of the machines deafening.
And then—she felt it. Her pulse. Racing. Pounding. Her heart slammed against her ribs, hard and fast, so fast—too fast.
It’s too fast—it’s going to stop—it’s—
"Miranda!"
The voice cut through the haze, but it was distant, nearly drowned by the roaring panic in her head.
She barely registered Roselle moving, barely registered the way her chair scraped back as Roselle rushed to her side.
Miranda’s hands had begun to shake violently, her vision fracturing into bright spots. Her mouth parted as she sucked in sharp, desperate breaths, but the air wouldn’t come.
"Miranda, look at me!" Roselle’s voice was urgent now, her hands hovering over Miranda’s shoulders, unsure whether to touch her.
Miranda’s body was boiling. The heat was unbearable, her skin burning, suffocating her from the inside out. A strangled sob tore from her throat, her entire body trembling as fresh tears streaked down her face.
"I—" Her voice broke. She gasped, choking on her own breath. "Roselle, I can’t—"
"You can," Roselle insisted, finally grabbing Miranda’s arms, firmly but carefully. "Just focus on my voice! You’re safe! You’re safe, I promise!"
But Miranda wasn’t safe. Not in her own body, not in her own mind. It felt like she was dying.
Her trembling fingers clawed at her own collar, at her lab coat, trying desperately to remove the layers of heat suffocating her. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
Roselle cursed under her breath, her heart pounding as she realized how dangerously overheated Miranda was.
"Hold on—hold on—" She bolted across the room, grabbing a cold compress from the medical drawer. She rushed back, quickly pressing it against Miranda’s forehead.
The moment the icy cloth touched her burning skin, Miranda jerked, gasping sharply at the sudden cold. Her breath hitched violently, another choked sob escaping.
"It’s okay, it’s okay," Roselle whispered, her own voice shaking now. "You’re burning up—you need to cool down. Just—just breathe with me."
Miranda let out a shuddering breath—sharp, uneven, her body still trembling uncontrollably. Roselle reached for another compress, pressing it against the back of Miranda’s neck.
Miranda gasped, her nails scraping against Roselle’s sleeve as she gripped onto her tightly. Her fingers dug in, desperate, clinging as if letting go meant falling apart entirely.
"It’s too much," Miranda choked, her voice barely a whisper. "I—I can’t—I can’t—"
"You can," Roselle cut in, her tone firm, but gentle. She carefully moved closer, hands steady despite the rapid beat of her own pulse. "I’m here. I won’t let this consume you. Just keep breathing. With me, alright? With me."
Miranda sobbed again, her body shuddering violently as she pressed her forehead against Roselle’s shoulder.
She hated this. Hated feeling weak. Hated how the panic ruled her, destroyed her.
But Roselle… Roselle was still here. Holding her. Keeping her upright. Not leaving.
"Just listen to me," Roselle whispered, pressing another cool cloth against Miranda’s heated skin. "In through your nose, slowly… hold it…" She paused, breathing with her. "Now out through your mouth. Nice and slow."
Miranda tried.
Her breath stuttered, but she tried.
Minutes passed, agonizing and slow. But eventually, eventually, the heat began to fade. The crushing weight on her chest lifted just enough for her to take in a deep, shuddering breath.
Her grip on Roselle loosened, her trembling finally easing, though exhaustion crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Roselle let out a relieved breath, keeping her arms around Miranda as she slowly pulled back just enough to see her face. Miranda’s golden eyes were glassy, her expression drained, raw.
"I didn't mean to loose control like that…" Miranda whispered, voice hoarse.
"No," Roselle said firmly, shaking her head. "Don’t you dare apologize for this. You’re not alone in this, Miranda. I mean that."
Miranda swallowed thickly, her hands still shaking slightly as she let Roselle’s words sink in.
The air in the office was thick with lingering tension, the remnants of Miranda’s panic attack still clinging to the space like a suffocating fog. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, but to Miranda, the world felt too bright, too loud, too much.
Her body was still trembling, her breaths uneven as she sat slumped in her chair. The cold compress Roselle had placed against her neck had long since warmed, but she lacked the energy to move it. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind sluggish, exhausted from the sheer intensity of what had just happened.
Roselle remained by her side, her presence steady, unwavering. She had seen Miranda in many states—frustrated, enraged, even grimly amused—but never like this. This wasn’t the powerful, godlike woman the world feared. This was Miranda unraveling. Human. Hurting.
Still kneeling beside her, Roselle hesitated for only a moment before speaking, keeping her voice soft, careful.
"Miranda," she murmured, gently brushing damp strands of golden hair from Miranda’s tear-streaked face.
Miranda inhaled sharply but said nothing. Her hands curled weakly into fists in her lap, her fingers still trembling slightly. She wanted to speak—to explain—but the weight pressing against her chest hadn’t fully lifted.
Her throat tightened. The words wouldn't come.
Then, without warning, her breath hitched, and her composure shattered.
A choked sob tore from her lips, her entire body tensing as fresh tears welled in her golden eyes. She tried to stop it, tried to push it down, but it was too late. The floodgates had opened.
"I—" Miranda gasped, but her voice broke entirely, dissolving into another sob.
Roselle didn’t think. She acted.
Without hesitation, she moved, sliding onto Miranda’s chair and pulling her into her lap in one fluid motion. Miranda barely had time to react before she found herself wrapped securely in Roselle’s arms, pressed against the warmth of her chest.
Miranda tensed at first, instinctively resisting the contact. She had never needed comfort before. She had never allowedherself to be comforted. But as another sob wracked through her, her defenses crumbled completely.
Roselle’s embrace was warm. Grounding.
She held Miranda firmly, one hand smoothing over her back in slow, soothing circles, the other cradling the back of her head. "Shhh, I’ve got you," Roselle whispered, rocking her gently. "Just let it out. Don’t hold back."
Miranda couldn’t hold back. Not anymore.
Her fingers gripped tightly at Roselle’s sleeve as the sobs wracked through her body, each one more painful than the last. She buried her face into Roselle’s shoulder, her breath ragged, uneven. The sheer intensity of it all left her reeling—she felt raw, exposed in a way she had never been before.
"I—I don't—" Miranda gasped between sobs, her voice barely coherent. "I don't understand—why—why is this happening to me?"
Roselle tightened her hold, her heart aching at the sheer distress in Miranda’s voice. She pressed a reassuring hand against the nape of Miranda’s neck, her fingers threading through her golden hair.
"You’ve been carrying too much for too long," Roselle murmured, resting her chin against the crown of Miranda’s head. "Your body is begging you to slow down."
Miranda’s breath hitched, her fingers twitching against Roselle’s sleeve. "I can’t," she rasped. "I can’t slow down. I have to keep going. I have to—"
"No, you don’t," Roselle interrupted gently but firmly. She exhaled softly, continuing to rock Miranda, keeping her close, safe. "You don’t have to do this alone anymore."
Miranda’s sobs didn’t stop. If anything, they worsened. Her breath hitched violently, breaking apart into shallow, frantic gasps. The weight of everything—her grief, her failures, her fears—was too much, too heavy.
Her body shook uncontrollably in Roselle’s lap, and suddenly, her breath came too fast, too sharp. A sickening dizziness crept into her skull, her limbs tingling as panic clawed at her chest again.
"I— I can’t—" Miranda gasped, gripping Roselle’s arms desperately. "I can't breathe—Roselle, I—"
Her chest seized, her lungs refusing to cooperate. The room spun violently around her, and terror struck her like a physical force.
She was losing control.
Roselle felt it immediately—the way Miranda's body trembled, the shallow, erratic way she was breathing. Her own pulse quickened, but she didn't hesitate. She shifted slightly, adjusting Miranda in her lap, bringing her closer.
"Shhh, I’ve got you," Roselle whispered, voice low and soothing. "You need to slow down, love. You’re hyperventilating."
Miranda shook her head frantically, her golden eyes wide, wild, filled with unspoken fear. "I can't— my chest—it won’t stop—"
Roselle tightened her hold, one hand slipping to Miranda’s lower back, the other cradling her jaw with gentle but firm fingers. She pressed their foreheads together, her breath warm against Miranda’s tear-streaked skin.
"Listen to me," Roselle murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Feel me. Feel my breathing."
She took a slow, deliberate inhale, her chest rising against Miranda’s. Then, just as slowly, she exhaled, letting her breath ghost over Miranda’s lips.
"Follow me," she whispered. "In… now hold it… and out, nice and slow."
Miranda let out a choked sound, her body still trembling violently, but she tried. She sucked in a shaky breath—too fast, too uneven.
"Too quick," Roselle murmured, brushing her thumb against Miranda’s cheek. "Again. With me."
Another slow inhale—Roselle’s chest rising against Miranda’s. This time, Miranda forced herself to match it, though her breath still hitched.
"Good girl," Roselle whispered, voice low, steady. "Again."
Miranda shuddered, her grip on Roselle tightening, but she obeyed. In. Hold. Out.
Their breaths fell into sync, slow and controlled. Roselle could feel Miranda’s heart still hammering against her own, but the frantic rhythm was easing.
"That’s it," Roselle murmured, her fingers tracing soothing circles against Miranda’s spine. "I’ve got you, love. You’re safe."
Miranda melted into her, her body still trembling but no longer locked in panic. Her hands curled into Roselle’s coat, her breath warm against Roselle’s throat.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The world outside didn’t matter. The only thing that existed was this—their breathing, their closeness, the heat of Roselle’s arms wrapped around Miranda.
Then, Miranda exhaled—a deep, exhausted breath that left her entire body limp.
Roselle let out a relieved sigh, pressing the faintest kiss to Miranda’s temple. "There we go," she whispered. "That’s my girl."
Miranda didn’t pull away. She didn’t argue, didn’t fight, didn’t run.
She only held on tighter.
The exhaustion hit Miranda like a slow, creeping wave, pulling her under before she could resist. Now that the panic had passed, her body ached, her limbs heavy with the weight of everything she had just endured. She had drained herself completely, but the lingering tension in her chest refused to let her rest.
Roselle felt it—how Miranda still trembled slightly, how her breath hadn’t fully evened out. She knew that if left alone, Miranda would fall into restless, fitful sleep—if she slept at all.
And Roselle wasn’t going to let that happen.
She gently shifted Miranda in her lap, adjusting her hold so that their bodies remained flush against each other. Miranda barely reacted, too exhausted to protest.
"You need rest," Roselle murmured, her fingers threading through Miranda’s golden hair. "I can feel how tired you are."
Miranda exhaled shakily, her head resting against Roselle’s shoulder. "I can’t," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I—I won’t be able to…"
Roselle pressed a kiss to Miranda’s temple, lingering there as she whispered, "Let me help you."
Miranda swallowed hard, her fingers twitching against Roselle’s chest. The vulnerability of it all—of being seen like this, of being held like this—should have made her recoil. But she didn’t move.
She didn’t want to move.
Roselle shifted them carefully, guiding Miranda to lie against her. Miranda let out a soft, weary breath as Roselle positioned her so that her head rested on her chest, her body curled slightly into Roselle’s warmth.
Roselle pulled the coat draped over the chair and wrapped it around Miranda, tucking it gently around her shoulders. One of her hands resumed its slow, soothing strokes through Miranda’s hair, while the other rubbed lazy circles against her back.
"Just focus on me," Roselle whispered, her breath warm against Miranda’s ear. "Feel my breathing. Let it lull you."
Miranda inhaled slowly, letting Roselle’s steady heartbeat fill her ears. The sound was… soothing. Comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. The warmth of Roselle’s body, the soft way she stroked her hair, the steady rise and fall of her chest—it was all so much, yet not overwhelming.
It was grounding. Safe.
Roselle shifted slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Miranda’s forehead before murmuring, "Close your eyes, love. I’m not going anywhere."
Miranda let out a slow, shaky exhale, her fingers curling weakly into Roselle’s sleeve. And this time, for the first time in a long time, she let herself close her eyes.
She let herself rest.
------------------------
The air between them was still thick with the unspoken bond that had deepened during their time together, but the storm inside Miranda had subsided. Her breathing was steady now, no longer frantic. The pressure in her chest had loosened, and for the first time in hours, she felt lighter. The warmth of Roselle's arms around her had anchored her, giving her the stability she hadn't realized she needed.
After a long moment of quiet, Miranda finally spoke, her voice steady but softer than usual. “The mistake in the lab... It set me back so much.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been so close—closer than I’ve ever been to finding a way to bring Eva back. And now, it feels like I’m right back at square one.”
Roselle remained still behind her, her hands resting lightly on Miranda’s shoulders, her warmth ever-present. “It’s just a setback, Miranda. That’s all. You’re still making progress, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.”
Miranda’s eyes flickered as she turned her head slightly, just enough to meet Roselle’s gaze. The sincerity in Roselle’s eyes was unwavering, and it offered Miranda something she hadn’t realized she needed so desperately—hope.
“I’ve spent so many years focused solely on this,” Miranda admitted quietly. “And sometimes I wonder if I’m losing myself in the process. I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing anymore.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with an honesty that she hadn’t allowed herself to express in years.
Roselle’s gaze softened as she leaned in just a little, her face close enough now that Miranda could feel the warmth radiating from her. “You’re doing the best you can, Miranda. And that’s all anyone can ask of you.” Her voice was calm, gentle, yet filled with the kind of conviction that spoke to Miranda’s heart.
For a moment, the room felt impossibly quiet. Time slowed as they simply looked at each other, the tension between them palpable in the air.
Without fully realizing what she was doing, Miranda found herself inching closer to Roselle. It was as if some invisible force was drawing them together, something magnetic and undeniable. Roselle’s breath caught slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in just as Miranda did, their faces now only a hair’s breadth apart.
“Roselle,” Miranda murmured, her voice softer than before, a quiet plea.
Roselle’s lips parted slightly, her heart racing in her chest. She met Miranda’s gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation, any sign that Miranda wasn’t ready. But there was nothing—only a quiet invitation, a desire to bridge the space between them.
Slowly, cautiously, Miranda closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Roselle’s in a gentle, tentative kiss.
The world seemed to fall away as Miranda’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart hammering in her chest. The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, as if they were both testing the waters, unsure of what to expect but unable to stop the pull.
Roselle responded with equal tenderness, her hands moving to cup Miranda’s face, deepening the kiss just slightly. Her touch was gentle but sure, a silent reassurance that she was here, that this—this—wasn’t just a fleeting moment.
For Miranda, it felt like everything shifted. The years of loss, the pain of her failure to bring Eva back, the walls she had so carefully constructed around her heart—all of it seemed to fade into the background as she focused solely on the woman in front of her.
The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, as if both of them were holding onto something they had been afraid to reach for until now. Miranda’s hands slid to Roselle’s waist, pulling her closer, needing the closeness, the connection.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they shared the same quiet space. Miranda’s chest rose and fell with each breath, her pulse racing in her veins.
Roselle was the first to speak, her voice low and filled with something Miranda couldn’t quite define. “Miranda…”
Miranda swallowed, her throat tight as she looked into Roselle’s eyes. “I didn’t expect this…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say.
Roselle smiled, her thumb brushing Miranda’s cheek, the touch tender and filled with an understanding that left Miranda feeling both exposed and safe at the same time. “Neither did I,” she said softly.
Miranda nodded, her heart still pounding in her chest. She had spent so much of her life trying to control every aspect of her existence, but with Roselle, it felt as if the need to control was slipping away, piece by piece.
“I’m sorry,” Miranda whispered, her voice barely audible.
Roselle raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
Miranda hesitated for a moment before speaking, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “For letting you see me like this… for being vulnerable.”
Roselle smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Miranda’s face. “You don’t need to apologize for that. I want to see the real you, Miranda. All of you.”
There was a long pause as Miranda processed Roselle’s words. She had spent so many years hiding behind a façade, pretending to be invincible, but in this moment, with Roselle, she felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in so long—accepted.
“Thank you,” Miranda murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
Roselle smiled at her. "Anything for you, love"
They both knew this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the beginning of something deeper, something that would change both of them in ways they couldn’t yet understand.