I nervously shake my leg as I sit on my bed in the inn. I feel like a child in trouble. Sara sits on her bed across from me, biting her lip. Neither of us want to speak and the tension in the air coils around us like a snake. We both know what has to be said. We both know what has to be done. But neither of us wants to bring it up. Despite my confidence in all other things, Sarafyna has always carried the majority of the courage. However I may like to think of myself. However gentle and quiet she usually is. She remains more bold than me, and always will. True to pattern, she speaks first.

  “I’ll come back,” she promises. She skips the actual discussion about leaving. And she is right too. We already know why she has to go back now. We know we can’t delay anymore. We have known since we crossed the border and our original plan proved impossible. So she is promising to come back. “You know I’ll be back, before you’ve even managed to murder anyone, probably.”

  This forces a laugh out of me before I even realize it’s coming. “You underestimate me,” I joke. “I’m going to need something to distract me, and I doubt they have any Zelda games here.”

  “Are those the options?” She chuckles. “Games and murder?”

  “I’m a simple woman,” I shrug, giving her a poorly hung smile. The brief reprieve of the conversation hangs in the air for a moment before reality grows too heavy for it to bear. The briefly pleasant mood rises like heat until it’s no longer in reach. I hang my head. Sara stands and moves to my bed, sitting quietly next to me. This is all she does. She has said a thousand things in the simple promise to come back, and she knows she doesn’t need to elaborate. I let out a heavy sigh, and all the bravado I carry for the twin’s sake is dragged out with it. Water runs quietly down my cheeks.

  “I’m scared, Sara,” I whisper. She lets out a quiet breath. Without looking I know she is biting her lip again. I can see that expression with my eyes closed. It doesn’t help. “I’m so scared. And it’s stupid. It’s fucking stupid, because we have done worse than this before. You’ll be gone what, a week? Far less time than we have been separated before. But . . . it always felt so certain that I would see you again. That no matter how far you got or what happened, you’d always come back. Or I’d come to you. But . . . that doesn’t feel so certain anymore. I know it never was. But–” Sara puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m scared too,” she whispers, barely audible. “Annie, I only ever feel safe when I’m with you. Even when we finally found my father I– well I only ever feel safe when I’m with you. Annie. I am terrified to leave, even for a week. Even for a day. But . . . because of that, I have spent a lot of time around you. To the point where, however terrified I am, I have to move forward. I’ve fallen in love with too many steps you have taken. Over and over again, I have fallen for you as you do the impossible for everyone but yourself. It’s how I learned to break reality myself. When I first fell for you, I didn’t realize I was attracted to you. I thought I wanted to be you. Then I thought I was attracted to you. Now, I know it’s both. I want to be what you are. What you have been, for so many people, even when I am afraid.

  “And I know. I know that being you is hard. And it's been harder lately. But you are still you. Which means I have to go, to save you from asking me to. To save you from failing to ask me to. Because you are afraid for me, and you are afraid for the people we left behind. For your family. Your community. Leo. And I love you, because there are so many of them, and only one of me, and you still wanted to keep me by your side, even as you live in terror for all your other loved ones. I love you because you couldn’t bring yourself to ask me to risk myself again, after what happened last time. I love you because you were going to anyway, and because you would never forgive yourself if you didn’t.”

  Her hand moves from my shoulder to the side of my head running her hand through my hair. “I love you too, Sara. You make everything feel normal again. Like I don’t have to constantly wear a mask. Around you, I can be Annie, and not the Mage of Mourning or whatever other title people have stapled to me. I feel love like an open wound. It hurts. And love isn’t going to keep us alive to see each other again,” I respond.

  “I wonder about that,” Sara muses and a strange warmth washes over me with her words. “Well. It will help us trust each other to stay alive. And it will let us enjoy the time we do have together,” she counters. She is right. I need to trust her. I do trust her. I trusted Henry too. No. That isn’t right. I know that isn’t right. I look up at my girlfriend while wearing a face of porcelain.

  “Can we try the hat, one more time?” I ask.

  “It won’t work,” she answers. “I can feel that it won’t work.” I glance over at her bag and sigh. She is, of course, right again. We have tried over and over again. As long as that barrier stands, it won’t work.

  “Yeah,” I admit. “You’re right. We need to take advantage of tonight. You need to go tomorrow. Make sure everyone is safe. And stay safe yourself. Indulging in my cowardice would be a waste of tonight.” It hurts. I am so afraid. But . . . somehow I still feel warm. I want to be myself again. I want to trust Sara again. I still feel like I am not me. But tonight, around Sarafyna, maybe I don’t have to be. Maybe I can just be her girlfriend. We can feel warm and safe and sure of the future for one night.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Sarafyna agrees.

  Usually, in the evenings, we trade stories or read a book together. I look toward my bag, hanging off my headboard. “We can try that librarian’s story. Worst case scenario it’s funny, best case it’s actually good. I could use the distraction,” I say. She smiles and nods and we work our way through it, pausing to tell different stories and provide our own commentaries. Sara laughs at my Earth anecdotes and I help her draw the different hats she insists each character should wear. It feels so achingly normal, in a way that is almost a good pain, like the removal of a thorn or massaging an anxious knot. It is a beautiful, if melancholy evening.

  Once again we sit on a bed, Sarafyna’s this time, and I rest my head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Sara,” I say. “I’m still terrified. But at least right now . . . it’s more numb. A normal evening was the perfect goodbye.”

  “A-almost, perfect,” she stutters, “There is just one more thing I don’t want to regret.” As she says this, she adjusts, prompting me to lift my head. She turns on the bed so she is facing me, and I hesitantly do the same. One of her hands gently runs up my rib cage, and I can feel a nervous tremor in it as she does.. The other lands on my cheek, then travels to the back of my head and pulls me into a deep kiss. Her lips are soft and warm, and her teeth brush against my lower lip in a tentative way. The hand on my side continues to travel, barely missing my chest, hesitating as it does, before continuing and landing again on my shoulder. My entire body shivers as she pushes me, slowly and deliberately, until I am lying on my back. She breaks the kiss and looks down at me with almost cloudy eyes.

  “Are you sure?” I plead, afraid she'll say no while still wanting to give her an out.

  “Desperately,” she promises, and her lips meet mine again, growing more confident with each kiss.

  Lot, the enthusiastic librarian, is actually a pretty good writer. His version of the sages is actually much more complimentary than their own. Or at least, his version seems to subconsciously edit out all the parts that inspired my desire to commit violence. His story is something of an ‘alternate history’. I suspect the sages’ versions are too, but I can respect the characters in his version. It’s not the most amazing thing I’ve ever read, but it’s not terrible. I may have enjoyed it more than usual because, well, it was a distraction. And I was with Sarafyna.

  It is also tied to a kind memory. One of the kindest of this life, however bittersweet it made the goodbye. I still feel like an idiot for making such a big deal about it. It’s a week. If that. She’ll be back with me so, so soon. But this morning hurt nonetheless, and the endorphins released by last night’s goodbye could only last so long. So I needed the distraction, and that’s what Lot was.

  He is . . . helping me with ideas for my ‘story’, so to speak.

  “Do you have any theories about why the sages won’t go near the nexus?” I ask and lot adjusts his round glasses.

  “Oh a million. But my leading one right now? I think it’s a portal back to . . . wherever they came from. See, they all stay far away from it unless they absolutely can’t. They have the Guardians of Stone on the border, and a thick wall of Nexus energy making sure no one else approaches too! I think they must come from somewhere horrible. A desolate wasteland, where normal people can’t survive anymore. They don’t want to get sucked back in. I think the border is to stop any citizens from wandering in too. Wherever they are from must be really dangerous,” Lot guesses. “If you ask me? They are from the far future. They are here to stop the world from ending, that’s why they all try to take leadership roles and prevent us from making the same mistakes of their past.”

  I can’t decide how far off he is. The future thing doesn’t make sense to me, considering I have been to Earth. But I suppose my story is different in a lot of ways. Maybe I am from a different world than the rest too. The Radiant Woods feel more like a particularly colorful hell than a portal but there is certainly some space fuckery going on with it. And there is no way it’s uninvolved with how sages travel between worlds. I don’t think going back is what they are afraid of, though. And I know they don’t want to keep all their citizens from ending up there. Just the ones they want to keep ruling.

  “Oh, that makes perfect sense,” I enthusiastically lie. “What kind of mistakes do you think led to that future?” I ask. He looks over his shoulder and leans in conspiratorially.

  “Biological experimentation,” he whispers. “We all know how body modification is illegal, and how cultists do it anyway right?” he asks.

  “. . . right,” I agree. I do know this, at this point, although I suspect I have made different conclusions.

  “Well, most people don’t think too much about that, unless they are cultists I guess. But I go to every public appearance of the Centurion Sage. I don’t enjoy the arena but whenever he addresses the public. Whenever they find cultists, he looks worried. Scared. Horrified and afraid. And why would an all powerful sage feel afraid . . . if not for his people? Something about what the cultists do scares him about the future. The reason he fears the Demon Queen, Lillith. I love the costume, by the way. Anyway, It all makes sense if he is trying to avoid the mistakes that led to our downfall the first time,” Lot suggests. I rub my chin in thought.

  Genuine fear. Sure, people often fear change and try to control people to avoid it. But it doesn’t sound like that kind of fear. Lot is describing fear like a dark night and shadowy figures. Horrified fear. Terror, like I feel being apart from my family. Lot is a fan of the sages, so the real answer didn’t occur to him. What does an all powerful sage have to fear if not on behalf of his people? Well the answer to that is obvious, if you don’t start from an assumption of benevolence.

  “I’m from out of town,” I say. “Can you tell me more about this arena?” I ask. I am going to go find out for sure. I am going to look this sage in the eyes and find out what, exactly, he is afraid of.