#isla pierce

The blanket she’d thrown down was a little crooked, but Zenobia pretended it was absolutely intentional, fussing with the corners like it was a grand set-up instead of something she’d crammed into her tote last minute. A little basket sat in the middle, half full of sandwiches, fruit, and cookies she’d definitely bought from the café down the street and passed off as her own. “Okay,” she announced with mock seriousness, flopping down onto the blanket and patting the space beside her. “The official verdict is: this is the most Pinterest-worthy picnic you’ll ever attend. Don’t even bother fact-checking me, I’m right.” Her grin was wide, playful, but there was a flicker of nerves in her hands as she smoothed her skirt. She peeked over at Isla, eyes bright in the summer sun. “So, what do you think?” she asked, voice dipping a little softer, almost shy despite the tease. “Lunch date of the century? Or do I need to bribe you with cookies?” @howmcnythings

The bell above the café door chimed just as Zenobia reached for it from the inside. For a second, she thought her brain was doing that thing again. That cruel little habit of stitching memories onto strangers. Then she looked up. Isla. Six months, and somehow she still recognized her before her mind had finished processing the shape of her face. Isla’s smile as Zenobia looked up at her. The way she’d asked her to dance like it mattered. Zenobia stopped so abruptly the to-go coffee she'd just bought sloshed over the rim, the warmth kissing her fingers go unnoticed. The room seemed to narrow around them, conversations fading into the background until all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears. She had imagined this moment more times than she cared to admit. In every version, she'd been better prepared. "Hi." The word came out smaller than she'd intended. She searched Isla's face for something she couldn't even name. Anger. Relief. Indifference. Hurt. Some proof that six months of silence had meant something. Her fingers tightened around the paper cup. "I..." She let out a quiet, self-conscious laugh that carried no real humor. "I've rehearsed running into you about a hundred different ways." A tiny shake of her head. "Turns out none of them included actually seeing you." A silence settled between them, not hostile, just... unbearably full. Zenobia looked down at her coffee for a moment before finding the courage to meet Isla's eyes again. "I owe you an apology." Her voice was steadier now, but only just a little. "I disappeared." No excuses. No I've been busy. No work got hectic. Just the truth they both already knew. "I kept telling myself I was giving you space." Her thumb traced absent circles around the cardboard sleeve. "Then enough time passed that it started feeling... impossible to explain." She swallowed. "I wasn't avoiding you because I didn't want to see you." Her eyes shimmered despite herself. "I was avoiding you because..." The words caught, and for just a second, the practiced composure she'd spent six months rebuilding fractured around the edges. "...because you... you were the person wh-who found me after..." She looked away... Her vision blurred, tears streaking sideways as she turned her face away, a broken sound tearing from her chest. Fireworks thundered somewhere outside while she lay pinned to the floor of her own workplace, shaking, humiliated, terrified in a way that reached past pain... She blinked hard. "I thought if anyone had a reason to walk away..." A small, defeated smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "...it would've been you." When she looked back, there was no performance left. Only honesty. "I've missed you." @howmcnythings

The office smelled wrong. Not sterile anymore—just cold air, copper, and the sour ghost of panic that had soaked into the walls overnight. January 1st had crept in without permission, pale winter light leaking through the blinds like it didn’t want to be here either. The clock hanging slightly off the wall blinked 11:47 p.m. having given up sometime around midnight, its plastic face cracked like everything else. Zenobia hadn’t moved much. She was curled on the floor near the couch now, knees pulled tight to her chest, dress wrinkled and torn at the hem. One shoe lay across the room like it had been flung in anger. Her coat was gone. Her phone rested a few feet away, screen spiderwebbed, lighting up every few minutes with missed calls stacked on missed calls—Isla at the top, the name bright and accusing. There were bruises blooming dark along her inner thighs, arms and jaw, fingerprints written into her skin like proof she hadn’t imagined any of it. Dried blood dotted the tile near her lip, smeared faintly where she must’ve wiped at it hours ago. Her underwear was missing. That fact kept looping, sharp and nauseating, every time her thoughts tried to wander. You should get up, her mind told her distantly. You should lock the door. You should scream. Instead, she stared at nothing, replaying it all on a cruel reel—the sound of the door slamming open, the way her phone flew, the weight, the breath, the voice in her ear—You’re going to regret fighting me. Her body flinched as if it were happening again. The front door wasn’t quite closed. Just cracked. Footsteps echoed faintly outside of it. Zenobia didn’t react. The door pushed open fully this time. Light spilled in. Cold air. A voice—sharp, frantic, breaking. “Zenobia—” She barely registered it. Sound felt underwater now, distant and warped. Her gaze stayed unfocused, fixed somewhere between the couch leg and the broken picture frame on the wall. You missed the ball, a traitorous part of her whispered. You didn’t text her back. You didn’t—“Zenobia!” was said louder, frantically. Something in her finally snapped loose. Her breath hitched, a broken sound tearing out of her chest as her eyes finally focused, really focused—on Isla. “I—” Zenobia tried, voice shredded raw. Nothing came out but a sob. @howmcnythings

Town Hall buzzed with warm laughter and the low hum of conversation, a perfect crescendo building toward the midnight hour. Lights, golden and twinkling, draped across the ceiling, casting soft glows that mingled with the shimmer of sequins and glitter. It was New Year's Eve in Northknot, and Zenobia sat alone near the edge of the dance floor, a flute of champagne cradled in one hand. The bubbles rose lazily, a quiet counterpoint to the rapid thrum of her heart. She had come to unwind, a break from the demands of her life as a therapist, but her mind had wandered instead; back to the therapy office, the sketches on her easel, and the snow-laden streets of her childhood. When the past weighed too heavily, her feet always sought the ice. But tonight, she needed something else. She sighed, tracing her thumb around the glass’s rim, her eyes drifting from couple to couple as they spun, laughed, and held tight to each other. "Someone this pretty shouldn’t be sitting alone," a voice broke through her trance, smooth as velvet and warm as sunlight. "Wanna dance?" Zenobia looked up, her breath catching at the sight of Isla. The bartender she'd met a few months ago stood before her, blue eyes sparkling under the festive lights, hand outstretched in invitation. The corners of Isla’s mouth curved into a confident, almost playful smile. A flicker of surprise danced in Zenobia's eyes, but it melted into something softer, a grin pulling at her lips. She set the glass down with a soft clink, heart skipping a beat as she slipped her hand into Isla’s. "I’d love to," she said, her voice a gentle murmur, but her fingers wrapped tightly with quiet certainty. Their hands fit together easily; as if they'd done this a hundred times before. @howmcnythings

To say Aalis had been on edge lately was an understatement. Since the attack at the wedding, she hadn’t been able to sit still. Her blood boiled; a heat she hadn’t felt in over 300 years and she wasn’t sure how to rein it in. The urge to track down those responsible and end them was all-consuming, but she knew wouldn’t get very far with that yet. In due time, she reminded herself as she headed to meet Isla, another hunter. Maybe Isla would have some advice on how to handle these urges? When she spotted her friend, Aalis forced an anxious smile. "Isla, hey," she greeted, her voice carrying the edge of her tension. "I need some serious help... I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. How do you stay in control when everything in you wants to rip something apart?" @howmcnythings

Zenobia slid onto the bar stool, feeling the day's heaviness settle over her. She looked up at the bartender, recognizing her from the coffee shop, and felt a small sense of relief. “Hi. Isla, right? From the cafe? I'm pretty good with names," she said, sighing as she looked up at the bottles displayed behind the bar. "I need something strong today; whiskey, neat.” She took a deep breath, the day’s weight pressing down on her. “I’m a therapist... and today was particularly rough. I got too close to a client’s trauma and it’s been hard to shake off," she said quietly as she looked at Isla; the familiarity of the bartender’s presence was unexpectedly comforting. “Sometimes, it feels like I’m carrying everyone’s burdens with me. It gets overwhelming... I don’t usually open up like this... I'm sorry. Ignore me. Like I said, rough day.” @howmcnythings

Zenobia often found herself waking up before sunrise. On mornings like these, she liked to sneak in some yoga and hit up a local cafe for tea before going into work. That's how she found herself in the crowded cafe this morning. Already feeling quite zen from her yoga session this morning, she was unfazed by the chaotic environment the cafe was this early morning. She waited in line and when she got to the counter, she ordered herself a honey lavender tea. Once she got her drink, she looked around the crowded space looking for a place to sit. She saw a few open seats but the people sitting next to them looked uninviting. Zenobia approached a woman, who looked friendly enough, sitting alone at a booth and gave her a kind smile. "Hey, is this seat taken?" @howmcnythings