Don't call.
She walked lightly and carefully, each step measured.
Don't call.
She walked on, despite the weight of her inner turmoil.
Don't call.
She walked, feeling the grass beneath her feet turn to paved stone.
Don't call.
She walked further still, rounding the familiar corner and feeling detached from her surroundings, even in this well-known spot.
Once more, she held the mobile device, turned it over in the palms of her hands. Deciding, waiting, delaying; whatever she called it, she had yet to take action and call. She promised herself, and told those she loved (as if saying the words would somehow make them true) that she would not call. Her sworn oath not to call her family until after the event was over rang through her mind, filling her with a deep sense of guilt and longing matched only by her current struggle. Of course she had known she could handle not calling home for a few days. She was, after all, a warrior, the people's champion, the destined victor. Champions did not fall apart. Champions did not isolate from their friends on a quiet evening and seek somewhere to be alone while their hearts broke and their minds wasted away in silence. Champions stood and fought; they faced their fears, they licked their wounds, and they most certainly were not defeated by matters of the heart.
Conflicted, she stared at the device, breathed heavily, and considered her next move. Her mind was a chaotic fog of emotions and thoughts. What would he think if he saw her like this? A warrior, reduced to nothing more than a girl on the verge of tears? What would everyone back home think of her? Nothing, she reasoned. They loved and supported her. However, it wasn't their forgiveness or understanding she now sought - instead, it was her own. She fought back tears as she settled against the wall of a large building, curling one leg close to her chest. The tears did not come, but in an instant, her resolve scattered like leaves in the wind.
Reluctant and broken, she opened the device, activated its backlit screen, and called. Her fingers tapped firmly against the smooth surface. The dial tones that usually accompanied each call were no different than they had always been, yet somehow now they felt alien. The sounds were like some twisted ominous melody reflecting the tortured state of her mind and soul. Time seemed to slow down as she waited for one ring, then two, and finally, halfway through the third, heard a crackling at the other end of the line.
"...Hello?"
"..." First, nothing. Then she forced herself to speak the words. "Hello. It's me."
Her mother's voice was a welcome sound to quiet the raging worries in her head, if only for the moment. She felt the heavy weight of sadness lighten only a slight amount, but it was enough. Her mother spoke a few words, asking if she was alright, when the next names would be called, and if any professors had given her trouble. She answered these questions with hesitance, slowly finding herself more at ease. Once she felt comfortable enough, she relaxed both legs as her mother continued to speak.
"...No. I'm fine. Sorry if I worried you."
Sorry. She always said that too much, which her mother wasted no time reminding her of in this moment. Then she reminded her again, because of the apology that followed. This was typical, and the sense of normalcy was nearly enough to make her smile in spite of all that was going on in her mind. If not for what followed, she might have.
Here was the dreaded question. No birthdays in the family, so that was not relevant. She had not called about being in any sort of trouble, to share a recent story about her classmates, or to inform her mom that she was running out of money. So, why had she called? What was important enough that she broke the vow she'd made just before departing with her team?
"I know I said I wouldn't call yet, not during the tournament. I'm sorry, I…" Her mother waited patiently, holding back the impulse to correct her. She knew her daughter well. This pause meant she was choosing her words carefully, as always. "Do you remember the story, from when I was growing up?" Her mother instantly knew the one. "Yes, that one! It was your favorite, wasn't it?" Joyous laughter sprang from the other end of the call. Now, she did smile. This shared memory was warmth against the cool autumn breeze.
Then, just as quickly as the memory surfaced, it was overshadowed by deep sorrow. She looked to the ground, her eyes filled with tears as her voice caught in her throat. She forced it back, but a tinge of emotion remained. Enough that any mother could easily pick up on the signs, even by phone a continent away. In truth, she didn't know what to do. She knew there was only one thing in the world that might help her now.
"I can't explain why, but...please, would you tell it to me again? Like you used to?" She felt the coolness of her scroll in one hand and gripped it tighter, knowing she might break down any moment. "Yes, please. Tell me again."
The next few minutes brought solace to her troubled mind as her mother recounted the familiar children's fairy tale. Fall leaves rustled in the trees, her hair whipping in rhythm to the soft breezes as they came, and for a moment, all felt right with the world.
"...Deep in the forests of Remnant, beside a great and mighty river, stood the small, fragile home of a cold, frail man…"
If only for this moment, Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible Girl, was at peace. She was a child again, listening to her mother recount the enchanting tale of the four maidens who represented the changes of season. She knew she would eventually have to face the important decision before her, and that she had to come to terms with what this might mean for her, Jaune, and the others on her team. Pyrrha understood the gravity of the Fall Maiden's condition, and consequently her own decision, on Team Juniper, on the four academies, and on the fate of the world.
Yes, Pyrrha truly was sorry. She was sorry that this might be the last phone call she shared with her mother before her fate was decided. She was sorry that she would not be able to explain what was to come to her teammates. She was sorry that there was a chance she could fail, and that if she did, Beacon, like Amber, may fall. She was sorry that she would not be able to spend more time simply delighting in the presence of the friends she made during her time at Beacon. She was sorry that they might never know how much they enriched her life. Most of all, she was sorry that she could not share her newfound knowledge with her dear mother. In fact, Pyrrha could barely broach the subject of Jaune, the boy she had always loved, with her mother, let alone discuss a villainous plot with worldwide implications.
...but for now, Pyrrha was not the Invincible Girl. She was but a child delighting in the innocent safety of a fairy tale...and for now, that was enough.