As I approached the door to Sebastian's home, my knees buckled and I unceremoniously fell into a heap on the ground. My breathing was ragged and laboured, my nerves were getting to me. After my transformation, I had carefully retraced my steps back to my farm, managing to avoid running into anyone else. I had scurried north, past my coop and barn, past my fields of crops. I didn't even pet Dog as I ran by him, his head cocked to the side as he gave me a tentative sniff. I realized as I backtracked that I hadn't even attended to my mailbox earlier. The flag was up, but I was in no mood to read sad, cloying messages from my mother.

I had made a beeline to the mountain path that connected my farm to Sebastian and the caves. I was thankful that no one frequented the path, and I managed to make it through without having to explain awkwardly to anyone else why I now looked like this.

Was I ashamed? Partly. Mostly, I was just nervous about the strange conclusions people would jump to. Perhaps I was Abigail's long-long sibling, come to take her away. Or maybe I was an emissary of the wizard's – my hair was about the right shade of purple. And did anyone suspect that I had feelings for Sebastian? Potentially, Sam did. But would he be able to put two and two together to nail down the root cause for my updated appearance? To me, it seemed unlikely. What was most important was that Sebastian had to be the one to see me first, a funny sort of paradox given that he was the last one in the town that I had met. It was strange how two seasons' worth of time could change things so drastically.

But now, puddled on his front doorstep, I had lost my will to keep going. I could not bring myself to go inside, I could not bring myself to see Sebastian or Robin or anyone else who might be there. Fear seized me and I realized how many people came by to visit Robin – Abigail or even the mayor could be inside right now, just moments away from catching me collapsed on the doorstep. News that juicy would spread through the town like wildfire .

Keeping myself low to the ground so as not to be seen through a window, I held my breath and picked my way back, away from the door. I slipped behind a bush, keeping my eyes trained on the door, ears straining to catch any sounds that might be human in origin. I took a moment to anchor the rhythm of my breathing.

Like this, I managed to shuffle my way east, to the cover of foliage and the edge of the lake.

I checked the time, my breath catching once more as I realized that noon had passed. Sebastian would be coming to the lake soon – his new autumnal habit. Underneath all my fear, I felt excitement rush thickly in my veins. This could be it, I thought. This could be the moment when he realizes that I could be right for him.

The thought slipped from the confines of my mind and I allowed myself one pure moment of truth and clarity.

I was, in fact, in love with Sebastian.

I waited for some sort of sign that this confession was wrong – an earthquake, the apocalypse, a fissure in the earth swallowing me whole – but admitting it to myself only brought relief. My heart pounded as I heard the creak of Robin's front door and a set of familiar footsteps tap along the dirt path and enter the grass. He was close now, I could tell.

I waited silently, patiently, composing myself such that I faced the lake. My back would be the first side of me he'd see – just nonchalant enough of a pose to derive an illusory sense of confidence. My excitement only mounted as I imagined how his eyes would widen, how his breathing would hitch.

His footsteps stuttered, perhaps with some hesitance, and then I could feel him stop. There was a stillness permeating the moment, an absence that spoke volumes and gave away no secrets.

"Oh," he said softly as he must have caught sight of me. I turned and suddenly he came into view, stress lining his face. Did he not recognize me at all? Was I a stranger in violation of his space? This was where we had talked and hung out in the past; he had to know it could only be me here.

His eyes widened before narrowing, recognition registering on his face. I held my breath as he spoke, "What did you do to yourself?"

He inched closer, his gaze flicking from me and away as he came nearer. His brows pinched together, and the excitement I had been harbouring evaporated. I knew this look.

"I thought maybe I should update my appearance." I swallowed noisily. "I thought maybe you'd prefer this."

"And why would you think that?" The slice of cold behind his question made me wince, the bitterness of it biting at my ego.

But my ego snapped back. I pressed my lips together, stifling the words that wanted to burst out of me. I had to be calm, I had to fight my case. There were two players in this game. But as I took in his cold stare and the sense of betrayal that emanated from him, I felt the words fight their way up my throat until I thought that I would vomit.

The words spewed forth of their own accord, "Because I see the way you look at Abigail, and I see how you dress and I know that the way I looked before was just—" I struggled against the words, but they won as I lost my grip. "I just looked awful and simple, like some unrefined, grubby farmer. I wasn't who I thought you should be with, I didn't look like Abigail."

There was a pause.

"You think I like Abigail in that way?"

"Yes," I sputtered.

He shook his head, his mouth pressed into a tight line, eyes etched with sadness and the slow burn of frustration. "You have no idea."

"What was I supposed to think?"

A moment of silence hung in the air between us. "Whatever," he muttered, not even looking at me.

I felt my heart shatter.

"Sebastian," I began, but he shook his head once more and I stopped.

He lifted his chin, mouth set firmly. His gaze was dark and piercing, and even now as coldness swept between us, the broken pieces of my heart hammered in my chest. "I guess I should tell you." His words were said with a disparaging air and a weariness that settled into the creases of his brow.

"Tell me what?" A thousand guesses raced through my mind, but only one remained steadfastly stubborn. Was he about to confess his true, surfacing feelings for Abigail? I knew it, my inner voice screamed, but I kept it internal.

He looked away as though to take me in caused him pain. "It's clear now, crystal clear. I was thinking about this all of yesterday night and made my decision this morning. There's nothing left for me here."

I narrowed my eyes, and felt my pulse stop. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be true. The world had slipped off of its axis, and we were all spiraling, cut loose from our invisible tether. "What do you mean?" The question sounded more breathless than I had wanted and I silently cursed myself.

"I'm leaving for the city on Friday."

"What? Like you're moving there? Permanently?"

"Yes."

I had to take a step back. "No," I murmured, shaking my head. Every dark, hidden fear within me thrashed into being, scrabbling for release. Somewhere in the centre of my chest, that beast roared and sliced through the remaining restraints. "You can't." My voice cracked.

"What do you mean?" he asked, keeping his own voice even and smooth in spite of the flashing of his eyes. I could have swooned, the darkness was so enticing. "It was you who made the choice clear to me."

"What are you talking about?" My brow furrowed and I felt the flicker of anger ignite inside me, just the beginnings of a flame.

"We're just friends. You made that pretty clear. That's what you told your mother, like you were ashamed of me."

The burden of realization began its descent, a freefall of shame and disquietude. The roiling spring of words within me that had gurgled forth so freely before, dried up now. "That's—I didn't mean—" I balled my hands into fists and knuckled my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. "I only wanted to protect you. I didn't want that pressure on either of us of having to define our relationship. I could never be ashamed of you." I stared up at him in disbelief.

"What relationship? We're friends." His arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned away from me, eyeing me coolly. "Even after all the time we spent together, and the discussions about programming and comics and books – you wanted us to just be friends." His voice had risen with the passion of his distress. "I don't open up to just anyone. I've told you things I've never told anyone else – not Abigail, not even Sam, and Sam's been my best friend for almost my entire life. I thought you knew that. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I did," I stammered. "I do."

"I thought we knew each other."

"I… thought we did, too," I said weakly, my gaze dropping to the ground. "I didn't know. I didn't think you liked me like… that." The reality of the situation was sinking in, burrowing its way into the curls and corners of my consciousness. I had royally fucked up. Had it really been that all along he had liked me, genuinely and truly? As more than a friend? It just seemed so hard to believe, after all those looks he had bestowed on her, those glances exchanged just out of my reach. I thought of that third seat in his room around the board game.

"Of course I did. And even now, I still do." A note of disgust laced his tone, but I felt my face burn from the heat of my blush. "But that's why I need to leave. I need to get away from here. So thank you for that."

I gaped at him. "Sebastian, I..." The words died on my tongue.

"And for the record, I liked you the way you were, before you turned into… this," he gestured with his chin at me, keeping his hands tucked into his upper arms. "Did you think this would tempt me? That purple hair could undo what you said? Everything about you now seems false."

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, the last remaining fight in me extinguished with his statement. "I—I'm sorry," I managed, angrily brushing away the tears that had escaped my lashes. Despair clawed its way down my insides, but I managed to keep my head held high.

We stood awkwardly for a moment as I drew large, gulping breaths. I studied him, trying to memorize the lines of his jaw, the way his hair fell over his face. His dark eyes glinted in the light of a stray sunbeam, a reflection of misery and pain. I let my eyes hungrily trace the curve of his lips. Even now, after he had stripped away all of my shields and self-protection, all I wanted to do was fold myself into him and burrow into the heat of his body.

"Please, just leave," he said, tiredly, and I felt the remaining fight leave him as well. And then he landed one last blow, "After Friday, I never want to see you again."