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Isha’s memories of her early childhood were fuzzy, but happy. Her parents were miners, though their names faded from her mind. They were merely an echo, soft impressions they left on her life. She remembers her mothers laugh the most, a sound like that of a windchime, soft and melodical. Her father’s hands were gentle, a guiding force to introduce her to life, the tools used to teach her to communicate. They worked long hours, but would always come back home, her father sweeping her into his arms, her mother’s voice filling the room as she sang Isha familiar songs. Isha wishes she could remember the tune, the words, but they’ve all faded into a hazy blur now.
One day, they never came home. And that was that. Isha learnt to adapt. She was quite young, but her parents had raised her smart. They raised her to survive. She doesn’t know how long she was alone, didn’t know how many years were lost to that cold, dark time. But when she met Jinx, she finally had family again. She finally felt safe.
Now, with every morning she wakes she knows more and more of Jinx is fading from her memory. How long until there’s nothing at all?
Vi and Caitlyn were lovely. Incredible, really. She trusts Vi, and Vi trusts Caitlyn, so Isha does too. Caitlyn’s house is nice. Too big, but efforts have been made to make it cozy nonetheless. Wandering too far down the house leads to drafty, untouched hallways that make her skin crawl. But sticking to familiar paths are comforting, her bedroom is cozy, as well as the lounge, Caitlyn and Vi’s room, Caitlyn’s study, and the kitchen. All the rooms they touch. She likes the house best in the early evening, as the sun is setting. A shared sense of peace, comfort as the day winds down.
Often, Isha wonders what Jinx would do if she were here. It helps keep her memory alive. She thinks she’d probably make fun of Caitlyn’s house. If Jinx were here, they certainly wouldn’t be living here. She didn’t like Piltover, didn’t like their stupid, big houses. She’d probably knock the expensive throw pillows off the couch, use the walls as her canvas. Isha thinks about doing all those things, but she does none of them. There’s no point if Jinx won’t be standing a few metres away, beaming with pride.
It’s not Jinx’s fault that she died. But Isha is still incredibly angry about it. It was supposed to be the two of them against the world, but then Jinx had to ruin that. How is that fair? What was she supposed to do? How has it already been two years?
The door creaks open, flooding the room with light. Vi stands in the door, mug in hand.
“Morning,” she says, placing a mug of hot cocoa in Isha’s hands, analysing her face. “You okay?”
Isha sips the hot cocoa, if only to ensure her hands are busy and she doesn’t have to respond just yet.
‘Do you remember your parents?’ Isha asks, eventually.
Vi sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed, “In fragments. I remember mum’s smell the most, though you heard me and Jinx have this conversation. Dad’s vaguer, but I can’t help but think of him every time it storms. There must be some memory there that I just can’t reach. Vander is clearer. I can still hear his voice, his laugh. Even though it’s been years, sometimes I still think he’s going to be there at home, waiting for me.”
‘Do you miss them?’
‘Every day.’
Isha’s hands are slow as she responds, nervous to hear the answer to her question, ‘Does it ever stop?’
‘No.’ Vi signs simply, before speaking a few moments later, “It doesn’t. It becomes easier, sure, but it sticks with you forever. The love you felt for them never leaves.”
‘Do you miss her?’ Isha asks, tears dripping down her eyes.
Vi reaches out to wipe her tears, hands shaky as she does, “With every breath.”
‘I’m scared I’m gonna forget about her.’
Vi lets out a strangled noise, running her hand through her hair before turning to ask, ‘What brought this on?’
Isha shrugs a non-committal response, but Vi seems to understand, beginning to speak, “You might forget some stuff, honestly. It’s natural. But you're never gonna forget the love you had for her, or the love she gave you. That stuff sticks with you forever, and at the end of the day, that’s what matters the most.”
Vi lets out this strange noise, like an animal whine, before taking a deep breath and steeling herself to speak, “You might forget physical aspects, but you’ll never forget the love you had for her, or the love she had for you. And that’s what matters the most, yeah?”
Isha turns that over in her head for a while, absently fidgeting with the hem of her blanket. She doesn’t want to forget anything about Jinx at all. She wants to commit to memory the way she stood, the touch of her hands, the sound of her laughter. She doesn’t want to forget the bleary-eyed look she got in the morning, or the way her teeth would grab her lips as she was lost in thought. She doesn’t want to forget the way she hugged her, holding her close like she mattered more than anything in the world. She can’t even bear to lose her anger, terrifying and scary, but powerful and protective.
‘What if I lose it all?’
She thinks of her hair, long since faded into her natural brown. She wanted nothing more than to go back to blue, but she didn’t want anyone dying her hair other than Jinx. That was their thing. Still, she didn’t look like Jinx’s kid anymore. Didn’t have the mark that signified their connection.
“Even if you forget details, the mark that she left on your life will remain. You have some of her mannerisms, you know? You get the same look on your face when you're scoping things out, and you have her smile. Honestly, you remind me so much of her that sometimes it hurts.”
‘What about when I grow up?’ Isha asks, ‘Will I still be like her?’
‘In some ways,’ Vi replies with a shrug, “But you’ll be you, too. Don’t let yourself disappear in the act of trying to be someone else.”
Isha blinks at that, turning over the possibilities in her head. What was she if not a mini-Jinx? In her shadow, she could be a fighter, a rebel, respected and cared for. Without the blue to shield her, who was she supposed to be? Would anyone even care for her, if she was not Jinx’s kid. Before that, she was just another kid dwindling their life away on the streets of Zaun. Only with Jinx, was she made to matter.
‘What if I don’t want to be me?’
‘You have to.’ Vi responds, ‘It’s who you are. We all love you very much, and we don’t want you to spend your life pretending to be someone else.’
‘But…’ Isha pauses, trying to figure out how to properly communicate her thoughts, ‘What if I don’t know who I am yet?’
‘Nobody does,’ Vi replies, hands slow like she does when she wants to drive home what she’s saying, ‘Especially not at your age. That’s the point of life, to figure it out.’
‘Do you think Jinx will still love me, even if what I am turns out different?’
“Yes,” Vi speaks, her hands busy cupping Isha’s face, sending flows of warmth into her, “She would, and so would I. Unconditionally.”
Isha decides to accept that, pulling Vi in for a hug, soaking in her comforting warmth. She didn’t hug quite like Jinx, but her arms were still a safe place to rest. With her, Isha was loved, safe, protected and cared for. Vi loved Isha, and Isha loved her back.
Eventually, Vi pulled away, a suspicious grin on her lips, “I think Cait just got back home. She’s got a gift for you, wanna check it out?”
Isha blinks, ‘It’s not my birthday.’
Around two months ago now, she celebrated her second birthday in years, since she picked one with Caitlyn and Vi. She was twelve now, and Caitlyn and Vi had already showered her with gifts then.
“I know, but we took a recommendation. I think you’ll like it.”
Before Isha could even begin to decipher what that meant, Vi was offering the cane towards her, and Isha rolled her eyes before shakily standing. The first steps in the morning were always the worst, like her own body forgetting everytime that her leg was mangled, trying to stand as usual. She wonders if her leg will ever start to feel normal, if it’ll just be another everpresent loss.
Caitlyn was in the living room, beaming at them from behind a box. She placed it down on the counter, waving a hand excitedly as she encouraged Isha to open it.
Inside the box was a light green sewing machine. In her art class, they had just finished a textiles unit. Her teacher, Josie, had told her she had a lot of potential, and that she shouldn’t waste it. Clearly, she had known that Isha was planning on wasting it, as she had snitched to Caitlyn and Vi.
When Isha glances up in confusion, Caitlyn speaks, “Your teacher, Josie pulled us aside, she said you're incredibly talented. Even offered to give you further tuition yourself.”
“You liked textiles, didn’t you?” Vi adds, “I remember you telling me about it.”
‘This must’ve been expensive.’ Isha signs, uncertain.
Vi waves it off immediately, chest puffing with pride as she says, “You’re just a kid. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Before Isha can even lift her hands to argue, Vi is speaking again, predicting her argument before it’s even begun, “Nope. We're the adults here, and we’ve given you this gift because we believe in you, okay?”
‘Okay.’
The sewing machine is admittedly, really cool. There was even a couple bits of fabric Caitlyn had picked out at the store, along with an offer to take Isha whenever she wants, to get more. Isha had liked sewing, having made a pencil case in her class. With her own machine, personalised lessons, what more could she make? She could make clothes of her own design! Excitement flickered in her chest. She was never particularly good at tinkering, not like Jinx, wasn’t any better at fighting, not like Vi was. But maybe this was something she could be good at. Something she could do to figure out who she is.
‘Thank you.’ Isha signs, unable to properly communicate what she’s thinking, but hoping they get the idea.
They do, and before she knows it, she’s being pulled between the two women into a hug. Vi presses her hand on her head, holding her close like she’s precious, and Caitlyn rubs her hands soothingly against her back. In her arms like this, she’s treasured and safe. Despite it all, they’re her family. They might have been brought together by happenstance, tied to one another by the throes of grief, but together they made a family. A weird, complicated one, but a good one nonetheless.