Franziska wasn’t entirely sure, yet, whether she regretted her actions. She had been taught it wasn’t in the nature of a von Karma to regret much of anything, but she had also been taught a lot of things that wound up being wrong in the long run. The young prosecutor liked to think, nowadays more than ever, that mistakes were a part of the pursuit of perfection. Exploring every avenue, even the failed ones, to eliminate more paths and get closer and closer to the ultimate goal of true, flawless excellence.
God, how her head aches though. Laying there on the guestroom floor in Kurain village, for the first time in all her years visiting she yearns for a proper bed. She had never minded the futon before, but the malady amplifies every minor pain, pounds the soreness in her limbs down ever-so-slightly harder. Even with the fireplace crackling in the corner, she can’t help but shiver in the draft, and the shivering makes her nose threaten to run, and the feeling of that makes her—
Franziska ducks down into her blankets as the sensation blooms, desperate to muffle her sneezing so that no one else in the manor is forced to hear. They come in horribly telling multiples, from somewhere too deep in her chest to be anything other than premonitory. Some sort of vague itch is living in the odd space between her nose and throat, growing more and more angry with every little outburst.
Would it be heartless of her to regret this? Certainly not the afternoon itself, but…
A weekend spent with Maya Fey was never a weekend wasted. Kurain, of course, was almost as beautiful as the girl who first brought Franziska to it. The two of them were treading carefully—skirting milestones with nervous trepidation, making their best attempt to get used to the word, girlfriends. Neither of them had the faintest idea what that entailed, and so they elected to continue spending time together and enjoying one another’s company. And sometimes, if Franziska was very lucky… Maya Fey would lean in and kiss her in a way that made her knees jelly, smiling with such emphasis that Franziska could feel it there against her lips.
Back in the present, the comfortably dreamy thought is broken with another forceful sneeze. Well. Maya certainly would not be kissing her any time soon.
Of all the trickiest parts of this new relationship, though… no aspect was more daunting to Franziska than the ever-elusive prospect of getting into the good fortunes of one Pearl Fey.
In the everblue dawn of a brand new morning, there wasn't a place in California quieter than Kurain Village. The acolytes tended to rise early, yes, but no matter where on earth she went, the single truth remained: no one rose earlier than Franziska von Karma.
For now, it is just her. Her, and the dying night, and the twittering of birds that are slowly waking up themselves. The long-dead spirits that creaked and hummed across the aging floorboards in the night begin to bid their farewells, and here in the transition between darkness and sunlight, Franziska enjoys the quiet solitude that seems like a gift from the universe to her. Outside the window, the overcast hanging above smothers the pre-daybreak azure she’d grown used to, and so she takes her eyes off the hidden rising sun and sips at her tea with slow, savoury worship. For a good, long while, that is exactly where she stays.
It’s the incredibly distinctive pitter-patter of footsteps that breaks her from this sort of calming trance. Little Pearl has such a specific canter to her, one Franziska is sure is entirely unique. There’s that urgency to it when she’s excited or overwhelmed—but it holds itself back, remains uniform and polite, even when she thinks there’s no one around to listen. Perhaps that made sense, with the way the mediums here lived their lives… the ears and eyes of Feys long passed were always there in some manner.
Regardless of all of that, Franziska knows it is Pearl approaching before the little one opens the sliding paper door to the common room. If Franziska didn’t know better, she’d say that little Pearl is sparkling, glitter and stardust exploding in tiny bursts off her bright eyes and big smile. She all but falls through the door as it opens, clearly intent to make a beeline through the room, but… as soon as she registers Franziska there, her whole body seems to fall in tandem with her face.
“Oh. You’re here,” she says, that angry scrunch twisting across her forehead. “Hello, Miss Prosecutor.”
Ouch. Franziska’s cheeks are hot. She’s not sure why the icy regard of this little girl burns her so much still. Pearl has, in all her wisdom, finally managed to accept that Franziska’s not going anywhere any time soon. There’s still proper leaps and bounds to be made in tolerating the woman’s presence, though, and Pearl’s attempts to be courteous when she visits are about as bare minimum as can be.
Perhaps it stings because it’s fair. Every misgiving the young girl has with Franziska is completely justified in its reasoning. There’s really nothing Franziska can say or do to atone for the hand she’s had in Pearl’s own heartache.
“Good morning, Miss Fey,” Franziska tries, despite everything. “How did you sleep?”
“Good. Thank you for asking.” The words are scripted, devoid of emotion. “Did you sleep well?”
“Quite. I’m rather fond of the quiet out here.”
Though she knows it will change nothing, Franziska offers her a smile regardless. Pearl continues what she’s doing—digging through one of the storage boxes in a closet on the furthest end of the room, seemingly looking for something specific. Franziska watches her carefully, astounded by how she tempers the sheer excitement sewn into her every nerve.
“What is it you’re looking for, there?”
Pearl stops herself, looking over. Try as she might to remember her disdain, the question brings all that muted joy to the forefront, galaxies bursting in the young girl’s eyes.
“Didn’t you see, Miss von Karma?” Pearl looks toward the window. “It’s the first snow of winter!”
Blinking a bit in genuine surprise, Franziska drags her own gaze there alongside Pearl’s. It must’ve started rather suddenly—Franziska hadn’t noticed at all—but sure enough, there it was. Big, fat flakes fluttering down from the broken heavens, the white of that overcast before now all-enveloping. Somehow, this makes the quiet of Kurain even quieter, those pristine shades of ivory swallowing up the noise of anything that dared to sing.
Pearl is nearly trembling with how excited she is. That childlike wonder shines off her like sunbeams and falls square on Franziska’s own jaded heart. Back home, snow was so unremarkable—an inconvenience, even, how it stoppered the highways and made her walk to work such a miserable affair. Through the eyes of a child, though, it was cause for rapturous celebration.
Still fixated on the window, Franziska makes her best attempt to see it through Pearl’s eyes. The sparkling wonderland that’s quickly forming outside does look rather beautiful out here in the wild California mountains—hardly the muddy grey slush she’s used to on the streets of Munich, or the wretched piles in her massive drive-way that scream to be plowed. No, Kurain snow looks just as magical as she remembers it from her own youth, delicate and soft as it glitters slowly to its slumber on the silent earth below.
Across the room, Pearl is struggling into a massive, puffy jacket that looks to be three sizes too large. She gets an arm through, and then another, and looks with furrowed brow to her useless hands. Franziska clocks the situation immediately—Pearl had been so excited to get outside and play in the snow that she’d just been tossing on whatever snow gear she could find in the closet, without any thought to the proper order of things. She’d wiggled into the mittens the second she saw them, not thinking as far ahead as zipping and buttoning her jacket.
Franiska’s feet move on their own. “Here, allow me…”
Predictably, Pearl tenses the second Franziska moves to stand. It never really gets easier, the overwhelming feeling of being feared before she is loved. But moving helps keep her from falling into despair, now and always, and so that is precisely what she does.
As gracefully and warmly as she is able, Franziska rounds the kotatsu and drops to a knee before Pearl. The young girl watches as she zips the big pink jacket up to her chin, then gets to work clasping the buttons one by one. Franziska can feel Pearl’s icy-hot stare on her as she works, but, crucially, there is no protest. Her voice is even-toned when it comes, polite as ever.
“Thank you, Miss von Karma.”
“But of course,” says Franziska. “What are you going to do in the snow?”
The girl forgets all her reservations as soon as Franziska asks. She can’t help but start bouncing on the balls of her feet, too small to hold all the excitement inside her tiny frame.
“I’m gonna go to the top of the hill and sled down!” says Pearl. “And build a snowman! Oh, and an igloo! And then when Mystic Maya wakes up she and I can have a snowball fight! But… actually… now that I think about it…”
Franziska finishes buttoning her, runs a hand primly down the front of the jacket to smooth out any lingering folds. Still, she says down at Pearl’s eye-level as she speaks, hoping it will communicate respect, compromise, care.
“Yes? What do you think?”
Pearl bites her thumb. “I don’t think I can ride the sled without Mystic Maya, either…”
“And why’s that?”
The young medium looks at her feet, her chubby cheeks a little pink.
“I think I’m too scared.”
“Are you?” Franziska asks. “That makes sense, of course. An incline that high would send you down awfully fast…”
Almost ashamedly, Pearl nods. “Mystic Maya always lets me hold onto her when we sled. I feel safe ‘cause I know she’s smart, and strong, and she’ll protect me. I don’t think I can do it alone, though.”
Regarding her, Franziska wonders if she ought to follow the first impulse that comes. Logistically there is quite a bit at odds with it, is all. For one, Pearl does not like or respect her. For two, she has literally never maneuvered a sled in her life. For three, the cold-weather gear Franziska packed for this trip is… paltry, to say the least. The forecast had said nothing of snow, and so she’d packed enough winter gear to get her through a few cold nights and treks to the bus stop, certainly nothing suited for the current weather.
And yet… she could not find any of that a valid reason to ignore the words currently rattling around her breastbone, bubbling up and intent to come out regardless of what her iron will says about them.
“Worry not, Miss Fey,” Franziska’s lips move on their own, “I shall accompany you.”
It’s not usually that hard to read what Pearl’s feeling. If it’s not displayed in full definition right there on her face, she will surely be the first one to tell you outright exactly what she thinks about any situation. Which is why Franziska’s mystified by the twist of her features, the way they tell of everything and nothing all at once.
There’s the sense that Pearl is… holding something back as she speaks. What that something is, Franziska can only guess.
“Really?” she says, and it is, crucially, not a no. “Do you… um… do you know how?”
Of course not, Franziska thinks as she’s rising back toward the ceiling, making for the coat rack where her jacket and hat hang. But how hard can it be?
“You know, where I come from, it snows quite often in the colder months,” she deflects. “I daresay I know it better than most. Perhaps even more than our dear Mystic Maya…”
“Nuh-uh!” Pearl stomps a foot. “Mystic Maya is the best at sledding, she knows how to go so fast and stop just as quick, and how to turn so it kicks up all the pretty fresh snow, and—”
“I am kidding, of course.” Franziska stops her, pausing to stare into the foggy glass’s reflection and adjust her hat so that it lays precise and straight on her head. “You are correct as usual. Mystic Maya will always best me in way of having fun. However, I do believe I may make an adequate substitute while we wait for her to awaken.”
At the praise, Pearl softens, padding along the floor to stand beside Franziska.
“Okay,” Pearl says, “I can hold onto you? Really?”
The suspicious way she says it makes Franziska realize the two of them have never actually touched. Some of the hesitation makes sense, then—Maya was such a clingy thing, always draping herself all over the people she loved… to Pearl, that easygoing physical touch was emblematic of affection. Franziska herself was not someone who excelled at properly initiating it, and most people had a tendency to stay as far away from her as possible in an attempt to keep out of whipping range.
Slowly but surely, things seem to… shift into place. Glacially—pun not intended—but movement, nonetheless.
With ever-careful intent, Franziska places a hand on Pearl’s shoulder. Firm, heavy, protective—at least, that’s what she wants it to be. A habit she’d picked up from someone else, someone who was all those things to her, once upon a time.
“Hold on as tight as you like, little one.” Franziska beams, smiling her signature smile, radiating nothing but confidence. “You are safe with me.”
It’s the second time in however many months she’s spoken this sentiment to Pearl. The first time, the harsh words she got in return were more than a bit deserved. This time, though, Pearl is quiet—simply staring forward with a thoughtful crease across her forehead.
Franziska finds a sort of inexplicable bliss in this silence, and the two of them step out into the white world outside.
Maya isn’t really sure what she’s expecting when she pulls her shivering self outside. She probably could have benefited from a jacket, but the snow coupled with the blurry, syllabic sound of voices had dragged her excitedly out the door before she could even process what she was doing. Such was the way, of course—when it came to things like this, sometimes one simply had to act on instinct.
Still, the scene is a little much to take in as it blurs into focus in her still-sleepy vision. Pearl finishes the final touches on her… well, it’s less of a snowman, and more of a lump of sorts, vaguely snow-person shaped. Maya’s seen Pearly’s snowmen, of course, and they’re usually pretty masterful works despite the young girl’s imperfect dexterity. Her proportions are always wonderful, and she’s a master at smoothing down the snow until it’s totally pristine. It’s a little weird to see what she’s made today in contrast, not at all explained by the way she bolts away from it immediately thereafter, excitement all but bursting from every seam of her, or—
CRACK.
Oh. Nevermind.
Franziska lunges into that hallowed six-foot range and throws her whole arm alongside her whip. That poor snow-lump stands no chance, of course—but Maya still manages to stare open-mouthed as the leather cleaves it in half. It slides off itself like it’s been cleft in twain by a master samurai, tumbling pathetically to the alabaster world below. Pearl leaps out from behind the cover of the bush she was hiding in, leaping into the air and cheering at the top of her lungs as Franziska coils, chin high, trying to make the smile on her face look cool instead of giddy. Only then does Maya notice the fifteen other piles of snow surrounding the two of them. The clearing is absolute carnage, flogged to a horrible, slushy pulp.
“Amazing!” Pearl giggles, like she hasn’t seen this exact thing happen—Maya counts the snow-corpses again—nevermind, seventeen times. “Miss von Karma, how do you never miss?”
Franziska looks like she’s glowing, despite the chill and how it paints itself pink across her pale features.
“Come closer,” Franziska says, soft as can be. “I’ll show you.”
Pearl points one foot forward, then hesitates. “It’s okay?”
Miss von Karma, you told me to hide in a bush twelve feet away and leave it under no circ*mstances, the question says.
“It’s okay,” Franziska affirms, and Pearl shuffles beside her.
Delicately, then, Franziska does something Maya has never seen her do to anyone—she lays her palm flat, facing the sky… and presents her whip prostrate before Pearl, offering it to the little one.
For a moment, Pearl just stares at it, mystified. Unsure what she’s supposed to, allowed to do. Franziska helps her along, then, gingerly grabbing Pearl’s right hand and slipping the loose coil into her mitten.
“Aiming is one of the least trifling parts of it,” says Franziska, angling herself around so that she is now at Pearl’s back, bent at the waist. “Go ahead and grip the handle. Let the rest of it fall.”
Pearl bothers her lower lip, already chapped from the cold. “Are you sure? It’s your special thing. What if I break it?”
“I’m sure,” she says. “It’s meant to be used. Go ahead.”
Taking a deep breath, Pearl inches her buried fingers toward the thickest part of the whip, releases them from where they nervously clench the top of the coil. The leathery thing loses form, trailing like a fallen streamer down into the snow. Despite the permission granted, Pearl stares at it like she’s hurt it, somehow. Franziska takes no note, persisting—at Pearl’s backside, she slides her own hand across Pearl’s own, black leather on knit wool.
“Place your thumb on the top, there,” Franziska instructs. Pearl follows her lead, hooking said thumb around the thing so that it nearly sticks out.
“Like this?”
“Precisely,” says Franziska, “You aim by pointing your thumb toward your target. What would you like to strike, Miss Fey?”
Pearl’s forehead scrunches up again, in that characteristic way it always did. She looks at one of the snow piles off to the side, one that Franziska had not previously decimated quite as passionately as the other sixteen. Wordlessly, Franziska follows her line of sight, angling the both of them toward it.
“That one?”
Pearl nods. There on the fringes, Maya is suddenly struck with a surprisingly rational thought—is this a good idea?
“Now, for a beginner like you, safety is paramount,” Franziska says, seeming to answer her thoughts. “The snow gear you’ve wisely chosen is perfect for that, though. Your whole body is covered, so you won’t hurt yourself. The only thing we really need to account for is…”
Franziska pauses for a moment, taking her whipless hand off Pearl’s shoulder as she seems to recall something. Deftly, she pulls a pair of big, chunky sunglasses from her jacket pocket and places them over Pearl’s eyes.
“There we go. Eye protection. Can you still see alright?”
“Yes,” Pearl says, staring straight forward. Franziska resumes her position.
“Excellent,” continues Franziska. “The second most important thing of all, little one, is follow through. With all your vulnerable zones covered like this, the whip cannot hurt you, even if you mess up. You must show no fear as you lunge. Do you think you can do that?”
For a moment, Pearl is quiet. Her eyes fall downward a bit, off of her goal.
“I’m not sure.”
“I think you can, Miss Fey,” Franziska says at her back. “I’m right here beside you. Okay?”
Beneath her touch, Pearl tenses back up—this time with conviction that’s still finding itself. “Okay. I can do it!”
“Alright.” Franziska faces forward alongside her. “Now, you pull back first…”
Slowly. Carefully. Gently, it’s so damn endearing. Her arm alongside Pearl’s own ebbs and flows like a tide—lazily swinging in preparation, back and forth and back and forth. Pearly rocks on the balls of her feet, dancing this dance with Franziska, awkward and gangly as she towers over the little girl. The two of them throw the whip weakly a few times to get a feel for the form. Then, slowing to a halt, Franziska backs away.
“It’s all you now, Miss Fey,” she says as she’s retreating to the side. “By my count… three…”
Not quite as far as Pearl’s protective shrub, but far enough.
“Two…”
In the center of things, Pearl plants her fuzzy pink boots firmly in the snow. Her hands hold tight to the leather, cheeks puffed out and brow knit with conviction. She waits on Franziska, for the first time in her life.
“One!”
Taking a deep breath, Pearl fights the urge to slam her eyes shut, reels back one final time, and snaps her arm forward. She cracks the whip hard, and with a lot less grace and recovery than Franziska does, naturally. With how long the thing is in comparison to her tiny body, the amount of control she manages is honestly pretty impressive—this sweet young thing, decked out in pink and fluff with decorative beads in her hair, slamming the leathery thing down with careful abandon. The whole thing might have read as comical, if Maya weren’t so overtaken with boundless pride.
Imperfectly, the whip connects with the pile of snow, leaving a long intent toward the very top of it. Breathing hard, Pearl takes off Franziska’s now-crooked sunglasses and stares at that indent like it contains all the most precious wisdom in the world, her eyes growing big and bursting with starlight. The dust of those supernovas falls like the snow glittering around them to the rest of her face, upturning her lips into an open-mouthed grin.
“Miss von Karma!” Pearl says, beaming up at an equally pride-stricken Franziska. “I did it!”
“And what a masterful first hit it was!” Franziska throws out an arm, looking adorably like a baby fawn as she stumbles through the snow in heeled boots that were not at all made for the weather in question.
“Damn,” Maya finally announces her presence, “is this a good time to finally ask what on earth you two got up to while I was asleep?”
The both of them freeze in place, Pearl halfway into handing Franziska’s whip back to her. The popper shakes itself to a halting swing as it hangs, messily coiled in Pearl’s best attempt to mimic Franziska’s usual handiwork. They look like two misbehaving children as they’re caught there, and Maya briefly wonders what kind of total square they take her for.
“Um,” says Franziska, ever the wordsmith. “I can explain, you see—”
“Mystic Maya!” Pearl shoves the whip back into Franziska’s hands and runs toward her cousin, cutting the prosecutor off. Maya nearly slips and falls back into the snow when the little one makes contact. Somehow, she manages to take the brunt of Hurricane Fey head-on, picking Pearl up in kind of a half-twirl that spins out their momentum.
“Hey, Pearly,” Maya grins brightly down at her. “Are you having fun out here?”
“Yes! Miss von Karma is so cool!” she exclaims. “She rode the sled with me, and showed me how to make really round snowballs, andandand! Did you see me with the whip?”
“Yeah, you messed that snow-blob up good!”
“It’s so fun!” Pearl says, breaking apart from Maya and bouncing up and down in her best attempt to discharge the buzzing energy. “My arm is tingling… it makes me want to run in circles!”
“That’s what we call an adrenaline rush, Miss Fey.”
Franziska holsters her whip again—not bothering to coil it perfectly or properly, lest Pearl see and get her feelings hurt. Something about that simple action makes Maya want to kiss her more than anything thus far.
Only when Franziska nears does Maya see how much of a mess the rest of her is—her hair’s soaking wet, her makeup is smudged, her boots are caked in mud. She’s trying to keep her back straight and her chin high like it usually is, but there’s the subtlest tremble running across her frame that would be nigh imperceptible if not for how fully Maya knows her. Still, she carries on with the same smug cadence as ever.
“Normally, it’s a defense mechanism. Something your body does to help you move and think quickly if there is danger,” Franziska tells Pearl, “but sometimes you can make it happen simply by having a little fun.”
“It’s so fun!” Pearl jumps forward to hug Franziska, then, and the tiny noise of surprise that escapes her is the cutest thing that Maya’s ever heard. “I thought you just used that whip to be mean and scare people. But you use it to have fun too!”
“It is a versatile tool, indeed,” says Franziska, once she’s gotten over the shock of Pearl Fey willingly choosing to be close to her. “I’m glad you had a good time, little one.”
“Me too!” says Pearl as she’s pulling away. “I am going to run in circles now, okay? Goodbye!”
And then, of course, she is off. Giggling the whole way, weaving around the fallen snow-army and their crisscrossed scars. Maya watches her for a moment before pulling closer to Franziska, inching their fingers together one by one as the two of them smile at the sight of a rapturous little girl. As soon as Maya is near her, there’s the sudden feeling of all of Franziska’s bones settling sorely into their proper sockets. With Maya always came that feeling—that she could let down her guard and finally rest.
“That was big of you,” says the girl in question, and Franziska feels the blush crawl up from her heart before it warms her freezing face.
“Who am I to refuse a Fey?” says Franziska coolly as she turns to face Maya. This close, she can see her beloved’s warm breath puff up to the bright white skies. “You lot have a way of thawing my icy disposition.”
“Pfft. Icy. Yeah right,” says Maya. “Some Ice Queen you are, shivering like that.”
“I’m not—” Franziska starts, then reconsiders, “—I may have… allowed myself to take more than a few snowball hits to empower the young Miss Fey’s spirit.”
“Yeah, I can see that, baberoni.” Maya reaches up, brushing a damp lock from Franziska’s eyes, back into place behind her ear. “You might wanna get back inside before you catch a cold.”
Franziska narrows her eyes. “You’re certainly one to talk. What’s more, aren’t you the one who always insists that is an old wives’ tale?”
“And aren’t you the one who always prattles off some sciencey bullsh*t about how it’s not?”
“You catch chills like the mere act is going out of style,” says Franziska. “In any case, I don’t endeavour to break Pearl Fey’s heart. She’s been waiting all morning to spend time with you, and for the first time I do believe she’d prefer it to be us both.”
Saying it aloud, Franziska’s confidence melts into something soft and grateful. Her silversharp eyes go liquid and gentle, she watches Pearl bound around the open yard with graciousness glowing golden all across her face. Perhaps, Maya thinks, it’s that sunlight living within her that keeps her warm despite the frigid world around them.
In a few minutes, Maya will lean down and grab a handful of snow. She will stare into its glittering shapelessness, faking contemplation, pretending as though she is marveling at the natural beauty of the world, baiting Franziska to fall evermore in love with her and all her wisdom. Then, unceremoniously, she will shoot back upright, grab her girlfriend by the back of her collar, and shove all of it down the poor woman’s shirt.
For now, though, Maya just leans her head on Franziska’s shoulder, draws their arms closer together, and finds infinite solace in the way Franziska, too, leans into her.
Pearl’s footsteps slow outside the door. Franziska, as always, knows it’s her before she enters. The gait was so specific, so airy—hardly Maya’s lumbering canter, that much is for sure. The second Franziska registers this much, she’s ducking back into her blankets, hiding her face. It feels so utterly juvenile—pretending to be asleep, like a misbehaving child who’s been caught reading advanced law books at 3 AM. A universal experience, really. Somewhere in the back of her heart, she hears the tock-tock of a hardwood cane tapping down on the floorboards.
Pearl, of course, knocks just the same. And, just the same, she pauses for a moment before entering the room anyways. Franziska shuts her eyes tighter as the door opens, but curiosity almost immediately pulls them back open—there’s something clinking against itself with Pearl’s every step, so barely registerable it’s a miracle Franziska hears it beyond her stuffy ears.
“Miss von Karma?” calls Pearl in a polite whisper, and Franziska reluctantly opens her eyes. At her bedside, the little girl is knelt down with a metal tray placed in front of her, a steaming bowl and matching cup warming her sore face.
Franziska clears her throat, feeling exposed and more than a bit humiliated. “Miss Pearl Fey?”
“Oh, you are awake!” Pearl brightens. “Um, I’m sorry to bother you, but Mystic Maya said you were sick and I wanted to bring you something to eat.”
“She said I was…” Franziska lowers the blanket from her running nose, shuffling upward with far too much effort. “She guessed I was ill?”
“She said you got too cold yesterday,” Pearl explains, “and that you never sleep in past 6 am unless you’re not feeling well. And, um, the walls here are thin, so we can hear you… um…”
Perhaps to spare Franziska the shame of it, Pearl does not finish that sentence. The ailing prosecutor does not have time to be grateful for it, her breath hijacked once more by the foolish virus that seems to have made its place in her head. It gives her enough warning, at least, to duck back into the covers and sneeze away from Pearl.
“Um, yeah,” says Pearl. “That. Bless you.”
Was this some sort of horrible karma? The universe’s whims laying Franziska low in front of the person she was near-pathologically obsessed with pleasing? How on earth did the mirth of yesterday give way to this, her looking a right mess in front of young women as classy and wondrous as the Feys?
“Excuse me,” she grumbles out, desperate to not make it sound as pathetically angry as it feels, there in her reddened voicebox. The least she can do, she supposes, is accept the gift this little angel has brought her.
“What have you got there?”
“Oh!” Pearl lights back up, grabbing the bowl up off the tray with careful intent. “It’s our special noodles.”
“And what,” Franziska sniffles wetly, angling herself away from the spices as they rise on the steam, “makes these noodles so particularly special?”
“I’m sorry, Miss von Karma. I can’t tell you that.”
There’s otherworldly weight to her words as she says it, her eyes massive, intense, focused. In that distinctly Pearl way they often were. For some reason, Franziska finds herself tensing at this—as if she will be smote by the spirits themselves for daring to even question it.
“...but they’re special, I promise!” The iron walls shuffle back down, and Pearl returns to her usual, bubbly self. “Mother always made these for me when I was sick. And she taught me how to make it too, so I always make it for Mystic Maya. Mother said it’s an ancient recipe from Mystic Ami herself.”
Once more, Franziska stares into the shimmery broth before her. Her senses are a little too dulled to smell it, but it looks like a pretty standard chicken soup, to her. At this point in her time with Maya’s family, though, she knows not to doubt the word of Mystic Ami—perhaps it was simple veneration, but the old matriarch seemed to have a remedy or cure for everything, physical and mental, that could possibly ail her people. And, so far, this proclamation of her wisdom had not once been wrong.
“That is very kind of you, Miss Fey,” says Franziska, carefully lifting the bowl from its home on the tray. “You made this all by yourself?”
“Mystic Maya helped me cut the veggies.” Pearl smiles with her eyes shut. “And, um, she said you needed a fork, but she wouldn’t tell me why. I hope that’s okay.”
Why was because Franziska could not make sense of chopsticks to save her damn life. Miles had tried countless times to show her, and Maya had picked up right where he left off, and still, here in her twenties, she was completely inept at doing something so simple. The hot flash of embarrassment that blooms in her chest is quickly snuffed out by the affection that takes its place.
“It is more than okay, thank you.”
She offers Pearl a smile of her own, plunging the fork into the golden concoction and gathering a generous clump of noodles on its end. By the benevolent hands of fate they are just warm enough to scald some of the agony from her throat, and it takes all Franziska is to maintain her dignity and not make a drawling noise of relief at the feeling. One bite is all that’s necessary for her airways to instantly feel cleared out, it’s some kind of miracle how quickly this divine meal takes effect. Old warnings rattle off in her head about not eating the food that the fey give you, vanishing the second Franziska remembers that these wild, enchanting creatures already have her—body, mind and soul. There’s little more for her to do, besides enjoy this new life among their realm.
“Um… do you like it?”
The question makes Franziska realize she has not spoken for over a minute, too reverent as she prays at the altar of ancient spiritsoup. Inelegantly, she clears her throat, trying not to marvel when the action actually produces tangible results.
“Miss Pearl Fey,” says Franziska, deadly serious, and Pearl holds her gaze with equal intensity, “I do believe this is… the best soup I have ever imbibed in.”
“Im-bye-beed?”
“Eaten,” Franziska clarifies, and Pearl somehow finds a way to do that delightful little bounce of hers while on her folded knees.
“See! Mystic Ami is always right!”
It is still awfully cold in this room. Something about the miniature sun at her side, though, almost makes Franziska forget the chill altogether.
“It would seem so,” Franziska says after swallowing another small mouthful of noodles. She would really never get used to the expectation to slurp, nor would she entertain even the thought of it. “And I do hate to repay you with such an uncouth request, but… I don’t think it’s wise to stay with me, little one.”
Pearl looks concerned. “Why not?”
“It’d simply break my heart if I got you sick as well.”
“I’ll be okay, Miss von Karma!” Pearl puffs out her cheeks and flexes the muscles she most certainly doesn’t have. “You know, kids are made of energy! I never, ever get sick.”
That is a bit of a shock. Even Franziska, with all her flawless genetics in way of constitution, got sick quite a bit as a kid. Theories rattle around her head about spiritual power and the immunity-boosting ways of the mountain folk, thoughtpaths that she’s sure she might follow on a better day. Today, though, the possibilities seem to be pounding a dull ache into her head, and what she really wants to do more than anything is consume more of this heavenly soup and recover as soon as possible so that she can get back to enjoying one of her incredibly rare vacations.
“Hm… perhaps I can allow you to stay, then,” Franziska says. “But do keep your distance, alright? You know Mystic Maya will toss me off the summit if I allow any harm to come your way.”
Surprisingly, Pearl looks down at her tiny fists, now balled politely on her lap. Her face seems to scrunch up in thought for a moment, and then she says, “Maya.”
Franziska peers into her. “Hm?”
“You can call her just Maya,” Pearl says, looking at Franziska now. “Because you’re her special someone.”
The words go directly to Franziska’s chest, where they feel watery and warm. Was this her own doing? Has she finally proved herself worthy? Or was the upside to being ill how it had a tendency to humanize even the most fearsome and intimidating of people?
And an even less convenient tendency to make her dreadfully sentimental, she thinks as she’s swallowing back the tears.
“Yes,” Franziska says softly, “Maya.”
“Yay!” Pearl says, entirely oblivious to the gift she’s just given. She switches gears near-immediately, in that charming way only youngsters could, “Do you want to watch TV with me?”
Outside, at some point, the snow had begun to fall once more. At this rate the village will be simply buried within its serene, stifling depths. Yes, a proper day snowed in is certainly in order—and Franziska can think of no better way to spend her time than with the precious treasure of a girl who now instinctively leans into and not away from her.
“Miss Pearl Fey,” Franziska says.
“I would love nothing more.”
