Hazel Eyes
I was hoping to see Vincenza a bit more before I left. My confidence in myself is… a bit null, and I was planning on trying to just repeat anything praising she said on loop.
She did praise my makeup. Appreciated my nail work.
I smiled giddily at that fact, but it didn’t bring back the half hour I lost after scratching off some of the nail polish on my door handle.
It’s almost a surprise that she left no gift on the counter when I come to leave. It’s something I expect so easily, so readily. Her last two letters are still in my dress, and her gun, all of which bring me comfort.
So, I do the stupid thing and leave a letter for her. Something thankful, in colorful terms that won’t make her uncomfortable. I keep my compliments to her hair, and dress, and personality, and kindness—things she vaguely has control over. Not her eye color. Not that.
Though, it is so pretty.
Still not writing it. If she wants to know she’s attractive, that’s what her mirror is for.
I put down the letter, add a quick heart—Not a heart. Smiley face. I cross out the heart, add a smiley face, and leave.
My eyes don’t wander to the stars; instead, they drift downwards as I imagine my letter getting read. It could be now, as I jump on a streetcar, or perhaps as I wait in my seat to arrive. Maybe it’ll be tomorrow. Maybe she’ll need a year again. It’s her own choice when it happens.
The transition to the festival becomes obvious as buildings clear into a dramatically lit plaza of gardens. But it sprawls far beyond that, into adjacent streets and alleys where merchants peddle and attractions goad visitors.
The very first thing outside the street car is the welcome area. I’m certainly taking the popular route in, and impromptu bands serenade everyone who comes through, taking generous tips as well. I also enjoy a tasteful amount of sax, so I join in parting with some of my crescents.
I check the watch Piero gifted me: 21:23. Lasts until 4:00 tomorrow—though most might leave after the midnight showings. Enough time that I could explore without a map and get a good grip of my surroundings.
I still take a map. They’re stylized!
“Enjoy the festival! Long live the Immortal Queens and their generosity!” the information clerk barks excitedly. Their own outfit has a dramatically wide brimmed hat with small candles hanging from its ends.
“Thank you! Long live the Immortal Queens!” I briefly glance at the map.
Half of it’s dedicated to the actual map, a quarter to some event times, and the rest is a rather dramatic advertisement apparently paid for personally by the Vampire Queen.
Warnings of blood transmitted diseases from vampires along with her strong hand wrenching one back from someone’s neck by their hair.
‘RESPECT AUTONOMY OVER BLOOD OR LEARN YOUR MANNERS THROUGH ETERNAL SERVITUDE.’
It’s a fun art piece. Pops in the light.
According to the map section of the map, the paths are indicated by colored lighting.
Should I go northwest, along the cool blue lights, I’ll eventually pass by a viewing hill.
Should I go north by northeast, along the warm red lights, I’ll pass by various attractions, visible from here. They both meet by the library and café.
Some other routes are around here too, and the garden plot is surrounded by open, carless streets and businesses. Still, I’m expecting that Lucia will at some point insist on petting the glowing salamanders, so I’m taking the red path in case I meet her on the way.
Cool winds and pleasant conversations. Laughter and dancing shows. I wish I had someone, even just a friend, to share this with. To give my laughter and comments to. Couples pass by me with matching wreathes, string lights and flowers interwoven, and I’m left with jealousy.
Everything here is a delight for my eyes, and I want more. I’m desperate for more. For a second pair of eyes to look with me. For the reflections of lights to shine off pastel pink…
“The show starts in ten minutes! Pack in while there’s seating to see The Necromancer and the Radiomancer!“ a showwoman yells from an open stage.
Concession stands, some unfilled seating, and that play I think I vaguely heard Hanna rave about when she answered Lucia’s phone? Sounds fun. Vincenza would be happy if she knew I was eating.
I wait patiently for my turn at the stand. “Uh, could I get just the popcorn? Oh, wait. Er, you can keep the extra.” I hand over a full silver crescent. “A-and could I have some nutritional yeast salt?”
Mmm. It tastes. That’s pretty impressive by my standards. Probably not enough crushed red peppers though.
“Hey!” A man in a black suit runs next to me. “You should’ve gotten their leg. It’s pretty good.”
He smiles effusively, like we’ve known each other. Under the warm orange light, he looks about my age as well.
“I d-don’t eat that kind of stuff, I think? Do we—uh. Do we know each other?”
“No, but I can recognize a fellow necromancer.” He winks. “Is that all getup, or are you actually in training?”
“I’m an apprentice at The Necromancer’s Parlour just north.” I push up my glasses and throw my gaze to the side. “I’m a bit between patrons, though.”
He laughs warmly. “I’m between consorts myself. Speaking of which, wanna catch a seat together?”
“Oh, sure! I’m Catarina, by the way.”
“I’m Janek. Came up with my friends from lower Lawrin.” He whispers something I can’t understand.
“Sorry, but I did flunk my language classes.” I sit next to him—Ow. These are not nice chairs.
“It’s fine. I only wish to show you my foreign tongue.” He smirks.
“That’s… cool? Want popcorn?”
“I would love some.”
I guess this is what I wanted. I have a friend—eh, acquaintance. I’ll keep friendship on hold until I see him in a dress.
The play starts with a dazzling light show. A radiomancer in a white dress spins while glowing motes surround her. The conductor waves their baton in sync with her movements—I can feel reality warp and blur along the strings of their thoughts.
By the time the necromancer in black comes in, I realize that I’m watching a loose metaphor for the story of the Immortal Queens. Wordless and with a shockingly high quality orchestra for a free event.
Janek elbows me and whispers, “isn’t it funny to think that our nation is ruled by queers?”
“Aren’t most people queer?”
“Sure, bisexuals. But, they’re actual queers. If either of them could’ve put up for a man, no Roversella-Lawrin.”
“Yeah. I can’t even imagine how people disliked it so much back then.
My dad is always pushing for me to finally get a girlfriend to marry.
” I bite into some popcorn. “But, my parents were like four and six respectively when the Queens married, so they probably don’t even remember a life before their soldiers watched us. ”
Without any intention, my eyes land exactly on a pair of undead soldiers walking through the garden, kids gathering ’round them.
“You’re… a queer?”
“Mostly.” I cover my cheeks. “There’s a woman who I—I know she’ll never reciprocate, but there’s this woman I… have eyes for.”
It feels nice to say that. It’s not specific, not a confession. It’s just comforting. I can’t tell her without breaking her heart, so this is the next best thing.
“Oh.” He silently looks back to the play.
The radiomancer and the necromancer both put down their fighting for a kiss, causing the entire crowd to cheer.
The conductor raises their hands, causing corpses to climb out from the dirt and join the stage as backup dancers. They must be extremely proficient with how nimbly those corpses move.
I stand up to clap when the dance concludes. “That was a great show!”
“Maybe for you,“ he scoffs.
“Come on! Necromancy is fun! You wanna go watch the salamanders with me?”
“I actually gotta hang out with someone. Good luck though.” He skips past me in nearly a sprint.
Did I do something wrong? What did I say?
He’s gone before I can get him to tell me.
I go drown my feelings in glowing salamanders. They don’t run from me. They like my pets.
“They really seem to like you.” A kind lady walks up to me. “Would you consider adopting one?”
“Oh, wha—“ I shake my head out of its ruminations. “I can take some of them?”
“Yes! These three here are rescues from an animal fighting ring.”
I bite my lip in penance for thinking that sounded fun to watch. Poor things must’ve suffered.
“Are they a lot of maintenance?” I ask.
“Not at all! They’re perfectly happy with little room and don’t need much attention.” She hands me a thrice folded pamphlet. “The hardest part is washing your hands before handling them.”
“That sounds nice.” I flip through the paper. “I don’t have a tank or anything.”
“This is just a popup for charitable donations; our permanent rescue lounge is on South Onisko Street. If you wanna come by and pick one up after getting equipment, that’s heavily encouraged.”
“Oh, nice. I’ll think about it.”
I return to petting the salamanders in silence—Oh, they left. They’re somewhere in the ground now. Fuck me.
Still, a pet would liven up the parlour. And those little things sound like they could use a comfortable life. Great Ring, keep the ones I cannot take with me safe.
Do prayers make sense to the Great Ring? If it already planned out a… I’ll ask Vincenza. Her answers don’t hurt me as much.
Wash my hands and… back to wandering.
My mind is desperate for a theme. A journey. A place to hit on someone and make Vincenza proud of me. Like a library! Or café.
I pick the library.
It’s not as gorgeously decorated—but not to any detriment.
It’s clear this place started off in a wonderful state and only needed to be given the barest amount of thematic love.
I find myself studying the order of books on the shelves and comparing the organization system to the parlour.
I even correct a slightly misplaced book out of habit.
A woman with devious eyes surprises me from behind to comment, “oh my. Nice dress.”
“Th-thanks. I was—It’s a nice dress.”
The woman grabs my hips and casually asks, “do you wanna fuck me?”
I frantically look around the room, definitely noticing at least two people who look up from their books to judge us.
She rolls her eyes. “It’d be fun, and you could loosen up. This corset must be pressing on your lungs.”
“It’s actually mostly comfortable.”
“I could show you more comfort.” She winks. “Brown Eyes, don’t you want to swim with me and feel what taking a consort is like?”
Vincenza would want me to say yes. The Great Ring would reward me if I said yes. My parents would berate me if I didn’t say yes.
Just like a needle prick. A touch and it’ll be over.
“Yes.”
“Kiss me,” she breathes against my lips.
Just the prick.
“I’ve never kissed before. Can you… lead?”
“I could tell. Your eyes are still, like an old well.” She giggles and leans in.
A first kiss. Something to make Vincenza proud.
Nothing more than a knife digging under skin, over before the wound even clots.
But my stubborn heart is inventing problems.
I stop her advance by my hand on her chest. “You don’t think I’m a Ringborn, right?”
She incredulously scans my whole body. “Aren’t you?”
I whimper, “no. I-I thought you…”
“Sorry, I’m genuinely apologetic about that then.” She steps back. “I didn’t mean to hit on you so brazenly. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
She leaves.
I was just a consort.
I can no longer bring myself to stay in the library.
There’s no place for me in the café; food won’t bring pleasure to this rocking heart. There’s no place for it in any of the amusements; a dance would probably give me a heart attack. And—
The Great Ring is out. I just want to lay on the viewing hill, stare up, and feel this moment slip away as the future grabs me.
I think I left a few notes out of my decision. I forgot that couples would be the most common group out here. Picnicking on comfortable blankets while cuddling and sharing meals. The smell too—everyone’s smoking.
I dig my boots into the grass and search to the limited tree cover for anywhere away from people. Away from lights, and needle pricks, and consorts, and patrons, and even away from the Ring.
It’s tiring, day after day, to beg for comfort in something that won’t even let me know it’s rejected me. It’s tiring to pass my thoughts through it, and feel nothing. It’s so tiring to moralize everything according to a list of rules I was never even given.
“Catarina?”
I about-face. “Vincenza?”