//------------------------------//
// Wait Softly 
// Story: What We Variously Call Grace 
// by I-A-M 
//------------------------------//







Sunset Shimmer







If someone yesterday had asked me what it felt like to have my entire world crash down on my head, I would have cited the moment I was struck by the Elements of Harmony.
I never told anyone what it was like but suffice to say the phrase is apt.
Today that moment may as well be erased. After today I’ll say that hearing that Wallflower Blush is in the Canterlot General Hospital Emergency Room is what it feels like for me. Hearing that she’s unresponsive though?
That’s what my whole world dying feels like.
The automatic doors to the Emergency Department at Canterlot General hiss open and I step through them in a daze. I feel like I should be doing something more right now but I don’t know what.
Should I scream and cry? Shout her name to the heavens and demand I be taken to her bedside?
That won’t do any good. If anything, I’d just get in the way.
So instead I just stumble up to the front admission desk and stare dumbly at the confused-looking nurse on the other side.
“Can I help you?” She asks cautiously.
“Uh… I’m…” I swallow thickly and tangle my fingers through my hair, taking a firm grip as I try to get my shaking limbs under control. “Sorry, sorry, I’m… my name is Sunset Shimmer? I’m uhm, Wallflower Blush’s emergency contact?”
The nurse nods and starts tapping away at her computer. I rattle off Wallflower’s date of birth and few other details to verify her, and my, identity, and the whole thing seems like it’s taking an agonisingly long time to manage. All of this is just keeping me from seeing Wallflower and I need to see her.
All of a sudden it is absolutely, cataclysmically important that I see her.
“Please can you just… can you tell me what room she’s in?” I ask quickly. “I was at work and I didn’t— please! I just need to see her!”
“Miss, please.” Somehow the nurse manages to pack about 12 hours of exhaustion into those two words, and I immediately wilt back as guilt seeds into me.
“S-Sorry, I’m…” I’m breathing too fast. My vision is starting to swim, and I lean on the counter as I try not to fall apart.
“Sunset?”
I look up at the sound of my name. An older woman in loose jeans woven with vaguely tribal patterns, and a striped black and blue topis walking towards me. Her blue and silver hair hangs loosely around a face worn with wind and care, and she’s smiling at me like she knows me, and I’m positive that I’ve never seen this woman in my life.
“There you are,” she says with a chuckle, stepping closer and leaning in to pull me into an almost familial hug.
For a moment I tense. Panic and violence surge through my limbs, but all of it cuts off at the sound of the woman’s words being whispered softly at my ear.
“Rosary Wise. Play along.”
She pulls back with no hint of mischief or malice on her features, still smiling that same, overly-familiar smile.
“I’m so sorry Sunset, I should have called you the instant it happened,” she continues as if this was completely natural. “Wallflower just dropped all of a sudden and I… well, I panicked. I thought they’d call you right away, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s… it’s fine,” I say, recovering my balance as smoothly as I’m able. “How is she?”
The nurse looks between the two of us with a raised eyebrow, and the woman whom I assume is called Rosary shrugs and sighs quietly.
“I’m not sure, she hasn’t come out of it yet,” she says, before looking back at the nurse. “I’m sorry, can we go back? I’m sure Wallflower’s girlfriend warrants some kind of visit, doesn’t she?”
“Alright, go head,” the nurse waves us past. Rosary gives her a thankful nod before looping my arm into hers and turning to head back towards the hallway leading deeper into the ED.
We walk slowly and in silence, and I watch as the expression on Rosary’s face drops from warm and amiable, to calm and collected, and I raise an eyebrow at her as she nods towards the end of the hall.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask sotto voce, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
“Today? I’m Wallflower’s Aunt Rosary, visiting from out of town,” she says cooly. “It’s an oddball story how this came about but the short of it is I really do mean no harm.”
“Wallflower doesn’t have any family,” I say, glancing over at her with narrowed eyes. “And how did you know her name? Or mine, come to that?”
“You’d be surprised how many of a persons’ intimate details are kept tucked away in their wallet,” Rosary says with a slight laugh. “Her I.D. card is in there, for one, as well as this.”
Rosary passes me a little folded scrap of a photograph. It’s worn and creased, but well-cared for, and I take it gingerly. It’s so thin and fragile it feels like I could put my fingers right through it, and I open with as much care as possible.
“Oh… that’s…” Tears spring up at the corners of my eyes as I run my fingers over the two smiling figures. “That’s our first date… Quill, what a disaster… but it started okay.”
Senior Prom.
The picture was taken at the very beginning of the night. I was there in my tuxedo, the black and red color along with the gold accents had me looking like a villain out of a spaghetti western. Even the silk gloves were a particularly vibrant shade of arterial crimson.
Wallflower is gorgeous. Rarity went all out for Wallie’s very first dance. Her dress was loose layers of soft silk and lace in alternating shades of green and white with patterns of foliage and flora that made her look like some kind of faerie forest nymph.
In the photo she’s practically clinging to me. I have one hand on her waist and another cradling her, and I remember resting my head on hers and smiling like a complete jackass because I was so happy.
Looking at it now, I can see how happy she was too, even given everything that happened.
“Did you read the back?” Rosary asks, and I glance up at her for a moment before flipping the photograph over.
There, scratched in Wallflower’s crabbed, flowing script are the words:
‘The first day of my life’
I don’t know how long I spend staring at those six words. All I know is I spend the entire time crying quietly while trying not to get the photo wet. Eventually I just fold it up with shaky hands and clutch it to my chest while I shake and sob as silently as I’m able to.
“They asked me if I was you when I brought her in,” Rosary explains as I slowly grapple with my tears and get a hold of myself. “It didn’t take a Holmesian leap of deductive reasoning to put that name to the girl with red and gold hair in the photograph.”
“Y-Yeah,” I rub at my eyes, taking several deep breaths before looking back up at her. “Uhm, I’m uh… she’s kind of my whole world.”
“Sure that’s healthy, kid?” Rosary asks with a wry, raised eyebrow, and I shake my head.
“No,” I say honestly. “But it’s the best I’ve got.”
“Hm, fair enough.” Rosary pats me on the shoulder, then nods to me to keep following.
We walk to the end of the hall, and Rosary pushes the door open. Inside, laying supine on the exam bed, is Wallflower Blush. My world just slows down for a moment, and I stumble through the door to the bedside and settle onto the small stool beside it.
Her hand is cool, and soft. I weave our fingers together, and bring her hand to my lips, laying a kiss along the knuckle of her ring finger.
The bromeliad ring is gone. It’s been gone for a while, but in a way it wasn’t such a bad thing. We started to make a little game out of it.
“H-Hey, Wallie,” I say quietly, hating how my voice croaks around my tears. “I uh… I had lunch out in the quad today, and there was this big flower someone had knocked over.”
I fish through my pocket carefully before finding the little white envelope I’d tucked my prize for the day away in. It’s not even really an envelope, just a normal sheet of printer paper folded to make a little pouch that kind of self-seals.
Popping it open, I shake out the two, small green loops I’d spent my lunch hour weaving together. It had taken about a dozen tries. I just wasn’t as good at it as Wallflower, but I eventually managed two semi-decent ones. Wallie’s were always a lot cleaner though, but it was my turn to make this pair.
“See?” I hold them up in a shaky hand. “Here, let me just…”
I reach over her to lift her right hand and slip the new loop onto her finger.
I put the other one on my hand where it belongs.
“Those're pretty,” Rosary says, putting a hand gently onto my shoulder and squeezing. “So you two are really—?”
“I lied to her.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
I look up at Rosary who’s watching me with cautious interest. No judgment, it’s more like she’s just waiting, and a sudden rush of inexplicable gratitude surges through me.
“A… About money,” I clarify before looking back at Wallflower. “I told her I was working some extra hours to balance the budget a little. It wasn’t a big deal, but… a-actually we’re kind of okay.”
It’s stupid that I can’t stop crying. They’re not big tears, but they keep sliding down my cheeks all the same.
“I found this… this absolutely perfect ring, but it’s like, almost a thousand fucking dollars,” I sob. “But I’m making payments on it, it’s probably going to take me months to pay off and actually pick up, but I… it’s… it’s perfect, okay?”
I turn back to Rosary.
“It’s… she deserves perfect.”
Rosary nods. There are silent tears in her eyes as she pats my shoulder again.
“Please,” I beg. “What happened?”
It takes almost an hour for Rosary to tell the story. Mostly because we have to be quiet but partially because the way she talks is less a coherent narrative and more of a ramble. It only takes me about half that time to realise exactly who Rosary had been talking to, and shortly after that, exactly what it was that had triggered a panic attack so severe it put Wallflower in a state of catatonia.
Her father is dead.
From what very little I know of him— what little Wallflower was willing to share even to me— I say good riddance.
I know he was violent.
I know that he hurt Wallflower consistently, and that alone is enough for me to want him dead in the worst possible way. Now that he is though, I have no idea what that means to Wallflower. Shouldn’t she be relieved?
Shouldn’t she be glad?
Except… he was her father.
“Wish I had some advice here, kid, but I’m stumped,” Rosary says before taking a drink of water from a small paper cup. “I mentioned the old goobers death and she just dropped.”
Chances are that this is someone Wallflower knows. Maybe even knows well. Hell, from my limited interactions with her, she might even be Wallflower’s actual Aunt, and she wouldn’t even know it. All I know is that if she is related to Wallflower, family or otherwise, then she’s probably one of the very few good ones.
A quiet knock disrupts the silence and., before I can say anything, a tall, stern-looking woman with a mop of pink hair tied back in a bun wearing a severely cut white blouse and long skirt in a doctor’s white jacket steps inside holding a clipboard.
She pauses and glances between us, sharp blue eyes like slivers of ice warm marginally as they pass over us, then she nods as if deciding something, and nudges the door shut.
“Sunset Shimmer, I presume?” The doctor says crisply to me, and I nod. She turns to Rosary and raises an eyebrow. “And you are…?”
“Rosary Wise,” she stands and bobs her head before holding out a hand. “Wallflower’s Aunt, in from Manehattan for a few days. She collapsed while we were out on a walk.”
“I read the report.” The doctor looks down at her chart and flips through it, then sighs, and looks back up. “My name is Director Redheart, and frankly speaking, I have too many patients to beat around the bush so forgive my bedside manner.”
“Get to the skinny, dear, I’ll take that over sugarcoating any day,” Rosary says briskly, and Redheart gives her a dry, humorless smile that’s more a slash of her lips than anything.
“Acute Psychogenic Catalepsy, is my guess,” Redheart says after a moment. “And it is that… largely a guess, based on what evidence her records show. Possibly it’s an extreme state of dissociation, although the differences in the practical term are mostly academic at this severity.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, standing, but not letting go of Wallflower’s hand. “Will she be okay?”
Redheart grimaces. “Probably… this kind of thing is a mental health speciality, which is not mine, but believe me when I say that I see her kind come through my doors every other day, so I know the look. This is someone who has suffered a pattern of trauma, and…”
Sighing, Redheart leans against the door and pinches the bridge of her nose. She looks exhausted. It’s late, and I imagine her shift must be near the end.
“Can you tell me if she was a victim of abuse, Miss Sunset?” Redheart asks once she looks up.
I glance over at Rosary, who’s looking at me with something akin to honest worry. I can’t really give any details because the reality is that I don’t have them. I have the vaguest understanding of what she went through, and nothing more. I never pressed because I figured that either Wallflower would tell me when she was ready, or she wouldn’t because she decided to leave that part of her past behind her along with everything else she erased.
Either way, it wasn’t my decision to make, it was hers, and I respected that. Now I’m concerned that I may have made a mistake somewhere in there.
I do, unfortunately, know the answer to that.
“Yeah,” I say after a long moment. “Her dad.”
Rosary grimaces, then sighs, and turns to Redheart. “This may have been my fault then. We were talking, I said something that may have… have triggered this.”
Redheart frowns. “If you’re her Aunt, then were you aware of her father’s actions?”
For the first time, Rosary freezes, but before Redheart can get a read on it, I slip past her, whispering - play along - as I start talking.
“Director, that’s why she’s here,” I say, falling back into my old habits of lying through my teeth with a smile as easily as if I’d never stopped. “Her father just died.”
The expression on Redheart’s face goes unreadable for a moment, then she glances at Rosary, who gives a short, stilted nod, then looks back at me and sighs heavily.
“Well, that might do it, I suppose,” Redheart says softly. “In that case, hopefully she’ll come out of it on her own, but we’ll keep her here overnight for observation just in case.” Glancing between us, she grimaces, and then shrugs. “Normally we only allow one to stay overnight, but given the unique circumstances, and assuming you don’t mind the accommodations, I’ll let the both of you stay if you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” Rosary says in a raw voice. “I’ll just probably have to step out to get some food, but other than that, yes, I’d like to stay with my— my niece.”
“Alright, we will have to admit her and move her to a room, so you’ll have to clear out,” Redheart says as she steps out into the hall and beckons us to follow. “I’ll have a nurse come get you when she’s settled.”
“Thank you,” I say as I step outside.
Rosary and I both clear out of the hall, head back to the ED Lobby, and then make our way outside. Neither of us say a word, or look at each other, we’re going to the same place and we both know it.
We stop under the smoking section awning, and reach into my bag to pull out my smokes, and she does the same, although I note that hers are hand-rolled. That fits, somehow. Something about the bohemian aspect of it, I think. We both also pull out little books of matches, although mine is one of the small pushboxes, while hers are a foldover pack you get from motels, and we share a smirk.
“Can’t stand lighters?” I ask as I light mine.
Rosary shakes her head. “Nah, I can—”
“—taste the butane.” We both say it simultaneously.
We share a quiet laugh, and she nods. The silence is a companionable sort. Something is eating at me though, and I get halfway through my cigarette before pulling it out of my mouth and scowling down at it.
“Something wrong?” Rosary asks.
My hand is shaking. Tears are spilling down my cheeks, and suddenly the taste of tobacco smoke on my tongue makes me want to vomit. I know Wallie doesn’t like me smoking, it’s why I do it so seldom and why I’m so careful not to smoke before coming home to her. The last thing I want is for her to taste ash on my lips.
“Hon?”
But that’s the kind of person I am. I always have to have my cake and eat it too! Because I’m Sunset god-damn Shimmer! I’m never satisfied with having one when she can have both and fuck whoever gets hurt by it!
“FUCK!” I crush the lit cigarette in my hand, hissing as the ember burns my palm, before stomping over to the trash can with the ashtray in its lid, wrenching the top off, and throwing the mashed remains inside.
Then I cram my hand into my pocket, rip the half-full pack of cigarettes out, stare down at it for a long moment, swear viciously one more time then crush the damn thing in my fist before throwing it down to join the rest of the garbage.
I push the lid down and wipe my sore hand on my shirt as I stomp back over to join Rosary and wrap my arms around myself miserably. Rosary just stares at me in stunned silence for a while, looking between me and the trash can before finally lowering the spent cigarette from her lips and tossing it into the ashtray.
“Sunset?”
“That was it.” I spit the words out before she can say anything else. “That was my last one… I quit.”
Rosary stares at me for a long moment before slowly smiling, shaking her head, and starting to chuckle.
“Damn, kid,” Her laugh is a tired one as she pulls out her pack, a little leather pouch, actually, and stares down at it. “Well, guess it’d be crass to have another.”
She tucks it back. I want to tell her to go ahead, but honestly I’m thankful. I don’t want to admit just how badly I want another. I’m afraid if she smokes again, that I’ll ask to bum one. Instead we just stand under the awning as it rains in spits and sputters over the streets.
It’s late evening now, closing on eight at night and I’m more scared than I think I’ve ever been. Wallflower… I want to think she’ll be fine. I want to believe that she’ll wake up shaken but okay, and that everything will be fine, but there’s a tiny bead of terrible worry in my heart that she won’t.
Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’s just my nerves, but now that I’m suddenly faced with the possibility, even just the faintest one, that…
“So… your girl’s dad, huh?” Rosary says more than asks.
I look over at her. She’s staring down at the ground thoughtfully, her hands linked behind her back.
“Yeah.” I say, after a moment.
“Tch, qué lío.”
I raise an eyebrow, and Rosary just grins wearily at me.
“It means ‘what a mess’, see?” Rosary says before turning back to stare out at the streets of Canterlot. “A couple friends of mine own an auto garage in the Commons. This crazy old Marexican guy and his brother. He says it a lot.”
“Qué lío,” I repeat the words, roll them over on my tongue a few times, then nod. “Yeah, what a mess.”
Everything is a mess. I’m a mess. Wallflower is a mess. Our lives are a mess. I’m doing my best to keep everything tidy. To clean up. But there’s only so much I can do in a single day. Some of this just… has to be fixed over time, and that’s if it can be fixed at all.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Rosary says, and her voice is grim and tight as I glance over her. The look of relaxed calm on her face is gone, and in its place is a strained, grief-ridden expression.
“For what?”
“My big mouth.” Rosary lets out a huffing bark of a laugh. “I always did talk too damn much. Never saw the reason not to talk to anyone and everyone, guess it’s true what they say: you’re never too old to learn.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I say, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm.
Literally. She literally couldn’t have known.
One way or another, Wallflower had made sure of that. As much as I wanted someone to blame for all of this, there wasn’t anyone to blame. Or if there was, he was already dead.
“Miss Shimmer? Miss Wise?” A voice from the side draws us over to a nurse standing at the entrance to the ED. “Miss Blush is in her room now, Two-West, room fifty-one.”
“Two west, fifty one, got it,” I say, looking back at Rosary who nods. “Can you… I need to go get something from our apartment, can you go stay with her?”
“Sure thing, kid,” Rosary says with a wan smile. “Gimme your contact, I’ll give you a call if anything changes.
I exchange numbers with Rosary gratefully, and then I’m gone.
I hail a cab, and as I’m going back to the apartment, I’m thinking hard about what I’m about to do. About what I might have to do. What little I know about being comatose is pretty bad. She can’t eat or drink, can’t function. If she’s like that for more than a day, they'll basically have to hook her up to the entire hospital.
IV feeds for water and nutrients. A catheter. It wouldn’t take long for her to waste away. She’s already so…
Before I know it we’re there. I pay the man, a young man who still looks relatively upbeat, and tip him. I hate that the cynic in me is wondering how long that will last.
I go up the stairs, skipping the elevator. It’s only marginally slower, and it won’t matter one way or the other, and I need the time to think. I have an option. I have a way to go in and find her, but…
There was a reason I set it aside.
The door to our apartment clicks and thunks as I turn the key, and I shoulder the door open a little more harshly than I probably needed to and head up to the loft. I get underneath the end table and fish around for the hidden latch. Applejack’s brother made me this table, he’s pretty handy when it comes to things like carpentry, so a table with a false bottom turned out to be pretty easy.
I slide the compartment out, reach inside, and draw out the contents.
A geode that glimmers with faint orange light tied to a thin strap of leather hangs loosely from my fingers. The power within still hums at my fingertips, as ready, willing, and able to be used as the day I put it down. It’s strange, a part of me expected it to have faltered or faded. Or maybe I expected it to reject me after I had rejected it.
But no.
I close my hand in a fist around the geode, nod, then pocket it. If I’m going to do it, I have to do it tonight. Either that, or I may as well just wait and see what human medicine can produce.
I pocket the geode and leave the apartment. Next time I come back, one way or the other, it will be with Wallflower Blush beside me.
The cab ride back is quiet, and thankfully short. I get out at the ED entrance and make my way up to the main hospital. Two west, fifty-one. I repeat the room and floor in my mind over and over as I take the elevator up, step out, and count my way down to room fifty-one.
The sound of humming almost stops my heart. The tune is a little atonal, but it’s so familiar. Wallflower hums whenever she’s watering plants, and it’s a tune I’ve never heard before, or at least one I can’t identify, but this… it’s the same tune. I cross the remaining distance in a stumbling sprint and look inside to see—
Rosary is sitting next to Wallflower, holding her hand and humming softly. Her eyes, like seastorm green waves, are settled on the unconscious girl as she runs her thumb back and forth over Wallflower’s knuckles.
For a long moment, I just stare. I’m disappointed, sure, but at the same time I feel like I understand something a little better.
“You garden, don’t you?” I say quietly.
Rosary looks up at me, her humming cutting off, and she smiles.
“I do, why?” Rosary says.
Move to Wallflower’s right and sit down beside her, taking her hand in mine and brushing a finger over the little green, woven loop on her finger.
“Wallflower does too,” I say. “Our apartment… it’s filled with flowers and plants that she takes care of.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Rosary replies with an honest grin. “I knew I liked this girl from the moment I saw her.”
“I always wondered where she picked up gardening from,” I continue, as if Rosary hadn’t said anything. “She rarely ever talked about her parents, but it was never with anything but bitterness or sometimes grief… and I think I eventually decided she must have just developed the interest on her own.”
Rosary gives me a curious look as I raise my head from Wallflower, take a deep breath, and steady myself.
“But she didn’t…” I say finally. “She got it from you.”
“Me?” Rosary laughs weakly and shakes her head. “I’ve never seen this girl in my life before today, I’m afraid.”
“That’s not true.” I nod down at Wallflower, then look back up at Rosary. “You knew her when you saw her, even if you didn’t realise it. Even now, I’d bet my savings account that you still feel responsible for her, and that’s why you haven’t left.”
“I…” Rosary works her jaw a few times, then looks back at Wallflower with the oddest expression of frustration and grief on her face before looking back at me. “I don’t know her!”
“No, you don’t,” I agree. “But you did… so tell me something, Rosary Wise, do you believe in magic?”






Hours pass after that.
It’s almost midnight by the time I finish telling her my story, and the story of Wallflower Blush and about the Memory Stone, and my own suspicions about who Rosary is to Wallflower, and by that token who Ivy is and who her dead husband was.
This was a risk, but it’s a calculated one. I know Wallflower, and if I had to guess, I would say that she erased Rosary’s memory out of self-hatred and guilt. I don’t think she wanted to. Getting to know Rosary now, I’m even more certain that she was one of the very few bright spots in Wallflower’s young life.
I can never give back what the Memory Stone took, but maybe… maybe I give some context.
“I want to make you an offer,” I say finally, after a long stint of silence as Rosary digests my tale. I reach into my pocket, draw out my geode, and show it to her. “This little jewel lets me go into other people’s heads and experience bits and pieces of their lives. Worries, pains, fears… that kind of thing.”
The dots being connected in Rosary’s head are painted over her face as she stares down at the jewel, then looks over at Wallflower, then back to me with narrowed eyes.
“I’m not asking you to take my fairy tale on faith, here, Rosary,” I say firmly. “If you want. I can take you with me. I can show you magic, but let me warn you before you answer… it won’t be pretty, and it will leave scars.”
“Not much of a saleswoman, are you?” Rosary remarks weakly.
“If I were trying to sell you something, you’d think different,” I reply. Then I frown, and turn to Wallflower. “I have no idea if she’ll wake up the old fashioned way… maybe I’m jumping the gun, but on the off-chance I’m not, and I have the ability to make sure she wakes up safe and sound… what kind of person am I if I don’t?”
“Will it hurt her?” Rosary asks, her voice a faint, cold-edged whisper.
I shake my head. “No, the only one who might suffer some backlash is me. And maybe you, if you join me. I’ve never done this with a normal person before, only other users like me.”
“Magic, huh?” Rosary stares at the gem, and laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Real… honest to gods, magic… so it does exist?”
“I’ll prove it, if you want the proof,” I say as I close my fist and look her in the eyes. “But look at me, and answer me one question… do you really want to know? Because trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
She takes a long, deep breath, tilts her head up, and closes her eyes. For a moment, I think Rosary might be praying, but I recognise the look after another second. She’s meditating… finding a center in herself. A calm point in the storm.
Then she opens her eyes, and smiles.
“If it were just me, I might hesitate,” Rosary says finally. “But you’re right, something about that girl keeps me here, so for her? Yeah, I’m in.”
“Okay.” I palm the geode, it’s faint amber-orange light glinting in the city-light of Canterlot as I turn to Rosary. No more time to waste. Now it’s time to act. “You ready?”
“Am I ready for magic?” Rosary’s hesitancy is gone, and now she’s grinning like a kid being asked if they’re cool with getting ice cream for dinner. “Shoot, kiddo, let’s do this.”
I stare down at the small stone and grimace at her gleeful tone. She doesn’t know. She can’t know until I do it, but I’ve already tried to warn her.
“I’m telling you, this is going to be rough.” I press the point, but she just nods.
“I’m a tough bird, bring it on.”
I snort, then nod.
“Fine.” I put on the geode and take a deep breath, centering myself as I find the gleam of magic inside of me and let it resonate with the power in the geode.
Its powers are many and manifold, At first, I thought it just let me see other people’s thoughts. I quickly realised how wrong that was. I wasn’t seeing thoughts, I was seeing their experiences. A subtle but powerful difference. It’s so much more chaotic. Thoughts have some order to them, but the process by which we experience the world?
That’s total chaos.
Everyone sees the world differently. Experiences it differently. Understanding that is, I think, the crux of empathy.
More importantly and more relevant, however… I eventually realised I could share the power, which I suppose makes sense thematically. Empathy is all about sharing, linking, and bringing down barriers.
Rosary wants to know who Wallflower is. She needs to know because, even beyond what I told her, I think some part of her knows that her mind isn’t quite her own. She’s too self-aware for that. Magic isn’t perfect, not even in an artifact as powerful as the Memory Stone was. The memories of someone older and stronger of soul, someone like Rosary, can’t just be erased. Not entirely. There’s bound to be something left.
She deserves to know.
“Take my hand.”
I reach out, and Rosary nods, putting her palm down on mine. The instant she does I feel the spark of a connection but I don’t let the circuit close. If I do, I’ll just be experiencing Rosary’s memories. No, the flow has to start with Wallflower. From Wallie, to me, then… to Rosary.
Hopefully, I can buffer the worst of the impact.
I reach out for Wallflower’s hand. I hate doing this to her, but if there’s even a chance I can stir her awake and pull her from the mire she’s found herself in, I have to take it.
Before taking Wallie’s hand I glance back to Rosary.
“Just warning you,” I start. “This might… tickle. And then it’s going to get really intense, but you’re safe, alright? Just, whatever you do? Don’t let go of my hand.”
Rosary nods.
“Okay, here we g—
—be nine years old and scared, crouching in the dark place that’s small and crammed with too many meaningless things. Clothes hang ragged and worn from cheap metal hangers brushing the top of my head. The only light that shines is from beneath the door. The only sound is the shouts of noise and hate and—
“Crap!” Sweat drips from my brow as I let go of Wallie’s hand. My breath is coming in shallow heaves. Rosary looks shaken but determined. “Sorry, it’s uhm… it’s been a while, I just need… need a breather, then… okay, lets—
—be afraid. The halls are long and empty and there’s no one looking at me. Why won’t they look at me? I don’t exist. That’s why. Meaningless. Invisible. Pointless. Be bumped and knocked around in the halls. Be dross and garbage, too little to even acknowledge. The bruises on my arms flare with each impact. I was too slow this morning. Too slow to get out of his way. Slow of foot and hand and head. Slow and stupid. I—
“FUCK!” I back out, this time because I need to pull myself out of her memories. They’re so dark, so grim and hateful. Tears are rolling down my cheeks uncontrolled as sympathetic pain and trauma rolls through my soul.
“Gods, I never knew,” Rosary whispers hoarsely. She sounds haunted, but she still has a deathgrip on my hand.
“Ready?” I ask, gripping her hand even tighter as I look at her. I wouldn’t blame her if she tapped out, but she doesn’t. She just nods grimly.
“Alright, brace yourself, we’re going deeper and it’s probably going to get ug—
—be terrified. Be too big for the closet. It’s cramped and closed around me, biting at my arms and shoulders and knees like a bad dog. Be surrounded by thunder. Not thunder. Shouts and yells and the hammer of fists on the door. Pound. Pound. Pound. Like a metronome. Hear the door splinter and the cheap lock crack. Hear the voice and the stink of cheap, fermented bread and poison on his breath as the closet door tears open. Be grabbed by the hair and dragged.
It hurts! IT HURTS!
The world spins as I’m thrown against the wall, and his palm follows me quickly. My world spins again, this time with the tilting vertigo of agony. My face is on fire where palm crossed jaw. Spikes of pain bloom on my arms and chest. He’s saying words. Awful words with kicks like commas and punches like periods to jab every word deeper.
Stupid. Idiot. Useless. Always useless. Never does anything. Fucking pointless—
“—god dammit!” I can’t. I can’t stay there for that long. It hurts too much.
“I saw him.” Rosary’s voice is pale and wan. “Ivy’s husband… he was… he was right there in her memories.”
“We’re getting to the end, I think.” I cradle Rosary’s hand in mine and look between her and Wallflower. “It’s a jumble… her mind is a rat’s nest, but I’m not surprised. Especially since she’s like this.”
“Can you wake her up?” Rosary asks, brittle hope in her voice.
“I…” I look over at Wallflower, and take a deep breath, then nod as I turn back to Rosary. “Yeah… I can do it. I can wake her up.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Okay, one more time,” I take another steadying breath, finding my center. “One more t—
—be quiet and distant. My mind is so far away and too close at the same time. I would be suffocating if I even felt real. Cold stone, smooth in places and rough in others, rests heavy in my palm.
Be sitting on my bed. It’s cold and stiff and hard.
Be tightening my grip.
Be waiting.
Screams of outrage strike my ears like a brass gong. Shouts and accusations. Demands to know who poured the poison and fermented bread down the drain. Cries and pleading. Momma pleading but never seeing. Never watching. Always acting. Sound of impact. Sound of pain. I grit my teeth and my hand tightens around stone so hard it draws blood. Stomping footsteps thunder down the hall. Broken door is broken again. Broken open, but it was never really closed. No closed doors in His house. No closed doors.
Palm crosses cheek. Pain explodes behind my eyes. Be coughing and spluttering on the floor. Fingers grip hair and drag me up. Frail and thin, my body hangs like a puppet and I stare into the ruddy angry face of Him.
Hand tightens on stone. Light explodes around me.
Be dropped to the ground. I see him. Slack-jawed and vacant. I’m gone from him. I move around him. Move to the hallway. Move to the house. Move to the crying.
Flash of light. Gone from momma.
Erase me from the house. Gone. Gone. Gone. Pictures and letters and books. Make it all go away until.
Knock at the door. Be afraid and be guilty. Can’t be seen. Can’t be caught. I grip the stone and walk to the door and open it.
Why?! Be confused. Be scared. Rosary sees. Rosary is wise. Rosary Wise. Stares at me. Eyes like seastorm. Be sorry! Be so, so sorry!
Light flashes. Gone from Rosary. Gone from Home. Take her memories. Take her pictures.
Gone. Find others. Be gone from them too.
Finally, just be gone.
…
Light…
Light like amber.
Light like gold.
Light like Fire.
Light like… Sunset.
Come back to me.