The Woman in Crimson
Glynda had been in Mistral for two weeks, attending Sanctum Academy's final tournament of the year, and she still hadn't gotten used to its early summer sun. Sanctum was a fair distance from the main city, and resided on top of the smallest, but tallest, of a string of islands off the eastern Mistrali coast connected by bridge to a series of quaint little townships. The sun's glare stung her eyes and, because of what Glynda considered poor scheduling, there were two hours before the next match of the tournament. She made it two blocks into the town before she gave up and ducked into a little cafe with wide glass windows open to the road but shaded by a green and white striped canopy. She ordered a tea, which turned out to be too sweet, and sipped it with much disdain, checking her watch every fifteen seconds on the dot.
A woman in a short crimson sundress with a floppy white hat strode in, full of confidence. The hat clashed terribly with her dress, but the woman didn't seem to mind, and it had a certain eye drawing quality that Glynda couldn't put her finger on. The woman's beauty was not subtle, but commanding; so commanding that she didn't need a sense of fashion to be the most eye catching person in the room. She gave the waitress a once over and, with her own brand of disdain, ordered a coffee and a pastry that Glynda had never heard of. It was a flaky, delicate little mistrali thing, airy and light. When the waitress came to see if Glynda wanted another drink, she ordered one for herself.
It was very sweet and the taste lingered too long in her mouth.
Everyone who met Glynda considered her a diligent woman, most often to a fault. The joke, only whispered by her back, was that her bun held together the fabric of the universe and that if she loosened it the whole world would end. Very little could distract her from her work, and this particular duty was incredibly important. Glynda had come to Mistral to watch the students who would be graduating. She most closely observed and evaluated the tournament favorite, Pyrrha Nikos, who fought like a perfect dervish of red and gold. Glynda knew the young woman might one day inherit a great power and responsibility, but that was a long way in the future and the pastry was lingering on her tongue in the present. Her thoughts kept drifting to the woman in crimson.
The next day, during the lunch break of the semifinals, Glynda returned to the cafe. It had a certain homely air that she had ignored the day before. The accents were brass and the picture frames antique gold. Dark green wallpaper, time worn and peeling at the edges, covered the walls. There was an open bay window over the water, and cloth furniture was arranged in little cozy clumps. She slipped past the tables and sat in a large plush couch in the corner.
The women didn't come again, though from her dour expression the day before Glynda half expected it. Glynda relaxed, but kept a certain air of tension so that the waitress wouldn't try to make idle conversation. The only other people to pass through were one of the fighters from the tournament and a girl who hung on his arm.
He had lost, and lost embarrassingly, in a fight with an underdog in the seeding who had twisted and nullified his power with cunning. The fight had wounded his likely excessive pride. He wasn't so pleased with himself, but his girlfriend stuck close and kept trying to reassure him.
Glynda did, in all honestly, not care much for women, and while that girl tried to cheer up her man she began to remember why. Glynda was tall, broad, and, though she did not like the description, quite severe. She attracted a certain type of woman. Because her work and her duties kept her from meeting new people outside of the school, it was most often cloying young schoolgirls whose fancies she ignored. But even the grown women she occasionally met behaved much the same way.
They would giggle, and blush, and play up to some masculine sensibility they seemed to sense in Glynda. She would entertain them for as long as she could put up with it, because even though Glynda didn't care for women she still enjoyed them. They were just soft skin and honeyed words. When she was in the company of a woman, she would let her hair out of its bun and the world really was destroyed. At least, the world outside the room she was in. It was relaxing and she found their touches sweet and comforting. Work, life, and the threats all around her vanished.
But no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it always reached a point where she could no longer deal with being treated like a man or a mother. It was easier, she had realized some time ago, to not grow attached in the first place. A night, a weekend, maybe a week. It was simple, easy, and just enough to keep her satisfied, to some extent.
The young couple came and left. After an hour of waiting, she thought herself silly and went to wait the rest of the break at the tournament's venue.
Glynda didn't see the woman in crimson again until the day before the final bout. She had just finished making her first contact with Miss Nikos at the girl's dormitory, to let her know that Beacon Academy was observing her and that there would likely be a place for her there the next year. She would apply more pressure to enroll after the tournament was over, but Beacon was a very prestigious academy and Glynda was certain it wouldn't take much to convince the young girl.
She was returning to her hotel when she took a detour. It was a little after sundown and Glynda was prone to taking walks at night. It was partially to relax and partially a sense of duty to maintaining order, even outside of her home kingdom. It was half stroll and half patrol. But the little village was quiet and peaceful, so it ended up as nothing but a serene walk along the shore and cobbled streets. Glynda passed a park and decided to take a look around.
The woman in crimson was sitting on a bench beside a field dotted with some foreign red flower Glynda didn't recognize. She lounged with one foot up on the bench, her arms wrapped around the knee to keep the dress closed and shadowed, and was watching the fireflies rise from the grass. She was still wearing the silly hat, even though it only shaded her from the lamppost above her.
Glynda thought a moment, then went to speak to her. "That hat is ugly."
"It was a gift from someone I don't particularly like, and who I think didn't like me very much." Her voice had a rich, smooth timbre and she drew out her words, practically exhaling them like a slow stream of cigarette smoke.
"But you still wear it anyway. May I sit? It's not the hat itself. It just doesn't suit you."
The woman in crimson took the hat off and set it gently on her lap. Glynda finally got a good, close look at the woman. Her eyes were a deep amber and seemed to glow as though lit by candle. "I can't seem to throw it away. Don't try to back down, though. It is an ugly hat."
They silently watched as the fireflies danced. A few couples walked by, speaking hushed words, and one particularly loud pack of students roved along the path. They were rowdy boys, bristling with overconfidence, and nearly approached the two of them. They were sent running by a pair of heavy scowls.
The woman smiled slyly at her. "My name is Cinder."
"Glynda."
The floppy white sun hat was dropped onto Glynda's head. Cinder had stood, and the hat blocked all but the woman's long legs. Though the view was very lovely, Glynda raised her head to meet the other woman's eyes squarely for the first time.
"Oh my," Cinder said, "I can tell you, I'm so relieved. I wasn't expecting someone quite so lovely. It isn't every day that beautiful strangers approach me."
Glynda nodded at the obvious lie and didn't feel flattered in the slightest, but this woman was neither giggling nor coy. Cinder didn't smile and adjusted the hat.
"It doesn't suit you either. This is a hat for the innocent, you know? For the sort of woman with a weak constitution. The kind that covers her smiles and gets the vapors, not one who tries to pick up strange women in the park."
Cinder's words weighed heavily on Glynda. What am I doing, she thought. This woman was a complete stranger, though a beautiful stranger, whom she knew nothing of. For all she knew this woman could be crazy, or a criminal. There was nothing sweet and innocent about her to dissuade the possibility. There was an almost intentional mysteriousness in her sweeping slow movements, the gooey heat of her voice, and the mask of deceit on her smile. This woman would be troublesome.
"Your place or mine?"
Perhaps, Glynda thought, it doesn't matter.
The next morning, for one of the first times in Glynda's life, she was late. Her habit was to leave before daybreak or to be dressed before whoever she was with woke up. But that morning she dressed slowly, impeded by a woman draped over her back. Cinder's arms weren't particularly strong, but made up for it with insistence.
It wasn't a clingy act, but rather a domineering one. There was no soft whining whisper in Glynda's ear, or earnest wishes to be called again. "I'll come again," Cinder sung gently with the side of her smirk pressed to Glynda's ear. "I'll come again because I know you want me."
Glynda missed the first few minutes of the fight. Pyrrha won her fourth tournament in a row, and Glynda came down from the stands while the bulbs were still flashing and pulled the young girl aside. Miss Nikos was young and, like all young people, had mixed eagerness to leave home and an unwillingness to part with what she knew. Glynda could have pressed harder, and getting the girl to beacon was important, but she relaxed and told Pyrrha they would talk again in private.
Outside the venue, Glynda called her boss and told her she'd need to stay in Mistral a few more days.
Instead of returning to her hotel, she returned to the little cafe. Her thoughts kept drifting to her night with Cinder, and the power that wafted off of her. It inspired a certain pliability that Glynda couldn't explain. She tried to change the way she was feeling. She tamped it down and tried not to think about the woman's warm lips or her forceful touches. Glynda had no shortage of feeling desired, but Cinder didn't just want, she took. There was darkness in the woman's eyes, her mannerisms, and her smile. Glynda tried to focus on that, but it didn't help.
Glynda wanted Cinder, darkness and all. Perhaps it's because of the darkness, she thought, but she wanted to ignore that possibility. The woman was beautiful and powerful. Her tongue was hot as fire and her eyes were piercing in the dark. The thought made Glynda's toes curl against the bottom of her shoes.
Early that afternoon there was a knock on her door, and Cinder strode into the room like it was hers, without a word. Her heels clicked on the tiles, and her dress rustled as it fell to the floor, leaving pool of crimson fabric. Glynda could hear her own heart in her ears.
It wasn't until the sun was setting that Cinder began to talk; whether lies or truth Glynda didn't know and, for some reason, didn't question. But Glynda wasn't planning on being forthcoming either. They were strangers passing a few nights together in a foreign country, and it would never be more. Though she could have said anything she wanted, Glynda couldn't bring herself to lie completely to Cinder.
"What do you do for a living?" Cinder asked, after formally establishing why Glynda was in the country.
She was stretched out on the opposite end of the bed, her sundress traded out for Glynda's blouse. The white shear fabric clung to the sheen of sweat on her tanned skin. The neck was undone, and the already low sweeping neckline fell much further on the other woman. Glynda found it difficult to find words. But of course, Cinder was wearing her shirt and had left her nothing to wear. The other woman seemed to be having just as much trouble focusing. Her amber eyes dropped low, and Glynda could feel her gaze sweeping up and down her body.
"I'm a teacher," she settled on. "I teach secondary school. The tournament is just– a hobby, I suppose. What about you?"
Cinder didn't seem to buy the answer, but she just smiled and nodded. "I'm between things. I thought I'd take a vacation. I've been here two weeks, and it has been oh so boring. I didn't think I'd find such a– lovely way to entertain myself."
That night they ate at a restaurant on a side street that Cinder claimed Glynda would enjoy. It was dark and intimate, with a shadowy view of the ocean dimly lit by the shattered moon. Quiet and private people dined inside, so there was scarcely more than the sound of clinking silverware over the classical music. The waiters moved with a perfect posture and took orders quietly and with a highbrow sort of speech before vanishing without fanfare.
Cinder ordered herself a fine wine and, ignoring Glynda's insistence that she didn't drink, ordered her a fruity sounding mistrali cocktail. The drink came later, garnished with a slice of pineapple and a little umbrella, but it had a sharp sour finish. After a few refills, some of the tension began to fall out of Glynda's shoulders. When they walked back to the hotel, Glynda took Cinder's hand in a firm grip. It was a lovely night.
Over the next few days, she began to learn that Cinder had lovely taste. Together they visited quiet haunts that Cinder had found. A quiet arch ringed with flowers. A shadowed beach far from the noise of the rocks. A little unlocked bell tower where they could see the sun setting. Glynda worried that each parting may have been the last, but the woman would come knocking again and again.
Each day, they walked and talked. At first, Cinder had a habit of silence, which suited Glynda fine. But with a little plying, Glynda found she could get the woman to begin to wax philosophical about anything. It was clear that Cinder preferred to keep her opinions to herself and didn't seem to enjoy sharing them. Glynda wondered if she held some special significance and if she was the only one who was privy to Cinder's inner thoughts. She began to get used to the cadence of Cinder's voice, and could tell when she was being sincere. Cinder liked to lie.
Their opinions were very different. Glynda embraced order; Cinder heralded chaos. Glynda liked rules; Cinder liked freedom. Cinder would tirade, then Glynda would lecture softly in response with an anecdote, from her life or history. Cinder had many insights, and she was a brilliant and rational woman, but she didn't have the same sort of life experience and knowledge that dampened the wild passions and combative attitude of youth. That fire of youth fueled Cinder, and Glynda realized that she was a fair bit older than her.
As they spoke, it became clear that Cinder had only yet experienced the darkest aspects of life, or perhaps just too much of them. Glynda could sense the undercurrents on her words and opinions, and she had seen it many times before. Nothing had gone well in the woman's childhood. Whether it was bad luck, bad karma, or self destruction, Glynda didn't know. All she knew was that life had been cruel to Cinder. But Glynda knew time could bring balance, or destroy the woman completely.
Cinder would look guilty for a moment, and nod, and argue. Her passion was infectious and they would quietly debate as they walked. Glynda usually thought arguing was exhausting, but she enjoyed every moment of it. The friction was powerful and magnetic.
The week passed all too quickly.
"Why do you keep coming to me?" Glynda asked, as the sun began to set, signaling her final night in Mistral. They were going to circle back to the hotel room soon. Glynda had yet to tell Cinder that she was leaving; Pyrrha had submitted her enrollment paperwork for Beacon, and it was time to return to Vale.
"I'm not sure myself. I suppose it's because you're such a rare beauty. Very tall. I like making big, strong women putty in my hands." Her voice had that sharpness that masked her intentions. "But, I suppose, I keep coming because– I don't know."
"I know you think you're a good liar, but I've heard hundreds and hundreds of excuses. Good and bad. One student had the gall to tell me their dog ate their homework. Your 'I don't know' is flimsy."
"Well I don't want to say. You know, I didn't think you were really a teacher," Cinder said. "You approached me because I'm beautiful, right? Is it so hard to think that I keep coming for a similar reason?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow," Glynda said, "I wish I didn't have to."
"It's summer. All the little kiddies will be out doing whatever it is they do. Even teachers need to spend time doing grown up things. Why do you need to leave?"
"There are other matters I need to attend to. Being a teacher is more than just teaching. Are you sure you don't want to tell me why you keep coming? I'll be gone soon."
"It's because you'll be gone soon that I won't be saying the reason. I knew it when I first saw you, back in that coffee shop. But I also knew that this was a temporary thing. Brief. It'll just be a wonderful memory for us. It's best if I don't say it."
Glynda nodded, and she understood. "If that's the way you want it, then I won't say it either. But I think our reasons are the same."
Cinder smiled, and they held hands as they returned to the hotel.
It had grown in Glynda's heart, despite her intent to avoid it. It wasn't like a flower, no matter how hard poets tried to cast it as such. It was a weed, a thistle, wild bramble, painful to touch, impossible to grasp. Its roots were deep and now matter how many leaves were plucked, it grew wildly and viciously. Vicious, vicious coils had wrapped her, fast and tight. That weed strangled her heart.
Months passed, summer came and went, and never did the thoughts about the woman in crimson leave her. She prepared for school, reviewed more candidates, recruited more students. Each night, she'd walk the streets of Vale, or Vacuo, or whatever city she found herself. She'd think about Cinder. The not so subtle sway in her walk, the not so subtle heat in her talk. It came to a point the night she tried to stop a dust store robbery. Amber eyes peered out at her from the shade of a bullhead.
For a moment, Glynda thought it might have been her. She never learned what Cinder did, or what Cinder really wanted. Glynda thought it was a silly thought. Everything reminded her of Cinder. Every red, whether the cloak of a student or the leaves of the Forever Fall forest, turned crimson in her eyes. Gold melted to amber. Glynda longed to see the woman in crimson again– to feel the warmth of her body, to soak in the steam of breath, to taste the spice of her kiss.
A specter of the woman haunted her, she found, when the Vytal festival began. It wasn't crimson or gold, but loose swatch of dark hair and a tilt of the hips that bore a striking familiarity. Every so often she'd catch a glimpse of that ghost in the halls. But she ignored it, until she passed too close one day.
It was Cinder, in a uniform for a school she was too old to attend. It hadn't been her imagination again; her desires hadn't been twisting her perceptions. It was Cinder. Glynda waited patiently as long as she could, but eventually she crept close and tugged Cinder into an empty classroom.
"I thought you taught secondary school?" Cinder asked once they were alone. "Are you a huntress?"
"I'm a professor here, and yes, I am also a huntress. You aren't a student."
Cinder tried to think of something. Her eyes flicked left and right as she attempted to weave some story in her mind. If she succeeded, she decided not to use it. "No, I'm not."
"So why are you here?"
"Would you believe me if I said to see you?"
"Not even a little. You didn't know I was here. You don't even know my last name. I should be concerned, I should question your motives, or your disguise. But I don't want to. I am just so relieved that I get to see you again."
"Would you believe that, if nothing else, that you've been on my mind constantly? That I've been hoping to see you? That I regret every day that I didn't ask for you number? Or where to find you? Would you believe that I regret not saying what I needed to when I still had the chance?"
Glynda could tell when Cinder was lying. She wasn't. The two stood silently for a moment. Cinder stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the taller woman. Glynda leaned down and stole a kiss, and another, and another.
When they separated, Glynda crossed the room to the desk, stole a notecard and pen from Professor Oobleck, and began to write. She stuffed the note into Cinder's hand.
"You don't have to tell me why you're here."
Cinder straightened out the notecard and saw Glynda's address and the number for her personal scroll. Her lips twisted, and whether it was into a smirk or a smile Glynda didn't know.
Glynda knew Cinder was wrong for her. There was just something irresistible about a bad girl. The secrets would be painful, but bearable. Whatever Cinder was hiding would be more bearable than the time apart had been, and more bearable than thinking she'd never see Cinder again. But Glynda knew they both had secrets to keep and it was simply the way it was and would be.
Cinder was wrong, but no one else would be right. There would never come a woman she trusted enough to tell about her real duties– her real job. Glynda didn't trust the woman in crimson.
But she did love her.