This content may include mature situations, which may encompass scenes depicting teenagers in adult situations including alcohol consumption, strong language, and suggestive situations. Additional, more specific warnings will be provided at the start of chapters if deemed necessary. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter Two-In the Cards
The second day at Alfea always marked a momentous occasion - a grand celebration where every fairy would immerse themselves in dance, indulge in sumptuous feasts, and revel in the enchanting company of the Red Fountain Specialists. It was a tradition that every young fairy, and young hero, looked forward to every year.
Last year, Mirta's apprehension had kept her from attending, but this year was different. With Lark by her side, she spent the day brimming with quiet anticipation.
"It's beautiful! Thank you." Mirta gushed as she stood before the full-length mirror in her dorm room, turning slowly to take in every angle of her newly transformed dress.
Mirta didn't own many fancy dresses, but luckily her new friend Lark was eager to help. Lark had taken one of Mirta's simpler black dresses and made it more appropriate for a party at Alfea. To add a touch of sophistication and drama, Lark added a ruffled collar and cuffs to the sleeves, as well as some colorful accents. The highlight of the dress however was the skirt, which had layers of delicate black lace and tulle that flowed down to the knees. She finished off the look with a pair of fishnet tights and black ankle boots.
Her style was still a drastic difference from the pastel fashions the other students would wear but Mirta wasn't willing to change that about herself just yet. Mirta felt like a princess as she twirled around in the voluminous and elegant skirt, watching it sway with every step.
"Happy to help," Lark replied with a warm grin, carefully securing a set of dangling gold drop earrings in her own ears.
Lark's dress was a soft, shimmering light green that reflected the light beautifully. The bodice featured delicate ruffles with sheer, puffed sleeves and matching ruffled cuffs. The skirt was made up of layers of frothy tulle with an asymmetrical hemline that trailed behind her, creating a stunning train as she walked.
To complement the ensemble, Lark wore a simple gold heart pendant with a bright pink gem at its center. The vivid pink stood out boldly against the sea of green, and Mirta knew the pendant held special significance. It had been a heartfelt gift from Xandra, Lark's closest friend, on her last birthday, and Lark cherished it dearly, finding any excuse to wear it.
With a playful spirit, Lark joined Mirta in front of the mirror, striking a silly pose that elicited hearty laughter from Mirta.
"You look absolutely stunning," Mirta complimented genuinely.
"Thank you," Lark replied with a contented smile, taking one final moment to admire herself in the mirror. Then, she turned to Mirta. "Are you ready to go?"
Mirta tugged at the hem of her dress, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of nerves. The dress was undeniably beautiful, but it couldn't completely mask her insecurities. "Do you really think this looks okay?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Lark's smile remained reassuring as she took a step closer to her friend. "Of course it does! You look perfect, Mirta. Trust me, everyone will be jealous of how gorgeous you look."
Mirta managed a grateful smile. "I don't know about that," she replied bashfully.
Lark couldn't help but chuckle at Mirta's modesty. "Well, I know about that, and I won't be the only one." she insisted with a reassuring pat on Mirta's shoulder. "Now no more hesitation; let's party!"
With their preparations complete and a sense of anticipation in the air, the two friends left their dorm room and made their way through the bustling halls of Alfea. The school was aglow with the soft light of enchanted lanterns, casting intricate patterns on the walls as they passed. Laughter and excited chatter filled the corridors as students prepared for the evening's celebration.
The grand ballroom had been transformed into an enchanting fairytale realm, and the moment Mirta and Lark stepped inside, they were swept away by its breathtaking beauty. The room was a symphony of wonder, with intricate floral arrangements adorning every corner, floating candles casting a soft, ethereal glow, and a celestial canopy of twinkling stars overhead. The air was filled with the gentle melodies of enchanting music, a gift from a group of talented musicians in the corner.
The room was a hive of activity. Other fairies were gracefully twirling on the dance floor, engaged in lively conversations, or savoring the delectable treats spread out on elegantly decorated tables. Amongst the enchanting crowd, the Red Fountain Specialists moved with an air of elegance and charm, their handsome uniforms and captivating smiles drawing admiring glances from the female students.
Mirta and Lark navigated their way through the bustling ballroom, taking in the magical ambiance and the lively scene. Despite the grandeur of the event, Mirta couldn't help but feel a touch out of place amid the confident and glamorous fairies. She knew she was lucky to have Lark as her companion, who effortlessly moved through the crowd, introducing Mirta to her friends and ensuring the conversation flowed smoothly.
As they wandered through the festivities, Mirta's gaze fell upon Flora, who was standing amidst the Winx girls and their boyfriends. They were all immersed in cheerful laughter and seemed to be having a fantastic time. Flora noticed Mirta and gave her a warm wave.
Although the Winx girls had always been friendly and welcoming, Mirta couldn't help but feel a twinge of uncertainty about approaching them. It wasn't that they had ever excluded her; rather, it was her own lingering self-doubt that held her back. She briefly contemplated joining their animated conversation but was unable to summon the courage. Instead, she offered a shy smile and a gentle wave in return, content for now to watch from a distance.
Lark stayed by Mirta's side, their laughter and conversation filling the air with warmth and camaraderie. The ballroom was a whirlwind of colors and melodies, with elegant decorations adorning the walls and the candles casting a soft, romantic glow. The music flowed through the room, its rhythm urging people to move in time with it.
Inevitably a specialist with striking blue eyes and a charming smile approached Lark extending his hand, "Would you honor me with a dance?"
Lark glanced back at Mirta with a hint of hesitation, worried about leaving her friend alone. Mirta gave her an encouraging nod and a reassuring smile. "Go ahead, Lark. I'll be fine. Enjoy yourself."
Lark smiled gratefully at Mirta, then turned back to the specialist. "I'd love to dance."
As Lark and the young man moved gracefully onto the dance floor, Mirta watched them with a mix of happiness for her friend and a growing sense of unease. Surrounded by couples entwined in the dance's embrace, Mirta found herself standing alone, a solitary figure in a sea of revelry. The music's volume and the joyful laughter of the guests seemed to escalate, magnifying her growing isolation.
With a touch of self-consciousness, she decided to seek refuge at an unoccupied table, her sense of vulnerability amplified in Lark's absence. As she settled into her seat, her hand found its way into her purse, where her trusty tarot cards awaited.
With a practiced grace honed over countless shufflings, Mirta deftly manipulated the cards. Each card seemed to carry a secret only she could decipher, their edges whispering mysteries known only to her. In that moment, the rhythmic dance of the cards became her sanctuary, a familiar ritual that brought a sense of tranquility as she patiently awaited Lark's return.
Deep down, she yearned for the effortless charm and extroverted spirit that her friend embodied, maybe then she wouldn't feel like such an outcast.
Her fingers continued to move, shuffling the cards absentmindedly, when a gentle tap on her shoulder brought her back to the present. Startled, she looked up, her gaze meeting the eyes of one of Lark's friends from earlier—a fairy with lustrous, obsidian locks cascading down her back.
The fairy gestured toward the tarot cards Mirta was shuffling. "Are you any good with those?" she inquired, her eyes glinting with intrigue.
Mirta, taken aback by the unexpected attention, replied nervously, "I'm pretty decent, I guess."
Mirta was not just "pretty decent" when it came to reading the cards; she was, in fact, exceptionally well-versed in the intricate art of tarot. Tarot had been the very first manifestation of her magical abilities, a connection she had forged when her powers had started to awaken. It was a bond that ran deep, a mystical rapport with the cards that transcended mere hobby.
Unfortunately, tarot wasn't exactly the most esteemed or respected form of magic in the realm, and Mirta had endured countless teasing remarks about her affinity for what others deemed "crude" magic. Those who had never delved into the profound symbolism of the cards simply couldn't fathom the depth and insight they held.
The fairy girl eagerly took the seat opposite Mirta, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Could you give me a reading? I absolutely love tarot!" she exclaimed, a genuine excitement infusing her voice.
Mirta blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected request. Then, a warm smile spread across her face, a sense of delight coursing through her. "Sure!" she agreed, her own enthusiasm bubbling up as she shuffled the cards once more, ready to share the magic of tarot with someone who truly appreciated it.
By the time Lark rejoined her friend, a small but increasingly curious group had gravitated around Mirta, all eager to have their fortunes unveiled through the mystique of tarot. Mirta had transformed from the quiet observer on the fringe of the ballroom into the center of an impromptu gathering.
Mirta was deeply engrossed in a reading with a green-haired girl. Seated with her eyes closed, she held the girl's hand in her own, her other hand danced lightly over the tarot cards spread before her.
Then, as if by an unseen force, Mirta's touch stilled on a single card, her eyes opened and she flipped the card over to reveal the Knight of Swords. A hushed expectancy settled over the group as they waited for her interpretation.
Mirta's voice, gentle and filled with wisdom, broke the silence that hung in anticipation. "I didn't get any specific kind of vision, but the Knight of Swords signifies a quick mind and sharp wit." she began, her words carrying the weight of the card's symbolism. "You may be feeling a sense of restlessness or urgency. Don't be afraid to take risks to achieve your goals. But be careful not to let your impatience or eagerness cloud your judgment. Remember to take a step back and assess the situation before you take action."
The girl absorbed Mirta's words with a thoughtful nod, her eyes reflecting a sense of agreement. It was as though the card's message had resonated with her on a profound level, offering both guidance and a glimpse into the intricate workings of her own mind.
However, a harsh voice abruptly sliced through the gathering, shattering the moment. The assembled crowd turned to identify the source of the disruption. Among the onlookers stood Bloom, Sky, Musa, and Riven, who had been drawn in by the growing crowd around Mirta and the girl.
It was Riven who spoke, his voice laced with disdainful skepticism. His sneer left no room for doubt about his cynicism towards Mirta's tarot skills, and his interruption cast a shadow over the gathering, challenging the belief in the mystical arts.
Anger and embarrassment surged within Mirta, a flush of indignation warming her cheeks. She was prepared to defend something she held dear, but before she could find her voice, Musa intervened.
"Why do you have to be such an ass to everyone all the time?" Musa scolded Riven as she delivered a firm smack to his arm.
Riven responded with an eye roll, his skepticism unwavering. "Tarot reading is just some elaborate hoax, using mind tricks to manipulate your thoughts and feed you what you want to hear. It's all a bunch of meaningless nonsense."
"That's not true," Mirta asserted firmly, her eyes reflecting the conviction in her words. "Tarot reading can be a really powerful tool for self-discovery and growth. It's not about telling you what you want to hear; it's about exploring your own subconscious and gaining a deeper understanding of yourself."
Riven's skepticism persisted, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he continued to mock the practice. "If I were to let you read my tarot, I'm willing to bet you'd just spin a tale about how I'll effortlessly ace my next test or capture the attention of some babe. It'll all be just a bunch of empty words meant to stroke my ego."
Sky, unable to resist a playful jab, chimed in with a sly comment. "We all know you don't need help stroking that."
Laughter rippled through the nearby onlookers, and Riven's ears flushed a deep shade of red.
Bloom chimed in with a suggestion, attempting to steer the conversation in a more constructive direction. "Why don't you give it a try before passing judgment? You might be surprised by what you could discover about yourself."
Riven responded with a dismissive declaration. "As if." He had no intention of participating in something so stupid.
Sky persisted with his taunting. "Come on, big man. Or are you afraid it might help you discover a personality?"
Riven's scowl deepened, and the laughter continued to ripple around him, amplifying the pressure of the moment.
"If you're ever brave enough to try it out for yourself, I'd be happy to give you a reading." Mirta declared, sounding much braver than she felt.
Riven's narrowed eyes bore into Mirta making her feel small and vulnerable. For a moment, she worried that she had pushed too hard, she wasn't usually so bold. But then, to her surprise, Riven agreed to her challenge.
"Fine. Hit me with your best shot." Riven conceded, his tone gruff and determined.
The girl who had been sitting across from Mirta quickly scrambled out of her chair, making way for Riven, who took her place with a defiant look on his face. Mirta, though slightly taken aback by the turn of events, composed herself with a deep breath.
She shuffled her cards, feeling the weight of Riven's skeptical gaze upon her. When she had arranged the cards to her satisfaction, she fanned them out in front of her and held out her hand to Riven expectantly.
Riven's expression contorted into a mixture of incredulity and disdain as he stared at Mirta's outstretched hand as if it were something utterly distasteful.
"You need to hold my hand for the reading." Mirta clarified.
Riven hesitated, his gaze still fixed on Mirta, his wariness evident in every line of his face. "Why should I?"
"It helps me establish a connection with you, which in turn makes the reading clearer and more accurate."
Riven appeared almost offended by the mere suggestion of physical contact, as if it were a personal affront to his sensibilities. With great reluctance, Riven finally extended his hand towards Mirta. His palm, bearing the rugged, calloused texture of a warrior shaped by years of rigorous training and countless battles, told a tale of its own. Each scar etched into his skin narrated a unique story, like chapters in a book, chronicling the journey of his life.
However, one particular scar stood out among the rest—the large, clean, and precise mark that traversed his palm. It appeared distinct from the others, almost deliberate in its execution. Mirta couldn't help but be intrigued by this singular scar as she absently ran a finger across it, pondering what could have caused the wound.
Visions were a rare occurrence for Mirta. Typically, when she read the cards, they sent her fuzzy images, snippets of words, or distant echoes of songs. At times, the cards remained silent, leaving her to rely on generic interpretations based on the companion cards drawn alongside them.
However, as soon as Mirta made contact with the scar on Riven's hand, a powerful vision rushed in, overwhelming her senses to the point of discomfort. She squeezed Riven's hand tightly and closed her eyes, shutting out the ballroom's lights and noise as she willed the vision into focus.
The vision was of Riven laying among a bed of yellow flowers, creating a striking contrast between his rugged form and the delicate, sun-kissed blossoms beneath him. The flowers, with their slender stalks and golden petals, formed a lush carpet that cradled him in a cocoon. They seem to almost grow through him as if the roots of the plant came from inside him.
Mirta's voice resonated with a sense of awe as she began to narrate the vision, her words painting a vivid and enigmatic picture of the scene unfolding before her.
"You are lying in a field of rue flowers," she began, her voice carrying a tone of reverence. It was as if the name of the flowers had materialized in her mind the moment she laid eyes on them, a knowledge gifted to her by the mystique of the tarot.
"The flowers' roots grow deep inside you, anchoring you firmly to the ground." Mirta's narration flowed seamlessly, drawing everyone into the cryptic tale.
As the vision continued, she described, "You stand and begin to tear the flowers away from you as you walk away. No matter how far you go, or how hard you try, the roots remain deep inside you. In the absence of the flowers, you struggle to breathe."
The vision unfolded like a cryptic story, its meaning and significance known only to the cards and the fates themselves.
Mirta's eyes fluttered open to meet Riven's incredulous gaze. Their hands were intertwined so tightly it was hard to discern whose grip was stronger. She swiftly let go and displayed the card she had drawn - The Hanged Man.
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Mirta's vision lingering in the air.
Riven stood up so suddenly that his chair nearly toppled over. "I told you this is all garbage!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in frustration. "What the fuck do flowers have to do with anything?" Riven scowled at Mirta before he stormed away from the table, his footsteps heavy with anger.
Musa was quick to react, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "Riven!" she exclaimed, hurrying after him ready to give him an earful about his shameful behavior.
"I think something you said might have upset him." Sky joked, attempting to break the lingering tension in the air.
"Well," Lark intervened, clapping her hands together, "I think that's enough for now. We came here to dance, after all, so it's high time we did just that."
The small crowd that had gathered around Mirta reluctantly dispersed as Lark shooed them away with a warm smile.
"Sorry about Riven." Bloom apologized to Mirta, her tone sympathetic before she left with Sky.
As the group moved away, Mirta remained seated, her gaze fixed on the Hanged Man card before her. The card depicted a man hanging upside down from a tree, his legs crossed, and his hands bound behind his back. It was a symbol of surrender and sacrifice, a poignant reminder that sometimes, letting go of control and accepting the twists and turns of life was the wisest course of action.
Mirta wished Riven had stayed long enough to hear her interpretation of the card. Maybe then they could have worked out the deeper meaning behind her vision. Strong visions like that always held heavy significance. Plus, based on his violent reaction it had clearly disturbed something inside him and Mirta wanted to know more.
Observing Mirta's contemplative expression, Lark inquired, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," Mirta responded, collecting her tarot cards and neatly arranging them. "He's not the first jerk to dislike what the cards have to say."
The two friends shared a moment of understanding before Lark gently pulled Mirta up from her chair. "Anyways let's forget him, and let's join everyone on the dance floor. It's a night to celebrate, after all."
Mirta nodded, tucking her tarot cards safely back into her purse. She decided to put thoughts of Riven and the unsettling vision behind her for the moment. She was here to have fun with her friend, and that's exactly what she intended to do as they joined the lively celebration on the dance floor.
Riven stormed out into the brisk night, his mind ablaze with a whirlwind of thoughts. How had he allowed himself to be goaded into that stupid tarot reading? And why, of all things in the world, did that damn fairy-witch have to utter that single, dreaded word?
Rue.
The mere utterance of it coiled something deep within his stomach like a knot tightening. He hadn't heard or thought of that name in years and yet as soon as it was uttered the memories and emotions had surged forth.
He hated that it still managed to affect him after all this time. Like a festering wound that refused to heal.
"Riven, what the hell is wrong with you?!" Musa's voice sliced through the chaos in his mind. He came to an abrupt stop and turned to face her. His girlfriend stood there, hands on her hips, her eyes aflame with anger. She was mad and had every reason to be.
Riven didn't want to fight with Musa. He had been going to therapy and working on learning to control his anger, specifically so he would start less fights with her. Yet tonight with Mirta spouting off and every pair of eyes fixed upon him, a tumult of emotions had surged within him. Despite his efforts, he found himself losing control, his mind flooded with thoughts he desperately tried to suppress, and all his progress seemed to crumble.
"Sorry," he mumbled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
Musa let out a weary sigh, the lines of frustration on her face softening just a bit. "Well are you gonna tell me what your little temper tantrum was all about?"
Riven leaned against the wall of Alfea and shrugged. "It's nothing. I just don't particularly appreciate people messing with my head and telling me I'm going to die."
Musa knew there had to be more to it than that, but she had learned not to push too hard when it came to getting Riven to open up. He would share his thoughts and feelings when he was ready. Or perhaps he wouldn't, and they would engage in their customary week-long tiff before eventually moving on.
"Riven, you can't just storm off every time something bothers you." she said gently, taking a step closer to him.
Riven glanced at Musa, his tough exterior slowly giving way to vulnerability as he met her caring gaze. He knew she was right, but admitting it was another matter entirely.
"Yeah, yeah. I know." he grumbled.
Not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer, Riven pulled Musa closer and kissed her passionately. They lost themselves in the moment, the kiss becoming a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside Riven's mind.
After a while, they pulled away, their breaths mingling. Musa spoke softly, her voice filled with warmth, "We should go back inside to the party."
But Riven wasn't ready to rejoin the crowd just yet. He held her close, his arms wrapped around her as he whispered. "Let's just... can't it be you and me for a while? I don't want to be around anyone else."
Musa smiled, her heart swelling with affection for the complex man in front of her. "Okay, just you and me, for as long as you need."
In the hush of the early morning, Musa tiptoed into the dorm room careful not to wake up any of her sleeping roommates. Riven had been uncharacteristically clingy that evening, and it had been hard to tear herself away. Not that it had really bothered her, Musa found herself drawn to this touch-starved version of Riven, preferring it over the emotionally distant persona he often wore.
Unfortunately while they were wrapped up in each other the night had slipped away faster than Musa realized and now she was forced to sneak into her dorm, guided only by the dim light of her cell phone.
Suddenly, a voice pierced the darkness, causing Musa to gasp in surprise.
"And just where have you been, young lady?"
With a swift motion, a lamp burst into life, flooding the room with its luminance. Musa squinted against the sudden brightness, her eyes gradually adjusting to the newfound illumination. There, before her, stood Aisha, arms crossed and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, her lips curled into a playful smile.
Musa's surprise melted into a bright smile as she hurried over to Aisha, enveloping her in a tight embrace. "Aisha! I can't believe you're here! What happened? I thought your parents weren't going to allow you back."
"I didn't think so either." Aisha confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Musa's keen eyes caught the shadow flickering across Aisha's expression. "Something's bothering you, isn't it? What's going on?"
Before Aisha could offer an explanation, the balcony door creaked open, admitting Stella with her disheveled blonde hair and a blissful smile adorning her face. Musa and Aisha exchanged a knowing glance as Stella bid farewell to someone outside, presumably her boyfriend, Brandon.
"Goodnight, Pookie!" Stella whisper-shouted, her voice full of affection.
As Stella turned to face the room, her steps faltered, surprise etched across her features at finding others awake at such an early hour. But when her gaze landed on Aisha, her surprise transformed into pure exuberance. With a delighted squeal, she rushed forward, her arms outstretched in a welcoming embrace.
"Aisha! You're back, darling!" Stella exclaimed, enveloping Aisha in a warm embrace.
Aisha returned the embrace. "Stella, it's great to see you too."
"Aren't you out rather late?" Musa couldn't help but interject with a teasing tone.
A hint of embarrassment tinged Stella's cheeks before she responded with a mischievous grin, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder. "Oh, you know me, Musa. I just can't resist a little late-night rendezvous, and it looks like i'm not the only one." she quipped, lightly tapping the side of her neck.
Musa's cheeks flushed in turn as she instinctively covered her neck, where an undoubtedly noticeable love bite was on display.
"I have some concealer tricks to help you hide that." Stella offered.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Musa replied, her tone clipped, masking her discomfort.
Stella arched an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on Musa's neck for a moment longer before she shrugged nonchalantly. "Okay, if you say so." Stella turned her attention back to Aisha. "Anyways enough about us. Aisha, tell me everything! How was your break? What have you been up to?"
Musa seized the opportunity to redirect the conversation. "Yeah, Aisha, tell us what's been going on with you."
"It's a long story." Aisha nodded, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch with a tired sigh. Musa and Stella took their seats on either side of her, their supportive presence offering comfort and reassurance.
"We have this tradition in Tides, but I never thought my parents would enforce it." Aisha began wearily. "But over break my parents told me that they picked a guy who they expected me to marry. He's from the richest family in Andros, and all I know is that his name is Nabu, and that my life is about to be ruined forever."
Stella's eyes widened in shock, her surprise slipping out in an unintentional exclamation. "You're engaged!"
Aisha's hand shot out instinctively, covering Stella's mouth in a hasty attempt to quiet her outburst. "Not so loud," she hissed, shooting a wary glance towards the closed door.
"Sorry." Stella whispered apologetically.
"I am not engaged to anyone." Aisha clarified, her voice laced with irritation. "My parents just sprang it on me, telling me it's tradition and blah, blah, blah...Naturally, I refused to do something so stupid like agree to marry a complete stranger. The more they pushed, the more I fought back. This led to them grounding me and refusing to let me return to Alfea until I agreed to their demands. Can you believe them?!"
"That's awful!" Musa exclaimed.
Aisha let out a deep sigh. "I know, but in their minds, they're doing what's best for me and our kingdom. They want me to have a secure future, a good husband who can provide for me and our future children."
Musa's brows furrowed with concern. "That's terrible, Aisha. They can't force you into a marriage. It's your life."
"That's just how it goes when you're a princess." Stella said matter-of-factly.
Musa shook her head in disbelief, unable to fathom the unfairness of Aisha's situation. "That's not fair. What about your own desires and choices? What if you don't love this guy?" she questioned.
"It doesn't matter." Stella replied with a tinge of sadness creeping into her tone. "Your kingdom is supposed to come before all that."
"Alright, Miss Perfect Princess all of a sudden." Musa snapped. "Would you marry some random guy you've never met just because your parents said you have to?"
Stella shrugged doing her best to look unbothered. "My parents would never do that to me. They're too wrapped up in fighting each other to care about what I'm doing."
Musa bit back a response, regretting bringing up Stella's parents. She knew all too well that Stella wasn't taking her parents' divorce well, despite her attempts to brush it off with her usual lighthearted banter.
"Well, it's a different story with my parents, unfortunately." Aisha leaned back and crossed her arms. "They believe it's a matter of tradition and duty, even if it means disregarding my feelings. Which is why they wouldn't let me come back until I agreed to the marriage."
"So if you didn't agree, how did you convince them to let you come back?" Musa asked, her curiosity piqued.
Aisha sighed, her shoulders slumping with weariness. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure." she admitted, a troubled frown marring her features. "It all happened so suddenly. Last night at dinner, they just... changed their minds out of nowhere. It was like a switch flipped, and suddenly they were telling me I could return to Alfea. I didn't argue and took the first shuttle i could get."
Musa's brow furrowed with confusion. "That's strange. Why do you think they had a sudden change of heart?"
Aisha shrugged, a hint of suspicion flickering in her eyes. "I wish I knew. It felt... off, somehow. Like there was something they weren't telling me."
Stella leaned in, her expression curious. "Do you think they're up to something?"
Aisha hesitated, uncertainty clouding her features. "I don't have any proof, but I'm certain they are. They have to be."
Musa and Stella exchanged concerned glances, their thoughts racing with the implications of Aisha's words. Aisha's parents were known for their unwavering devotion to their kingdom's interests, often putting them ahead of their daughter's wishes. Once they made a decision, it was nearly impossible to change their minds. This sudden reversal felt suspicious, and Aisha couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.
"So, is Nabu at least cute?" Stella asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.
Aisha groaned. "I don't even know what he looks like; we've never met and I intend to have it stay that way."
Stella pouted playfully. "Well, that's no fun. I was hoping for some juicy details."
Aisha couldn't help but respond with a hint of sarcasm. "Sorry to disappoint, Stella."
"What if Nabu turns out to be really charming and handsome?" Stella persisted
Aisha and Musa exchanged annoyed glances, rolling their eyes simultaneously at Stella's line of thought.
"It's not about looks, Stella." Musa responded firmly.
Stella reciprocated with her own eye roll. "I know it's not all about looks, Musa. But a little eye candy doesn't hurt, does it?"
"It doesn't matter how good looking someone is if I don't love them." Aisha replied.
Stella twirled a strand of hair around her finger, her expression shifting from playful to contemplative. "Okay, fair point. But, what if Nabu has a personality that complements yours perfectly? Like, what if he's not just eye candy, but he's also incredibly understanding, supportive, and just downright amazing?"
Aisha weighed Stella's words for a moment before responding. "I suppose that would be nice, but ultimately, I want it to be MY choice. I want to have the freedom to find and choose the man I marry, not have him dictated by archaic traditions." Aisha rubbed the bridge of her nose as if trying to alleviate a looming headache. "It just really sucks, feeling like my family doesn't trust me to make my own decisions. It's as if they believe I'm incapable of making the right choices for myself."
Musa squeezed Aisha's hand in support. "I can only imagine how frustrating that must be, Aisha. But you're strong, and you know what's best for you. Don't let their expectations weigh you down."
Stella nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. No princess should ever have to sacrifice their happiness for the sake of outdated traditions."
Aisha managed a weak smile, grateful for her friends' understanding. "Thanks, guys. It means a lot to have your support."
Stella clapped her hands together, a bright smile spreading across her face. "Alright, enough of this husband drama." she declared. "Let's focus on what really matters—helping Musa cover that horrible hickey!"
Musa's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she shot Stella a playful glare. "Seriously, Stella?"
Aisha's laughter bubbled up from deep within her, breaking through the weight of her worries and filling the room with its infectious warmth. It was a sound she hadn't heard herself make in what felt like ages.
In that moment Aisha felt a profound sense of gratitude. Here at Alfea, she was free from the expectations and pressures of her parents, able to be herself without fear of judgment or reprisal. She was exactly where she belonged—surrounded by people who cared for her deeply, just as she was.
Somewhere in another place far away from Alfea, a young woman perched on the edge of the rooftop, her legs swaying over the edge as she took a puff from her cigarette. A gentle breeze wafted through her short platinum tresses. A cherry-red ember glowed with each inhale, casting a soft, eerie light on her face, revealing a galaxy of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. She exhaled slowly, watching the wisps of rainbow-colored smoke spiral into the velvety night.
The blonde leaned against the rooftop's cold metal surface, her platinum hair ruffled by the gentle breeze. Her thoughts seemed to dance in the shadows as she gazed at the sprawling cityscape below. The urban giants reached for the heavens, their darkened silhouettes etched against the canvas of the night sky. High above, stars shimmered like distant beacons, their faint glow a stark contrast to the artificial luminescence below.
It was the early hours of dawn, and the city lay shrouded in a hushed serenity. Only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bird's song disrupted the silence, their voices carried through the cool, crisp air.
She closed her eyes, savoring the peaceful solitude of the early morning. It was a rare moment when the city still slumbered, and she felt like the lone inhabitant of a world bathed in silence.
Just as she began to lose herself in the tranquility of the rooftop, the door creaked open behind her, and a friendly-faced young man stepped onto the rooftop. His aqua faux-hawk and a series of tattoos adorning his arms gave him an edgy charm. He lit his own cigarette and settled beside the girl, his own rainbow-colored smoke blending with hers as it lazily dissipated into the night.
"Guess what," he began after a moment, his voice cutting through the tranquil atmosphere, "Lieutenant Assface wants us in Magix."
She groaned, her eyes still closed. "Of fucking course, it's Magix."
He raised an amused eyebrow. "You really seem to have a thing against that place."
The girl let out a heavy sigh and opened one eye to look at him. "Magix is...a place I would rather avoid altogether."
The guy nodded in understanding but didn't press for further details. "I get it. But we don't have much of a choice."
She snapped her cigarette, sending a shower of sparks into the night. "I know."
The girl took one last drag and flicked the remains of her cigarette over the edge, watching as it disappeared into the shadows below. She stood up and stretched, feeling the tension in her muscles start to dissipate. "Well, we better get going. Can't keep Lieutenant Assface waiting," she said with a sly grin, attempting to inject a touch of humor into the situation.
Her partner chuckled in response and snuffed out his smoke. Together, they made their way to the door leading back into the building, their footsteps echoing in the quiet night, ready to face whatever awaited them in the city of Magix.
Special shout out to Lyrical-Light who lights my way to better writing.