Art Stuff and Things

Char knocked on the door once. Twice. Three times. And finally from within, a woman’s voice decreed the door open. The door obliged, and Char stepped through.

“Hello, Charlotte.” Y’shtola closed the tome she had been browsing with a puff of dust. “I have been expecting you.”

Of course she had. Y’shtola knew EVERYTHING. Char tried to find the bravery that she had latched onto en route to the conversation, but stumbled over her words and settled on “H-hi.”

“You have a question to ask me, yes?”

The older woman certainly did not beat around the bush. “Y-y-yes,” Char stuttered. Then with more confidence, she repeated, “Yes. There is something I wish to speak to you about.”

Y’shtola’s milky white eyes traced Char’s frame. “You’ve changed your hair.”

She had indeed. Saoirse hadn’t seen it yet, thank god. She would lose her mind that they no longer had perfect matching waves that draped down to their butts. They no longer looked the same. Char liked it. Every time she looked at Saoirse, she saw herself—and she hated seeing herself.

“It suits you.” Y’shtola stood up and crossed around to perch on the edge of her desk. “Sit. Let us talk. I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Char did as she was told. “It does suit me,” she answered quietly. “My hair. For the first time.” And it truly did. For the first time in her life, Char had begun to—

“You want to know why I told your mother she was having a boy and a girl, and not two girls.” It was not a question.

Char nodded vigorously. She wanted to hear the witch say it. She needed to hear it.

“Most viera are girls, it’s true. But I can see deeper. I see you, who you really are. You were never a girl, my love.”

The words cut into Char so abruptly that she burst into a flood of tears. “Why would you never say?”

“It was never my place to say. But you’re no longer a teen, and it’s time for you to declare who you really are.”

“And who is that?” Char reached up automatically to twirl her long hair before remembering it was no longer present, that she’d chopped it all off with a savagery born of years of being someone she wasn’t.

“I can only say what I see, child. The rest is up to you.” Y’shtola draped a light hand on Char’s shoulder. “I believe you know the answer. Perhaps you are afraid to say?”

Char thought over her childhood. Holding hands with her sister. Braiding each others hair. Hunting smocks and dresses instead of pants. So much pink, both intentional and not. Saoirse loved pink.

Char never had.

“I…am male.” Char had never uttered those words before, in writing or in speech, but they were the truest thing he had ever said. “I’m male.”

The witch smiled, drawing the boy in for a long hug. “I am proud of you, child. And honored you chose me to be the first to tell.”

Y’shtola really did know everything.

“What do I do now?” Char drew his legs underneath him in a crossed knot. “Where do I go from here?”

“Only you can answer that.”

“But what do you SEE.”

Y’shtola turned her blank but full gaze first to the ceiling, then to the boy. “You can go home. You’ve been there, visited. Many times. They would accept you with open arms.”

The witch did not mean home with his parents. His sister. The witch meant….”The wood.”

“You belong there.” With a swish of her skirt, Y’shtola returned to the other side of the desk and sank back into her chair. “But. You must see your sister before you go.”

He did not want that. He did not want that at all. It would be better for them both if he just left. And the people of Celestria Wood didn’t treat men as poorly as they’d used to. It would be okay. Fine. All of it. “I will just go. No one here will miss me.”

“That is your choice, child, but know it is the wrong one. They will miss you. Deeply.”

Char got to his feet then and made for the door.

“Char?”

The witch’s voice ground him to a halt. “Yes?”

“You will be the one to bring them all back together. You need to know that. It is of utmost importance.” With that, Y’shtola opened her tome again and ended their conversation as suddenly as she’d began it.

Char stepped out into the night and headed into the trees. There was one particular spot where the aether was strongest and a portal could be opened. A portal in the aether to take him to the wood. He needed nothing from here. Not the clothes or the books, not anything else he had spent his entire life sharing with his sister.

Though he did wish to see his mother, Alannah, one last time. But he knew this was for the best. Just like Alannah had fled to give herself a better life as a teen, so too would Char. It didn’t mean anyone had done anything wrong, just that it would serve the person Char would become better to be in another locale. But with a glance back, a dream that his mother might appear, it occurred to him he could leave a note, however brief. He kept it simple, just a few words, and stuck it to the tree by where he always tuned into the aether. The place he had first opened a portal with his mother and sister, and visited the wood.

*It’s not your fault. I’ll see you again, someday. The witch knows.*

The magical words glistened on their parchment. With that, Char held out his hand and connected to the aether.

“Char! Char, wait!”

The connection flickered, and Char dropped his palm and spun around.

Saoirse sprinted toward him. “Wait for me!” She arrived in front of her brother, spent and out of breath, and bent to clutch her knees. “You move so fast!”

Char had no words.

Saoirse straighted then, took in Char’s new appearance. “You. Cut your hair.”

“Yes. I did.”

Tears glistened in Saoirse’s eyes, held back by a strength Char had always both admired and desired. “We don’t look the same anymore.”

“We were never the same,” Char whispered, his fingers itching to reopen the portal and escape into the aether, thereby avoiding this uncomfortable conversation.

“The witch told me you were leaving.”

Of course. Of course she had.

“She told me it was important I be here. And I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe you’d actually—“

Behind Char, the aether opened again of its own volition, a portal born from Char’s deepest desires. “I want to go home.”

“You ARE home.”

“I never belonged here.” Char turned to face the portal, ready to venture into his version of eternity, and then glanced back to his sister.

“You are the heir to all of Doma!” Saoirse’s ears flickered uncertainly, because she knew the words she uttered were not true, in the same way that Char knew it was best they spent some time apart. Not as twins. As individuals.

“Sister.” Char turned back to her. “That was always you.”

They had both known this all along, though they’ve never spoken it out loud. For the task at hand as the heir of Doma, Saoirse was the stronger twin. She may have been only a few minutes older, but she was so much more at ease in this world. She was happy. And Char had to go where he could be the same.

Saoirse reached out suddenly and clasped his hand. “Wait, brother, wait for me. I’m coming too.”

So she had known, who he was. And he loved her for that. But all Char could do was shake his head, shake her hand off, before stepping into the aether’s light. There were no words to make it better for his sister. This was journey that, for the first time in his life, he would take on his own.

Char absorbed the pain of Saoirse’s sobs as the aether surrounded him. He did not look back, could not look back. He could not change his mind.

And he knew it was not goodbye. It was merely see you later.

A long, difficult night has come to an end. Ricmorn and Hien speak in private, while Silva has a visitor in her dreams.

Comfort and safety.

» Link to Chapter 19

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