Note: Chapter eight always seems like a milestone to me for some reason…hm. I dunno. But after chapter eight, I always feel like I'm finally delving into the heart of the story. And I'm quite excited that FF has reached this turning point! XD (I know it seems like the story's not going anywhere, but I promise that it is. Pinky swear.)

Chapter Eight:

Celia

"So, how long do you think it will take?"

I'm seated at Muffy's vanity, idly playing with the assortment of brightly colored makeup lying by her mirror. "Um, how long will what take?" I ask, unscrewing the lid to one of the many tubes of lipstick. It's a newer shade; unlike the others, its metal container is free of smudges. Shiny. New. Polished.

"You like it?" Muffy inquires, coming over to get a closer look. "Passion Pink. Gorgeous color, huh?" I nod, and she slips her slight body beside my own bulging shape. Squeezed together on a tiny seat, Muffy sighs. "Oh, Celia, it's been what, three weeks? Four? Winter will be ending soon, you know. And that baby's on the way."

"Oh, well the baby will be here before then," I tell her, smoothing out my dress. "So, it shouldn't take too long."

She opens her lips, then closes them, her porcelain features conflicted. Puckering her artfully-plucked brow, Muffy tries once more. "No, Celia, I know when the baby's due. That's not what I meant—not at all."

I study her; there's an air of unease lingering about my friend, and I can't for the life of me remember a time where Muffy has been so reluctant to talk about anything. Even when a relationship of hers would turn sour, Muffy always had no trouble talking about it—sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but always completely open and unabashed about it.

In fact, the whole reason I'm at Muffy's right now is because she's taken it upon herself to make sure I'm moving on. "We haven't had a sleepover since you got married," she'd complained. "It's high-time we revived the tradition." Vesta was incredibly supportive of the idea, Marlin indifferent, and I accepting of Muffy's stubborn will.

But of all the things I had expected of her…this wasn't one of them.

"Um—what baby names are you thinking of?" the blonde asks instead, blushing. My curiosity peaks—she'd hedging—but I know better than to push the subject, and I say simply,

"Oh. Um, maybe Jack if it's a boy, but…I don't know." To my embarrassment, I'm now the one blushing. "I'm not sure it'd fit."

In silent understanding, Muffy nods, and adds, "So, what if it's a girl?"

I blink. "A girl?"

"Yeah. A cute little girl." Muffy lets a smile steal across her lips as she continues, enraptured: "You could dress her up in frilly dresses and lace, tie her long silky hair in braids, go to the mall together on a mother-daughter date—oh, God, a daughter would be wonderful." Her green eyes aglow, Muffy stares distantly into the mirror's reflection, beaming. "Celia? If you have a daughter, you have to promise to let me spoil her. Okay?"

I smile. "Okay, I promise."

A few moments of silence pass, light winking off the compact mirror Muffy's turning absentmindedly in her hands. Closing it, she turns to me, and her gaze meets my own.

"I always loved the name Evelyn for a girl," she admits, leaning against the counter. "Eve. You know what Evelyn means?

I shake my head.

"The Beautiful One." Muffy lays her head down amidst all the lipsticks, blush, and mascara scattered on her vanity, and sighs. "What more could a girl ask for, than to be born knowing she was beautiful?"

Her eyes close, and the wrinkles on her forehead relax—wrinkles that are faint, but exist nonetheless. There are lines etched about her mouth, laughing lines, but even while veiled beneath foundation, they show: marks of the stress she's had to bear.

"Uh…w-well…Celia means The Blind One, you know," I offer, clearing my throat. Her head snaps up from the counter; my words have done their work, and her lips part in unexpected laughter.

"Are you serious?! Haha, that's terrible!" she giggles. Blonde curls tumble behind her as she shakes her head, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Oh, but that's not the worst of bad names, though. Ah! Actually—" She bends over, manicured hands reaching into the drawers of her vanity to bring forth a fat little brown book. "I bought this on a whim once. It's a book of baby names," Muffy explains, handing it to me. "There's a list, with the meanings and everything. Go on, give it a look."

I thumb through it, pausing. "Fabia, The Bran Grower?"

"Ew, bran is just nasty, Celia. Don't name your kid that."

"How do you grow bran, anyway?" I wonder aloud. I earn a playful shove for that, and as punishment for my farming reference ("You work too much, Celia—I swear, it's going to your brain"), Muffy chooses the next name.

"How about this one?" she suggests. "Maureen."

I look over and raise an eyebrow. "…That means The Little Bitter One."

"Really?! I knew a Maureen in college, and she was the sweetest thing—weird, huh?" But then another name calls her attention, and she points to it excitedly. "Wait, Celia, look at this one: Gertrude, The Mighty Spear Warrior." She grins. "I dare you to name your kid that."

I wrinkle my nose in horror. "Gertrude? That's sort of cruel, don't you think?"

"True," she nods. "More of a grandma name than a baby name…a spear-hurling grandma, anyway." We both imagine Romana throwing a spear despite ourselves, and the grins are back brighter than before as the image of her tossing her umbrella with a battle cry crosses our minds. Muffy stands up and flops herself down on her bed, giggling. "Okay, okay, but seriously—what names do you like? Now that we've ruled out bran growers and bitter children and spear-throwing grandmas."

"Um." I pause. I trace the words inside the pages, letting my fingers travel of their own accord. "Erika's kind of nice."

Erika: The Powerful One. A strong and beautiful name, suited for a strong and beautiful person.

"And then there's Monica…"

Monica: The Wise Counselor. Direct, intelligent, and musical: meant for a brilliant child.

Hesitating, I fold my hands in my lap, and harbor a gentle smile. "But I've always liked the name Lily."

Lily: The Lily Flower. An innocent name that means nothing more than what it is. No false pretenses. No misunderstandings. Honest.

"A flower name, huh?" Muffy rolls over and stares at me upside-down from her bed. "That doesn't surprise me, Celia. Petunia, Rose, Violet, Lily--you've been a farmer for so long, I guess plants just pop into your brain like that."

"But that's not really fair, Muffy," I tease. "I don't accuse you of naming your children after designer brands."

She rolls her eyes. "Because you know I've just got so many children running around, Celia. Little Prada and Gucci will just about drive me mad."

A pause leaks into our laughter, and suddenly all is silent again. It's not funny. Muffy's love life isn't funny. There's nothing funny about her wanting a child she'll never have. Not at this rate, anyway.

Not alone.

"Celia?" An uncertain tremor echoes between the syllables. "In all honesty…how long do you think it will be?"

I stiffen unexpectedly. "How long until--?"

She pauses before answering. "It's just…you're going to have a baby, Celia. All by yourself, you're going to have to raise a child, and reconstruct not only your life, but build up one for this brand new human being." Muffy chews her lip, each word taxing her. "It just might…help…if there was someone else by your side."

I stare at her blankly; but there is no one else. There can never be anyone else. Doesn't she know that? What can she possibly—?

"You've got to understand." She swallows a lump in her throat, the shock apparent in my eyes piercing through her like nothing else can. "I'm not trying to be cruel, Celia. But, girl, you've got to move on. Wouldn't Jack want you to be happy? To find someone else? To get his child a father?" Another pause. "I mean, don't you think Marlin, maybe--?"

"You want me…to forget, then," I whisper. I'm shaking, and Muffy wraps her arms around me, but all I want is for her to let go. "You want me to just let Jack fade into nothing—how am I supposed to do that, Muffy?" Tiny pinpricks of sorrow pierce my eyes, tears that I've kept hidden so well for so long. I wring my hangs in my apron, my nails digging into the fabric; no, no, no, it's not that simple. How am I supposed to stop loving him just because it's convenient, just because I've passed the allotted amount of time customary for mourning? Time constraints are for planting seeds. Convenience is for shop hours and hotel service. Not for death. Never for death.

"Honey, no, don't cry," Muffy pleads with me, unaware that I'm just as unwilling to see myself cry as she is. "I know it's hard—it's hell, I know. But people pick themselves up, Celia. They go on. They fall in love again. They mend their lives. You deserve that as much as anyone else. Maybe even more."

"But I…I…" I wipe my nose; to my complete shame and disgust, it's running, and I can't control my own body as I shudder, crumpling in Muffy's arms like a paper flower. "I just can't!"

Dark, knowing eyes. A cocky smile. That unruly tuft of brown hair upon his head. The soft touch of his lips. The way his hands traveled around me as he whispered in my ear, how he smelled of sweat and the earth as his skin brushed up against my own.

Finding someone else would replace all that. Finding someone else would replace him, period. And I've already lost him once.

I can't do that to myself again…can I?

"Forget I said anything," Muffy soothes. "Forget all about it, okay?" She brings the book to me again, and flips it open, a forced smile tugging at her lips. "Here, let's see some other names—"

But I am only interested in one name, and searching through the pages I tear my gaze from one name to the next, desperate to see the one I hold precious above all others.

Jack: May God Protect Him.

I'd never gone to a carnival before until Jack flashed two brightly colored tickets in front of my eyes. "Wanna go with me?" he'd asked, and surprised, I nodded. Oh, of course I had heard all sorts of wonderful things about them: the clowns, the acrobats, the lion tamers—but apparently a carnival was slightly different than I'd expected.

"You're thinking of a circus," Jack chided me as he led the way, my arm locked in his own. "Carnivals are…they're kind of a mix of performances and a watered-down amusement park."

"O-oh." I lowered my expectations somewhat, but smiled nonetheless. "Well, I'm sure it'll be fun anyway. I can't wait to see the performers—will there be any clowns, do you think?"

"Why?" he teased, his grin widening. "You scared of them or something?"

I laughed and shook my head, blushing despite myself. "No, of course not! I just…wanted to know if they were as funny as they say."

"Well"–and here his arm slid round my waist—"I'd rather you got scared."

I started. "W-why?!"

"Because that way," Jack admitted, his eyes shining, "I'd get to protect you."

Magicians wield illusions and smoke to trick your eye. Clowns paint on a smile to make it easier to laugh when the world is tripping you from under your feet. Cotton candy disappears on your tongue before it gets too sweet to bear.

What people do is very simple. People simply blind themselves by completely ignoring what's in front of their faces. I am no different.

"Celia? You okay?"

I turned to him, the wind tossing about his perfectly disarrayed tresses, and felt my heart sink lower and lower at his concern.

No. I'm not okay. This is wrong, Jack. This is wrong, so wrong, and if I were only brave enough to tell you—to tell Marlin—then maybe…maybe I…

"Can we go on the Ferris wheel?" I asked instead.

"That's not an answer."

I threaded my fingers between his own, my eyes begging him—oh, Goddess, pleading him—to accept my simple request. "Can we?" I repeated, my voice soft and distant. "I—I've never been on one before. And it'd be nice…to see the view."

Please. Just forget.

He couldn't refuse me—he never could. Soon I found myself seated in the cramped space, chewing gum under my seat and scattered graffiti meeting my wary gaze. Shuddering, I turned my eyes to the sky instead. My stomach lifted along with the wheel of the ride, reaching closer and closer to the stars above. So close it seemed we'd crash.

"…You're not scared, are you?"

This time, there was no humor in his voice, and he pulled my trembling body close, letting my head rest upon his shoulder. The faint scent of cotton candy left his lips, coinciding with the smell of popcorn mixed with fall breezes. I drank it all in. I shut my eyes tight, letting myself be hypnotized by anything but the sights below. More than anything, I wouldn't let go--couldn't let go. The wheel kept spinning, round and round, until I lost all sense of feeling while numb in his arms.

"Open your eyes, Celia. Just for a moment." I hesitated, but he chuckled quietly at my alarm. "Don't worry," he assured me. "I won't let you fall."

Stirring, I let one eye open hesitantly, waiting for my stomach to flip again as I surveyed the sky and the ground below. Instead, I turned to Jack—safe, close, familiar Jack—and he pointed upward. "Just look," Jack said quietly. "Look, Celia."

The moon hung like a pendant overhead, a pure white sphere dangling from a chain of stars. They sparkled, glittering diamonds in a sea of night, and my breathing quickened; everything seemed too near, too terrifyingly close for comfort. I wanted to step down, to view this beauty from afar, where everything was safe.

Yet.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Jack leaned back, relaxed and almost awestruck as he stared at the sky. "It's incredible—a completely different view up here."

"But still, it's the same sky," I finished. Shyly, I let my eyes gaze upward once more. "It's kind of frightening to get this close, but…that's part of the beauty, isn't it?"

Finding yourself so close to what is forbidden. Realizing you're only a few inches away from hurting everyone you know. Knowing there's nothing more seductive than being so close to him, knowing fully well that you're promised to someone else.

"Celia…"

Sin and love aren't supposed to go hand in hand. You don't lie to the two people who love you most; you don't let passion rule over your conscience. You don't hide behind the first person who ever let you choose to love him, lift your head to the stars, and let your lips meet his without a fight.

You don't betray those who love you with a kiss in the dark.

I can say I didn't know better. I can say I never meant to hurt anyone—not Marlin, not Vesta, no one. I can say whatever I like, but the only person it'll comfort is myself, and I'm not the only one hurting. I'm just the only one trying to pretend that I don't feel a thing…and I'm the only one completely falling apart.

I suppose, in the end, I've just always been The Blind One.

End Note: Before anyone says anything, yes, I know there are other options for the meanings of Evelyn and Jack, and possibly the other names. I looked at about three different sources, and chose the ones best suited to the passage. However, all meanings were found from a real reference; I did not make them up.