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For years, AJ professed that her favorite flowers were wither roses. Woody, ashen stems with spine-like thorns to lance her skin and bring her blood to the surface. Fragile, black petals that left her feeling numb and deadened at the lightest touch. Roots that bore through the earth without sympathy, exhausting the soil of whatever nutrients they could get—regardless of how it drained the surrounding flora of its vitality. AJ liked that wither roses were selfish, they took what they needed to survive and they left the rest to die without apology.
To remind herself, AJ had gotten a tattoo when she was eighteen: a wither rose rooted to her hip, unraveling inky vines across the plane of her stomach to constrict around her rib cage. Its dark thorns cut through the layers of her fair skin, piercing and staining, while flowers dripping with pitch bloomed like dark stars. She needed the reminder because it had always been a lie.
Wither roses smelled to her of acrid smoke, of burning buildings and flesh on a pyre. Their miasma was familiar to her, like the fallout of the world she'd left in her wake.
AJ did not love wither roses. She had grown fond of them over time, through exposure and simply wanting to believe she could love them, but their macabrity had only ever appealed to the most broken parts of her. The parts that too often seemed to define her now—the ones she didn't like to inspect too closely. They brought to mind only the worst in life. Most days, that was all she deserved to be reminded of.
But there were nights, special ones few and far between, AJ brooked that she might deserve something different. She spent those moments in a pasture of memories. They were green and herbaceous, scented with a sugar like rosy apples and honey-sweet undertones. Those seconds smelled of marigolds.
When she pictured her favorite flowers, AJ never imagined wither roses. She always thought of ruffled petals bathed in gold and orange, of flowers erupting from the soil in tiny, indelible bursts of sunlight. She thought of marigolds.
When she was…happiest—when she felt the most like who she used to be, when she felt the courage to finally acknowledge who she wished she could be—AJ found herself back in the flower fields. Aureate blossoms grew in organized rows, stretching from the edges of her vision out to the end of the horizon in a spiraling pattern. They grew in untidy, disorderly lines with their pinnate leaves and tangerine heads stretching over the neat borders. They brushed against AJ's calves as she walked, traces of their pollen catching on the hair of her legs.
AJ traveled the radius of the fields, searching for the towering sycamore at the center of the spiral. She had grown up around this tree, running in rings around it. She'd spent countless, brooding afternoons of her youth climbing up its branches as if it were a ladder, tucking herself away in a forgotten bend with a new book. She had passed evenings and nights under its boughs with friends, wasting away what little free time they had with each other. Those friends were long gone now.
At the base of the sycamore, Drift sat with her back to the trunk, her head resting against its motley silver and brown bark. Awash in the low light of the setting sun, she appeared softer. The hard lines the Academy had etched into her from months of pressure and anxiety were alleviated until all that remained were the creases that appeared in the corners of her mouth as she smiled. A flutter of black wings alerted AJ to why she smiled: Flick perched on her knee, skittering up and down her crossed legs animatedly. AJ knew Drift was learning to interpret Flick's mannerisms, but she wasn't sure if Drift could understand Flick entirely yet. Perhaps it didn't matter. Flick still puffed up their chest proudly when Drift threw her head back and laughed at their antics anyway. AJ wished she could immortalize the sound.
As though she could sense AJ watching her, Drift turned her gaze to her and grinned. Brassy gold on bitter, espresso brown. AJ's heart swelled and drummed against her breastbone as she approached.
Flick took off, flapping to land on AJ's crooked fingers. They cawed once, beady eyes glittering through the holes of their bone mask. She raked a gentle nail through the plumage under their beak.
Of all the things she regretted, taking care of Flick had always been the one that weighed on AJ the most. She'd never understood why such an intelligent creature had elected to become her companion. AJ had often wondered if the way she hurt herself ever had repercussions on Flick. Then she'd been deeply ashamed and disturbed, because the possibility that the answer could be 'yes' still could not stop her. Mostly, she'd always felt guilty that she could never care for Flick to the extent she wished; she'd never had the means to provide them the quality of life they deserved.
But here, it seemed those short-comings didn't matter. Her familiar tilted their head up, preening contentedly at AJ's attention. Their dark feathers were glossier than AJ had ever known them to be, clean and shining with ebony iridescence. Flick was happy, hale, and—AJ realized bemusedly—they had even gained a little weight. They peered at AJ with keen, spirited eyes as she cooed at them before placing them on her shoulder.
"Did you save a spot for me?" AJ asked, turning her attention back to Drift who had been watching the two of them fondly.
Drift swept a hand through the air, indicating vaguely to all the empty space around her. "There's plenty of tree to go around. I'm sure you can find somewhere to sit without me directing you."
"I just wouldn't want to bother you, that's all." AJ felt the corners of her mouth pinch involuntarily, sensing a game afoot. "What if I sat here?" she asked, standing about six feet from where Drift was settled.
She leaned back on her hands, glancing at AJ from the corner of her vision. "I guess that'll do," she said, shrugging noncommittally.
"How about here?" AJ all but shouted, having walked further away from her, nearly around to the other side of the tree. Flick chittered playfully, their talons squeezing lightly into AJ's skin.
Drift's lips pursed and her eyebrows furrowed. "Well, perhaps not so far," she complained, tilting her chin up with that infamous pout AJ loved to tease out of her.
"Oh, not that far? Right," AJ corrected, completing the lap around the sycamore until she appeared on Drift's other side. She dropped down into the space just next to Drift, so close the sides of their thighs brushed when she moved. "So you wouldn't mind if I sat here, would you?"
AJ could see Drift biting back a laugh as she smiled. "Not at all," she said, knocking her foot against AJ's. "This might actually be the perfect distance."
"Really? Very forward of you," AJ chortled, rearranging herself until she could lie on her side next to her. Flick hopped off her shoulder, settling in the grass around them, their inky form somehow disappearing between marigolds and shadows.
"I like having you near me." Drift shrugged again, glancing down at AJ who had propped herself up on an elbow. "Even when you're annoying."
"That's good, then," she concurred. For once, AJ ignored the jab, occupied instead with fiddling with the loose hem of Drift's shirt, wrapping and unwrapping her fingers in it mindlessly. Normally, her tinkering hands found some scrap metal or machine parts to busy themselves with. But, unexplainably, this was much more diverting. Without thinking, she reached with her other hand for Drift's and letting them rest on Drift's thigh.
Drift's thumb rubbed small, repeating circles on the back of AJ's hand. A long moment of silence passed between them. Then: "I like being near you too, Drift," AJ concluded quietly.
"I know you do," Drift said with a snigger.
AJ's head shot up, pausing in her meddling to glare at her. "What?" she challenged, suddenly baffled by the accusation. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Without a word, Drift gestured with her free hand at their proximity, AJ's hold on her shirt, and their joint hands on her lap. AJ's face burned. "Okay, so—"
Drift shook with laugher, squeezing AJ's hand tighter as she tried to tug it away. "No, no. I like it," she objected, pulling their hands to her lips. She pressed a light kiss to the back of AJ's knuckles, the breath of her giggles ghosting over the spot in a way that make AJ's heart stutter through her embarrassment. "It's cute, I promise."
"Cute?" AJ asked incredulously. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. How was she supposed to be the mage of death and decay like this? Not handsome, not hot, not even sexy, but cute.
"I promise not to tell anyone. It'll be a secret between us." Drift was fighting a losing battle against her chuckles. "I didn't realize you would care so much. A bit vain of you, isn't it?"
"Please," AJ exclaimed, relaxing against Drift's side again as she gave up the fight, at least for now. "Vanity is last on my list of things to worry about."
It felt as though they passed hours there in the field, merely enjoying each other's presence. In a strange way, it still astounded AJ that she could find pleasure in something like this, something so simple. Contentedness in charting the many freckles on Drift's face and arms, wondering without aim if she could ever begin to count them all. In flooding her nose and head with the scent of hemlock and violet and twisting her fingers through the loose ends of Drift's hair.
It still surprised her that it could ever feel easy for Drift to touch her scars, to trace them on her shoulders and arms—to cradle and kiss those on her face—and to be asked about their origins. It still astonished AJ that she could answer honestly and tell her the stories, all the secrets of her marring lost in the wind over the fields. It shocked her that she could ever hold Drift like this, hold anyone this close and carefully… and be okay.
To be seen without being scared.
A rustle in the flowers around them made them both turn their heads. Flick emerged from the greenery, their feathers dirtied with hints of pollen and their beak filled with many stalks of clementine marigolds. AJ stared.
Drift grinned as Flick dragged the flowers over to her. "Very good," she praised, taking them from the crow. "Thank you, Flick."
Flick chirped something brightly and AJ's brows immediately furrowed. "You can't call her that, Flick. It's outdated."
"What?" Drift demanded, her face falling with betrayal. "What did they say?"
"It's really better you don't know," AJ muttered ruefully while Flick cackled impishly.
Drift's nose pinched with exaggerated hurt. She sighed. "I thought we were becoming friends, Flick."
"This is being friends with Flick," explained AJ, taking one of the marigolds Drift offered her. She carded through the petals, feeling a wave of nostalgia crash over her, though she fought not to show it so transparently. "If they're calling you slurs, they like you."
"Slurs?!" Drift looked appalled and AJ realized that may not have been the easiest way to break it to her, especially as she was only just beginning to learn how to communicate with Flick. "And if they don't like me?"
AJ rolled her eyes as Flick hopped up onto her hipbone looking absolutely remorseless. "They'd still call you slurs," she said, shifting into a sitting position once more. "Here, give me the rest of those and turn around."
"Oh, okay?" Drift obliged, passing the rest of the flowers to AJ and turning her back to her. AJ reached for her hair, pulling it back from her face and removing her usual glowberry coronet.
AJ had always loved Drift's hair. It had grown long since joining the Academy, full of split ends, and knotted along the crown where the thorns from her coronet had gotten caught in the strands. It was walnut brown, but shot through with natural blonde and penny red highlights that gave it a subtle golden undertone in the full sunlight. It curled wildly after she slept on it loose, creating stubborn spirals where it had been tucked behind her ears that she knew drove Drift crazy. It fell unevenly on one side, framing her face asymmetrically. It was impossibly soft and smelled achingly of the fig and rosehip shampoo she used. AJ loved it.
Once, Drift had off-handedly mentioned cutting her hair short and AJ remembered her stomach had dropped at the notion. She would have supported her, but she was infinitely relieved when Drift had dismissed the idea.
"This place reminds me of the lavender fields back at the Academy. There's something special about it," Drift mused as AJ was running her fingers through the tresses, detangling the knots with precision and separating it into thirds. "Doesn't it seem special to you?"
"I used to play here when I was little. Before I had to move and before the Academy." AJ laid each section of hair over each other, interweaving them loosely. "My hometown was famous for its marigolds—fields and fields of tiny suns from early summer to first frost. We used them in a lot of things like decorating houses, scenting candles and perfumes, flavoring teas… I used to be so bored of them. Now I wish I could see them more often."
"I suppose they don't grow near the Academy," Drift said, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped AJ's hold behind her ear. "They remind you of home, though?"
AJ tied off the end of the braid, nodding to herself though the signal was lost on Drift who still had her back turned. "We would use them for special things like altars for people who have passed away," she recounted, beginning to tuck the stems of the marigolds Flick had procured into the braid. "They're not like wither roses or blue orchids. They exist between life and death, like a bridge. Their color and vibrancy reminds the dead of the waking world and helps bring them back for just a moment."
AJ shook her head with a smile, eyes cast determinedly down at her work. "It's a little silly, I guess. I know now that flowers aren't strong enough to bring someone back, but when I was younger, I used to think they were magical."
She never thought she'd tell anyone about the marigolds again, not since she'd mentioned it once casually to Ghostie and dismissed it after. So AJ wasn't exactly sure why she was telling Drift all of this—more of her connection to them than she'd ever even admitted to Ghostie—but something about it felt unusually easy.
"I think I would have liked finding comfort and magic in that." Drift's voice had grown heavy and wistful, even as her shoulders curled inwards. "Maybe the people I've lost would have found comfort in that too."
AJ frowned as she eased the last of the blossoms into Drift's hair. "Did you lose someone?"
"Yes, my—" Her words were mysteriously lost to AJ.
She finished the braid and it bumped lightly against Drift's back. It was dotted with orange and yellow marigolds now, the perfect shades to catch the few copper strands hidden in her hair. "I could show you how we made the altars, I guess. If you would like that."
Drift turned in the grass to face AJ again, her expression hopeful. "Really? I'd love that."
"Sure," she said, picking up the discarded glowberry coronet and replacing it on Drift's head. AJ pressed her lips to her brow in a quick kiss. "The town is not far from here."
The time collecting the offerings for the altar passed in a haze. AJ struggled to pick out any distinct moments, the time flowing together like a river rushing under the surface. She knew it moved, washing the memories away, but soon that too escaped her and her attention was lost to the present moment.
Night had fallen. They had returned to the shadow of the sycamore, its shade like a dark eclipse among the fields of once sun-brightened flowers. A table sat propped against the wood of the tree, balanced carefully among the roots. AJ couldn't recall how or where they had gotten it from. Perhaps it had always been there.
Across the table lay a patterned blanket, rich with hues of magenta and violet. Along the front edge of the table was strung a banner of colored paper swatches, each cut into elaborate designs. They were cut into depictions of fireflies and flowers, of ferns and thorns, and of skulls and wild birds. Smoky incense burned slowly next to decorated skulls made of sugar, each of them trimmed with swooping patterns of blues, orange, and pink. A dish of salt lay beside small loaves of sweet bread and custard pastries, which Drift had insisted on.
"She loved custard as much as I do," she had said. "We had the same sweet tooth."
Guiding Drift's hands, AJ showed her how to organize the marigold blossoms on the ground along the edges of the table, to create a pathway leading to the altar. She taught her how to arrange the candles into an intersection pointing towards each of the four cardinal directions. The gold of the marigolds danced on the altar alongside the royal blue and pure, snowy white of many orchids and lilies-of-the-valley, illuminated by the warmth of the candle flames. They flickered near carefully positioned bundles of glowberries and pristine glasses of water and wine.
"You share the same favorite flowers," AJ had observed as Drift had arranged the orchids and lilies into tiny bouquets to join the marigolds, mouth moving with quiet whispers. Who she whispered to, AJ couldn't be sure.
Drift had nodded, a distant smile ghosting over her lips. "She's the one who taught me to love them."
She looked serene like this in a way AJ had never seen before. In the soft radiance of the waning moon, her skin was pale. Drift behaved tranquilly, almost as if AJ were not there. She lit the candles, burned her finger, and did not react. She moved as if she melted through the world, her body shying from the altar at first, and then suddenly passing through it as she leaned over the table to rotate a dish of sweet bread ever so slightly.
AJ stumbled back, away from her—from it. Her hand flew to the sheath she normally kept her dagger in only to find it missing. Her mana felt smothered, the usual well of power run dry without warning.
Her gaze jumped back to Drift, her eyes widened with an abrupt unnameable terror that had sprouted deep in her chest, its withering roots tearing through her gut and its head blossoming in her throat. In contrast, Drift's gaze was empty, void of her usual tenderness, even as she smiled at AJ worriedly.
"Drift?" AJ said instinctively, hopefully, even though she knew it wasn't her. "Who or what are you? What happened to my girlfriend?"
Not-Drift's face fell, her brows knitting together in such a perfect imitation of Drift that the hair along AJ's arms and the back of her neck stood on end. "I am your girlfriend," she urged. "I am Drift."
She spoke with the voice of the crypt, hollow and mournful, cracking only along hidden fissures of anger. The memory had AJ suddenly reeling, the earth crumbling beneath her and she was back in that labyrinth with the moldering walls and keening of forgotten souls closing in on her. Gone was the fresh honeyed scent of the marigolds. Instead, AJ choked on frigid, dusty air that stabbed her lungs with wicked thorns.
The spirit took a step closer to her and AJ retreated, defenseless. At that, the spirit's face—Drift's face—distorted, collapsing into such an intense expression of hurt and grief that AJ's stomach clenched with guilt. She recoiled from AJ, clutching at her chest as she shrunk away like a hunted animal.
"You're not Drift," AJ muttered, desperately trying to avert her eyes from the pain in front of her, but it was hard to focus on anything else when everywhere she looked, she saw only the walls of the crypt. "No— Where is she? What happened to her?"
"Don't you get it, AJ? You happened to her." The spirit laughed cynically, wet with tears and broken as a wail. "You killed her—you buried her alive!"
"No, I never meant—"
"I trusted you and you put me in the ground!" Drift's body was shaking, trembling with her teeth bared as she screamed at her. AJ couldn't help but flinch at every shriek, all of her usual bravado rotting away as she watched the woman she loved fall apart.
AJ's feet felt heavy, all the tendons and ligaments holding her together unwinding like loose stitches. Her lungs itched with wither, petals and vines clambering to exorcise themselves from her body. The familiar feeling made her nauseous and her vision was swimming with shadows. "No, no, no—"
"The soil misses you, AJ," warbled Drift, the song distorted with fragmented, rueful sobs. "The earth gets so lonely without enough bodies to feed it."
AJ was beginning to sink into the ground, the old stone and dirt of the crypt reaching for her, grabbing onto her and dragging her down as she struggled, her mind blank her panic. "No, no— Please!" It was closing around her mouth, piling on her tongue and tumbling down her throat until she was choking on soil and granules of bones. She coughed, spluttering, wheezing without inhale. "I can't— You can't—"
The spirit smiled at her as she asphyxiated, and the worst of it all was that it was the smile AJ loved the most. The kind one, with curious eyes full of love and an uncertain courage that AJ had dreamed about.
"In death I will love you, exactly the way that you loved me in my life," she said.
Then AJ's whole world went dark. And the soil smelled of marigolds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AJ awoke with a crash, jolting out of her bed in a frenzied charge. Flick, startled by the sudden movement, shot into the air with a piercing squawk that made AJ's ears feel like they were bleeding.
She was sweaty, her body cold and clammy with fear. It made her sheets stick to her skin in a horrid, greasy way that made her rip them off frantically. Her hands shook viciously as she reached to light the lantern next to her bed, suddenly desperate for a light to break up the darkness of her room.
AJ's bones ached, alternating between flashes of icy coolness and a burning, searing heat. Her skin felt tight, pulling inwards like it could dig underneath of itself to the fat and the muscle within. She was breathing hard, pain ricocheting through her like a second, pummeling pulse.
Her heart was slamming repeatedly against her ribcage, bruising itself to break out and flee. AJ's stomach writhed with hunger, her skull pounding from starvation as it mutilated itself. And her chest hurt, her lungs twisting and stinging as she coughed and expelled a flurry of black, glossy rose petals onto the bedspread in front of her.
AJ watched in horror as the petals disintegrated in front of her, withering away like bones into dust until she stared at nothing but a tiny pile of very fine, gray particles—until that too became lost to the night's darkness.
The smell of smoke filled her nostrils, acrid and burning.
A single tune broke the silent requiem: a crow's song. An elegy; long, low, and grieving.