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It comes with a photo snapped in the poor lighting of a smokey night club.
But Icy recognizes it. She’d know that club anywhere.
Her grip tightens around her phone, hand shaking with hatred that she is pleasantly surprised to feel in full.
They’d been there so many times.
A favorite haunt of sorts.
There are three people in the photo with Bloom at the forefront flashing her a wink and a peace sign not unlike the one that she had given during their should have been final battle. Leaning on her left shoulder sticking her tongue out, Stormy extends one middle finger. Off to the right and partially off camera, Darcy frowns in her general direction, arms crossed.
The smoke laps at them and strobe lights hang suspended in a shade of red, pointed mostly away from the camera to ensure the worst, most grainy photo quality possible.
The next text comes as a video.
There is a song in the background whose lyrics are deliberately drawn out and dramatically enunciated over a repetitive rhythm played on a moody guitar. And the smoke swirls as Bloom and Stormy dance. As Darcy sneers but reluctantly gives a small twirl of her own. Darcy was never much of a dancer. Never, in spite of her affinity for nocturnal affairs, liked night clubs. They are too noisy, too crowded, and the light bothers her sensitive eyes. But she’d always tagged along.
At 12:04 the third text comes in; ‘I think that your friends like me.’
Thirty seconds into 12:05, comes the fourth. ‘We’re having fun without you. Everybody does.’
At 12:06 Icy chucks her phone across the room and startles Mirta awake.
“What’s going on?”
Icy rolls onto her side and folds her arms across her chest. “I dropped my phone. I’ll pick it up in the morning.”
It lights up all night.
Even when she closes her eyes.
Even when she falls back asleep.
Photo after photo of a party she didn’t attend.
A party that would look better if she printed them, cut Bloom’s image out and replaced them with much older images of herself from much better parties.
Photo after photo of a party she wants to attend.
Until Bloom starts to look strangely in place, like she always belonged there. Like she fits in better than Icy ever had in her pastels and shades of winter.
Icy deletes them one after another, leaving ample time to wonder how she’ll assimilate.
Wondering if she wants to knowing how quickly they’d replaced her with the enemy.
Wondering how Bloom will fit back in with the Winx.
Wondering if they’d want her back after seeing all of her recent social media posts.
The ones that say hateful things like; ‘I can’t believe that I used to hang out with that slut, Stella, she’s so trashy’ and ‘If Tecna’s so smart, why can’t that nerd figure out how to talk to other humans like a human?’
“You okay?” Mirta asks.
Icy wave her hand. “Fine.” As far as she can be when she has daily injections and pricks to look forward to until her magic wants to cooperate. As far as she can be with her shoulders still throbbing and her malformed wings still aching. As far as she can be watching Darcy and Stormy grow closer to Bloom and further from her. As far as she can be listening to Alice and Silicya jabber on and on.
‘Fine’, of course, is a statement of dismissal. A conversation ender.
“The Winx girls invited me to go camping with them.” Mirta mentions.
“Congradulations?”
“If you’re feeling okay, maybe you can come with us.”
“I can’t imagine that I’ll be welcomed company.”
“If you’re going to help them fight Darkar, you’re going to have to get them to warm up to you eventually.”
“I am not warm. I don’t want people to be warm in my general direction.”
“You know what I mean.”
She does.
But she is still going to be pointedly obtuse about it.
“Well then you’ll have to cool their anger.”
Stripped of that tactic she declares, “I don’t like camping. Especially not in the springtime. It’s too warm and there are bugs all over the place.” Not that she can’t use her powers to fashion herself a frosty little bubble of her own. She swallows; she can’t use her powers. Not very well.
“If Bloom can get Darcy and Stormy to work with her, you can get the Winx to work with you. They’re a lot more welcoming.”
And a lot less trusting.
The Trix are stupid. Naive.
She is stupid and naive; like petty little poltergeists, they’d latched onto the first dark entity that paid them any attention. And he exploited them. Exploited her.
The Winx wouldn’t make that mistake.
“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, thrilled that people here treat me how we treated you at Cloud Tower?” She tugs one of her boots on and ignores the pinch that comes with stretching the skin of her shoulders while reaching.
“I kind of wanted to be.” Mirta confesses. “I think that, maybe, for a second I thought it was satisfying. But I guess that I’m just not that kind of person.”
“They’re hypocritical." Icy comments plainly. “Faeries. At least witches don’t pretend like we aren’t petty and ruthless.”
“There are mean people everywhere.” Mirta shugs. “Not all faeries are nice and not all witches are evil.” Icy has to respect the bluntness with which she adds, “most faeries are mad at you though. Alice helped fend off the Army of Decay last year and almost died doing so.” She pauses to step into her closet and swap her pajamas for day clothes. “If you’re going to get anywhere with helping yourself and Bloom, you have to put in some kind of effort to make friends because you can’t do this alone. Come on the camping trip with us.”
Icy eyes the suitcase that Mirta had already packed for her with great scrutiny and skepticism.
.oOo.
Musa pops another soda can open and passes one to Layla who hands it off to Tenca who gives it to Stella who passes it to Flora and then Flora passes it to Mirta. And then the can is extended to her. Cream soda. Not her first or even fifth choice. She takes the can anyways just to have something to busy herself with. Something other than pretending to listen to and care about the campfire conversations as she swats at mosquitoes. She wishes that there were more spiders crawling about to busy herself with, she’d let them dangle from her fingertips and crawl up her arms…
“Does anyone want a second can?”
“Let us finish the first, geez!” Stella exclaims.
“I already have!” Musa declares.
“H-how?”
Musa crushes the can and picks up another. And Layla starts chanting, urging her to “chug, chug, chug.” Mirta’s face is flushed a vivid scarlett on behalf of her friends. Musa finishes the second can and chucks it behind her with victorious heedlessness. Her prize? A decent lecture from Flora about not throwing trash around the forest. Icy takes a sip of her own soda. The carbonation burns her tongue and fizzles unpleasantly down her esophagus and she remembers why she stopped drinking soda.
“Hey, where are the marshmallows at?” Stella asks.
“Shouldn’t we find sticks to put them on first?” Tecna points out. And the girls are scampering about, scouring the ground for said sticks. Nobody looks back to see if she has gotten up to follow to make her own half-hearted effort to find a stick.
“Found one!” Musa declares.
“Great, now find five more.” Replies Stella.
It’s alright, Icy is perfectly capable of finding her own stick should she care to put a real effort in.
She doesn’t.
Not particularly.
She doesn’t really like marshmallows anyhow; they get in her teeth and make her fingers sticky. The texture is rather disgusting too and the taste doesn’t make up for it especially if the marshmallow has bathed in smoke before reaching her mouth.
The Winx girls disappear a little deeper into the forest and she returns to her spot.
She still hasn’t come by any spiders.
.oOo.
She is glad that they picked a spot by the lake.
Gladder still that the lake has a small island at its center to swim to.
And she does. Her arms are sore by the end of it, probably won’t have enough energy to get herself back to the mainland.
It’s fine.
It’s quiet here. Mostly.
In the near distance, beneath the thrum of a bass beneath a rap beat, she can hear them laughing and giggling. She thinks that they probably haven’t realized that she isn’t there. Probably wouldn’t care any more than Darcy and Stormy do if they did notice. She hears the pop and crack of another soda can opening and a shout and roaring laughs. She wonders who the soda had spilled on.
Something in her aches.
So that’s friendship…
It’s fine.
She can sleep here.
She wants to be alone anyways. Probably.
She tries to recall a time when she, Darcy, and Stormy laughed at each other like that.
She cannot.
They laugh at each other, sure. But it is never lighthearted and they always end up genuinely pissed at one another instead of playfully so. She thinks harder. Had there ever been a time when they could laugh at each other without a hint of malice? She thinks of the festival just to find that the memory is tainted. Stained by association.
She can’t recall any other. When was the last time they sat at a cafe discussing life and kick ass music instead of heinous plots? When was the last time they watched shitty, campy black and white horror movies? When was the last time that they functioned as a clique of friends and the first that they functioned as nothing more than a trio with common goals?
Then again the three of them never called each other friends, scoffed at the concept of it.
It’s fine.
She climbs to the tree to the third branch from the top.
It’s quite pleasant up here.
It smells of resin. There is a chill.
A chill that rustles the leaves. Rattles the branches.
Icy leans back against the trunk, lets splinters of wood nip at her back between her shoulder blades. And she looks up at the stars. There are a lot of them out there tonight, unobstructed by clouds. She closes her eyes and listens to a howl of delight from the mainland. “I caught one!” Layla shouts. Icy sees fireflies too, they land on her shoulders and crawl in her hair. She can’t be bothered to brush them away. And so Icy, in shifting spots, glows.
It’s fine.
She doesn’t want to share the moment anyhow.
She doesn’t care about these sorts of things.
Does she?
She likes the solitude.
Right?
She looks down. The fire is still blazing on the mainland. It is, in fact, much bigger than when the night had started. She wonders if the girls think of Bloom when they glance at it for just a little too long. Wonders if it hurts.
Icy thinks of Bloom.
Thinks of a string of texts and a few photos.
We’re having fun without you. Everybody does.
On the mainland a firework bursts and Mirta and the Winx laugh, clap, and cheer.
We’re having fun without you. Everybody does.
Somewhere in Magix Stormy is introducing Bloom to a moshpit.
I'm so happy that we chose warriorix for the challenge, because when it was first created, I saw and thought, "wow, I definitely have to draw them all." This is the case when I liked all the designs in general and it was really difficult to choose, and in addition to the main six, there is also a Diaspro design... In short, I chose Aisha because her design reminded me of amphibian clothes from Perfect World🌊
Design by choco__fish (inst) butterflix_tynix6 (inst) exzobion (inst)
Check out artworks of other artists who are participating in this challenge on instagram
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Follow the link on my bio to read chapter 4! 😊♥️ Thank you everyone who has supported this comic and thank you for your kind words! ♥️🙏 I appreciate them all!
