Yeah, I stopped wondering why people thought she and I were lesbian lovers a long time ago.
I remember when I first stepped foot in a dorm room here, thinking they were huge. But I think that’s just the freshness of new things—everything is vast and impressive at first glance. The moment Elisa and I had really started unpacking and settling in, listening to boy bands and singing at the top of our lungs in what would be the first of many such afternoons, I realized just how compact the space actually was. The rectangular room was split down the middle, a mirror image of itself with a twin bed on either side, shelving underneath, and two desks opposite each other. The only break in the symmetry was the hall leading in, which had a closet on one side and a door to our tiny bathroom and shower on the other. The one perk of dorm life here: Every room had its own bathroom. No foot fungus for us classy artists.
I wiped off my makeup and washed my face before heading in to slip into pjs. Technically speaking, lights-out was in an hour, but our RA barely checked. The last time Maria came in to break up our late-night movie, she ended up staying to watch the rest of Vampire Hedgehogs and ate all our popcorn.
“How was your night?” Elisa asked when I flopped down on the bed beside her.
“All right,” I said. I snuggled deeper into the covers and grabbed her plush oversize piece of toast, aptly named Toastie. My mind was still spinning with what Jane had said about Chris. But it wasn’t just that; I kept thinking over all my interactions with him—his side glances, his appraisal in crits. I’d always just thought he was being nice, in that stranger I’ll never connect with sort of way. Now, I couldn’t help but look at it in an entirely different light. “Got some work done.”
“Nice. You have no idea how ready I am for this movie. We’ve been blocking for Marat/Sade all night and I want to scream.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” I said.
“And I can’t wait for it to be over.”
Which we both knew was a lie. She had one other performance before the end of the year, and that was a scene in the Senior Showcase. Like me, she was holding on to every experience she could. It was just easier to verbally try and convince ourselves otherwise.
She curled up against her pillows and I curled against her. As always, she smelled like flowery perfume and tea, something soft and antique. The scent would forever remind me of nights like this, of watching stupid movies on her laptop and eating junk food and waking up the next morning feeling more exhausted than not. I hated to admit just how much I loved this. How alien and perfect it felt. I wasn’t used to this sort of friendship. If I had been, certain things in my life would have gone much, much differently, and I probably wouldn’t have sent myself to Islington in the first place. There was a reason my side of the room was covered in sketches while her side was filled with family portraits. Thankfully, she never really asked what those reasons were—another point in her favor.
Without further ado, she hit play on the computer and I hit pause on my inner thought process. Or at least, I tried to. My thoughts were notoriously hard to silence. Tonight, I knew, not even sleep would still them.
Dark dreams.
Shadow
Feather
Root and Bone
The gods created you for this.
And I sit in the gnarled roots of the World Tree while the horned god Cernunnos speaks from his knotted pulpit: “The gods demand blood. They have always demanded blood. To speak with divinity, you must pay in pain.”
He turns, but he is now Odin, the Allfather, the ravens Hugin and Munin perched on each shoulder. His suit is coal, his cowl crow feathers, his staff a root from the Tree itself.
“When Yggdrasil burns, god and man shall dance.”
And I turn in the classroom of glass students and see a girl. Her dark hair drips down pale skin, hides violet eyes.
“I know you.”
I say. She says.
My reflection wavers. Glass cracks.
Snow burns outside the window. Ravens scream.
“Of course you know me,” she says. “For we are the same.”
She steps forward, reaches out, touches my face. Only it isn’t her hand, it is my hand, and I stare back at my face through her eyes.
“When the battle comes, you will be mine,” she says. “Together we will fight the Aesir. Together, we will earn the mortals’ worship.”
I step back. “I don’t want to fight.”
“But you will. You were born for this.” She smiles. Violet eyes glow.
“You were born to be mine.”
Her skin touches mine. Ravens scream as blood burns and the World Tree cries as the battlefield stretches before us, blood dripping, blood on fire, boughs brimming with blood and ravens. And in my hand—our hand—a dagger, and at my feet, a body. His golden body.
I scream. Ravens fly.
“Why are you hiding from me?”
Her words crack. She cries blood.
“Why are you hiding from me, Kaira?” Brad asks, his hands on my cheek, lips
on my neck. His words dripping down my throat.