hemlock in evening wine

The king dies, the prince is deported back to his kingdom, Snow White’s coronation passes, and Lesso and Dovey are still in the fucking story. Fine, Lesso thinks. No big deal. The Storian is just being an asshole, which isn’t news.

One day passes, one week passes, one month passes, one year, one fucking year passes, and Lesso begins to truly understand why they say hope is the thing that murders. Without remorse.

“FUCK!” Lesso yells into the courtyard, scattering the birds that were Snow White’s childhood friends. “FUCK!”

“Lesso!” Dovey chides, though there’s less feeling behind it than usual. Both of them are sick to their stomachs of being stuck in their current state, and Lesso at least can enjoy walking and running and all the things she can’t do in their world. Dovey, on the other hand, is still a mirror.

Really, it’s miraculous that Dovey hasn’t lost her mind yet.

“Fuck this shit, princess,” Lesso replies, knowing she’s maybe a little more heated than the situation really warrants but not caring otherwise. “I did not sign up for this, DO YOU HEAR ME YOU STUPID FUCKING PEN?” She shouts towards the sky. “LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“Lesso–”

Dovey is interrupted by an elegant voice. “Stepmother?”

The new queen enters with a curtsy, as proper as ever, even though she’s now the monarch of this realm. She is dressed in a somber black, as her mourning period doesn’t end for another month, but her face shines with the glow of youth. The muscles on her arm fill out the sleeves of the thin silk she wears better now, and if she used to look like a frail flower, drooping in the snow, now, she is a snowy fox, cunning and enigmatic, beautiful but dangerous. The way she looks at Lesso, though, hasn’t changed.

“I heard shouting, stepmother. Art thee alright?”

There is true concern hidden in the question Lesso’s stepdaughter poses to her, and it is that concern that makes Lesso’s fury quench just a little. “No, snowflake, I’m not. But there’s nothing any of us can do about it, IS THERE?” The last sentence she directs up at the sky.

Snow White looks to Dovey for guidance, and receives nothing more than a resigned shake of Dovey's face. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Dovey tells her. “Your stepmother is just… Highly disappointed.”

“In me?” The true horror in Snow White’s voice has Dovey amending her statement before the girl is even finished speaking.

“No, no, of course not. Me and your stepmother are both very proud of what you’ve done, child,” and though Lesso is very much not in the mood for this right now she has to begrudgingly admit that Dovey is correct. Snow White has the makings of a good ruler, and under her suggestions change is being brought up about the way women are treated in their kingdom. Change is slow, of course, but Lesso knows Dovey is hopeful and has enjoyed contributing to the policy changes now that she no longer has to hide from the king. “This is something else. Something from our… Past.”

Snow White nods, and doesn’t push for more details. She’s sensitive in that way, remains sensitive even though she’s grown much more comfortable in her own skin since she was a young girl of seven, asking for permission to play with birds at a well.

“I heard thee speak of leaving. Is it thy wish to partake on a journey of some sort, stepmother?”

“Where the fuck would I go, hm?” Lesso asks, aware that her anger is spilling over to innocent people but not caring either way. “I would still be stuck here, while Bilious is fucking there, and future Evil is being curated by a man who thinks pus and moles are the indication of a black soul!”

Snow White glances at Dovey in confusion again. Dovey just shakes her head, mouths something, and Snow White once again doesn’t push. She’s still cool as ever, composed as ever, and the fire of Lesso’s ire melts somewhat in the face of her unfailing coolness.

“Well, then perhaps a trip to the forests, stepmother?” She must remember as well as Lesso what happened the last time they went there, because she adds, “Or the beach. I have heard splendid things about the magnificence of the ocean.”

“Why the hell would I want to go soak in an vat of salty–”

“Sweetheart? Why don’t you let me and your stepmother talk about this alone, okay?” Dovey interrupts, before Lesso can finish. She gives Lesso a warning glare and Snow White a beatific smile. “And I think a beach trip would be lovely.”

“Splendid! I shall make arrangements with the advisors, then.” A servant appears at her side, and whispers something to her. “I am saddened to have to leave thy company so soon, but the negotiations with King de Villeneuve have arrived. He has been giving us trouble with the oil trade for the past week.”

“Oh. Will you need my help with that?” Dovey offers.

“I think I shall be able to muster it alone, but I thank thee for thy offer. I bid thee good day, Lady Mirror. Stepmother.” The queen curtsies again, before rushing off, her black trousers pulling up as she walks away.

“She needs to get new pants tailored,” Dovey murmurs, almost as though to herself, before she turns to Lesso with a steely glint in her eyes. “And you need to get a hold of yourself.”

“Get a hold of myself?” Lesso is desperate, angry, and lashing out at everyone and she knows it. “How? Evil is being taught by Bilious Manley! Bilious, Manley! Oh, but I suppose that doesn’t matter to you, since both the Storian and the entire fucking world is on Good’s side, right?" She draws a breath, and Dovey doesn't interrupt her. "Guess what? It fucking matters to me! Future Evil is languishing under Bilious fucking Manley, literally dying, which I’m sure is a foreign concept to you because, oh, you’re the Good ones. Meanwhile, I’m here, playing house with you, of all people! Get a hold of myself? GET A HOLD OF MYSELF?”

She fumes, sure that if it were her special talent, smoke would be bursting from her ears now, but Dovey says nothing, does nothing to defend herself. She just waits, patiently, for Lesso’s anger to run its course.

“FUCK!” Lesso screeches, punching the wall next to her. The pain helps, sharpening the focus of everything around her, and it’s been a very long time since Lesso has had the urge, or the means, living with Dovey in her literal pocket, to make herself feel the clarity pain brings. Right now is bordering on crossing that line.

“Are you done?” Dovey asks from the ground, where Lesso dropped her unceremoniously somewhere in her rant. “Because that was actually pretty impressive.”

“Fuck off.” Lesso spits. She can imagine the letters she’s going to have to write when she gets back to the school, letter after letter sent out in black envelopes, saying everything and nothing at all. She wants to bury her head in her hands, but even that luxury is robbed from her while Dovey watches from the floor.

“Lesso,” and from her tone of voice Lesso knows she’s about to get a lecture, but she’s too tired, too worn out, too fucking angry to say anything to stop her, so Dovey continues, uninterrupted. “I know how you feel. Okay?” A dry chuckle, “I might be the only one who does. But that’s what we’re here for, remember? There is no School for Good or School for Evil anymore. There is just us. Besides, Manley will have to listen to Emma. They're co-deans together, now, and Emma will make sure your old students don't come to harm.”

"Oh really?" Lesso sneers. "What's the beauty teacher going to do? Teach the gorgons how to braid their snakes?"

Dovey remains unfazed. "If she does, so be it. At least that way, the students would still be safe."

“Stop being reasonable,” Lesso bites back, flexing her hand and watching the blond begin to seep through broken skin. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I just want to be back grading dumbass student papers. Even the ones that accidentally spell 'Evil', 'Eveel'.”

“I know,” Lesso has a feeling that if Dovey had a body right now, she’d be patting Lesso’s hand. “But in the meantime, can you pick me up for this conversation? Your shoes don’t make very good eye contact.”

“Oh. Right.” Lesso bends to pick Dovey up, and is shocked to see that the former Dean for Good, whose voice was so calm and comforting, look a little worse for wear herself. She asks before she can stop herself, even though she shouldn’t care at all: “What?”

“Nothing.” Dovey replies too quickly to be honest.

“You’re still a terrible liar, Dovey.”

Dovey sighs. “I just… I know you care about your students. I know,” she says, stopping Lesso’s protests, “We all know, Lesso, there’s no point in pretending. I understand your anger, your frustration. I really do. I’m still a mirror, remember?”

Lesso is silent. She can tell that’s not what is really bothering Dovey, so she’s quiet, and waits. When Dovey does speak, she does so haltingly, as though she’s unsure if she can say what she does.

“It’s just, playing house with me, of all people? Is that,” Dovey swallows hard, “Is that how you think of me?”

Lesso blinks. Her first reaction is to say something that will make Dovey realize how ridiculous she’s being: they’re Good and Evil, of course Lesso doesn’t want to be stuck with her. But Dovey looks at her with something desperately fragile in her eyes, and nothing about her, not her eyes, her mouth, her nose, nothing about the way she looks at Lesso is even remotely manipulative or calculating. Lesso is reminded, again, that Dovey is Good. Good, in the sense of her school's values of beauty and extravagance, but also good, in the way that Lesso could truly lose her if she tries hard enough.

Evil isn't like that. Evil is trained to be like a recurring wart, omnipresent, never to be shaken off. Say what you want about the villains, they are always, always loyal. Loyal to themselves, loyal to their own causes, and loyal to anyone who can help them with their causes until they can't any more.

“The emphasis was on playing house, princess,” Lesso says, aware that she’s avoiding the topic. But Dovey has a way of flaying her open and Lesso doesn’t know if she wants to be, so she deflects the way she knows best. “Not you.”

“Are you sure?” Dovey asks, clearly unsatisfied but not pressing any further. “Because I remember what you said at the staff meeting back when the Readers first started the nonsense about Sophie being Tedros’ True Love.”

Lesso frowns. “When I stopped Bilious from eating the paper?”

“No- Wait, is that why you held him back with your cane?”

“Bilious has a fondness for paper.” Lesso shrugs. “I think it’s because his special talent has to do with fire. Kindling, I suppose? I never cared enough to ask.”

Dovey looks thoughtful. “So that’s why he used to chew on the tissues.”

“Yep.” Lesso appraises Dovey. “What does that have to do with your overly complicated emotional complex?”

“Not all of us have the emotional range of a bar of soap, Lesso.”

“You wound me.”

Dovey chews her glass lip, and Lesso’s confusion chews at her the way Dovey is chewing a beautifully shaped lip. “It’s just, you said, Good and Evil together… You said it is repulsive.”

“Sophie and Tedros?” Lesso raises an eyebrow. “Tell me that wasn’t repulsive.”

“Lesso. You shouldn’t be talking about students like that!” Dovey reprimands.

Lesso snorts. “Then you’re going to hate the Evil teacher gossip hub. Honestly, how do you little goody-goodies have fun?”

Dovey stares at her for a moment. “I’m going to pretend you haven’t just told me Evil professors have an actual hub for gossip. Lesso! Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is?”

“The students have one about us, too.” Lesso smirks. “You and I, in particular, come up quite a lot.”

“Y-you and I?” Dovey almost stumbles over the words, but she catches herself. Lesso still hears it, though, loud and clear.

“Oh yes. Funny little stories. Anyway, Dovey, I was referring to a very specific case, that of the little despicable Sophie and the disgusting golden boy.”

Dovey is quiet for a moment. “What do the rumors about you and me say?”

“Nothing much. You know, just the usual: I killed your husband, you made me attend Beautification, I fucked you on the office table. The usual. One of my particular favorites is the one where we’re destined to fight to the death, and the students were placing bets as to if it would be at Tedros and Sophie’s wedding.”

“How fun.” Dovey deadpans, except the flush that has crept up on her cheeks renders her efforts in vain. Lesso doesn't know if the idea of fighting or fucking is making the former dean flush, but she smirks anyway. Dovey ignores her smirk, and asks, seriously and a little scared, “So, it’s not me you have a problem with?”

Lesso snorts, searching for a way to bring the conversation back to familiar grounds. She lets herself be honest, drops the act just a little, as she says, “Listen, little dove. If I have to be stuck with anyone in this quest, I’m glad it’s you, okay?” Then she adds, for some levity, “At least you won’t stab me in the back whenever you get a chance.”

Dovey rolls her eyes, and the spell that was cast by her question is broken. “How reassuring to know that I beat your Evil co-workers.”

“Yep,” Lesso pops the ‘p’. She flexes her hand again, the tiny pricks of pain more pressing now that she’s allayed, to some extent, the emotions in the air. “I’m going to go get a bandage.”

“And maybe you should stop punching walls,” Dovey suggests as Lesso scoops her up to put her in her pocket. Her next words are muffled, “You don’t know how dirty the walls are, Lesso!”

“Thanks, mom,” Lesso replies dryly, and dusts her hands off. She sweeps into the castle, ignoring the frightened looks of the servants who scatter when she steps in, and stalks her way back to her rooms. At least each step she takes is still blessedly free of pain, and for that she vows to relish each, numbered step she takes here.

Snow White turns her sword over in her hand, eyeing the bruise appearing on her pale forearm. She presses a finger to it, to see if it aches. It does.

Lesso watches her carefully. “Well, snowflake? We done checking our wounds?”

“Yes, stepmother,” Snow White replies, wrapping her hand back around the sword. “Shall we go again?”

Lesso appraises the young queen. The wind is blowing strong today, and it is making Snow White’s hair bellow around her face, circling it with a halo of darkness. Snow White pushes her hair out of her eyes.

“Is your hair bothering you?” Lesso asks suddenly. Her own hair is pulled back, the curls tamed, since she didn’t have magic in this realm and couldn’t shape her hair using her magic. It is still short, falling to her shoulder blades, but Snow White’s hair is nearly down to her thighs.

“It is.” Snow White says, her face still stoic but the hint of pink on her pale cheeks suggesting at her embarrassment.

Lesso waits. Snow White also waits, so Lesso waits some more, until she can tell Snow White really has no idea what she is waiting for. Lesso sighs. “Well, are you going to do something about it or not?”

“Oh!” Snow White exclaims. “Of course.” She stands still for a moment, as though unsure what she is about to do, or as though making a decision, before she takes a deep breath.

With a sharp swing of Snow White’s sword, the shining locks of dark hair fall, cut bluntly and without delay. Snow White shakes her head, free of its burden.

“I have always yearned to do so,” Snow White says, her eyes trailing down to the hair on the floor.

Lesso raises an eyebrow.

“You know, I meant tie your hair back or something. But that works too.” Lesso lifts her own sword. “And if you want something, snowflake, get used to taking it.”

She charges, and Snow White just barely manages to parry her swing.

The clash of metal soon is the only sound in the courtyard, and the swords sing in one voice until Lesso strikes hard, and Snow White’s sword clatters to the ground. With a turn, Lesso’s sword lands squarely on the shoulder of the young queen, her blade pressed against a pale throat.

“I yield, stepmother,” Snow White says quietly, and stands when Lesso moves her sword away from her throat. She says, without prompting: “I missed the second block. I should have ducked and ensured that thee remained in my eye sight.”

“Good.” Lesso says, sheathing her own sword. “Go get some water. I asked the cook to place cookies outside. Don't gorge yourself.”

Snow White bows to her, and skips to find the cookies.

“She’s getting good,” Dovey remarks to Lesso when Lesso turns to the shade where she propped Dovey up before the training session. “She blocked your second attack without much fanfare, and she almost nicked you with the third swing.”

“She is,” Lesso replies shortly, dusting her hands off. Her new nails are still sharp and gleaming.

“She’ll be a formidable foe for any person to face,” Dovey continues, her pride shining through in the words. “You’re a good teacher, Lesso.”

“Thank you for that much needed assurance,” Lesso replies snarkily.

Dovey frowns. “What?”

“What what?” Lesso asks, turning back to look at the empty courtyard, where the birds that had scattered from the sound of sword fighting have returned. Snow White dances amongst them, a light spring in her step and a smile on her lips.

“What is making you so grumpy today?”

Lesso draws her sword out, and yells out at Snow White, “Get your ass back here, snowflake, we got another five rounds to go!”

Another few rounds later, Snow White follows Lesso to the spot where Dovey lays in the shade. “Art thee enjoying the show, Lady Mirror?” Snow White asks, playfully.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” Dovey replies, a small smile curving her own lips, even as Lesso feels her eyes on her. “Have you been practicing on your own?”

“I have. There are many accomplished swordsmen in the kingdom, but none quite so accomplished as stepmother. They make for good practice, however.”

“I should hope so, she spends enough of her time tied to her sword.” Dovey’s words are fond, even as Lesso ignores the conversation, and it rubs Lesso’s nerves raw. She tunes out the rest of their conversations, focusing on polishing her sword.

“Stepmother?” A cool hand is laid on Lesso’s arm, and she jerks away from it before she can stop herself. Snow White is looking at her with an indecipherable look in her eyes. “Shall we continue?”

“Right.” Lesso stands. “Don’t forget to guard your left side.”

“Yes, stepmother.”

Each clash of the swords against each other is like a misshaped music note to Lesso’s ear, and before long Snow White has yielded to her again. Lesso tells her to stand, get some water, and goes to fetch Dovey before stalking back to her chambers.

Dovey is quiet on the way back, no doubt still remembering the way Lesso had refused to answer her question and blatantly ignored her for most of the training session. When they get back to the privacy of Lesso’s chambers, she can almost feel Dovey opening her mouth, no doubt about to sprout something Goodness or caring or any of that shit. Without preamble, Lesso drops Dovey on the covers of her bed, and turns on her heel to leave.

In the frisky air of the guard tower, there is no denying it. Somewhere between teaching Snow White how to parry sword attacks and bickering with Dovey, she has allowed herself to grow used to the feeling of being whole. She can read the devotion in the queen’s dark eyes, somehow even more undeniable now at sixteen than it was just a few months ago. She takes a sip from the whiskey bottle she swiped from the guards’ table. The alcohol burns as it goes down.

The howling wind in her ears whisper queries about what she thinks she deserves, whisper pain. It pricks at her skin, and suddenly, standing there, painless and free, feels wrong. She doesn’t deserve to stand there, painless. Her fingers itch to claw at herself, remove the feeling of wrong from under her skin, and for the first time in a long time, there is no one nearby to stop her, even if Dovey never knew what she was stopping.

Lesso rolls up her pant sleeve, and draws her knife out. In the dark, it gleams, reflecting a distorted version of her own face. Good, Lesso thinks. Let it see her, let it see the blood she will shed.

With a slash, she makes a clean cut, just above her knee. She barely notices the pain, and it is not enough. It is not enough.

The alcohol bottle shouts at her, and she picks it up, dousing the wound with it. She hisses, the sound pushed from inside of her without her permission. Something above her shifts, and she hears the flapping of wings. She snaps her head up but sees nothing in the darkness. She would strain harder, but the spots of pain begin to darken her sight, and she sucks in a breath.

The pain is so sharp that it feels like a thousand small needles are stabbing into her skin. It burns, all the way down to her toes, and it makes everything sharpen into distinction. The light breeze brushes against it, and now, now it hurts the way it is supposed to. Now, it is enough.

She presses her knife against the cut again, and nearly moans at the pain. Sweat beads at the crown of her hairline, but she can’t stop, can’t stop herself from pushing harder, harder, because the pain tells her she’s still alive, she’s still here.

“Storian,” She throws her head back and grits her teeth. It’s been so long since she’s done this to herself that she’s nearly forgotten the sharp pricks of pain that are nearly unbearable.

She doesn’t regret it, though. She never regrets this.

Lesso drops her pant leg down, ignoring the blood and the way the fabric, smooth and soft on any other part of her, tugs at the wound. She stands, sheathes her knife, and when she puts weight on her leg, it hurts, and oh, how familiar that is. It reminds her, the pain: she is not whole.

This? Snow White, Dovey, her leg. This is all just a sick joke played on her, and she knows better than to believe lies.

The moon seems to mock her, as do the stars. They speak words colored with the sounds of Rafal, the sounds of his whip at her back and his kisses on her neck. ‘Broken,’ they sing quietly. ‘Ruined,’ they chant. ‘Soft little Leonora, all the way from Gavaldon, just to be used and discarded.’

“Stepmother?” A quiet voice calls behind her. Lesso straightens, almost wincing before she catches herself, unsure how long she had stood there, staring into the sky, listening to the sound of whispers and taunts. She drops the bottle quickly, before turning, hoping Snow White can’t smell the lingering scent of copper in the air or the blood on Lesso’s sleeve where she cleaned her knife.

“What do you want?” Lesso’s voice is gruff, and she clears her throat to no avail.

Snow White doesn’t reply. Her eyes rove over Lesso, and they land on her sleeve only to shift away lightly again. Instead of speaking, she moves to stand next to Lesso, close enough to touch. The young queen doesn’t touch her, however, and Lesso wonders if it is because the young queen knows, or if it is intuition.

Snow White looks out into the dark as well, and standing shoulder to shoulder with Lesso, Lesso finds that Snow White has outgrown her in height. It makes her strangely wistful.

When Snow White speaks next, though, she does not sound like a child of sixteen. It is as though she has been aged centuries beyond her age, her words tinted with the feeling of infinity. “Thou art not happy, stepmother. Smiles, laughter, neither hide the melancholy that hides in all thy actions.”

Lesso blinks, but rallies her anger again quickly. “Oh, and you’re just a ball of sunshine, huh?” She retorts, looking down at the darkness underneath the tower unlit by the torches that burn next to her. She knows she sounds more like the child, but she can’t bring herself to stop. She’s burning with something that thirsts like fear but feels like anger inside, and even Snow White’s coolness does nothing to quench it.

“No. I do not claim to be. But thee wields despair as artfully, if not more so, than the art of the sword thee have taught me.” Snow White turns to look at her. She’s grown to be as tall, if not taller, than Lesso long since, and in the darkness her face is so pale she looks like a being carved from marble, like Fate herself in human form. She asks suddenly, “Art thou afraid of me, stepmother?”

Lesso raises an eyebrow. “Of course not.”

“Then why does thee cling to thy sword?”

Unknowingly, Lesso’s hand has rested on her sword handle, and it is with effort that Lesso releases her hand from the handle, her fingers frozen. Snow White’s eyes catch on her sleeve again, and it is to Lesso’s sleeve that Snow White addresses her next words.

“Thee cling to the cover of sorrow the way thee cling to the handle there. Unknowingly, without reason, to scare and to hide being scared.”

Lesso scoffs. “I’m not afraid of you, snowflake. You’ve lost it if you think I could ever be afraid of what you could do to me.”

“Not what I could do to thee, stepmother,” Snow White corrects gently. “But what I could be to thee.”

The truth hangs, heavy and deadly, in the air between them, and it is so tempting for Lesso to reach out and grab it, thrust it into the heart of Snow White so that she can never see it again, when Snow White speaks again. “Lady Mirror has told me of thy past.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing concrete. Only enough for me to see that thy pain is not without wounds, and it comes from the heart.”

“Heart?” Lesso turns her head skyward to look at the stars. They still glimmer at her, winking at her, taunting her. “I sold my heart for a name long ago.”

Snow White is silent beside her for a long time, too. “Thy shield of sorrow,” she says, finally, “hides not only thy own heart from its palpitations, stepmother. It hides it also from the beating of others that yearn to be close.”

“It’s too cold for this,” Lesso snaps, wishing she didn’t sound so waspish. “Speak English.”

Snow White’s eyes on her are dark. “I have said all I came to say, stepmother.” She takes a step back. “I shall inform Lady Mirror that thou art fine.”

“Did she tell you to come up and give me a bunch of riddles?” Lesso asks, looking back at the queen.

“No. She bid me to look for thee on castle grounds. She knows of thy passion for running. Since I have found thee, I shall go back and allay her worries now.” Suddenly, Fate falls away, and all that is left is Snow White, the girl that Lesso has watched, however unwillingly, grow up. Snow White unclasps her own cloak, and drapes it on the railing Lesso leans on, carefully avoiding touching her. “Do not catch a cold, stepmother. I bid thee good night.”

The queen turns to leave. As if an afterthought, the queen adds, “Oh, and do be careful, stepmother. I know ‘tis dangerous out here. Please, though. For me. Do not hurt thyself.”

And she is gone before Lesso can say anything else. But what she says does something to Lesso. And even though she doesn’t want it to, her mind drifts back, back to the time before all this. Back when Rafal would still give her private smiles and tell her horrible things, all just to make her laugh.

Nine years. It has been nine years since Rafal died, nine years since the last time Lesso detested the person she became when he was around. She’d almost forgotten why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place. 'Soft little Leonora,' he would whisper to her at night, and she would blush and tell him she wasn't soft. He'd just laugh, and call her the name again.

It wasn't until later that she realized he meant it, that he really thought of her as soft and little. That was when she stopped letting anyone call her Leonora. She is not soft. She is not bright. She is not any of those things, and her name was abhorrent to her.

'Do you think Evil can have True Love?' She whispered to him once, at night, after she had failed one of his tasks. He would just laugh and press a kiss above her wounds, and tell her that if Evil could, what they had was it. Evil's True Love is like this, he told her, full of pain and hurt. He said it like a fact, and Lesso never questioned it. She pressed a kiss to his full lips and fell into a restless sleep.

Lesso remembers the feeling of numbness when Sophie and Agatha announced he had died.

Rafal and death never really made sense in her mind. Not the looming Rafal of her school days. Rafal couldn’t be dead. But he was, and Lesso hadn’t had time to really think about it before the Storian sent her on this quest.

Nine years. She looks up at the stars, and she’s awestruck by how bright they are. For the first time since then, Lesso allows the tears to slide down her cheeks.

She isn't crying for Rafal. At least, she thinks she isn't. She’s mourning herself, crying for the young girl who had arrived at the School for Evil with so many dreams and hopes, crushed underneath a toxic lover and something more sinister.

She wipes her face off angrily. Nine years. They say time heals all wounds. But nine years have passed, and she’s still crying over Rafal. Storian above, she’s a fucking idiot.

She wraps Snow White’s cloak around herself just a little tighter, seeking the warmth from the young queen, and her leg continues to burn. Still, the burn is less satisfactory now. It hurts now, not the way it is supposed to, but in a way that screams at her.

‘Rafal is dead, and you’re still playing his lieutenant?’

‘Rafal is dead, and you’re still doing his bidding?’

She picks up the alcohol bottle from where she had dropped it. In the dim torch light, it looks insidious, sinister, as though Rafal were looking at her through the emerald-colored glass.

She turns it over in her hands, and then smashes it into a million, brilliant facets.

One of the glass bits flies up and cuts her cheek. The flash of pain passes quickly, and she lifts her finger to feel the blood that gushes from the cut.

The last time, Lesso vows to herself and the stars and moon that still try to mock her. This cut is the last time she will do Rafal's bidding.

She drops the broken neck of the alcohol bottle, and turns to leave.

“An actual beach?” Lesso says, arching an eyebrow. “You’re aware that you’re so pale you’d probably melt in the sun, right, snowflake?”

“Thee make fun of me,” Snow White pouts. “I only wished to take thy mind off the past. Besides, stepmother, it was my birth date a fortnight ago, and thee promised that thee would allow me choice in anything I desire in celebration of my eighteenth summer.”

“You know,” Dovey muses, “I would like to see the beach. Even if I can’t swim or anything, I still think it would be fun. And I already had the servants pack for you.”

“The beach?” Lesso asks, shifting away subtly from Snow White’s closeness, incredulous. “The beach.”

“So glad your auditory canals are functioning, Lesso.” Dovey says wryly, drawing a smile out of Snow White. “Yes. The beach.”

Lesso looks at both of them, the hope that brims bright in two sets of eyes, and groans. “Fuck my life.” She turns, and stalks towards the carriage. “You’d better have told them to pack enough underwear for me, Dovey, or so help me I will smash you.”

“Language,” Dovey and Snow White chide at the same time, and Lesso groans even louder and walks even faster. “And I will never understand your obsession with underwear, but don’t worry, I got it.” Dovey adds.

At least since Dovey is a mirror, she won’t be able to bring the thousand cases she brought last time. Which reminds Lesso:

“Where did all of your clothes go?”

Dovey makes a motion that looks like a shrug, even without shoulders. “I don’t know. I just hope the Storian hasn’t destroyed them. I packed some of my favorite gowns.”

“Did thee have a body once, Lady Mirror?” Snow White asks, walking quickly to keep up with Lesso. She touches a hand to Lesso’s arm, and unwillingly, Lesso slows down, restraining her flinch at Snow White's cool touch.

“I did.” Dovey replies, her smile a little wistful. She looks down, as though looking down at her body, “I miss having a body.”

“At least you don’t have to worry about gray hairs,” Lesso snorts, knowing that there isn’t much she can say to comfort Dovey. Her attempt to cheer Dovey up works, and Dovey’s smile is more real this time. She stops next to the carriage and shakes her leg, the one that she still marvels at every day when she wakes up. “Or creaking limbs. Honestly, at this rate, princess, we’ll be old ladies when we get back.”

She flexes her arm, and accidentally pulls on the wound that she obtained from a midnight practice session alone. She nearly hisses, and she sees Dovey’s eyes flicker over to her in concern.

She hadn't meant to hurt herself, but sometimes she is less careful than she should be. Dovey had made a big deal of dressing it, though, and Lesso had let her. She still remembers the panic attack Dovey had when she returned to her room after her time on the guard tower.

“Why does stepmother call thee princess, Lady Mirror? Were thee a princess before thy transformation into a mirror?” Snow White asks, distantly, as she signs something a servant gives her with a flourish.

Dovey glares while Lesso cackles. “Nope,” Lesso replies for Dovey. “She’s just a princess in nature.”

“I do not understand,” Snow White’s eyes are light as she watches Dovey stick her tongue out at Lesso and Lesso murmur something that sounds suspiciously like, ‘how mature’ back to the mirror. “What nature does Lady Mirror possess?”

“Yes, Lesso, why don’t you tell Snow White why exactly you call me princess?” Dovey says, her tone dry. “Enlighten us.”

Lesso smirks, and steps into the carriage. “Your obsession with gowns that weigh more than you, for instance.”

“So I have a taste for the finer things in life.”

“Your undying devotion to high heels.”

“As though you don’t wear high heeled boots.”

“Your grotesquely colorful wardrobe.”

“Not all of us enjoy dressing for a funeral every day of our lives, Lesso.”

“Did I mention your shortness?”

Dovey gasps. “That’s just mean.”

“You speak to animals, princess.”

“So you mean to say Evil’s guards aren’t literally wolves?”

Lesso rolls her eyes. “That’s hardly relevant. They’re half wolves.”

“So, animals.”

“Fine. What if I called you princess because you’re precious?”

Dovey opens her mouth to respond, but then a light blush touches her cheeks, and she looks away. Lesso smirks. It’s almost too easy, with Dovey.

Snow White, who’s been watching this exchange with an overly mature fondness in her eyes, chooses this moment to say, in a playful tone, “So that is thy definition of a princess, hm, stepmother? Heavy gowns, colorful garments, short statues, speaking to animals, and being precious?” She taps her chin in an uncanny imitation of Lesso, sitting down next to Lesso and across from where she’s propped Dovey up next to. “I suppose I must be thankful that I am a queen now, as I doubt I fit many of thy requirements.”

Lesso rolls her eyes, and Dovey takes this moment to say, a smirk in her voice, “She’ll die before she admits it, but you definitely fit that last requirement.”

If Lesso blushes under Snow White’s delighted gaze, no one ever has to know. She certainly will never admit it. “Alright, didn’t you say something about the beach? C’mon, then, let’s get a move on it.” As though the driver hears her, he cracks his whip right then and they take off.

“He’s got good timing.” Lesso remarks, and Snow White gives her a small smile.

“We shall be there soon, stepmother. Lady Mirror, the advisors have given some pointers on the changes to the law that we proposed at the last meeting. Would thee be willing to look them over with me now?” Snow White holds out the stack of papers the servant handed her.

Lesso closes her eyes as Dovey agrees, and lets the sound of Snow White and Dovey discussing whether or not mandatory schooling for all children would be too drastic a change so early in Snow White’s reign lull her into a light sleep. She’s warm, all the way down to her fingertips.

She still jerks awake when the carriage halts to a stop, and is instantly alert as she asks, “Are we here?”

“Yes, stepmother,” Snow White replies, collecting the papers that are now covered with blue marks, the color Snow White prefers to use when doing official business. “I have dispatched the servants to the castle to prepare for our arrival. I have a few more matters to attend to, but thee can go directly to the beach if thee wish.”

“Are you sure you can’t put it off for a little longer?” Dovey asks, “You’ve done a lot on the trip here.”

“I wish, Lady Mirror. But we have entered into another’s realm, and though I have sent diplomatic envoys to King de Villeneuve, I must announce my arrival before I can join thee. I know thee do not enjoy such occasions, stepmother,” Snow White says, responding to Lesso’s light huff of annoyance. “So I have not informed the king of thy attendance on this trip.”

“Oh, thank the Storian,” Lesso sighs. “Ugh.”

“Thee shall not be addressed as the dowager queen nor queen mother outside of our lodgings, though. I hope that shall not bother thee?” Snow White asks, a small note of uncertainty coloring her tone. “I assumed that thee would not mind, but forgive me, stepmother, for I forgot to ask.”

“Nope. I’m good. Never liked all the curtsying and ‘majesty’ schtick anyway.” Lesso picks up Dovey and pushes open the carriage door to jump down. Instantly, she recoils. “Storian above, why is this place so fucking bright?”

“It’s the beach, Lesso.” Dovey says, her voice directed at the ground from the way Lesso clutches her. “What’d you expect, mist and bats?”

Snow White steps off the carriage with far more grace than Lesso, and takes a pair of sunglasses from a servant, handing them to Lesso. “I shall leave thee here, then. Enjoy thyself, Lady Mirror. Do not set the ocean on fire, stepmother. I do not know how thee would do it, but I imagine it is not beyond thy capabilities. And please, keep thy wound dry. Especially around the salt water.”

Lesso takes the sunglasses and tries to see through the disgusting amount of sunlight. “You’re no fun.”

“Don’t work yourself too hard, okay, Snow White?” Dovey says, still pointed at the ground. “It’s too nice of a day to stay inside.”

“Of course.” Snow White curtsies, “I bid thee good day, stepmother, Lady Mirror.”

Lesso holds Dovey back up, and glares, though she isn’t sure how much the mirror can see through her sunglasses. “I might leave you out here to melt just for agreeing to this.”

Dovey laughs. “You’d miss me too much.”

“You think too much of yourself.”

Dovey doesn’t seem to mind the sunlight at all, which makes sense, since all of the light just reflects off of her into Lesso’s eyes. Irksome. “Come on, then, vampire. Take me to the beach. I can already see some people there.”

Lesso is about to start walking when she stops. “Why should I do everything you tell me to?” She promptly sits down right where she is. “I’ve decided to sit here.”

“Lesso!”

“Say please.”

“Lesso.”

“Say please.”

“Fine.” Dovey huffs, and Lesso grins wide. “Please can you take me to the beach?”

Lesso jumps up, “Your wish is my command.”

She points Dovey towards the beach, but looks around for places with shades herself. There aren’t many. Lesso supposes she should have expected this, but she’s never been to a beach before and this trip was sprung on her. She shields her eyes with her hand. Even with the sunglasses, the sun is really, really bright.

Ugh, she hates the sun.

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lesso replies, distracted.

“Don’t look.”

“What?” Lesso turns to look. She sees nothing of note for a moment, before something moves on the large rocks deeper into the water, and she narrows her eyes. “Oh.” She says, and Dovey sighs.

There, standing on the rocks, is their old friend Charming, rolling up his sleeves and stepping out of his shoes. He bends to take off his stockings, and then, with a surreptitious look around him, deftly dives into the ocean. With a few swift strokes, he’s swam out further, into the vast blue. When he reaches some invisible point that Lesso can’t see, he stops, and suddenly, it is as though he has forgotten how to swim as he stops moving.

Literal years have gone by, and this man is still the exact same. Do they never learn?

Lesso bends to prop Dovey up on a rock, and starts to slip out of her own shoes.

“What are you doing?” Dovey asks her, her eyes wide.

“I’m,” Lesso replies, rolling up her sleeves, “going to stop the fucker. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Why?” Dovey exclaims, and Lesso has a feeling that if Dovey had hands they would be all over Lesso now, trying to stop her from removing her shoes. “Lesso, you know this story! This is the beginning of The Little Mermaid. And your arm! You haven’t healed yet!”

Lesso stares at Dovey. “Princess,” she says slowly, as though explaining to a child. “You did see the prince’s face, right?”

“I did. I know it’s Charming, Lesso, but–” Dovey looks around desperately, as though anyone she could call on would have the nerve to try and stop Lesso when she put her mind to something. “Lesso! Everyone deserves a chance at True Love!”

Lesso’s mind flashes back instantly to blood magic swirling at the tips of her fingers and the growls of hatred that accompanied her to sleep every night when she was in school. Her still unhealed wound pounds at the thought, like it knows the scent of its master, and she growls instinctively.

“Not everyone,” she replies, in a low tone. “Not everyone deserves True Love.”

And maybe Dovey sees that Lesso isn’t just talking about the prince, because she tries again. “No. Everyone, no matter what they have done, deserves at least a shot at happiness.”

She sounds so resolute, so certain, and it makes Lesso mad of all of a sudden.

“Is that True Love?” Lesso exclaims, shouting because Dovey saw as clearly as she did the way Charming swam out to the cove, the way Charming is pretending to drown right now. “Is that all True Love is to you, princess, manipulation of innocence? Because that’s all I see when I see Charming!” And maybe she is projecting, maybe she is seeing things where there is nothing to see, but the thought of Charming conniving his way into another princess’ heart makes her sick.

In the time it takes Dovey to think of an answer, Lesso’s already slipped off her shoes and socks and dived straight into the water. “Lesso!” She hears a muffled call behind her, and decidedly ignores it.

The water is cool on her fevered skin from the sun, but where it touches the wound that is still open, it burns. In the dark, though, it keeps Lesso’s mind on her task, reminds her of the way that whiplashes had burned across her back once, reminds her of her dedication to making sure that no one else ever has to go through what she did while she is there.

She opens her eyes with some force, forcing herself not to wince at the pain that pricks at her eyeballs from the salted water. Ahead of her, she sees the black mass that is Charming, and she kicks harder to reach him. But just as her fingers glance at a pant leg, he disappears in a whoosh, and she’s left grasping nothing but air.

“Fuck,” she says into the water.

She kicks up, and blinks hard against the water that is in her eyes until she can see, blearily, again. Charming is lying on the beach, looking for all the world like he’s passed out, and a mermaid is hiding behind the rock he had jumped down from.

“Shit.” She says aloud, before she can stop herself. The mermaid’s head snaps back at the sound, and from the flaming head of red hair, Lesso recognizes the Little Mermaid.

“Oh!” Ariel exclaims, before disappearing under the water. Lesso feels a hand touching her pant leg, and before she can wrench herself out of the mermaid’s hands, she’s being washed onto the beach as well.

Lesso blinks. She was pretty far out in the ocean before the mermaid touched her. She has to give Charming credit for that: he went to real lengths to make his ‘drowning’ seem authentic, and it would have, if she hadn’t seen his strong strokes before. “Wow,” she says, more to herself than to anyone in particular. That is powerful magic, if the mermaid can transport her with a single touch.

“Lesso?” Dovey calls from her place on the rocks. “Lesso! Are you okay?”

Lesso turns to look at the prince, lying on the water next to him. To all appearances, he’s still passed out, but at the sound of her name he clearly tenses, and a toothy grin spreads against Lesso’s face. This is going to be fun.

She gets up and steps closer to the prince. “You can get up now,” Lesso says, her tone flat. When Charming doesn’t move, she aims a kick at his ribs, and at last, with a gasp of pain, he opens his eyes.

“Witch!” He exclaims, making a good effort to spring away from her. Lesso watches him with amusement. He puts on a good show. “What art thee doing here?”

Lesso gestures at her dripping clothes. “What do you think?”

“I do not claim to understand the demonic thoughts of thee! Why have thee followed me? Speak!”

Lesso rolls her eyes. “So dramatic, prince.” She bends down to look him in the eye, and scoffs when he backs away almost immediately. “I saved you. Is that the way you speak to your savior?”

“What?” The prince splutters. “What? Thee? Nay. ‘Tis impossible.”

“Why?” Lesso’s tone turns shrewd. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“What? No! I- Thee- No. Thou art evil. Thee speaks only in lies. I shall not listen. Thee must be attempting to get back on my good graces. Thy efforts are for naught. Leave, now, and never return!”

Lesso cackles, and taps his cheek lightly. Charming shudders from the touch, and backs away again. Lesso shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She stands up again, wringing her shirt with one hand. “But I’ll be here for a long time, Charming. I hope I’ll see you again.”

She leaves the prince spitting out salt water with a smirk, and turns to trudge back to Dovey. The feeling of wet cloth against her skin is annoying, but she’s riding high on the way she just thwarted another one of Charming’s plots.

“Lesso!” Dovey cries as she comes closer. “Are you okay?”

“Your lack of confidence in me hurts, princess.” Lesso replies, pressing a hand to her heart in mock despair. “Surely you don’t think Charming could best me?”

Dovey ignores her dramatics. “I have so many questions. What did you say to Charming?”

“Nothing,” Lesso replies, bending down to scoop her up. “Just let him know our vacation plans.”

“You must really think I’m losing my touch if you think I’m going to believe– Lesso! Your arm!” Lesso glances down at the cut. It is oozing pus now, the added injury of the salt water making the wound worse. She shrugs. She’s seen worse. “We need to get back to the castle now. You need to get that checked.”

“Oh please,” Lesso scoffs. “I’ve had much worse.” Her leg, healed since, still throbs at the thought.

“How will you save Ariel from Charming if you get a fever from infection?” Dovey scolds. “Come on, now, stop being so stubborn and take me back to the castle!”

“Ugh.” Lesso runs her uninjured hand through the mess of her curls. “So demanding, Dovey.”

“Just go!”

Lesso obeys, ignoring the warmth that spreads in her chest at the realization that Dovey hasn’t even continued to pester her about Charming after she saw the cut. The pain burns bright, but right now, Lesso can’t feel a thing.

Snow White comes into the dinning hall looking happy, for which Lesso thanks Storian for. Dovey’s been brooding since the incident with Charming, and the atmosphere is strikingly low considering they’re at the beach.

“Stepmother. Lady Mirror,” Snow White greets them with a curtsy. “How was the beach?” She asks, as she moves to her own seat. The dining hall is modeled after their own, with a small, round table rather than the needlessly long table that the king had when he was still alive. Dovey is propped in her own seat, as usual, and she is quiet, abnormally so.

“It was fine,” Lesso says, passing Snow White her favorite quail. Snow White takes the plate and nods her head in thanks. Lesso adds, conversationally, “We met an old friend.”

“Oh?” Snow White says, frowning at Dovey as she cuts into her meal. “And who might that be?”

Lesso shovels a mouthful of rice into her mouth with her injured hand, ignoring the way the wound is pulled at when she moves it. “Charming,” she says, her mouth full.

She’s never been more impressed with her stepdaughter’s ability to maintain her composure than right now, when Snow White simply raises an eyebrow and replies, lightly, “Oh?”

“Mm hm,” Lesso hums.

“Is that why thy hand is wrapped again?” Snow White asks, still light. “Must I continuously remind thee, stepmother, to keep it dry?”

“Storian, you sound like Dovey.” Lesso says around another mouthful of food. “I’m fine, alright? It’s just a small cut. I’ve seen worse, had worse, and I’ll be fine.”

“Is that why thee hold thy tongue, Lady Mirror?” Snow White says, delicately lifting a piece of her quail into her mouth. She chews, and swallows, before saying, “Thou art awfully quiet.”

Dovey shakes her head, and in doing so seems to shake off whatever she was thinking before to offer Snow White a small smile. “No. Don’t worry about me, Snow. I’m alright. I’m just worried about Charming being here. It’s like he’s following us.”

Snow White cuts out another small piece of quail. “Possible,” she replies, setting down her knife to take a sip from her cup. “But I believe unlikely. ‘Tis too large a risk for him now. This beach is part of King Triton’s territory. He does not often leave his underwater abode, so I chartered messenger dolphins to inform him of our presence. Prince Charming, I imagine, did not do the same. A dangerous move for a disgraced prince,” Snow White’s eyes gleam with disdain. “His father is already considering removing him from the line of succession.”

“He has siblings?” Dovey asks, while Lesso fills her plate with more pasta.

“No. His father has a brother, though, who passed before Charming’s birth. That brother has a son, Eric. If Charming cannot regain the favor he lost with his father when he lost me, it is highly likely Eric will be made successor to the throne.”

“Hm,” Dovey says, clearing thinking this new information through. Lesso watches, as she tears another bite out of her chicken leg. “So he’s desperate, essentially, for a wife.”

“There are other ways to regain his father’s favor. He needs only to prove his worth to the kingdom. But I suppose to Charming, yes, it means he is desperate for a wife.” There is barely hidden disgust in Snow White’s voice when she speaks of Charming, and that, Lesso understands.

It’s amazing she had ever thought Charming was even close to being like Rafal. The only thing they have in common is a disregard for human emotion, but Charming is rash where Rafal is not, and Charming has the ambition of nothing more than an infant.

“Ha,” Lesso says, muffled through the food in her mouth. “How the tables have turned.”

“Indeed, stepmother.” Snow White sets her fork down to wipe her lips, daintily. “So allay thy fears, Lady Mirror. Charming shall do no more harm to me and mine.”

“How long are we staying here?” Lesso asks suddenly, remembering her vow to Charming at the beach. She doesn’t often keep her promises, Evil as she is, but this one she thinks she will.

Snow White shrugs, lifting one delicate shoulder to meet her chin. “Perhaps a month? The time I informed the advisors back at home is a month, but if thy wishes, I bought this land. Thee can stay for as long as thy heart wishes to.”

“Hm,” Lesso thinks aloud. “I’d be like a weed, never truly gone. I like the idea.” Dovey frowns, but before she can say anything, Lesso asks Snow White, “How was the meeting with the king?”

“Well,” Snow White says, taking another sip of her wine. “The king is not a kind man, but he treated me with the utmost respect after I ensured his understanding of our import as a trading country.”

“And his son?” Dovey inquires. Lesso turns to her with a raised brow: she hadn’t even known about the son. But Snow White’s face falls at Dovey’s question, and it is obvious that the answer isn’t ideal before she even speaks.

“Unhappy. As I said, the king is not a kind man. I pity his son.”

“How old is he now?”

“Twenty now.” Snow White brushes her short hair back. “But I worry for him, and their people. The king is selfish and vain, but he has good advisors from his father’s reign. When Adam comes to the throne, however, the people will not have the protection that good advisors offer. Already, many advisors are taking their leave, and the king’s chosen counselors are not nearly the caliber of the legacy ones from his father.”

Lesso sits back and watches this conversation. She knows, and cares, very little about ruling, and for the most part is content on letting Dovey do this, since administration has always been where Dovey shines. She does comment here, though, saying, “So why did you come in looking like a cat that just swallowed a canary?”

The tips of Snow White’s pale ears pink, though her expression doesn’t change. “I do not wish to boast.”

Lesso snorts and waits.

Her ears even pinker now, Snow White says, with a quiet cough. “The king was not quite so receptive to the idea of doing business with a queen who has only seen eighteen summers at first. So,” Snow White shrugs, looking pleased with herself, “I simply demonstrated the mistakes in his belief, and allowed him to decide for himself how he wished to proceed with our negotiations.”

Lesso whistles. Even Dovey, still more somber than usual, squeals at Snow White’s confession, “Your very first diplomatic victory!” Lesso has the feeling that if Dovey had a body she’d be running over and scooping Snow White into a hug. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Snow!”

“Thou art embarrassing me, Lady Mirror,” Snow White says, the apple of her cheeks red now. “I only took the counsel stepmother and thee gave me.”

“They grow up so quickly,” Dovey says, ignoring Snow White completely to turn to Lesso with tears in her voice.

Lesso and Snow White share a look.

“You know, for a woman with dry eyes, you sure verge on tears a lot,” Lesso says. It doesn’t stop Dovey, whose eyes start to well, and Lesso throws down her napkin quickly. “I think I’m full. Dovey, you take your time. I’m going to take a walk.”

“Allow me to join thee, stepmother,” Snow White stands as well, dropping her napkin much more gracefully. “I bid thee good day, Lady Mirror.”

They both speed-walk as fast as they can without running from the room. It’s not until they both are out of the dining hall and can only distantly hear Dovey shouting, “I can’t eat, I’m a mirror!” that either of them dare to stop.

Once out of earshot, they share a glance. Lesso has kept her lips pressed together until then, determined not to crack, but one look at Snow White’s face, flushed with holding in her own amusement, and Lesso bursts out into peals of laughter.

“Oh Storian,” Lesso says, bent over and holding her stomach as laughter rips out of her. “Did you see Dovey’s face?”

“Yes,” Snow White says, her own laughter more controlled but still shaking her delicate shoulders with the force of it, “Lady Mirror did look absolutely scandalized.”

“She did,” Lesso wheezes, and another glance at Snow White, her face red with the effort of containing her laugh, and both of them are gone. By the time they calm down, Dovey’s gone quiet, and Lesso is certain that she’s popped a vital organ and Dovey is simmering mad. Both ideas make her cringe.

“Shall we go retrieve Lady Mirror now?” Snow White asks, adjusting her shirt and slipping her arm around Lesso’s. Lesso gives it a glance, but doesn’t move away.

“Do we have to?” Snow White gives her a look. “Ugh. Fine.”

The birds chirping outside the castle windows as they walk past remind Lesso of something else, and she says, offhandedly, “Oh, snowflake, do you have birds here?”

“I do not understand, stepmother.” It is only the small waver in Snow White’s voice that gives her away.

“Oh please.” Lesso scoffs. “You severely underestimate me if you think I didn’t know what your little bird friends do. You really think I believe that you just played and danced with them?”

Snow White hangs her head. “I am sorry, stepmother.”

Lesso frowns, and stops. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

Snow White still isn’t meeting her eyes, and in that moment she looks more like the sixteen year old she is than she ever does. “I know ‘tis wrong to eavesdrop. ‘Tis only that my birds shared what they saw with me, and originally I never thought to use them. But when I became queen, I needed information, so–”

Lesso shakes her head, using her sharp nail to lift Snow White’s head up so she meets Lesso’s eyes. Snow White’s eyes are dark, but in that moment they are so innocent and sweet and remorseful that Lesso’s heart softens immediately. “I’m not angry, snowflake. In fact, I’d probably be more annoyed if you didn’t have your own little spy network.”

Snow White blinks, clearly not expecting this from her stepmother. “But thou art the one who said I must not eavesdrop.”

“I also said when you want something, you take it.” Lesso shrugs. “Picking and choosing what advice you listen to is crucial. You should know that.”

“I do.”

“Good. So don’t be sorry. You had an advantage and you used it. Tough shit for the rest of us.” Lesso taps the soft skin on Snow White’s chin with her nail, and Snow White nods.

“I understand.”

Lesso nods, satisfied. She drops her hand, and continues to walk towards Dovey’s direction. She’s getting closer, she can tell from the angry mutterings. “And I also happen to need your little birdie friends. You got any here?”

“I do,” Snow White’s fallen back into step with her. “Will thee need her today?”

“Yep. How do you talk to the birds, by the way?” Lesso stops at the door to the dining hall and turns to ask the young queen.

“Lady Mirror is well versed in the tongue of birds,” Snow White replies, and Lesso can tell that the gleam in her eyes is mischievous and plotting. “Wherefore do thee not ask her for assistance?”

And with that, Snow White pushes the door open and enters the room. Lesso grits her teeth. They certainly do grow up so fast, she thinks, and fuck if that means she just got played a hand by Snow White.

Dovey asks, when she walks in, “Is being allergic to happiness a mother-daughter thing?”

And Snow White answers, before Lesso can say anything. “Lady Mirror, if thee thinks of mine tendency to tears as thine, then certainly, it is a mother-daughter thing.”

Lesso is woken by a loud, obnoxious pounding on her door.

“Dowager Queen!” An urgent whisper calls through the door. Ironic, Lesso thinks as she buries her head in her pillow and groans. The voice is so quiet, it’s almost as though it doesn’t want to wake her.

The hand, on the other hand, pounds again.

“Shut up!” Lesso shouts, throwing the covers back. She yanks the door open and sneers as mightily as she can considering her hair is still ruffled up from sleep.“What do you want, Edmund?”

The cook’s son, Edmund, looks back at her, not an ounce of fear in his countenance. Lesso supposes that it is her own fault. She’s been too nice to the little bugger over the years, and if he wasn’t afraid of her when he was nine, how is he going to be scared of her now that he’s taller than her at sixteen?

Once again, Lesso wishes the most foul things on the Storian for the stupid pen’s sense of humor, giving her Grimhilde’s height.

The boy grins wide. “Do thee want some pie? Mama made some this morning. I was going to consume all of it, but then mama told me thee were here.”

“You. Woke. Me. Up. For. Chocolate. Pie.” Lesso says, a hint of danger in her voice.

“Aye,” Edmund replies happily. “Do thee not want any?”

Lesso slams the door in his face, and trugs back to her bed. Through her door, she hears Edmund shout, not in the least fazed, “I'll leave the pie at the door, Dowager Queen! If it be true thee wants anymore, I shall ask mama to make thee some!”

Lesso groans loudly in response, and buries her head back under her pillow. Before she can fall back asleep, however, there is a light tapping on her window. Lesso recognizes the sound: it is a bird of Snow White’s, telling her that it’s time for her to get up because Prince Charming is at it again.

He’s persistent, she’ll give him that. It’s the second time this week that the bird has woken Lesso up, the fifth time this month. Snow White has long since returned to their own kingdom, and even though she took Dovey’s side on things when it came to Lesso wanting to stop the prince, secretly, Lesso thinks Snow White is just as happy as she is to see the prince thwarted again and again.

“You’re not going again, are you?” Dovey asks as Lesso tugs on a pair of boots and a pair of pants under the silk shirt she wore to sleep. Lesso hadn’t even realized Dovey was awake, but it didn’t matter either way.

“Evil does not wait for anyone, princess,” Lesso replies, and closes the door behind her before Dovey can say anything. She’s not sure Dovey does.

“Charming,” Lesso says, striding her way over to the rock on which Charming perches, ready to jump in again with his shoes off. “What a surprise to see you here on such a fine morning. And so early, too.” She pierces the last words with a little poison. She’ll stand guard, sure, but this early?

Lesso is tempted to chop his ears off.

“Witch! What art thee doing here?” The shocked look on Charming’s face is positively delightful. It is like he keeps expecting her to not be here one day.

“Again? Can’t you be a little more creative?”

“Back!” The prince wields his stocking at her, as though trying to push her back.

Lesso crinkles her nose. “Any way I can persuade you not to jump in the water?”

“Thee speak only of witchcraft and sorcery! Thee shall not change mine direction!”

She tried. That should set Dovey’s heart at ease. “Oh well. Shall we begin, then? I’m bored.” She closes in on the prince, and he, taking one look at the sword at her belt, takes a leap and jumps into the water. Lesso watches the splash he makes, and counts to thirty. She’ll give him a head start.

“That gent knoweth how to swimeth?” A melodic voice sounds from below, just as Lesso is about to jump. It nearly takes her by surprise, but Lesso has enough practice and training from years of being on her guard that it only makes her pause for a second.

“He’s a prince. Swimming and being a dick were probably the first things he learned.”

The girl below gasps, and then giggles. “Thee speaketh in a comical way, mistress. I am Ariel, daught'r of Triton, king of the flote. And thou art?”

“Lesso,” Lesso replies, peering down under the rocks. She doesn’t catch a glimpse of the woman’s face, but she does hear the distant splashing of Prince Charming, and she’s not desperate for the princess to realize it. “Have you been watching us?”

“Nay. I hath happened across thee on chance lasteth week, and again the present day. ‘Tis a pleasure to finally meeteth thee f'rmally, Lesso of the dryeth lands. Anon, prithee colors me as I wend rescueth yond sir. That gent seemeth to beest drowning.”

Lesso frowns. She’s never been much good at Old English, not even in school, and Snow White’s ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ are the most Lesso is going to be able to understand. She wishes she had thought to bring Dovey.

“Uh, okay. Sounds great. You do you. Just don’t go near the man, he’s dangerous.”

“Dang'rous? What doth thee cullionly?”

Lesso makes an educated guess at what ‘cullionly’ means. “He’s a desperate man.” She shrugs.

“Ah, but that gent is in dang'r anon. The wat'rs art not so kind to a strang'r who is't tries to blinking idiot ‘t not once but twice. Unless I alloweth that gent to drowneth, I shalt has't to saveth that gent.”

“Okay, I only understood the part about saving ‘that gent’, and if you’re going to do that you might as well move out of the way.” Lesso rolls up her sleeves, revealing the wound that Dovey had forced a servant to dress last night. “Clearly, this is the Storian messing with me.”

“Storian? What is yond?”

Lesso doesn’t reply. She just jumps in. On second thought, she thinks as she drops into the ice cold ocean, she really should have made sure that she wasn’t jumping on top of Ariel, because when she drops, she feels something distinctly scale-like pressed against her hand. She suppresses the urge to shudder, and pushes back up to breathe.

Ariel is watching her, as calmly as though she is unbothered by the waves, which Lesso guesses isn’t far from the truth. Her hair of red is more fiery up close, redder even than Lesso’s own, and her eyes are a deep blue though her skin is dark.

“Wherefore didst thee jumpeth in?” Ariel asks.

“To save the prince.” Lesso replies, rolling her eyes despite the salt water burning at her wound and eyes. She treads water, wishing she didn’t have to bob up and down while the mermaid stood still, but she’s not a mermaid.

“Waiteth f'r me h're.” Ariel is gone in a flash, and before Lesso knows it, a wave is pushing her and the prince back onshore.

The water tugs her under as it spits her back onto the land.

In an instant, she is tugged into the dark. She can’t open her eyes, the waves are too strong, and the feeling of floating, of being nothing and anchored to nothing at all, is suddenly overwhelming. Muffled voices start shouting above her head, 'That’s what you get for disobeying me,' and 'Try me again, pet,' and the darkness is closing in on her one second at a time. She tries to take a deep breath. Chokes on the water.

She writhes in the water, and it doesn’t release its hold on her. It tightens it, if anything, and she feels like she’s choking. She’s not, she knows, but she is, and somewhere along the way things have started going dark.

The darkness beckons, calls, and its voice is loud but she doesn’t want to follow it. She doesn’t even notice the grainy feeling of sand underneath her skin, but she hears the sound of the ocean despite her eyes seeming like they’re plastered shut, and then–

“Witch!”

Lesso spits out the seaweed in her mouth, and it is pride that gets her eyes open. She is too proud for Prince Charming to see her weak and broken.

“Fun.” She murmurs, and turns to splay herself on the beach. “What, Charming?”

“What sorcery have thee cast to get me thrown back so quickly?” The prince sounds livid, and his voice is nearing her. Instantly, Lesso is on her feet. She won’t give the prince a chance to get her back for all the kicks to his side.

She tosses a wet curl back. “Actually, that was your princess. You know, the one you’ve been fishing for for days now?”

The prince does not appreciate her pun. “What have thee told her?”

“Nothing at all,” the melodic voice of Ariel replies. Lesso spins around. The mermaid is perched on the coral in the shallow waters of the ocean, watching them avidly. “I apologizeth, Lesso of the dryeth lands, I didst not knoweth the wat'rs wouldst drageth thee und'r liketh yond.”

Lesso turns to Charming with a raised eyebrow. “Do you understand her?”

Charming rolls his eyes at her, and steps forward to sink to one knee. “Thou art my savior! I am Prince Charming of Hayna. Thy fairness has ensnared my heart, o princess of the deep. Will thee not be married to me and be mine at once?”

Ariel appraises him. Her face is calm, stoic, and in a way it reminds Lesso of Snow White. Less so, however, when a smile breaks free and she nods, vigorously.

“What?” Lesso exclaims, shocked by the turn of events. “Did you seriously just agree to marry someone you just met?”

Ariel shakes her head. “Nay, I has't not, Lesso of the dryeth landeth. I has't gazed Charming of Hayna f'r days anon. That gent shalt maketh a wond'rful cons'rt.”

Lesso blinks. She didn’t understand much, but she catches one word, and with a smirk she turns to look at Charming, already turning pale on his knee. “Consort? Well, Prince Charming, how the times have changed.”

“I- Fair princess, I think thee must have misunderstood mine own statement. I meant for thee to come rule the Kingdom of Hayna alongside me, so that our kingdoms may be united.” The prince declares, still pale.

“Me, a cons'rt? I am the princess of the flote, daught'r of Triton himself. How dareth thee suggesteth I resign myself to a seat base'r than yours. Thee has't a lot of n'rve, Charming of Hayna.” If anything, Ariel sounds amused at his words, but Charming’s face only pales even more.

Suddenly, the prince stands and turns to face Lesso. The anger in his eyes is all-consuming, and he bellows, so loud even Lesso flinches before she catches herself. “It is all because of thee, witch!”

Lesso raises an eyebrow. “It’s not very befitting a prince to yell, Charming,” she says, a wolfish grin spreading on her face. “Maybe Ariel could teach you some manners.”

“You!” Charming is so angry he actually stomps his foot, which makes Lesso stop and stare. “You art the reason for this nonsense! I was supposed to have a princess! I was promised one at birth! I am a prince!”

“And right now you’re acting like a baby,” Lesso replies, smirking hard. “Life is just so surprising, don’t you think?”

“You!” The prince positively screams, before he launches himself at her.

Lesso lightly steps aside, and with a grasp of her hand catches the scruff of the prince’s neck.

“Your form is terrible,” she whispers into the now defenseless Charming’s ear. She twists his arm. Charming lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and Lesso drops him to the ground. She dusts off her hands. “I feel better now. And if you try that again, I’ll break your neck next time. You understand?”

“Yond wast most wondrous.” She hears an almost hushed whisper behind her, and she turns to find Ariel, still watching them, but now completely disregarding the prince, writhing in pain on the ground.

“Thee wouldst maketh far bett'r a cons'rt than Charming of Hayna, Lesso of the dryeth landeth. Wouldst thee cometh backeth with me to seeth mine own palace?”

Lesso stares. She waits to see if she understood wrong, but she’s almost certain she didn’t. She’s almost certain she just heard Ariel tell her that she, Lesso, would make a better consort than Prince Charming.

She cackles.

“Heard that, prince?” She says, aiming a kick at Charming’s side. He winces and flinches in pain. “You better start working on your consort game.”

Lesso turns back to Ariel. “And I like breathing air, thanks. But if you take Charming, take good care of him for me.” She says, still smirking, and doesn’t wait to hear Ariel’s farewell before turning and trudging her way back up to the castle.

Oh, this has been much too fun.

Dovey stares at her, incredulous.

“After five months here, making Charming’s life miserable, you want to what now, Lesso?” She repeats. “What do you want to do?”

“I said, I want to go home.” Lesso shrugs. “Did I use words that were too big?”

“How- Why- No, actually, all I want to know is, what happened?”

“You know, princess,” Lesso says thoughtfully. “I think I just decided you were right. Prince Charming does deserve a chance at True Love after all.”

Dovey narrows her eyes at her. Lesso just smiles back innocently, but she can nearly see Dovey decide not to believe her.

“Edmund came in, while you were gone,” Dovey says suddenly, her eyes still narrowed.

Lesso licks her lips. “Did the little bastard leave chocolate pie again?”

Dovey’s eyes daze for a moment before they quickly roll in annoyance. “No. He’s a perfectly nice boy, Lesso.”

“Okay? And?”

“You told me, back when the king was poisoned, that you didn’t become friends with the cook to poison the king.”

Lesso shrugs. “And I didn’t.”

“You told me it was because you thought Edmund had potential as future Evil.”

“And?”

Dovey stares at her hard. “Lesso, with Evil like that, why would we even need Good?”

Lesso raps her nail against the table irritably. “Just get to the point, princess. What do you mean?”

“I just want you to be honest with me. Why did you become familiar with the cook?”

Lesso raises an eyebrow. “Why do you think?”

“I think you had a nefarious plan up your sleeve, and you planned the king’s death from the moment we stepped foot in this world,” Dovey says in a flood of words, the accusations rushing out. They don’t sting, but something pricks at Lesso and she wonders if it is because of the mistrust in Dovey’s eyes, usually so warm and welcoming.

“I’m overjoyed you think so highly of me, princess.” Lesso replies, “But that’s not why.”

“Then tell me. Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t understand!” Lesso exclaims, the prick of pain throbbing now. “You and your Goodness would never understand why anyone would need to be on good terms, especially good terms, with the cook that makes their food, would you? It would never even occur to you that someone might try to poison you. Especially not in your own home. But it does occur to me.”

Dovey’s voice is firm, when she replies, “Do you not feel safe?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Lesso throws back. “I cannot feel safe! I’m Evil, Dovey, does that suggest anything to you? I give myself safety, and I fight to keep it!”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Why?” Lesso asks. “Why? Tell me, princess. If you see someone fall on the street, would you go and help them up?”

Dovey nods.

“You know what I would do?” Lesso laughs, high and a little insane. “They’d be lucky if I didn’t add a kick or point and laugh!”

“Is that what being Evil is, then?”

“Is helping the person up what Good is, then?”

Dovey replies, certain and firm. “Of course.”

“So, what if the person who fell is a villain, pretending to need your help so they can kill you?”

Dovey considers this for a moment, but she says exactly what Lesso had expected her to say. “That’s what Good does. We do the right thing, regardless of the consequences.”

“And that is why I didn’t tell you, princess. You, you don’t have basic survival skills it takes to be Evil. How could you understand?” Lesso sits down.

She’s tired, suddenly, tired of having to fight for everything and be strong. And all of this, all because she was given a title when she entered school that meant she either killed or was killed.

“You don’t understand. You don’t know, princess, and you should be glad you don’t know.”

“You’re right.” Dovey says, after a while. “I don’t know. But Good isn’t about not having survival skills. Good is about choosing to help, to be kind, despite the dangers it might pose and accepting the consequences that might come because of it. Good is about empathy, Lesso, and if nothing else, I can empathize with you. You don’t have to be alone.”

Lesso softens, almost imperceptibly, but she still tells her, “That’s why you’re Good, princess. But most people can’t disregard the consequences. Villains don’t have that luxury.”

The heavy silence that falls over them after Lesso’s declaration is suffocating, so Lesso stands, opens her mouth, tries to find something else to say. Dover interrupts her.

“You’re not a villain, though,” Dovey says, with such quiet conviction that Lesso can’t bring herself to disagree. “If you were, you wouldn’t have been so dead set on saving Ariel.

“Ha! That’s what you think.”

“It’s what you did, is it not?”

“I didn’t do it to save her, princess. I did it–” She cuts herself off, swallows the to save me.

“Is it why you did something that matters, or is it what you did that matters?” Dovey shrugs. “You did the right thing, for whatever reason you did it for, but you did it. And you saved Snow White, didn’t you?”

“I did it for me, not for them.” Lesso waves her hand dismissively.

This time, though, Dovey does push the issue. “What do you mean?”

Lesso swallows. Suddenly, the room is so hot she can barely bear to stay. She turns to leave, but before she can go:

“Wait! Don’t leave, Lesso.” Against her will, Lesso stops. She can almost hear Dovey decide to say, in a tone small and almost afraid, “If you won’t tell me why, will you let me tell you a story?”

Lesso looks at her, in her mirror, trapped inside a world that isn’t even a world. Still Dovey looks at her, more earnest than anything Lesso’s ever seen, and before Lesso realizes it she’s sat herself back down.

“Do you remember,” Dovey starts after a moment, “When you asked me what princesses who didn’t want to marry do?”

Lesso nods, mutely, still terrified of the way that in just a few questions Dovey had nearly drawn out Lesso’s entire story. She doesn’t trust herself to speak.

“I told you they became fairy godmothers, and you guessed that that was why I was one.” Dovey’s tone is wistful, but her eyes are steely, and if nothing else, they tell Lesso that Dovey hasn’t had it all handed to her on a silver plate either. “But I never told you why I didn’t want a prince.”

“Prefer the princesses?” Lesso tries, and feels immensely better when she realizes she isn’t on the verge of spilling her life secrets to Dovey any more.

“Something like that,” Dovey replies. “And when I told my parents, they disowned me. Not in name, of course, never in name. We had a reputation to maintain.” There is pain in Dovey’s voice, traces of hidden pain that hid and lurked around the corner in plain sight, and suddenly Lesso hates that she never noticed it before. She should have recognized it, recognized the similarities in the pain that color both of their countenances. An unhappy childhood, an unfulfilling family… Lesso wonders how much of their childhoods have really shaped the way they see the world.

“I never thought to question what they did to me,” Dovey continues. “I never thought to ask why, because I knew why. I was deviant. I was wrong. I was the person that shouldn’t exist. Fairy tales weren’t written about women like me. I- I was broken.”

Suddenly, there is nothing that Lesso wishes more in the world than the ability to reach into the mirror and pull Dovey out, pull Dovey into her own scar-covered arms and hold her, because Dovey is not broken. How could Dovey ever be broken?

Dovey- Dovey is a gleam of sunlight, so bright that it threatens to warm everyone around it, even people with cold nightmares pressing down on every inch of their soul.

“But you told me I was wrong.” Dovey looks at her now, her eyes fierce and bright with emotion. “You told me men and early granny status weren’t the only way to happiness.”

Lesso snorts, despite herself. “I doubt I said it like that.”

“But you said it,” Dovey says, gently, “And you didn’t even know, but you told me I wasn’t broken. When you told me about your… Escapades,” Dovey blushes, a pretty color on her cheeks, “With the Evil– Grimhilde, you told me I wasn’t broken. Because you were like me, and how could I ever be broken when I am like you?”

How Dovey is wrong, Lesso thinks. How Dovey has mistaken her. Because Lesso is broken. Lesso is irrevocably broken, and Dovey, Dovey is whole. But when Lesso looks at herself, reflected through Dovey’s eyes… She almost looks whole.

They say a good family can be the source of comfort for a life of turmoil, and a bad one can be the source of turmoil for a life of comfort. Lesso didn’t get either luxury. But Dovey, Dovey deserves a life of comfort, and Dovey deserves to heal.

“And I’m not Good, Lesso. That’s what I realized the other day. I realized, I had stood aside and let you- let you commit murder. I knew you were going to do it– don’t roll your eyes– and I didn’t even try to stop you. How can that be Good? That’s what the Readers taught us. That’s why we’re here. We’re here to find a Balance.”

Lesso doesn’t know how to respond to that, or how to respond to the layers that Dovey has just peeled apart from both herself and Lesso. Dovey’s panic attacks make so much sense now, Lesso thinks. Dovey has never been in control of her life before, and just as she seems to get a semblance of control, the Storian shatters it.

She hates that stupid, fucking pen so much.

In the end, Dovey doesn’t really need an answer. Lesso doesn’t try to provide one. They just sit there, both of them in turmoil, and the silence doesn’t seem to choke anymore.

The silence in the room is interrupted by a tapping noise. Lesso stands, and makes her way to the window. The small note attached to the bird is written in a regal hand, and Lesso turns to Dovey with a wolfish grin that banishes the somber tone of the room in an instant.

“I received word from a little birdie,” Lesso says, “That king Triton has decreed Charming his new son-in-law, prince consort of Princess Ariel of the sea. Prince Eric has been made successor to the throne of Hayna.”

“I knew you didn’t want to leave because of the sudden goodness of your– Wait, did you say Ariel?” Dovey’s look of shock reminds Lesso she hasn’t told her about Ariel and Charming yet.

“Yep. Charming should’ve done his princess research better before he decided on Ariel. She’s a fun one.”

Dovey’s gaze turns faraway. “So the fairy tale happened after all…” She murmurs to herself. “Well, I’ll send word to the old king’s magic mirror and tell it to tell Snow White we’re going back.”

Lesso raises an eyebrow. “You still keep in contact with that piece of glass?”

“Not all of us have legs, Lesso.” And though she says it with snark, something about it is sad, and Lesso doesn’t push. Dovey disappears for a moment, and when she returns, gives Lesso a nod. “Snow White knows.”

“You know,” Lesso says thoughtfully after a while. “I assumed that Ariel would be a brainless fish because she did a lot of stupid shit in the original story. But…”

“Yes?”

“Well,” Lesso shrugs. “Now I think she’s also brave. Not entirely brainless.” She crinkles her nose, “Still, the turning tail into legs and giving up voice shit was dumb.”

“It was. But love is brave,” Dovey tells her, quietly. “No matter what form it comes it. It is never a cowardly thing to love.”

It takes a lot of courage to throw oneself headfirst into the rushing rapids of love, and it takes a fool to do it. Lesso had never thought of herself as brave before, but somehow, when Dovey puts it like that, Lesso thinks maybe the young girl she hates so much was brave, too. Foolish, brave, and in love with the wrong person. She shivers.

Hate, perhaps, is sometimes just love colored in a different shade, and the thought terrifies her. She still hates Rafal, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stop for a long time.

Lesso looks at Dovey. She hates Rafal, and it will be a long time before she can start to forget and let go. The young girl with frizzy red hair and a caustic smirk, though, doesn't deserve to be hated. Not for being brave. Dovey looks back evenly at her, unaware of the turmoil in Lesso’s mind, but her eyes anchor Lesso back in the present, and suddenly Lesso wants nothing more than to be able to brush Dovey’s dress as they stand together, shoulder to shoulder, in front of their students.

It’s almost ironic, the way that their stories are both stories of love, and yet here they are, sitting together surrounded by hatred. Love is the thread holding the fringes of Lesso’s story together, and yet so much of what she is now is borne of hatred. Love directed Dovey’s story towards a dark pit of hatred, and yet Dovey still sits here and tells Lesso that she believes, whole-heartedly, in love.

Dovey is braver than her, Lesso thinks. Dovey has not forsaken something because she was hurt, even if Lesso can still see her wounds ache sometimes. Lesso, though, Lesso keeps the pain bright and alive.

Her leg, the long since healed cut, pounds, and Dovey’s words streak through her.

"How could I ever be broken when I am like you?”

But Dovey is not broken. Dovey is whole, beautiful and whole.

Maybe bravery is easy, when you are whole and complete, when you are perfect and when you have not forfeited the right to finding True Love. But it’s been a long time since Lesso’s been Rafal’s Leonora, and the way Dovey looks at her makes her wonder if maybe she could be whole.

“Eh,” Lesso says out loud, and shrugs. “True Love's still a load of shit.”