Skai

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

_{Location: Elysium Island
Interations: Lila @NoriWasHere, Broseidon @Atrophy, and the Greenwood and 317 Nearby}

---

It felt like the attacks were neverending as Liz waited for her opportunity to make a difference in this fight. The sheer power of Schmidt’s cult-ish friends, to her dismay, made a small ball of damning fear begin to form within her chest. Sycamore was strong as a group, but were they strong enough to overcome being outnumbered? Because if they couldn’t get a handle on the situation, Liz was sure that she’d meet her end just by being associated with them.

She had to get a fucking grip. She wasn’t sure who Lyss had become after joining this coven, but she sure as hell knew that her cousin wouldn’t be feeling this way.

So, when she heard a familiar voice shouting something about riding lightning, and Lila finally got a chance to move off of her, Liz was determined to live up to Lyss’s legacy.

Crimson skin stretched taut where she put energy into the muscles beneath it. Her dry blisters cracked open with each movement as Liz pushed herself into a kneeling position, but she bore the pain with only a grimace to show it. If the healer couldn’t reach her, or was otherwise occupied, she’d have to overcome the pain for now. Relief would find her eventually… right?

Her head lifted, two-toned tresses falling back from her face. The annoying knot of fear in her chest melted rapidly, soon replaced by a swell of determination that made her eyes narrow.

Except the slivers of her pale blue eyes then widened the moment she laid eyes on a large man, bald and bare everywhere as he ran towards them. She didn’t even register the gold cup he sipped from because her eyes were occupied by the state of his injuries, and his l-

What the Hound happened to him?

She could only wince for him as he threw himself at the ground, and her eyebrows knitted together as he stood once more and looked them over. Her eyes took in the gold cup, and suddenly it made sense why he seemed hurt but wasn’t in pain.

Is this supposed to be the-?

“Never fear, the juice man is here! Lila! Cuz! Baby bird!”

Yup.

She flinched the moment he threw water towards her, but her mouth still opened so that his holy water could cleanse her of this burnt flesh. It wasn’t the kind of offering she usually accepted on her knees, but she’d take it either way. The moment the water hit her face, splashing onto her tongue and lips, Liz felt relief pass through her like a cooling wave as his healing magic rejuvenated her crispy exterior.

She breathed a sigh of relief and looked down at her arms and the exposed skin of her thighs. The color of her skin had dulled from scarlet to a tan she would have never gotten naturally. It probably wouldn’t last longer than a day or two, with her genetics. Her hands flexed, before pressing into the earth to push herself up onto her feet.

“Thanks, Broseidon.” She said to the muddy man that still towered over her before she turned to offer Lila a hand. “And thanks for the cover. You kinda saved my ass, there.”

Even though the winged woman had taken her into the line of fire in the first place. Water under the bridge, or whatever.

Liz’s attention quickly turned to the chaos in front of them as she felt a feathered hand take her own. She was quick to note that the dragon was being shocked into nonexistence, and felt another wave of relief the moment it fell into a hole in the sky. One apparition down… one more to go, and it seemed that the coven’s attacks were keeping it on its back for now.

She looked towards the gathered group just in time to hear a bearded man call for Drake. Her feet began to take her towards them, running between the barriers that were cast around the field to avoid the bullets that the necromancer’s goons fired her way.

Who the hell summoned them, anyways? She thought bitterly as she reached the closest barrier to the group and knelt behind it. She looked through it at the molten titan. It was on its back now, thanks to whatever massive stone dropped on its head as she was dodging bullets. She couldn’t think too hard on how that had happened. Someone will explain later.

Her thoughts were occupied as a plan began to form in her head. She wasn’t exactly a professional at trapping or sealing apparitions, but she’d done it with lesser beings before in her training. It would take an amount of energy that Liz wasn’t sure she’d be able to summon. Yet the Lord of the Brocean’s water left her feeling refreshed and powerful.

She could do it. She’d have to, or it would probably end them all.

The shield she’d hidden behind faded, and she took it as her chance to run towards the group standing nearby that seemed to be making their own plans.

There was no time to explain who she was or how she'd gotten on the island. With the titanic apparition down for the count, she'd have to explain herself later.

“One of you boosted the adept that can summon the sun, right?” She asked suddenly, her eyes darting between the muscled woman and the others gathered once she stopped before them. “I can seal the apparition, but the size of it means I could use the help.”

Her chin tipped upwards as she tried to embody her cousin’s confidence, because it looked like the group was too busy wondering who the hell she was to answer quickly. “We have to act fast while it’s down, so do you have an amplifier or not?”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Clancy Liz : Being called small things.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

_{Location: Elysium Island
Interations: Lila Blackwood, @NoriWasHere}

---

The woman’s head tilted at unnatural angles, and when she came nose to nose with Liz, the necromancer felt her body painfully tense in preparation for whatever might come next. Her muscles went slack as the woman shifted back and smiled at her instead. She was not in the mood to defend herself with blisters on her skin.

Then suddenly, without any warning, she was scooped into feathery arms. Her teeth grit as she suppressed protesting the assistance. She knew she was small, and injured, but she wasn’t helpless! She could have had a golem carry her. Or a hellhound, if she needed to be fast.

“Broseiden, huh?” She managed to utter with a strained voice as her hands held onto the woman for dear life.

Thank the Hound they have a– Holy fuck!

Her thought had been interrupted as the winged woman shot into the air. The movement jolted her within the arms of her carrier and left her stomach back at the mansion. She would have been nauseous if a sudden realization didn’t distract her.

She’s taking me right into the line of fire!

She wanted to say it out loud, but she couldn’t get the air into her lungs as they zig-zagged between the horde of undead. Bullets whizzed by them, and Liz cringed as she heard the thunks of metal hitting flesh. It was astonishing that the woman didn’t feel the pain of them.

It wasn’t long before the woman dove, and they both landed in the dirt. Right in front of the volcanic apparition. Liz was too busy gasping for air to question it. A few of her dried blisters had cracked open somewhere between the mansion and the rough landing. She was grateful for the protection the woman had provided her, of course, but the way her skin burned because of all of the jostling made it hard for her to thank the feathery friend yet.

She looked around, peeking out through black feathered wings, to search for this Sully. He was handsome, huh? There were a lot of handsome faces around them. Lots of powerful Coven members, too, she noted. Liz’s attention snagged on a muscled up woman as soon as the sun seemed to multiply in brightness, and she flinched with a wince as a beam of energy blasted the apparition.

So that’s who cooked me.

It didn’t even hurt the apparition, either. This place was truly fucked if none of the Coven could land a decent blow. Even more fucked now that it was joined by an attack from above, bright cyan ghosts raining down upon them as a large, golden dragon apparition appeared from a portal in the sky.

She would have been a goner if not for the winged woman. Her hands curled into dry fists of frustration as she made herself as small as possible underneath pale arms and black feathers. The hits came, and she was shocked that none of them breached the shield that the wings provided them.

Liz looked up at her savior with wide eyes in their cocoon and murmured. “Your abstraction is incredible.” She could sense that the woman was adjoined, and it made Liz wonder how it had come to be.

“Let me up when the hits end, though. I can trap one of the apparitions long enough for one of your hard hitters to weaken it.”

Hopefully. She just had to decide which one to target first.

The ground suddenly shook underneath them, like a bomb had gone off.

“Whatever the hell that was might have made the job easier.”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

“Haaaveeen.”

His voice crawls up her spine, passing through the patch of feathers on her back, and digs itself into the soft spot at the base of her skull. Her muscles tense and lock into place, expression twisting into a wince, and she tilts her head in an attempt to free herself of the feeling. It’s no use. He calls her name again, and this time his voice digs into the joints between her shoulder blades. Pain blossoms there, like a festering wound, and her shoulders shift against it. No matter how she twists, the movement does nothing to ease the ache.

She’s helpless against this torture. Suspended in the dark as he does what he wishes. The futility of it weighs heavily on her chest with each poke and prod.

She stands alone in the center of a large room lit only by flickers of starlight in the night sky that shine through a gaping hole in a metal roof. He calls her name over and over. Lovingly, at first, beginning as simple as a gentle caress along her cheek, and then building more malicious with each touch. His voice snarls by the end, saliva dripping from his lips that splatters against her cheek as she feels his hands rake themselves through her plumage. Feathers pull loose between his knuckles and fall to the ground around her feet. She endures it with fists clenched tightly at her sides.

There’s a glimpse of a twisted smile in the darkness, but when she blinks it’s gone.

Another voice chimes in just when she thinks the torture is over. This one is low and grumbling. It reverberates throughout her bones with the two syllables it speaks.

“Mother.”

A desperation fills her now. She wants to run. To hide from the monster that calls her kin. Her body strains itself, and yet her feet are planted firmly in place. She can’t move. Her very being is frozen by fear that grips her heart and squeezes it until it shrivels within her chest.

Screams follow the name given to her. The agonized cry of her lover in pain. She won’t reach him. The wails of a woman, of a friend, in distress. There’s nothing she can do to ease the suffering. Horrified shouts come from the crowd within the dark.

Voices she recognizes, and voices she doesn’t.

The sound of bone snapping and sinew tearing fills the space above her, and suddenly crimson ichor falls from the sky to drench her where she stands. She nearly drowns in it. As the downpour subsides she’s left gasping. The air that fills her throat is thick and muggy in her lungs, and it leaves a metallic taste on her tongue.

She knows who the blood belongs to.

The monster speaks again, and this time the voice is closer to her.

“Mother.”

Her eyes go wide and wildly search the darkness in front of her. Her heart beats a ferocious rhythm, threatening to burst from her chest, until she sees it. Glowing, red orbs glare at her from the dark.

Her heart stops.

The outline of a horned brow is illuminated as it steps into the light. Its grey skin is stretched taut over its enormous body. Batlike wings rise behind it as if to mock her blood. Her blood. Frigid air puffs from its flared nostrils as it stalks closer and closer.

Its skeletal fingers emerge from the dark and reach for her, and something within her fractures. Her arms go limp at her sides, because she knows what happens once it touches her. She knows the pain that it causes. How it leaves her a shell of who she was before.

A single tear draws a line through the blood on her cheek.

There’s nothing she can do as those fingers cradle her skull and tilt her head up to look into–

---

_{Location: Home - Debolt, Alberta, Canada}

Human: #5.049 Growing Vanes

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: Place to Nest

A shuddering gasp escapes from Haven’s throat as she awakens with a jolt. She shoves herself upright, feet kicking the blankets off of her legs to free herself of any pressure against her skin, and she whines as her hands reach for her head. Her eyes are wide, but they are blind with terror. She’s still stuck in that room. Phantom fingers still clutch her skull where she presses her palms against the sides of her jaw. She feels the fear, the hopelessness, and the desperation all at once.

Sweat coats the t-shirt she wears at the center of her back and chest, and her hands are clammy against her face. Her baby hairs are stuck to her temples with sweat. Every part of her burns. Her back aches as if the injury had just happened. She needs air. She needs to breathe.

She flings herself out of bed and heads for the closest exit in their cabin. Her bare feet stumble past the boots she left by the bed, forgetting she had even placed them there in case of times like this. She releases the hold on her head only to palm the door, one hand sliding down until it reaches the lock. Fingers fumble for a moment until it turns, and she yanks the door open carelessly. Too consumed by the torment within to notice if her partner had woken up to her outburst, she pushes against the screen door until it allows her enough space to step past it.

The air outside is crisp and blissfully cold against her skin as she steps out onto the portico. The screen door knocks against the frame, but she’s already stepping out into the openness of the forest by the time it comes to a stop.

The ground beneath her bare feet is damp and cold. The detritus is familiar to her toes. The forest around her is quiet except for the rustling of leaves in the branches above. She walks away from the cabin, past the shed, and into the darkness of the night. Her feet slow to a stop about ten yards from the perimeter of their new home, and she falls to her hands and knees.

Her breath finally comes in ragged waves as she feels the tightness in her chest loosen. She stares into the fallen leaves beneath her until tears blur the vibrant colors together. She sobs once, for the pain in her back and the terror of her nightmare, and then again for the loss of her wings and for the suffering those closest to her endured that night.

She’s lost to her grief among the trees, until the aching intensifies. Her breath hitches in her chest. Teeth grit together, brows furrowed in a grimace, and her hands grab the leaves beneath them and squeeze the foliage between closed fists. Her body tenses and trembles as she tries to get some semblance of control of it, and she gasps as it overwhelms her.

It feels like the skin on her back is stretching past its limit. The muscles underneath flex, tearing at the center and spreading until her entire back is aflame. She feels it creeping into her shoulders, neck, arms, ass, and legs. All the way to her toes and fingertips. The pain is familiar, and yet it’s entirely new. A shrill whine fills the silence of the forest as she feels her nubs pop. It takes all of her willpower not to faint from the sudden nausea it brings.

She knows this sensation. She’s felt it before. It’s as if months of growth have been crammed into minutes.

The burning. The aching. The stretching of bone and sinew. It wasn’t a symptom of her trauma, nor was it the healing pains.

It had been growing pains, all along, and somehow it all built up to this moment.

All of it reaches a crescendo, and when she feels the edges of her vision going black and truly thinks she’ll lose consciousness, the flame flickers out. She breathes a heavy sigh of relief as the temperature of her skin drops with it. Her head hangs between her arms while the sensation fades into a dull throb in her muscles. The nausea subsides, and she takes a few deep breaths as she’s overcome with exhaustion instead.

Disappointment slowly sets in as she realizes her back is not as heavy as it should be.

She pushes her upper body away from the ground until she sits against her heels. Her hands grip the bottom of her oversized t-shirt, slowly tugging the damp material off of her full hips and up her short torso. Her shoulders throb as she pulls it up and over her head. Her upper body is fully exposed to the night air as she sets her shirt down in her lap.

Her hands rub at her sides, working their way up to her pectorals, and then to her shoulders. She closes her eyes as she works on her neck first, and slowly, slowly pushes her hands down her spine until they brush against the softness of her feathers. Her fingers flex, reaching for the base of her joints.

She explores further, and what she feels between her fingers makes her laugh.

It’s self-deprecating in its nature. It brings on more tears that trail into her sweaty hair as she looks up at the starlight peeking through the treeline above her. The sound is similar to a laugh she heard recently. A trill utterance from a woman with three names. It’s madness, it’s sardonic, it’s sorrow and joy combined, it’s borderline hysteria… but Haven couldn’t care less how it sounded to the trees.

He took her wings. The monster ripped them from her body. She survived, and though she still feared that Deadalus would find her no matter how far she hid within the mountains, she was still breathing…

And her wings were growing back.

What once had been nubs of flesh and downy feathers, remnants of her beautiful tawny wings that stretched taller than a man on each end, now settled against her back as adolescent organs of flight. She unfurled them as she tested the muscles that had rapidly grown. Everything seemed to be in working order. The tips barely reach her elbows, but size didn’t matter to Haven now. She was sure that they were beautiful, and she was equally sure that they would continue to grow.

Relief etches itself onto her features, and she closes her eyes and basks in the moonlight. The forest seems to return to its normal hush now. The gentle breeze caresses her skin and feathers as she feels a sense of calm pass over her. She’s tempted to remain there for a while, in the peacefulness between the trees, but her mind drifts back to the cabin. She remembers how she left the backdoor open. How she left without a word, and without her boots. She thinks of her partner, and is suddenly overcome with a need to go to him.

She takes a breath, relishing the cold air in her lungs, then slowly rises as she clutches her shirt to her chest. She turns, her bare feet traveling over the leaves. They step back onto the path that connects the shed to the cabin, and to her home. The fire needs tending, and Rory definitely needs to know she’s okay, but at least she has something good to share with him.

They were both healing. They were going to be ok.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

_{Location: Elysium Island}

---

_{Interations: Lila Blackwood, @NoriWasHere}

A small form twitched beneath rapidly melting snow beside the Schmidt mansion. A head of midnight black and ghostly white hair lifted, followed by a back covered by a black sweater as Liz used her arms to push her upright.

She’d been panting before she passed out. Overwhelmed by the sweltering temperature of her body after the mansion had been hit by a ray of pure sunlight. Now her teeth chattered as her body trembled. Her body temperature had fallen fast once the blizzard enveloped the mansion. Too fast. Her exhales filled the air as frigid puffs.

From behind she could feel heat, though. As if she’d woken up next to a giant bonfire. The snow that had fallen around her melted rapidly into the scorched earth and dried before it could turn to mud. Her clothes and hair, damp from the melting water, were already drying against her burnt skin. She lifted a trembling hand, and what had once been scarlet skin had now turned a deeper shade of red. Blisters had formed twice as fast thanks to the sudden freeze but were now beginning to crack as the heat consumed all the moisture on her skin.

The heat source behind her was raising her body temp, easing the chattering of her teeth, but as her skin warmed it no longer felt numb. The pain was returning, this time as a growing inferno that made each movement feel like she was covered in sandpaper.

Get it together.

A war was waging behind her. She could still hear gunfire from the undead goons, but along with it came the thump of something large against the earth and the gush of something gaseous and heavy being hurtled across the lawn.

Her head turned, wincing as the skin on her neck protested the movement, but she had to know what it was. She had to know if she was about to lose her life to it.

Her eyes lifted, soon finding large feet made of volcanic rock connected to an even larger form that towered above the mansion. Out of its hands spewed raging fire that consumed the trees and any undead in its path as it stalked away from her.

Holy. Shit.

Her eyes went wide, cracked lips parting to take a breath that left the taste of sulfur on her tongue.

Where the hell did that come from?

Even if she was any good at trapping apparitions, the sheer size of it would burn her out if she even attempted it. If she summoned an army against it, it would wipe them out within minutes. Whoever the apparition sought to kill would have to be incredibly skilled, or would need a boost to give them enough power to defeat it.

If that blast of light against the house said anything about the Sycamore Coven, it was that some of them had the power to take it down.

She needed was a healer before she could be any more help to them. Did Sycamore have one? Hopefully. Would they reach her in time? She doubted it. With the way things were going behind her, she figured she was on her own from here on out.

There was also that small chance that Sycamore would mistake her for one of Schmidt’s party guests. She’d given Drake Blackmore a brief description of herself over the phone, but she didn’t think he’d be the first to come upon her. Hopefully none of Schmidt’s friends would find her, either.

Either she needed to get the hell off of this shithole of an island, or she needed to find a place to bunker down until she found a friendly with healing magic. Both options seemed near impossible to commit to.

Her palms pressed into the dirt before her, half tempted to walk herself away from the volcano behind her, but she knew she wouldn’t make it far in this state. So, she sent her precious energy into the earth and–

A small shadow passed over her, soon growing large as she heard the rustling of feathers approach her. She freaked for one moment, trying to summon faster, but the sudden impact against the ground next to her interrupted her focus.

She gasped, the skin on her throat aching as she jerked her attention upwards to see what had landed in front of her.

Who? Wings? Why is she looking at me like that?

The woman spoke, and a wave of relief passed through Liz as she realized the feathered woman must be friendly.

“Not a rich fuck.” She breathed, her voice hoarse from the dryness in her throat, before answering the woman’s last question. “She was my cousin. Came to help her coven. Haven’t met Drake yet.”

She swallowed and yet it provided no relief. She wanted to say more to the friendly bird, but that could all come later.

“Tell me you guys have a healer? Or water. Either one first.”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

It's Haven, Harps
Do you have service there?
Call me if you can
_{- Delivered 9:02am}

Rora, it’s Haven
We're ok. Found a place to stay that looks peaceful
How's Crestwood? Have you heard from the others?
Send Lor's number for Rory
_{- Delivered 9:08am}

---

_{Location: Small Town - Canada}

Human: #5.041 A Place to Nest

---

_{Interaction(s): Rory @Webboysurf}

Previously: Scary Love

The sound of rock and detritus crunched under the tires of an old Ford as it slowly made its way through the forest. Bright hues of yellow stood out where aspens stood tall and proud. Sprinkled between them sat dark green pines that were just now beginning to drop their brown needles. It was a four minute drive from the edges of town to reach their destination, and conversation was sparse between the occupants within.

Haven sat passenger side with her head tilted just out of the open window, her green and golds soaking in the land that surrounded them. Rory next to her, nearly squished between herself and the driver on the truck’s bench seat. She’d been quiet the entire ride. Uncomfortable where she sat with her back against the seat like any normal person would. Her mind had become strangely quiet the moment they traded pavement for gravel.

The man driving owned the land they drove through. He was a tall, gangly sort that dressed in flannel, jeans, and steel toed boots, and went by his last name, Miller. His skin was weathered and wrinkled with time, hands calloused from years of hard work, but he still had a quiet liveliness to him that kept him active. He wasn’t kind, or rude, but straightforward and honest. The kind of man that didn’t ask questions, and didn’t want any questions sent his way in turn. Still, he seemed to have a sense about him that would let him know when he was being fibbed to.

His and Rory’s conversation was simple. Mostly just Rory nodding along with whatever Miller decided to impart upon them. Facts about the land. The places they could find a creek running through the property, favorite spots where Miller had shot doe, bucks, rabbits, and even a moose. Tips about how it gets there in the winter, which would be upon them within a month. How they’d have enough wood to last it in the shed out back as long as they kept the fire going steady, but next year they’d need to chop the wood in the summer to replace it.

If they were still there by next winter.

“This property has been in my family for generations. Lots of memories in the place. It was my huntin’ cabin for a while, before my eyes went bad.” He’d told them yesterday when he showed them the quaint cabin. “It has good bones, and the water heater’s got a couple more good years on it. Just needs a good clean through and it’ll make a good home for a young couple like yourselves.”

The couple had felt their cheeks blush at that statement. They’d been honest when they met him, without giving away the full story of course. They were a young couple looking for a fresh start. Somewhere peaceful, where they could heal from an accident that left Rory in his wheelchair. No mention of a school for gifted people, no trials or mad scientists that left them weary souls, and no monster that broke both of their bodies.

No wings. No powers. No hypegene whatsoever.

Just two people looking to start a new life together.

They’d found Miller’s ad in a local newspaper. It was sitting right on the table they’d taken a seat at, settled in a cozy corner of a small diner where they chose to have brunch the day before. They were meant to eat, stretch their legs and arms, and take the next bus headed east by lunchtime. They’d stayed in the small town’s motel the night before.

After an hour of filling their bellies, sipping on coffee and OJ throughout, and discussing what it would mean to settle down so soon, their decision to look into it was made. They gave the man a call and met him that afternoon.

As the pair laid in bed later that evening, Rory massaging the tenderness out of her aching back, they considered their options. It was both troubling and a relief to settle down so soon. How far from Dundas Island was far enough? Was it wiser to go closer to The Foundation, or stay somewhere in between both?

They’d been traveling for days. Long hours were spent cramped on a bus with no wheelchair accessibility. Haven had to ask for help each time; no normal woman could carry a man like Rory onto the bus herself. They’d heard enough about the hype-hate spreading across Canada to keep their wits about them. If they decided to move on it would be more grumbling bus drivers that had to help load them on, and more money spent on tickets and motel rooms.

Would it be smarter to stay in a city? Where they could get lost in the crowds, where there might be more sympathy for hyperhumans. Then again, it would be harder to hide Haven’s peculiarity. They weren’t sure they could afford a place that would allow them privacy. Haven would have to keep her back covered at all times. She’d already started to wrap the nubs down like she’d done years ago, and the pain of it was all too familiar.

So they decided to take a chance on the small town.

It hadn’t felt like a happy decision. The kind where the young couple is filled with excitement about their first place together. Haven and Rory didn’t have that kind of luxury. It didn’t feel like they were making a wrong choice, either. In the end they agreed that it was a safe decision to make. Well, about as safe as it could be for the couple. Haven hadn’t felt safe in her skin since she’d been kidnapped, and Rory seemed to feel the same way for her. The only thing he had to worry about himself was that he’d been on H.E.L.P.’s watchlist. Which, considering H.E.L.P. was on a lifeline at this point, didn’t seem like much to worry about.

Choosing the cabin would mean a solid roof above their heads. A place to unpack their things and settle into. The solitude of it, being out of the town limits, would be a place for them to truly be themselves in a world that despised hypes. A place where Haven could show the feathering nubs on her back without peering eyes. A place where they continue to kindle their love, through the good and the bad feelings that came with the pains of what they went through. It was a chance to heal their bodies and souls together. A place that they could call home.

It wouldn’t be the first time Haven had lived in a cabin in the woods, anyways. Driving through the forest now, it felt like she was returning to how her life had been before PRCU. A homecoming. As if this was the life meant for her all along. The quiet of the forest around them seemed to settle in her bones already.

As the truck rolled to a stop, Haven looked over the cabin. It was simple in appearance, built of dark wooded logs. The front was adorned by two windows, their trims painted a dark green that matched the paint of the door at the center of the structure. Two windows provided more natural light inside on each side of the house. The back wall only had a window for the bathroom.

A covered porch extended five feet from the front door with a single log railing surrounding it supported by four banisters. Three stairs sat at the center of the porch to take you right towards the door. On the right side there sat two wood chairs, and on the left there was a bench made of the same tree. The entire structure seemed to have been handmade many years ago.

A chimney, made out of the same stone used for the foundation, poked out of the slanted roof above the left side of the door. Its chimney cap had also been painted the same dark green to match the accents, and black stains licked the sides of it where the smoke had filtered through it. It provided heat for the inside, which was simply one large room with a bathroom walled off in the corner.

It had character, it had history, and Haven was beginning to feel like it would become a true home for them in no time at all.

A warm feeling bloomed in her chest as she opened the passenger side door and set her boots onto the gravel. Her soft smile that grew with it aimed inside the truck at Rory, before she turned to get his wheelchair out of the bed of the truck. He’d scooted to the edge of the seat by the time she returned. She nearly called for Miller to help, but he was already stubbornly easing himself from the seat before she could. So Haven feigned a breathy grunt as she helped him into the chair, and shook her head as she turned back to the bed.

Miller was already there to help grab their bags, which Haven gratefully took from him as he handed them to her. Her eyes turned back to the forest while she made her way to the porch. The wilderness was already calling to her. She could hear it in the wind as it rustled the leaves, and in the branches as they creaked back and forth. The chilly caress of the wind against her skin, and the fresh air in her lungs, already made her feel at ease. She wanted to take a long walk among the trees, explore the property, maybe find that creek Miller mentioned, and immerse herself in the forest. She wanted to get lost in the yellows and greens and browns.

I bet it looks beautiful from above.

Her attention was brought back to the present as she reached the porch. She set their bags down on the top step. Her lucky Jansport looked like it had been there its entire life. She turned to stand next to Rory where he’d stopped his wheelchair. He was already handing the cash for their first month's rent over. Haven looked at the small stack and couldn’t help but feel a small pang of guilt. Her money had run out the first day. Rory’s money, on the other hand, had continued to provide for their journey. He was using the money left to him by his parents. He had no trouble using it for them, and Haven was grateful for it, but she still couldn’t sit back for long. She’d already been looking for help wanted signs as they drove through town today.

Miller offered the keys to the cabin and shed on one metal keyloop in exchange for the cash, and the two men shook hands to seal the agreement. The cabin was theirs, for now, and for a pretty good deal too. Haven offered a grateful smile towards the older man, who gave her a brief smile in return before adjusting the worn ballcap on his head.

“Well, I’ll let you two settle in. Call if you got any questions. I’ll stay out of your business otherwise.” He’d already turned for his truck where he’d left it running. He reached the door to give them and the place one last look over before climbing inside. Soon he was turning around in the driveway, and the sound of tires crunching on gravel disappeared down the road along with him.

Haven patiently waited until even her ears could hardly hear it, and then turned to Rory with a smile on her face. Wordlessly she held her hand out for the keys, which were placed in her hand with a similar smile from her partner. She grinned then, and grabbed their bags as she took the few steps to get onto the porch. The floorboards creaked under her boots as she crossed it. She inspected the keys as she stood in front of the door, trying to remember which went to the cabin and which went to the shed, before she stuck one in and heard the clicks of it sliding into perfect place.

It swung open wide as she turned the knob and pushed, revealing the sparsely furnished interior. Light filtered into the room from the windows. A thin layer of dust rested on the floor and furniture, and she could see the places they’d unsettled it as they looked inside the day before. A small kitchen sat to the left of the room. It had a window above the sink that looked out into the open forest. A cabinet sat under the sink, connected to the cabinet under an open countertop that sat between the sink and a stovetop oven, which was placed next to an equally old fridge nestled into the corner. Shelves lined the wall between the window and fridge, already full of plates, cups, and bowls. The cabin had a backdoor in the kitchen area as well, covered by a portico that looked exactly like the front porch. Walking out of it would point them in the direction of a small shed nestled between the trees behind the cabin.

A four person wood table sat between the kitchen and the living area, which also sat in front of the stone fireplace. The living area to the right had the bathroom tucked into the back left corner. The living area itself was really just a log bed and a single rocking chair, which sat beside the door. To Haven, it was all they really needed to live happily.

She set their bags down in front of the rocking chair. The door beside her still hung wide open. Her mind was already focused on the task of getting Rory onto the porch as she turned round, but it quieted in subtle shock the moment she faced him.

There he stood on the top of the steps with one hand on the banister. Tall, dark, and handsome. With a little strain in the way he flexed his jaw and furrowed his brows. It wasn't the first time he stood since the dance, but to have walked up three steps to get there without her help was an incredible feat for him. Her heart swelled within her chest as she looked him over, and she smiled wide as he finally looked her way.

She swiftly crossed the porch to plant a kiss on his lips. Her hands steadied him by the shoulders so that he wouldn't topple backwards. It was passionate, but quick. Enough to let him know how she felt without words. She wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it alone.

When she pulled away, she stepped to his right and slid herself under his arm to support his weight for him. Her left arm wrapped around his torso to hold him upright as he let go of the banister. She could already see his legs beginning to shake, but she held firm as she looked up at him from under the crook of his arm. Her pride shined in her eyes as she spoke softly.

“Let’s walk inside together.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

_{Elysium Island}

---

While she was impressed by how much damage her little army had done, she knew it was too early to celebrate.

She could see it all through her minions. She’d seen the men drop to the ground, her golem taking out a few guns easily. She’d anticipated some backlash, but the ghost army one of them created was outright overpowered compared to her undead. She cursed where she hid. The fireballs made quick work of her army, incinerating the golems. Her connection to them broke as they turned to ash on the stairs to the mansion.

Liz knew it wouldn’t be long before the thirty minions would join them, and yet the conversation the man was having with his earpiece caught her attention.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She pressed her palms to the floor, already summoning her next army, but it was too late.

The man moved through her remaining undead like they were nothing. She lost sight of him in the mansion, and she couldn’t pinpoint him based on the sound of his movements alone.

Then he was standing above her, her eyes wide as she stared up at the smirk on his face.

Her jaw dropped as she realized how drop-dead gorgeous he was.

His hand rose to aim at her, then, and suddenly every rose colored flag about him was scarlet.

Summon, summon, summon!

A black bolt of crackling magic shot from his hand, aimed right for her chest, and Liz poured her energy into her palms as she braced for the attack.

The flooring burst open quickly, splintering around them, and a large hand rose from beneath the earth just in time to capture the impact of the bolt. The golem she’d summoned immediately burst into ash. Its body was no challenge for the magic the man had summoned, but it had served its purpose well. The particles filled the space between them, and while neither could see each other, Liz took it as a chance to run.

She bolted towards the foyer, running like her life depended on it. The sound of mary janes against flooring was the only thing he heard apart from a breathy taunt sent in his direction. “Bye, sexy!”

Her temporary escape wasn’t enough, unfortunately.

She’d just skidded around a corner, heart leaping in her chest as she saw the remains of the front door ahead. Still unsure if the man had followed her. With that type of magic, she imagined he was right behind her ready to strike again. Maybe he’d grab her by her hair, and the last thing she’d see before electrocution would be that darling face of his. It would be a nice way to go, despite the fear that shot through her spine at the thought of death.

Yet none of it mattered, either way.

She was running towards the door, towards possible freedom, when a blinding light suddenly filled the foyer. She shut her eyes tight, and threw her arms up into her face. Her feet tripped on air, and she hit the ground just in time for a huge blast to shake the mansion.

…

Everything hurt.

Her skin felt hot. Not even the fun kind. Just raw and boiling and painful.

She groaned where she laid on the hot flooring, and every twitch of her body sent licks of pain shooting through her nerves. The floor beneath her was like laying on a bed of hot stones.

The smell of smoke and the sound of crackling fire and bullets overwhelmed her senses. She squeezed her eyes tight before opening one just a crack. Her bleary vision was still fogged over by a white sheen left behind by the burst of light from earlier. Outlines of dark smoke and bright arcs of flame along the doorway were the only shapes she could make out.

The mansion was on fire, and she felt like she was already burnt to a crisp.

Get out. Need to get out.

She needed an ice cold bath and a heavy slather of aloe. She’d experienced enough sunburns as a child to understand why her skin felt this way. Except this burn was a million times worse than that. It was all over her skin. The light had cooked her right through her clothes. Her feet and most covered parts, thankfully, hurt the least.

She pressed her raw hands against the hot floor beneath her and whined as she lifted her head from it. Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself onto her scarlet red knees.

What the hell happened? She thought, wincing and whimpering again as she stumbled to her feet.

Her body was stiff as she moved. Everywhere her clothes touched her body felt like knives being dragged across her skin. She had half a mind to strip naked before she made it to the doorway, her raw hands grabbing onto the warm wood of the frame. Her vision was still impaired, and she had to rely on her memory of the entrance to decide where to go next.

There’d been grass just past the guns. Nice, green, cooling grass. She yearned for something cold against her skin. She’d have thrown herself into the water, if she wouldn’t have to walk so far to get there.

So, body quaking with the pain of her burns, Liz used every ounce of will she had left to stumble her way to the grass. She couldn’t care less about the undead outside or who had drawn their attention outwards. She needed to cool down, or she was going to faint.

Her body hardly made it down the stairs. The air outside already felt so nice against her scarlet skin. Steam rose from her body like she’d just been cooked. She literally had. Her pain was unbearable by the time she reached the edge of the sidewalk at the base of the stairs. The edges of her blurry and white vision were going dark.

Her feet had just stumbled off the edge of the concrete, her body crumpling against the grass, before she felt herself begin to faint.

The grass wasn’t cool like she’d hoped. It was ashen beneath her. Whoever had cooked the mansion had burnt the grass around it too.

"Water." She managed to croak before losing consciousness.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

@estylwen
Pros: Liz gets attacked by a hottie
Cons: Liz gets attacked, and he thinks that her hair is fake

One question!

Is that a bolt to kill?

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

_{Elysium Island}

---

Liz was extremely grateful to have made it to the ground level of the mansion undetected. She figured Schmidt thought that since the grounds were so well protected that the inside didn’t need it. Bad thinking on his part, considering what she had aimed herself for as she snuck through the hallways.

Two sets of feet up ahead had Liz ducking into a doorway, pressing herself into her hiding spot as she heard the steps draw near. She held her breath. Two heads of blonde hair neared, but turned down a separate hallway leading outside. The women’s manic grins flashing for an instant as they looked at each other. Liz released the breath she’d been holding and thanked the Hound that she hadn’t been seen. Especially not by blondes with an unhinged air about them.

She stepped forwards into the hallway and found herself coming up on an open set of doors. As she peeked around the corner, she looked into the bar room and did a quick scan of its occupants. No one of note caught her attention, and with no one looking towards the door she quickly slipped past it and continued on her way.

She was nearing the main lobby now, where she knew the machine gun sat aimed for the front door. She shook out her sore wrists at her side as she decided the best course of action. Taking a moment in an empty doorway to breathe.

She could be subtle. A few undead could take out the man stationed at the gun, and then she could use the gun to mow the door down and hopefully take out some of the guns outside. It would conserve energy. Energy she knew that she would need to get herself off of the island without injury. Yet it would draw the attention of the undead outside to her, and she was just one woman.

The other Black Lux adept would know she was on the island either way, so what was the point of subtlety outright? Wouldn’t it be better to go all out at the start, and then tone it down once most of the threat was taken care of?

She took a breath.

Perhaps somewhere in the middle would work best. One big distraction, and then she could slip out with a smaller group of her undead to protect her. Maybe she could slip out the way those two blondes had gone. Steal a boat. Get off this damn island.

She knelt down to the floor, her knee slipping on the smooth surface thanks to the oil. Her palms pressed against the ground to regain her balance, and she focused. Her emotional field spread into the depth below as she summoned. Her eyes closed, putting full concentration into her spell.

The flooring in the hall before her began to crack and burst. Forty pairs of hands began to shove their way through it as her undead emerged from whatever hell she’d summoned them from. Two sets of large hands emerged next, and the opening in the flooring grew wider as two of her golems followed the thirty undead into the mansion.

She stood as tall as she could get, looking over her small army before nodding. Her hands gestured towards the main lobby. They knew what she’d summoned them for.

The forty undead entered the lobby first, taking the brunt of whatever attack the man at the gun would throw at them. The two golems followed behind, their feet thudding against the ground. One aimed for the door, intent on breaking it down. The other went straight for the machine gun, taking a few hits before it wrenched the gun off of the ground and held it in its arms.

The remaining thirty undead, having taken care of the guard, turned to shamble their way towards the front door.

The first golem shoved its mighty shoulder against the wood and pushed, and soon the doors burst open. The second golem stood behind it now and aimed its machine gun towards the army outside.

It pulled the trigger, and began to fire in a swinging arc at the machine guns outside of the door.

Meanwhile Liz took cover behind a wall and kept a lookout for any unwanted attention from inside. The chaos she started now overwhelming the front of the mansion.

"Sycamore better take advantage of this."

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: An Empty School - Dundas Island}

Human #5.028: Birds in Their Little Nests Agree

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Harper @Qia}

Previously: In No Man’s Land & A Rotten Egg

^{Final Night on Dundas Island}

---

The two women bound by unfortunate fate slowly made their way from the beach to what once had been their shared house’s dorm. The silence that fell between them was heavy with the weight of the final words passed between the Blackjack team. Burdened even more by the continued string of unspoken words that tethered them together.

The only sound that carried them through the abandoned campus was the wind blown in from the Pacific. It ruffled their hair, and would have ruffled feathers if the wings were still attached.

Sisters.

The only similarity between them was their eyes, the shapes of their cheeks, nose, and jaw. The genetics given to them by their father.

Haven was a spirited thing, led by her heart and not her mind. She’d worn it on her sleeve despite its flaws and vulnerabilities. Years ago she’d learned how to keep it hidden, protected, and reticent. It had been necessary to keep her heart in one piece; to keep her strong and resilient. She’d hidden it away until she found solitude in abandoned cabins, in the mountains, and eventually she found a place that accepted her for the wings and heart she carried. She bore it proudly, then. Unafraid of showing the passions and heartaches that laid within. Vowing to never hide her heart again.

Now… her heart felt fractured and fragile. Much like a baby bird’s egg that had fallen out of the nest right before it hatched. Vulnerable to the world that waited just across the water behind them. It had been torn asunder the night of the dance.

Her tired eyes drifted over to her sister as she worried for the state of Harper’s heart. The brunette had always kept it so expertly hidden, but surely it hurt too? She was sure that it was still vulnerable despite the walls Harper had erected around it. Would the path that Harper had chosen for tomorrow take her somewhere it would be safe?

“Harps,” she spoke, her voice almost a whisper against the quiet of the night. “Where… are you going, tomorrow?”

Why don’t I know? Why hasn’t she seen me since I woke up? She wondered, although she didn’t dare ask the questions aloud. Her arms wrapped around her chest as if to soothe the heartache of it.

Harper didn’t flinch at Haven’s question, though her pace slowed almost imperceptibly, each step suddenly feeling heavier than the last. She could feel Haven’s gaze on her, searching for something Harper wasn’t sure she could give. Her sister—her little sister—didn’t need to speak again for Harper to understand the meaning behind her words.

It was concern, worry, and something deeper, maybe even hurt, as palpable as the salt clinging to her skin from the ocean breeze.

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening as the response she knew Haven wanted sat at the back of her mouth, stubbornly refusing to come out.

Why can’t I tell her?

Maybe it was because she hadn’t fully faced it herself, hadn’t let the reality of her decision settle into her bones. How could she explain it to Haven when she hadn’t even come to terms with it herself? The future loomed large, an indefinite shadow that stretched endlessly ahead of them, and Harper didn’t have the answers. Not for herself, and certainly not for Haven.

Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, the tension creeping up her arms and landing on her shoulders, making her movements feel stiff and unnatural. The act of gathering her thoughts seemed impossible, like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. I’m not good at this, Harper thought bitterly. Expressing what she felt had never come easily to her. It was easier to build walls, to keep everything locked behind layers of stoic composure. But Haven had already lost so much—her wings, her sense of safety, her confidence in the world they once thought they understood. Could Harper really add to that burden by laying her own uncertainty at her sister’s feet?

No. No, she couldn’t.

The brunette cleared her throat, still avoiding the question for a moment longer, feeling the pressure building. And then finally….

“The Foundation,” Harper said, the words feeling clinical, detached. “Decided on it just then, actually.” She had made up her mind. Right there, on the beach, amidst the chaos and bitterness of everything that had transpired with the team. It wasn’t a decision she’d made lightly, but it was one she’d made nonetheless.

The soft sound of Haven’s sneakers against the ground halted for a brief moment, but continued nonetheless. It wasn’t a surprise that most of Blackjack had chosen the same thing. There was nowhere for them to go that would take them in so willingly. Nowhere in the world that guaranteed any semblance of safety.

Haven, on the other hand, wasn’t sure if she could follow her sister and friends there even if she wanted to. What little she’d heard about the school from Alyssa made it obvious that she wouldn’t be truly welcomed within those sterile, white halls. What horrible things she’d heard of Amma’s history there, and her own terrifying experience with the man who had inflicted such cruelty onto the raven-haired woman, made the very mention of attending the school set the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck straight.

She was afraid of how she would live once she left Dundas Island, but she was even more afraid of what might become of her if she chose The Foundation over the uncertainties of the human world.

How could they accept a sub-class that didn’t even possess the trait that made them one? What would they think of the nubs on her back that had once been beautiful, graceful wings?

Did Daedalus still haunt the deepest levels within the ocean?

She bit her lip as another coastal breeze filled the silence between them. If she wasn’t so worn down, so tired and lost to grief, she would have started an argument. She would have mentioned the reasons why she hadn’t chosen to go. She would have argued that it was just as safe as the mainland, no matter what the recruiters had told them throughout the last week. She would have asked Harper to come with her and Rory, instead.

The tone of Harper’s voice suggested that it wasn’t something to argue, anyways. The words were final. They were objective. Harper was going to The Foundation whether Haven liked it or not.

“Do you think we’ll be able to keep in touch?” The question was hesitant. An implication lingering in the wake of her words that Haven wondered if Harper even wanted to keep her close despite the distance that would be between them.

The idea of keeping in touch seemed fairly simple on the surface—like something they should want, something sisters would want. It was something Harper might have genuinely liked. But the reality felt different, messier. She had always been good at compartmentalizing, at tucking away the parts of her life that didn’t fit the narrative she wanted to keep safe. Everything had its place: her memories, her ambitions, even her regrets. But Haven? Haven didn’t fit into one of those neat, labelled boxes. There was no tidy corner where she could be stored, safely out of reach, yet always close enough to remember.

The truth was, Harper didn’t know if they’d stay in touch. She wanted to say yes, that they’d talk regularly, that the distance wouldn’t matter, but that wasn’t entirely up to her. The Foundation might have its own rules—its own ways of severing connections with the outside world. She imagined faceless administrators cutting off all outside communication, forcing her into isolation once she stepped foot inside. For all she knew, they might not let her communicate with Haven at all. That doubt hung over her like a dark cloud, making the thought of saying anything more than “I’ll try” feel like a lie. What if her words became another empty promise, something she couldn’t keep?

<sub>I don't want to be alone.

And as before Harper didn’t voice this thought. Couldn’t.</sub>

“I’d like that.” She couldn’t give Haven anything more solid. Still, it had to be enough for now.

The answer was indeed enough for Haven. It eased the ache of uncertainty in her chest, just enough that she felt a touch of warmth blossom in her chest. She felt wanted. Even if they didn’t truly feel like sisters, they would still remain friends.

They walked in quiet for a few minutes, Haven only speaking up again to notify Harper that they were nearing the dorm. Harper nodded in turn then let out a small, awkward laugh.

“I haven’t forgotten about it, by the way,” she said, “The sketch.” She scratched the bottom of her chin, feeling a pang of embarrassment creep in. “Although…” She hesitated, a sheepish smile forming on her lips as she felt the irony of the situation hit her. “I hadn’t taken into account the whole not seeing thing.”

Haven had been caught off guard by the sudden outburst, but as she saw the small smile creep onto Harper’s features she felt herself relax. She was relieved to see Harper express some kind of positive emotion after what they’d been through. After what they’d both lost.

“I can look for it, if you remember where the sketchbook is.” She offered, although she didn’t want to just take it from Harper so easily. “I didn’t forget it, but… I know his drawings must mean a lot to you. I’d understand if you wanted to keep it.”

Haven hadn’t known him, after all. What good would it do for her to hold onto a piece of a ghost? Would it ease any of the sorrow that surfaced with the thought of him?

Harper felt a twinge of reluctance. The plan had always been simple—give Haven one drawing, just a singular piece of their shared history. Something small but meaningful. A moment captured in their father’s careful lines, a memory preserved in ink. The image of Haven, her laughter frozen in time, had seemed like the perfect gift when they were in the infirmary. Back then, it had felt right. It had made sense.

But now, walking side by side with Haven in the quiet stillness, Harper wasn’t so sure anymore. The one drawing felt too small, too insignificant for everything they had endured. After all they had lost and all the questions yet to be answered, Haven deserved more than a single memory—more than a brief snapshot of what once was. She deserved something real, something that carried the weight of their father, of their connection, of the past they had both been trying to make sense of in their own ways.

Harper’s fingers twitched slightly, the hesitation creeping up her spine. The sketchpad had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, a physical tether to her father and everything he represented. It was more than just a collection of drawings; it was her connection to the man she had lost, a reminder of the life that had slipped through her fingers the day he was gone. The lines, the smudges of graphite, the detailed care in every stroke—it was like holding a piece of him. Yet, as she walked beside Haven now, Harper sincerely wondered if she needed it anymore.

Maybe it was time to let go.

“I think…the last time I looked at it, I’d tossed it into my closet,” Harper admitted. It felt strange, saying it out loud, as though her words were cementing the decision before she was fully ready. Her hand slipped into her pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of her keys. There was an unexpected sense of finality in the motion as she pulled them out, letting them dangle from her hand before extending them toward Haven.

“It…wasn’t helping anymore.”

Haven’s gaze lingered on the keys for a moment before she took them from Harper’s grasp. She fiddled with them between her fingers, beginning to understand what Harper was implying but afraid to fully accept it until it was spoken.

“Let me help you inside.” She murmured, and the two began to ascend the stairs to the Strigidae dorms for the last time. She kept a wary eye on her sister. Always standing within reach should Harper need help finding her footing. Yet she knew Harper could do it on her own. She knew the determination and strength that Harper possessed would get her over any obstacle.

It was something she had grown to envy over the last month.

The two reached Harper’s room and Haven slipped the key into the lock. She held the door open just long enough for Harper to find her way inside before shutting it behind her. As she turned to the room, she allowed herself a moment to take a breath before moving over to Harper’s closet.

“It’s strange how quiet the dorms are tonight.” She said absentmindedly as she opened the closet door. She glanced over the inside before beginning her search. “What color was the cover of the sketchbook?”

Harper’s lips curved into a faint smile at Haven’s question, though the ache in her chest made it bittersweet. She could picture the sketchbook perfectly in her mind, every worn edge and faded spot on the leather cover that had softened and grayed over the years. Each time her fingers had traced its frayed edges, she’d felt a little closer to her father, as if his hands had left a mark on the pages that only she could sense. That book was more than paper and ink; it was history, memories pressed between its worn covers like flowers kept for their beauty long after their time had passed.

“Black,” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of nostalgia she hadn’t intended. “Well, black-ish now, I guess.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “More gray, with all the wear.”

Sorting through the various possessions Harper had not chosen to pack, Haven fell silent as she felt a mix of eagerness and apprehension about finding their father’s keepsake. An internal storm thundering suddenly as she skimmed the worn edges of a leather sketchbook. Her fingers withdrew, gnawing on her bottom lip as she came face to face with something he’d left behind. What laid inside would make it real. It would justify the pain within, as much as it would make it worse.

Slowly, her fingers wrapped around the spine. She drew it out of the closet, holding it like something precious as she turned to walk over to Harper’s bed. “I think I found it.” She murmured as she laid the leather onto Harper’s comforter. Her eyes traced the fraying edges of it, noting the most worn places where it had been held countless times.

She ran her hand over the texture of the cover, took a deep breath, and opened to the first page.

The sketches were beautiful. Little moments in time that their father had decided to capture in his point of view. Each sketch was a little different than the last, with little details that expressed how he must have felt drawing them. It was just like how Harper had described him, really. A family man, kind, caring, loving, but some of the images showed how he felt at his core. How he was also complicated. Sometimes his art was rigid and textured, and other times his art flowed so smoothly that it was hard to tell when one stroke of his pencil ended and the other began. Each sketch was marked by his signature in various scribbles and flicks of the wrist.

“You know… I found myself wondering what it could have been like if he took me in.” Her voice was gentle, almost lost to her thoughts as she shared this piece of her with Harper. She hadn’t told Rory yet, how she’d laid awake at night thinking of the home that the two sisters could have shared. She turned to the next page, and found herself looking at a view of a perfect country house. Two little girls playing in the grass before their home.

The thought of her father taking Haven in had always hovered at the edges of Harper’s mind since she’d learned the truth about her family. It was one of those silent, wistful dreams she’d carried without really admitting it to herself, let alone saying it out loud. Now, hearing Haven voice that same wish stirred something raw and unguarded within her, as though a carefully hidden part of herself was suddenly laid bare. A life where they’d grown up together under her father’s care, both safe, both basking in his warmth and guidance—it was a fantasy she’d held close, never quite willing to confront it fully until now.

“I used to think about that too,” she confessed, a faint smile finding its way to her lips. She glanced at Haven, genuine affection softening her expression. “You know, if you’d been with us, you might’ve gotten roped into our little weekend ‘missions.’” An easy laugh escaped her as the memory surfaced, more vivid than she’d expected. “Dad had this idea that we should always have an adventure planned—something ridiculous and barely thought out. One time, he decided we’d build a treehouse in a single afternoon to go with the swing already there. No plan, no blueprint. Just us, a few planks of wood, and way too much optimism.”

She shook her head, finding comfort in the absurdity of the memory. “We spent hours hammering and balancing wood, arguing over who got to design which part. I insisted on painting it, of course,” she added, her smile widening, “and somehow managed to get more paint on myself than on the boards.” Her voice softened as she looked back on it all, her expression distant but affectionate. “We never actually finished it. I think there’s still a lopsided mess of wood somewhere out there if the wind hasn’t blown it down by now.”

Harper looked at Haven, the tenderness in her expression no longer hidden. “You would’ve fit right in,” she said softly. The story was just one among countless others her father had immortalized in his sketchbook, but it captured so much more—a piece of a life that could have been, a glimpse of the family they both might have known if circumstances had allowed it. At that moment, Harper realized that Haven truly deserved more than just one isolated memory. She deserved the whole story, with all its messy, beautiful details, and its jagged fragments of a life shaped by their father’s steady hand and kind heart.

Harper took a breath.

“Which is why…” She hesitated, feeling the gravity of her next words. “I think you should have the whole thing. To find your place in those memories when you’re ready to.”

The smile that grew on Haven’s face as she listened was wistful, but it was a smile nonetheless. Silent tears framed her cheeks as she looked in Harper’s direction. “That sounds nice.” She began, trying her best not to let her sister know that she was crying. Until the ache in her chest became unbearable. “I’m gonna miss you, Harps… You’ve always been just a set of stairs away.”

She wiped at her tears with the sleeve of Rory’s hoodie, one quiet sniffle giving them away. Harper would be an entire country away by tomorrow. She wasn’t even sure when she’d be able to call her, if she could even reach her beneath the ocean. There were so many uncertainties ahead of them both. Ahead of everyone in their little-found family.

As Haven’s muffled sniffle drifted into the silence, Harper felt a strange warmth stir—a softness, almost like the glow of remembered light. It wasn’t something she saw exactly, but rather something she felt echoing in her mind, like the memory of sunlight through closed eyes. It was there and gone in a heartbeat, dissolving into the stillness between them.

She tucked the feeling away without much thought, telling herself it was just the sense of her sister close by, the familiar comfort of a moment she wished could stretch on forever.

“Yeah…I’ll miss you too.” Harper paused, her hand pressing gently against her own heart.

“But you’ll always be right here, no matter where I end up, Little Dove.”

---