Updated March 2017
Once again guys, I'm very sorry for the long gap in here. Still working on the story, as of now I'm posting this from my phone because my computer fried and I lost the newest saved version. So bare with me!
CHAPTER 9.
It was like slipping into the steps of an old dance the way the storm called out to her.
The hypnotic thrum of energy pounded through her body like a beat, pulling her by her heartstrings through the empty echoing halls. Step by step, she headed its call, left than right and over again as her body swayed and her eyes drifted, lulled by the swaying breeze that carried her on towards the source of the melody.
"You're almost there," a gentle voice coaxed in a velvety voice that felt as warm as home. "You're so close – all you have to do is follow."
Her dance slowed to a near halt, flowing seamlessly into the dulcet, graceful pirouette and lilting steps only a mastered ballerina could make seem so effortless. She blinked her eyes open lethargically, studying the warm glow up ahead that she knew she was being pulled to. Her lips fell into a small pout—
"No, this isn't right. What am I doing?"
But even as the words poured out, she found herself incapable of stopping her feet from whisking her away once more, light like they were floating across sand. The music flowed around her, lifting her from the weight in her chest that tried to keep her grounded.
"You're following your heart," the voice cooed. "Isn't that what you've always wanted? To dance forever?"
But her heart was locked away—this wasn't what it wanted at all. She wanted to be free.
"I can give you freedom. All I need is your loyalty."
But even as the words were whispered in the emptiness, Musa felt the cold bite of steel clamp down onto her wrists, onto her ankles.
She fell to the floor beneath her and her chin throbbed as her teeth clashed violently together. She opened her mouth to scream—to object—but no words came and she found her throat as dry as the Solarian Mountains.
Musa pushed with aching wrists against the ground, trying as she might to push herself to her feet. A cold sludge slithered across her back, pinning her into place. It pressed into her like bricks and she fought for her very breath as the warm glow and the shadows enveloping it rolled closer like an immense wave.
The voice sounded again, so loud and encompassing that she tried again to scream though she knew the effort to be in vain. It hissed and spit cold air all around her as the light crept closer still.
"All I need is your life."
°·
Musa awoke abruptly.
Beside her, Brandon dropped his hand from her shoulder and Musa glanced around at the realization that the stadium stands where they sat had fallen eerily silent, like the absence of a whisper. Her face flooded with embarrassment as she felt each and every pair of eyes on her and when she looked to the floor of the arena, Codatorta's own face was just as vivid as her own—but in anger.
His fists clenched into tight fists at his side. Next to him, the lanky freshman that had been giving his presentation on proper rein application seemed to shrink, as though he believed he could sink into the very dirt beneath him.
"It seems we've managed to bore our guest," the man shouted in his booming, thick brogue. The boy gathered up the leather reins in his arms and slithered like a mouse back to his seat near the front of the seats as though the distraction couldn't have come sooner. Codatorta crossed his burly arms. "I hope you had a refreshing nap because it's your turn."
Musa's flushed face drained as the feeling fled from her limbs in dread. "What?" she balked. "Me?"
"I didn't stutter, pixie. Get down here."
Her numb legs pushed her to her feet without any conscious approval and she passed Brandon a mournful look as she made her way out of the row of seats. She walked down the stone steps in complete silence, the boys of the class too intimidated by their instructor's wrath to make so much as a whisper—if she had asked any number of them, she would have discovered that they had learned not to sleep in Codatorta's class much earlier on. It was a knowledge that was passed down through the years from class-to-class as a rule written in the very foundation of the school. A legend. An unspoken, unthinkable, indisputable fact rather than a lesson or a guideline.
She stepped off the final step onto the floor of the arena below and made her way across the filled with her head held high and her steps much more confident than her pounding heart felt. Steeling herself against visage of the imposing silver dragon whose piercing blood eyes followed her every step, she took a deep breath and drew to a stop as she squared herself to force the great beast—
Codatorta.
Musa looked at his square face and feigned confidence. She knew the look on his face and knew that it came with the chilling delight he took in instilling fear in his young charges—she'd felt it more than a dozen times before, when she could still rely on her powers to assure the accuracy of the assumption.
"It's fairy, by the way," she corrected him at last, earning her half of a curious glance. "I'm not a pixie."
The man's grizzly brow crept high. He scoffed unnecessarily loudly. "You could be an imp for all I care; no one sleeps in my class." He stepped towards the lithe dragon behind him and his voice projected through the arena. "Since you're clearly so knowledgeable that you've got the stones to doze off in my class," he firmly grasped the reins that hung from the beasts' great maw and turned to her with a cold glint in his eye, "you're next to ride."
Musa shook her head and glanced between the man and the dragon. "No."
Codatorta's eyes narrowed as a chilled silence spread throughout the already silent arena. "No? I do hope my ears have deceived me." His finger dug into his ear, miming as though he were clearing out some nonexistent block and Musa crossed her arms in an act of intimidated fidgeting.
"Sir, I'm here to observe."
"You're wrong again, princess. You're here to pass and I'm the one who decides whether you do that or not. Since you're so clever that you feel the need to dismiss my instructions, you're going to impress us all with your natural-born dragon riding talents."
"I really don't think that this is what Saladin had in—"
"We're going to get one thing straight right now, Princess Musa," Codatorta advanced towards Musa and loomed down in his intimidating presence as he sneered down at her. "Your performance here rests in my hands and mine alone at this moment. Whether or not you are to return to Alfea is in my hands—not your Uncle's. And the only way you're going to pass my class is if you stop whining and do as you're told." Musa glared up at the man as he kept lecturing and a bitter burn began to eat at her stomach. "They might mollycoddle and pamper you Alfea fairies at your own school," he continued, "but as long as you are in Red Fountain observing our curriculum, you're going to earn your mark by your brass. Now are you going to show us what you're made of or are you going to snivel back to your seat with your tail between your legs like Cravitz did?"
The dragon reared backward in reaction to the elevated level of Codatorta's harsh voice at the same time the boy in the stands shrunk into the stands, face red and seeking solace from the limelight.
Gritting her teeth against the blazing challenge in Codatorta's beady eyes, Musa stepped forward closer to the beast and the crowd murmured behind her. At the swell of emotion, the dragon took a swift step back on its silent, claw-like feet and the muscles in its shoulders clenched as its back arched—
—A loud roar ripped from its great maw, blowing Musa's hair from her face as she stiffened and clenched her eyes against the outburst. Just as the ringing dulled, the dragon tensed and let out a second shorter call and lunged forward without warning. A boy in the stands called out to Codatorta – "Sir, get her out of there!" – and Musa jumped out of the way just in time to clear its snapping jaw.
Safe from danger, Codatorta's hand clamped on her elbow and yanked her further from the creature. "You heard the boys, fairy," he snorted unpleasantly. He pushed her away and Musa stumbled on her oversized sneakers in the action. "Get back to your seat and let me get back to my class. You've caused enough interruptions for one day." Codatorta continued yelling at her back as she stomped back towards the stadium seats. "Next time you consider pulling another stunt, I'd implore you to remember this. And maybe if you sit real quiet, Faragonda won't have to hear a word—"
She didn't even realize the decision she'd made but before she knew it, she had doubled back and was holding her breath as she approached the great silver beast who pinned her with its sharp, intelligent red eyes. She raised her hands above her head like a white flag on a field.
"Get back to your seat, pixie," the instructor barked, his eyes narrowed on her with unrestrained fury bubbling from his chest.
Musa shook her head. "You told me I had to ride the dragon to pass so that's what I'm going to do." Very timidly, she laid a clammy, shaking hand against the dragon's scaled neck and ground her eyes shut when it reared its head and roared into her face once again.
"Ride it?" Codatorta balked. He crossed his arms. "You're lucky the beast let you near it. It can smell your fear from a mile away."
"You think that just because I'm afraid I can't do it." She stared into the animal's red eyes and timidly reached for the reins hanging from the mount behind its horns.
"I know you can't do it."
Smoke blew from the creature's nostrils as it turned its head to watch her step to its side. She looked away only briefly to grab the handle at the side of the saddle and the dragon shifted away, its large body shaking the ground at her feet. Its massive wings struck out into the empty air, beating large gusts of wind into the arena. Musa started back but when the dragon stilled, rather than retreating she slowly neared it again and grasped the saddle more firmly.
She could hear Codatorta's growl even over the beasts huffing breath. "This isn't funny anymore, pixie. Go back to your seat and maybe I won't mention this act of defiance to your Uncle."
She mounted her leg into the holster and sprung up onto the back of the dragon, ducking low and held as tightly as she could manage when it reared up onto its hind legs beneath her.
"We're done with this game, Princess," Codatorta bellowed. "You're done."
As the creature calmed beneath her, Musa's white-knuckled grasp lessened and she pushed herself into a more naturally seated position as she steadied her breath. Her voice carried out stronger and clearer than her beating, adrenaline-fueled heart. "You don't think that we Alfea girls are as brave as your students and that's fine—but I'm going to prove you wrong. We're braver than you give us credit for."
"The only thing you're going to prove is that I'm right in saying that you girls lack discipline—you're not being brave by defying me. You're being stupid."
"And you're a sexist jerk." Musa leaned forwards along the dragon's neck and rubbed its rough skin soothingly. "Please work with me here," she whispered, though knowing the creature wouldn't understand her. She could hope though. "Let's go."
The grisly teacher stomped forward angrily. "You're embarrassing yourself. You don't even know how to get it in the air."
From out in the stands, nearly drowned out through the murmur of voices and humming beat of the dragon's steady breath, she almost missed Riven's voice call out, "Kilti!"
The reaction was almost immediate; the dragon's heavy wings struck out against the air once more, picking up speed as its body carried her into the sky. Down below, Codatorta yelled something at Riven in the stands and the other boys spectating rose to their feet and flooded out onto the floor of the arena as Musa and the silver dragon rose higher into the sky.
Musa hadn't thought it through this far—
"How do I land!?"
°·
She stared out at the dusty, empty arena as the sun begun to sink behind the high walls of the schools. Between her hands, she twirled a small plum that had been cold when she'd added it to her tray in the cafeteria with the other boys. Now, almost an hour later after leaving them abruptly with a sad excuse for her departure, it was warm and bruised beneath the dark skin in her grip but her distracted mind prevented her from putting it down or returning to her friends downstairs.
The door from the hall at the top of the stands opened and closed and the groaning of the metal hinges echoed throughout the stadium followed by a set of footsteps that broke the solitary hush of the wind blowing through the cold stone seats. She didn't look up as the newcomer made their way down the stairs but she counted each hollow step without taking her eyes off the long claw tracks that carved stories into the dirt floor below.
Twenty-eight steps and he was there.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him make his way down the empty row of seats until he was near enough she could almost feel him plop down to the bench with an aloof air only he could pull off.
Musa spared him a short glance and he smiled that crooked smile she hated oh-so-much. She clenched her fists around the soft fruit and returned her gaze back at the empty display before her, staring at the dry ground as though she could count each particle of dust that blew up with the gentle wind.
"What do you want?"
"It's not every day you get thrown off the back of a dragon from seven stories in the air." Riven reached over to the tray at her side and ripped off a piece from the bread. "Speaking from personal experience," he chuckled, "walking away with a shiner and a sprained wrist was a pretty lucky draw." Scooting closer, he picked up the tray and moved it to the tier below them.
"I was eating that," she objected.
Riven chortled. "No you weren't. It went cold an hour ago when you left the cafeteria."
The squishy plum drew to an abrupt halt between her palms. She hadn't even known he'd been there when she left—but he'd been so aware that he'd known exactly when she left.
"Really, Riven," she turned her head to face him and huffed. "What do you want?"
"A cushy life in a well-lit four bedroom estate with a fully stocked liquor cabinet and my own personal security team to guard me while I count more Quarr than I can imagine—no, wait," Riven rolled his eyes and kicked his feet up onto the seat in front of them. "That's not what I want. I don't care. I don't want anything, Muse."
The fairy's nostrils flared in frustration. "Why are you so frustrating?
"Why are you so stubborn?" His eyes burned right back into hers, breaking the spell of his nonchalance. "Is it so hard for you to accept that maybe I came here because I wanted to spend time with you?"
Musa glared. "Given how rudely you brushed me off this morning – and after what I thought was actually a really fun night – I'm sure you can understand my confusion."
Riven quirked his eyebrow in response. "I don't do mornings," he retorted dryly.
"Common courtesy isn't exclusive to early birds."
"You're getting this worked up because I didn't say 'good morning' back? Shit, pixie, I can't wait to see how you react when I actually do something wrong."
She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "That's funny—I don't remember getting upset with you until you told me to fuck off. I'm not some child who gets upset when I get ignored so don't treat me like one."
Musa's voice had risen without her noticing and the echo stubbornly faded from the empty stands long after they'd faded from her lips—and Riven waited with a stupid, stubborn smirk painted across his smug face.
"So it wasn't foolish or—childish—of you to jump onto the back of a dragon you've never trained to ride before?"
"You know what, Riven?" She snapped, "I know for a fact that I heard you yell to…start it. So don't go off on me about—"
The specialist chortled. "Start it? I'll have to keep note of that for the next time my dragon needs its engine jumped."
Musa punched his leg, forgetting about her hurt wrist in her anger. Immediately, she drew back hissing in pain and struggling not to regret the impulsive movement—struggling in vain, because she immediately regretted it.
Riven huffed as she bit back a loud groan of pain. "Why did you have to do that, you moron?"
"Why do you have to be a stupid jerk?"
Before she could finish her sentence, Riven had reached out and grabbed her arm by the elbow, pulling her hand toward him. "Stop it," he snapped when she started to protest, "let me look at your wrist, you idiot. You're just going to make it worse."
"I'm a fairy. I'll just heal it myself. I don't need your help."
"You don't have your winx, remember?"
Oh yeah. Musa grit her teeth and Riven waited to see if she was going to freak out again—he watched her face closely, watching the way her eyes roved over his face before flickering away and settling somewhere down in the arena, the small purse of her lips that he knew meant she was biting her tongue—and when she didn't speak, Riven extended his hand again.
"Are you going to let me help you now?"
She didn't answer but she did reach out and push her darkly bruised wrist towards him, turning her head away in resignation as she did. Riven lightly took her hand in one of his and pulled open the loud zipper of a bag at his side as they sat in a static silence. Curiosity got the better of her as she peered out the corner of her eye at whatever it was he was taking from it, but she quickly got her answer when a sharp scent invaded her nostrils at the exact moment that he smeared a glob of frigid gel onto her skin—goosebumps rose at the sensation and Musa was determined to believe it was because of the temperature and not because of his touch.
"You came prepared."
His eyes narrowed. "It's just a basic field kit." Deftly, his long fingers smoothed the salve onto the bruised surface of her black and yellow wrist – Musa was surprised how light his touch was and even more surprised to find that there wasn't even a hint of laughter hidden in the smoky depths of his eyes, not even when she flinched at one particularly tender spot against her bone.
He pulled an ice pack from the bag beside him and gently wrapped it around the battered flesh, then pushed her arm towards her. "Hold this still," he instructed, and she did. Her eyes stayed on him, silently, as he pulled the med bag onto his lap and shifted closer—closely enough that she could smell the fresh scent of soap still lingering on him from the shower he'd taken after the gym. Her breath hitched when his leg pressed flush against hers and he pulled her face towards him with a large, warm hand, turning her jaw towards him to inspect the cut that sliced through the sharp line of her eyebrow and down onto the bridge of her nose.
He pushed her cheek to stretch the skin away. "Sorry," he muttered genuinely when she hissed in pain. He lifted a small device up to her face and Musa bit her tongue, knowing well the biting sting that came with the mesh stitches it produced. His finger trailed after the bandage in silent apology as he moved the device down to the next spot—Musa's eyes fell shut under the touch of his thumb.
"You should have listened when he told you to sit down," he murmured gruffly.
Musa flinched away as the mesh embedded into the delicate skin near the corner of her eye. "Ow—no." She peeked at him through one slitted eye and instantly confirmed her suspicions; he was gritting his teeth and looked just as angry as his voice had led her to believe.
"He said I'm spineless," she spit out throught tight teeth, "I'm not."
Riven spared her a short, cold glance and dug a square back from the kit. "You're so scared of being called spineless? You could have lost your spine, Musa—you just got thrown from a dragon." The boggy-green cloth he tore from the package stank like a rot-monster and Riven pressed it to the long cut on her face without semblance of a warning—Musa gagged and coughed at the offensive smell, but his hand at the base of her neck stopped her from pulling back.
"Stop whining. If you hadn't been so stupid, I would have to do this."
"How is wiping my face with garbage helpful?!"
Riven smirked. "Well, for one your reaction is definitely helping me."
"Asshole," she muttered under her breath.
The tall hero pinched her shoulder. "This asshole is making sure you don't get dragon-scratch fever, so maybe try to be grateful for my help and think before you pull something like this again, pixie."
Musa clamped her lips tight in resignation and the stands echoed of unspoken words, spurred on by the steady beats of their hearts. Riven gently wiped at the dark blue bruises butterflying out from her nose and Musa squeezed her watering eyes shut.
"What was I supposed to do?" she asked quietly. "He would have just used it against me if I backed down."
Riven snorted. "He's going to do that anyway. Now he'll just tack 'can't respond to direction' to his list of offenses against you." He finally pulled the foul cloth away and tossed it into the bag, switching it out for a second ice pack that he instantly cracked against his knee.
He pressed it against the bridge of her nose and Musa stared pitifully at him over the edge. "You heard him—he has the power over whether I pass or not."
"And you just gave him the ammunition to make sure you don't." Musa shoved his hand away.
"I did what he asked. He challenged me and I won."
Riven shook his head. "You didn't prove anything. Codatorta doesn't cave. You could have died riding that dragon and he still wouldn't have cared. His opinion of you won't change, whether or not you do a hundred gutsy things and could beat me in hand-to-hand combat."
The fairy smirked. "You say that like it would be hard."
A devilish grin split his lips and Riven raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Any time you're ready to go, pixie, I'll take you. Just bring it on." Musa's attempt to hide her blush was in vain.
After removing the ice pack, Riven spread a small bandage over the bridge of her nose and lowered his hands as he admired his handiwork. "There," he chuckled softly. "You're cute again."
"You think I'm cute, huh?" The fairy smirked. Riven rolled his eyes and moved away, stuffing the medical supplies he'd taken out into the bag roughly.
"Don't go getting a big head; it'll just weigh you down the next fall you take."
"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
He laughed and shook his head. "Not if I can help it." He ran a finger over the off-coloured line on her porcelain face.
He'd been so good about keeping silent during the demonstration that he almost hadn't noticed when she'd been called out—but almost didn't quite cut it. As soon as Codatorta's booming voice had called out across the arena, his voice had snapped to the fairy just like the rest of the eyes of all the students sitting in the stands. Her sleep-blurred eyes had locked on Brandon beside her, then on the menacing instructor in the field below with a queasy look on her pale face that hadn't faded as she made her way down the steps.
That queasy look changed into a sharp, fierce determination as the instructor mocked her and told her to take her seat and by the time she made her way back to the dragon against the man's orders, Riven had found himself on the edge of his seat with a broad smile pouring from his pounding chest. The fairy had stepped up beside the great beast even when it roared its call of fear into her face and even as its breath, hot and foul like ashes, blew into her face like a torrential wind, she didn't back down.
Riven was a talented hero. He'd caught on to the practices and techniques required to rise to the top of his class faster than some of the boys two years his senior. He knew that in order to excel at the different skills a hero must have, one thing above all else that a hero must abide by is duty—absolute, unconditional, no-questions-asked duty. As a hero, if your commanding officer ordered you to stand down, it was in your code as a hero to obey—
And even knowing all of that, Riven had felt so many conflicting, prideful things as he watched his favourite girl climb onto the back of the flying animal and he'd broken his own code just so he could watch her soar; just so he could watch her dumfound them all, as she did to him more times than he could count in a single day—
"Kilti."
—He just hadn't realized how sharply the sight would make his heart drop until she was in the air and he knew, first hand through four years of shattered bones and more cuts and bruises than he could count, just how wrong it could go.
But she made it. He smiled because he knew she would.
He dropped his hand from her cheek and Musa tried to dissect the strange look in his eye and for not-the-first time, she found herself missing the empathy that came with her winx. She never had realized how heavily she relied on it—but then again, when it came to Riven, she had difficulty getting a read on him with or without it.
Riven jumped to his feet suddenly and slung the red bag over his shoulder. "Come on," he said as he thrust his hand out in that arrogant way he'd mastered with a natural ease.
She didn't know what compelled her to react the way she did, but without question or an ounce of hesitation, she took his hand with the arm not swaddled in an ice wrap and he pulled her to her feet, their fingers intertwining in the motion. As he whisked her away up the stands, Riven pushed open the heavy door at the top of the stairs before the pieces in Musa's mind clicked into place.
He pulled her through the doorway and she adjusted the icepack she held pressed against her side mid-gait. "Where are we going?" she asked.
Riven chuckled and flashed a smile down at her as they rounded a corner to a long stairwell that she'd never seen before. "I'm surprised it took you this long to ask," he teased. "The fall must have shaken you up more than we thought." Musa pushed into him playfully with her shoulder. "But—I thought you might want to meet her," he answered at last.
They came to a dead stop in front of a massive wooden door.
"Her?" Musa asked. Riven seemed to ignore her question as he typed a code quickly into the holo-pad beside the door frame that flooded the hall with a bright blue light.
For the first time since they left the arena, he dropped her hand and moved to open the door wide before her. Musa took a timid step into the new and unfamiliar room, her eyes wide and her lips lifted in a child-like smile. Heavy breaths and padded steps of creatures far greater than her echoed through the stone chamber, wings rustling the straw and debris strewn about the stalls behind each heavy door. Musa looked about the huge stable at the lithe heads poking above the open windows to each box and she found more than a dozen eyes of varying bright eyes gazing back at her just as curiously as she did. Riven silently slid back to her side and his hand slipped back to its place in hers—she realized then how cold and empty her palm had been without his there.
He brushed away a blue lock of hair from her bandaged face and Musa looked up at him. The question was clear in her eyes.
"Do you want to meet your dragon?"
Musa's smile could have blinded him, and in that moment he wouldn't have cared—because just for that moment, that smile was all for him.
"Are you kidding me – of course I do!"
°·
"Babe, you can't not invite your mom."
Stormy groaned and scratched out the word she'd been writing onto the paper beneath her hand. "Why not? You've never met her, Bishop. My mother is awful."
"She can't be that bad."
"Have you ever been to a witch wedding, Bishop? Or—have you ever been part of a witch matriarchy? You'll run away before I have the chance to walk down the aisle."
Bishop shook his head and leant over from his spot beside her on the couch to press a kiss to the crown of her wild hair. "I won't. You know I won't."
Stormy lifted herself up and he pulled her onto his lap. Her nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck as his hands began massaging soothing circles into the warm bare skin of her calves. "She's your mother, Stormy," he murmured. "You have to invite her."
She titled her head back to glare into his dark eyes and the pair found themselves locked in a familiar stare-down—and it ended just as it always did, with Stormy's lips lifting into an easy smile immediately followed by a frustrated curse. "Fine!" she groaned. She pulled the notepad back onto her lap and scribbled her mother's name among those on the short disorganized list. "There," she snapped, "are you happy?"
Bishop laughed. He pushed his glasses up his nose and returned to his own list. "I'm ecstatic." She could be so difficult sometimes—and that was only a small part of why he fell for her. He studied the words before him carelessly, knowing well that his next question wouldn't be taken well. "Now what about your sisters?"
The witch stilled and her pen froze in the middle of a sloppily scrawled letter. Her pale green eyes remained unwavering. "Maelstra is already on the list," she said levelly. She finished writing the name and tapped her pen against the first on the list. "See? She's the first one."
Bishop could remember when three weeks earlier, it had been the only name on Stormy's list. He stopped his own hand and even went so far as to move it to the side, knowing well that she wouldn't be able to ignore the gesture even in her vain attempt to feign obliviousness.
He cleared his throat. "You know that's not who I meant."
"I have one sister, Bishop, and she's already on the list. I don't see what your problem is."
The hero sighed. "Yes, you do."
At that, Stormy snapped and tossed the notepad away from her angrily. "No. I don't see the problem because I don't see why you feel the need to push an issue that I've already buried."
"Because you haven't. You haven't talked about it yet."
"They're not my sisters!"
Bishop placed a calming hand on the witch's knee and Stormy paused—as she thread her fingers between him, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand, she took a moment to counter herself and take a deep calming breath (as they'd talked about in their last therapy session). As she counted, she could feel the static dissipate from all around her and as her hair fell back to its natural frizzy style, the blood that had rushed to her face (she never had been able to hide her emotions) fell in a cooling sensation back to where it had come from.
Stormy squeezed his hand and her eyes clenched shut. "They aren't my sisters anymore. After all they've done—all the times they abandoned me, all the times they made me into a joke, all the times they made me feel like less of a witch because I didn't want being a witch to mean the same thing as murderer—" The small woman took in a set of deep, heaving breaths and opened her eyes—100. "They aren't my sisters. Not anymore."
After a moment of pause, Bishop merely nodded. "Okay." He picked up his own discarded notepad from the cushion at his side and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him scratch out two names.
But she knew better than to ask—for the sake of her own sanity.
Stormy licked her dry lips and her cloudy eyes locked on the paper she'd thrown across the room. "How did you know that I needed that?"
Bishop merely smiled in the small way that was the only way he knew how and she would have missed it had she not known exactly when and where to look for it. "Because I know you, Storm. And I know you were going to hold onto that until you said it."
She looked at the pale lines of his face, the small lines beside his nose that hadn't been there when they'd met, and didn't bother hiding her quiet smile. Somehow, after all the bad things that clouded her past, despite all the ugly words she had brought to life, she had been favoured by just the right spirit to put him—her Bishop—into her life. And she'd never been happier.
"Thank you."
His eyes crinkled at her from behind the class panes of his glasses. Bishop leaned into her and captured her full, purple lips in a sweet kiss. "You're welcome," he whispered as he pulled away.
"Now," he led timidly, "about Brandon and Sky's girlfriends—"
And suddenly, the sweet moment was like it had ceased to exist.
"I'm not having those pixies at my wedding!"
°·