The
young woman stands in her lover's heart; a radiant darkness encircled by a ring
of red flame. It is warm and cool and so
subtle here, in these depths. Like some
imagined promise of peace. Though she
often doesn’t want to leave, she always leaves replenished. She calls the red flame towards her and the
ring of light contracts suddenly like a pulse, close enough to reach out and
pass her hand through fire the colour of blood. She is delighted, at once youthful and ancient
here in the depths of her beloved's heart. And yet she is brazen, openly concealed.
The familiar little ghost enters the ring of
flame. She is clad in a summer dress,
eyes bright with fierce amusement and strange affection. "Hello, Asha."
Asha forces herself to peer instead at the ring of flame that surrounds
them. "Hello, Alice." It feels strange, this new fondness
between them. Delightfully so, but still
unsettling.
"Well, look at you,” the little ghost mutters. “You’ve changed."
Asha allows herself to smile a little. "Things are always changing."
"For all the better in this case, it seems. Our conversations used to be quite...hostile."
"I'm so sorry, Alice. Truly, I am.
I…"
"Hush, feathered one. No need for
constant apologies. You apologize to me
even in your dreams, but there's no need. They were only nightmares, after all.”
"But they were real, weren't they?
Those nightmares?"
"Indeed they were, of a kind. But
you’re far more than him, far more than even yourself. More than a fiction. You’re a thing of light, Asha. We wouldn't be here now if you weren't
finally beginning to understand that."
She chuckles, nodding. "Finally. With her help."
"It’s wonderful, you know. To see
something so human in your eyes again. Boxes
hurt, my dear. And dreams. Sometimes dreams hurt most of all,
right?"
She closes her eyes and nods with mock solemnity. "Right as rain,
lady."
Alice giggles, clearly amused by her response. "Look at you, all humorous and open. It's a good look for you."
Asha keeps her eyes closed. It is still
an unsettling thing to gaze too long into the little ghost's eyes. "Well," she offers quietly,
half-smiling, "I am kind of a stylish bitch, with wings made of snow. Maybe that's why she loves me."
The sound of Alice's laughter. "One
of the many reasons, I’m sure. Diamonds
look very good on your beloved one, if I do say so myself."
She allows herself a wry smile, finally opening her eyes to face the ghost. "You're so intense, Mama."
"Well,
thank you. Mothers always are, I suppose.
I mean, what choice do we have? Honestly?"
Asha nods and looks away again, thinking of the woman she loves. "She's lucky to have you, even if only in
dreams."
"Isn't she just."
They both laugh at that, making brief eye-contact again. Alice's expression is wild and alive with playful
challenge. It's almost too much, almost
too real. Joyful and terrifying all at
once.
"I still can't believe any of this
is really happening. All these visions, all these dreams she shows me. It's wonderful. It's beautiful and heart-breaking, but it's
so overwhelming at times." Asha
forces herself to hold Alice's gaze now, despite how it unsettles her. "All these things. All these big magical things…it's lovely and
frightening and beautiful. But I'm still
just a girl, Alice. I'm still just a
girl trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. It all seems so much bigger than me. And yet, there I am at the heart of it
somehow. Or close to the heart, at
least."
"You’re always close to the heart. It's
right there in all of your artwork, isn't it?"
She smiles sadly. "I hope so."
"This recognition gives you a lot of power, Asha. This fame.
Those lost ones look to you now, whether you like it or not."
"I know. I love them. I want to share my art with them. Keep them brave and strong, and kind."
"All songs?" the little ghost asks gently.
Asha smiles, looking away again. "Yeah, all songs."
"How delightful. I was listening,
you know. When you sang to her that
night. You held my broken daughter in
your arms and offered her mercy in your song that fateful night. I'm still not entirely sure why you did
it. Answer me not as a guilty thing, or
as her mistress, but as yourself. Don't
lie to me."
Asha cannot look at her now.
"Because for all my sins I do remember
softness, and mercy. Because songs are
wonderful and kindness is sweet. I told
you, I'm still just a girl. I'm still
just a girl standing by the sea, in awe. Wanting so desperately for it to love me. And it does, I think. It does love me. And the sky, and the birds and the trees. They all love me in their own wild, strange
ways. If I really were a teacher I'd
want to teach that. A promise of kindness, even in the wild. No more cruelty than is necessary. Those dreams, those big magical dreams...they
sing in my blood. Even those darkest
shadows. He might be a storybook monster,
Alice, but I’m not. I'm still that girl by the river, that quiet
girl among the trees."
The savage play in Alice's eyes has softened now to an almost unbearable tenderness.
Asha forces herself to look away again,
tears in her own eyes.
"What you just said was incredibly beautiful, feathered one. Thank you. I thank you on my daughter's behalf."
Asha shrugs, her smile tired and bittersweet. "I told you, didn’t I? Remember?
I told you I loved her. Even in
death. Even in Hell."
"You hid secrets inside of her secrets."
"Of course I did.”
“Why?
Why grant her such sweet mercy after an eternity of shadows?”
“Because
I love her, Alice. I really do. I always wanted to see her healed, even in that
terrifying darkness we built together. I
always wanted to sing to her, to soothe her.
She sacrificed everything for me.
She loved me, even while we were blind."
"And you sang of real kindness that night.
It changed things. I was
listening."
"You always are. Like mother like
daughter, I guess."
They share another brief smile, the gladdened intimacy of which seems to
unsettle them both. Asha looks away once
again to the ring of fire that encircles them in the blackness. Apart from the little ghost it is the only
thing in the radiant darkness upon which she can focus her attention.
"Your art is beautiful, Asha. I see
why she loves you so."
Asha swallows and nods, wanting to cry but not needing to. It is a strangely liberating feeling. "Thank you, Mama."
"I love that you can call me that now.
That you can honour my daughter in such a gentle, thoughtful way. You’ve both come so far. And to think I once
hated you. Aren't dreams and fictions such
strange things?"
They both chuckle and Asha senses a mother's kiss in the little ghost's eyes. It almost shatters her heart with its earnestness.
The kiss tells her, I forgive everything
if you continue to hold each other with such kindness. I can forgive all that you both were in my
native dream. I can love you like my own,
little teacher, if you would continue to protect her heart like this. Be brave and bright for her.
And Asha weeps at the truth of it.
Indeed, she wonders to herself, what else would a truly kind-hearted mother say
to her daughter's husband?
"How is she? My fierce little angel, my sweet little
writer. How does she seem to you?"
Asha smiles sadly, recalling the familiar
ache of distance and intimacy combined. "She
seems ok, all things considered. A
little sad maybe, kind of tired, but full of wonderful mischief, I think. To be perfectly frank, her passion still blows
my mind. Her insights. She's wild and courteous and it's utterly
intoxicating to a girl like me. I’m
still smitten."
They both laugh, even warmer than before, with gazes held a little longer.
"She would use the same exact words for you, my dear."
"I know."
"You're dancing well together. Making
magic."
Asha smiles. "Hacking algorithms."
"Indeed. You're both getting very
good at it."
"So are the ones paying attention."
"Yes, your new scattered family. It's
lovely. So hopeful and kind and brave. She's proud of you. So proud. I feel her love for you when I connect with
her through those pages. She loves you
so much, Asha. It's breath-taking,
really. To ask nothing of another and
yet to give so much to them. The stuff
of legend, I suspect. The Magi cheer
you."
Asha smiles at the little ghost in the ring of red flame with her. "The Magi? Really?"
"Do you doubt it?"
"No. I don't think I ever really
did. I pay attention. I can hear her taking to me now, through song
and image and implication. I can hear
her talking to the others too. I can
feel her humour, her sense of play. I
think we're changing things. It feels
like good things are coming, finally."
“How does it feel to be a rockstar living inside your own fantasy novel?"
Asha cannot help but laugh out loud, shaking her head. "It's kind of intense, to tell you the
truth. And wonderful. And scary.
But if we can truly help people, and this Earth...then I'm down for
whatever."
Alice grins at her words. "More fun
than just pure demonology, wouldn't you say? Horror is so exhausting, right? But mystery...mystery might be dark, but it’s
endlessly compelling. The difference
between a devil and the deep blue sea, you might say."
Asha looks away, tears in her eyes again. Love is so fucking terrifying, she thinks to
herself. It can come on so quickly, and
suddenly you know.
"I love you, Alice. I'll try to protect
her for you, as best I can. And I'm so
truly sorry about those nightmares we had together. Those boxes and charms, those dark places we
went to. All of us."
"Don't fret, little wing. Love is
grand. As are you, artist. New daughter of mine. And you know, they say diamonds are a girl's
best friend..."
Asha weeps with laughter, humbled and delighted,
full of strange joy. The little ghost finally departs, a mother’s kiss in
her eyes and forgiveness on her lips.
The ring of red flame in her lover's heart
encircles her, protects her, allows her to see and know these things. How kind of her, she thinks to herself. How daring and true the ink in her lover's
pen. Asha will forgive them both a thousand
fictions and nightmares if she can always feel the depths of her lover's character.
A tenderness and passion that might
yet lift them – and others – to comprehension of even greater mysteries. She bids the flame to retreat and immediately
the ring of fire expands like a pulse. She
leaves the radiant darkness, to read and think and reflect. Asha writes and listens to the sounds of birds
and traffic and trees. Asha works and
wonders. Asha sings.
