Dreaming In The Wings

“That one shouldn’t go there.”    You have to muffle a laugh with your hand as the fingers carefully picking at your hair came to a stop. There’s a small sound, just barely audible, soon followed by a soft rustle from the leaves beneath, indicating a shift. You turn your head slightly to see what was going on.     You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from bursting out laughing.    Pernilla was wearing an expression that would have honestly made anyone believe that this was a discussion about something more serious than flowers as her blue eyes met brown, steady and serious.    “Why not? It looks nice.”    Petra met her gaze with the exact same seriousness, the exact same blankness. Not breaking eye contact as her shoulders moved upward in a subtle shrug.     “It does.” She would agree, glancing towards you and frowning when she saw you looking. “Turn back around please.”    “Oh, sorry.” You do as ask, a smile threatening to break out across your face. Not long after feeling fingers gently brush against the spot that Pernilla had been working the flowers into your hair.     “It looks pretty,” You’d hear Petra say, her voice soft, almost mumbled. “But if you put the flower here--”    The finger carefully brushes a little to the left at the back of your head.    “Then we can make a pattern.”     Leaves rustle behind you once more, and out of the corner of your eye, you see strands of blonde brushing over your shoulder as Pernilla leaned forward. Silently analyzing Petra’s suggestion as if it was the most significant thing in the world.    You hear her hum, the strands disappearing from your line of vision. “We can do a zig-zag pattern.”    “Yes.” Petra’s voice picks up a bit, and you smile because you can hear the grin in her voice. “And we can do the sections in different colors.”     As both blondes quietly ramble about color patterns and flower types to one another, you turn around once more to watch them. Pernilla was showing off the whitlow-grass she’d picked, the tip of her little finger tracing the back of one of the white petals. Petra was excitedly pointing at the pink bergfrue’s she’d found, talking about combining the two.    It still amazes you that you’d somehow managed to find similar people, let alone manage to be friends with both of them. But maybe life just worked like that. Threw unexpected things at you and tested how you’d react to them. Apparently, you’d reacted well, because there wasn’t a day you regretted meeting the two blondes.    You’d been friends with Oydis and Jorun since your school days, so you’d been around since Mayhem had first formed. So, you of course ended up meeting Pernilla through them. You’d both been nineteen at the time. At first, you were scared that she already didn’t like you because she’d barely talked to you, but Oydis had assured you that she was just shy around people she didn’t know yet. Looking back, you realize that the Swedish girl being standoffish at first may have been your fault as well. Back then, Pernilla’s behavior had unsettled you. The way she’d seem to just stare off into space while everyone else was talking, how she’d talk about death and how she was dead, when she’d suddenly say something morbid out of nowhere. It’d completely thrown you off, and you’d started to seriously question why the girls had let her into the band in the first place.  

And then you heard her sing for the first time—well, scream rather than sing.    You’d been amazed. You haven’t heard anything like it before. There was something hauntingly beautiful about the way she’d push out each of the lyrics, how she’d growl during certain bits, allowing herself to be completely immersed in the performance. You understood immediately why Oydis had chosen her as the band’s vocalist then and there.     You’d watched the rest of the rehearsal slack jawed, and then when it was over, after working up the confidence, you’d complimented Pernilla. She looked genuinely surprised. But her blue eyes had lit up, and she shyly ducked her head as she mumbled a thank you. You could have sworn that you saw the ends of her lips twitch.    From then on, you’d done better to get to know her and came to just accept that Pernilla was Pernilla. She liked nature, the concept of the afterlife, and was not afraid to go to the extreme in her creative liberties. You’d even gotten into the habit of bringing the deceased animals you’d found on the way to the house to gift them to the blonde because you knew she would love it—something you’d never had imagined yourself doing in a million years. It wasn’t all nice though.    Oydis had warned you about Pernilla harming herself beforehand. So when you finally accidentally walked in on her doing it while you were over at the house one day, you were not surprised. You were severely taken off guard though. You had to stop yourself from yelling, clamping both hands over your mouth. The sound startled Pernilla, and she looked scared at the sight of you, which made you feel worse. Thankfully, Oydis had come running up the stairs the minute she heard the commotion. You had quickly learned how to bandage Pernilla up yourself after that day. You never yelled at her about it, never judged her for it. It was not your place to. Hell, you could name all the questionable things you’d done to make you feel better when you were in pain. You just silently let her know you were there for her and had gotten used to the same song and dance ever since. Nowadays, Pernilla would come to you directly when she hurt herself if you were around. Not all the time. But it was enough to make you feel grateful that she trusted you enough to do so.     You were so used to the strange by then that meeting Petra just felt like something weirdly normal.    You’d saw her when you were walking by the train station, looking lost and out of place. Duffel bag slung over her shoulder, brown eyes warily following the people that pasted by, mouth opening, then closing. Like she was trying to work up the courage to ask someone for help and kept failing. You walked over and asked if she was okay. Petra had startled, not expecting someone to approach her. Hesitating a moment before shyly explaining that she’d just come from Sweden and that she wasn’t sure where to go. You took pity on her and the two of you had ended up at a coffee shop. Petra wasn’t very talkative at first, glancing between you and the Boller you’d gotten her, chewing slowly. You didn’t press her to, both feeling a bit of a mix of protectiveness and on edge because of how much she was already reminding you of Pernilla. Eventually, she would explain that she came here in the hopes of joining or creating a black metal band. It was her dream, she’d quietly confess to you.  

From then on, when you weren’t hanging out with the girls or anyone else in your friend group, you were spending time with Petra. To both make sure that she was settling in alright and because you were intrigued by her. You’d often go on walks through the trails nearby together, Petra softly talking about Sweden and the types of music she liked. Perking up every time she learned that you liked something she liked.    Each passing day, you really wanted to introduce her to your friends, but you held off for a bit because you didn’t want to overwhelm her. You finally had your opportunity when Mayhem hosted one of their house parties once more.    You knew when they’d officially met, they would freak each other out. But it seemed that they had freaked each other out in a good way. You should have known it would happen. Because soon after, the two were sat clumsily on chairs in a quiet corner, wide eyed and rambling about Transylvania and death. You are certain that it was the first time you saw Pernilla open up to someone so quickly.     Oydis was more freaked out than either you or Pernilla were, honestly. Though you suppose that should have been expected as well.  After all, it wasn’t everyday you found someone almost identical to the vocalist of your band. Initially, she seemed amused by herself. Treated it as something to be added to the image the band wanted to present.    “We can say Perri went to the grave and brought a copy of herself back with her!” She’d joked.    Her tune soon changed the night Petra showed up, drenched in rain. Blood is running down her arms.    You’d known. You’d catch sight of the scars on her arms whenever of her sleeves hitched up, when she raised her arms above her head or when she reached for something sometimes. You never tried to talk to her about it because you didn’t know how she’d react.