i'm so cold, i'm so grown, i'm so real life i'm so show-off my diamonds designed to twinkle and bleed light

she thinks about before, when they were nothing but stories yet to be told, and things were different, and she was still learning. she remembers the way the candles burned, shadows dancing across the walls in the summer gloom, and they all crowded around, scabbed knees and fingers tingling with the promise of magic, and they listened.

“you will always be more powerful at night,” they were told, and a dozen eyes started twinkling in the june gloom. “nothing’s ever certain then. you could do anything,”

“could you bring someone back to life?” asked one girl, and the old woman they all called grandmother nodded, smiling at the murmurs that erupted.

“or you could kill them,” she added, and the children fell silent again. the thought had never entered their minds, and an odd look came over the elderly woman’s face as she folded her hands in her lap.

“when i say anything, i mean anything. you could make someone’s dreams come true, or you could break their heart, or give life, or take it. you could even make a mouse into a man, if you wanted. there are no boundaries at this time of day, and your magic is yours to use as you please. it’s up to you what you do with it. but before i teach you how to use it, you all must promise me something,”

“anything!” they declared in unison, each child fighting to sit up straightest and look the most interested, the most determined.

“use it for good,” and they had all said yes, we will, of course we will, how could we ever use it for anything else?

are you proud of me, grandmother? emilia thinks, looking down at her hands. would you be proud of me if you knew all the people i’ve killed and cursed and worse?

it’s the lights burning in minnie’s windows that remind her of that night in the woods, a dozen candles to make up for the december blackout. a blizzard has knocked out power all over the city while she’s been away but even now, even at midnight, this place looks like a home away from home, and she thinks, this is what they meant when they told us about liminal spaces. this is a place where anything can happen. this is a place where magic lives.

she tracks snow in when she enters, through the back door, and it quickly starts to melt off her boots and onto the floor. the kitchen is warm, cosy, homey, and there’s a dark haired woman humming to herself over a kettle and all of a sudden emilia’s breath is caught in her throat. it’s been almost eight months since she’s been here. are you proud of me? she thinks again, as minnie turns and sees her, and the cup she was holding shatters on the floor.

“emilia!” in a moment, minnie has her arms around her, the top of her head pressing against her chin, and emilia returns the gesture with her eyes shut tight, breathing deeply. minnie smells like peppermint, and she smells like ashes, and she can feel her eyes start to burn. she’s missed this. she’s missed her. she plants a quick, quiet kiss on the top of her head, and then minnie pulls back, eyes shining with hope, and she asks, “did you find anything?” and emilia doesn’t meet her eyes.

she found a lot, when she went back, to where they were before. she didn’t think it was possible, really, but she had promised minnie, so of course, of course, she’d found a way for her, and she’d walked into the past, and all of its ruins, and the temptation to lie and say no was overwhelming. it would be for the best, really, but she can’t move the words from her mouth.

“emilia?” minnie’s prompting is gentle but she can see, in her eyes, the spark of hope being replaced with worry, and she turns away, heading towards the sitting room, feeling minnie hot on her heels, and she can feel a lead weight in her chest, sinking fast, and she thinks it might be her heart.

“i went home,” she tells her as she sinks down onto one of the chairs, and then she stops, because she doesn’t know what else to say. does she tell her about how the place they called home still, barely, exists? how there’s nothing but smoke and ash and the smell of scorched earth, and lost happiness, and memories at every turn? because there were so many memories, so many that not even she could run away from them, no matter how many times she changed her face, from jekyll to hyde and back, again and again and again. there was the little girl she had been, tangled hair and crooked teeth and unlimited potential, and at the next turn there had been her when she still thought she could help, before she ran, before she fell into the dark, and then there was her as she was, spiteful and angry and filled with curses, and then who she had tried to be, ready to atone, ready to help, but she had still been so angry, so quick to hurt and hurt others in turn, but she had tried, hadn’t she? she had tried to start again, a new heart, a new her, a new world, even, and even that hadn’t been enough, no matter how hard she tried, because she couldn’t save their home, she couldn’t even save them as they were, couldn’t fix anything, and she looks down at her hands again, scarred and calloused and humming with power, and what good was it, if she can’t fix it all? what good was she, if she can’t make herself better, if she can’t make it better for all of them?

“emilia.”

minnie’s voice breaks into her thoughts, gentle and scared, and emilia reaches into her pocket, passing over a small grey parcel without a word. minnie unwraps it, finding it’s not paper, as she expected, but gloves, ripped and torn, and in the centre of it lies a small gold band, inset not with precious stones but with a carving in the shape of mouse ears, and emilia can almost feel it when minnie’s heart stops in her chest.

“emilia,” she asks, and she can hear the tremble in the other woman’s voice, the hope, the pain, the fear. “where is my husband?”

“Aww, Minnie! Thank you!”