Goldie
Everything is white. She’s staring into a lightbulb, a field of snow, a Tupperware sky. Shadows start to take shape and now Goldie sees that she’s standing in a white garden: trees, plants, birds, butterflies, all is white . . . A white cat stalks through white grass, picking his paws amidst daisies and dandelions, before disappearing into a clutch of cow parsley. Albino blackbirds trill from white birch trees, their song floating on a breeze that carries white bumblebees to and from white roses. Hundreds of flowers are sprinkled through the garden, fat and heavy, on every stalk and stem.
As Goldie watches the garden begins to expand in every direction, reaching out far and wide till all she can see are millions of roses, their scent so strong and sweet that she can taste sugar on her tongue.
She’s had this dream many times before, many years ago. She knows what to do next. With a single twitch of her fingers she draws a dozen daisies from the white grasses, clipping their stalks with a quick snap. They lift up to hover patiently in the air. Goldie presses forefinger to thumb and the daisies gather into a suspended circle. She clicks her fingers and slowly, surely, they thread together until they create a floral crown which settles upon her head.
It suits you.
Goldie looks up to see her raven sister alight on a rose bush, her talons splayed to avoid the thorns, her black feathers stark against the white.
‘Thank you.’ Goldie scrutinizes her sister. ‘Is this – did you do this?’
Do what?
‘The dream.’
The raven ruffles its feathers, dipping its beak under its wing. Perhaps.
‘Why?’ Goldie takes the crown from her head. ‘Why didn’t you just find me in Everwhere?’
Bea regards Goldie with glinting black eyes. Because you’re never alone.
‘So?’ Goldie feels herself starting to itch. ‘Why does that matter?’
Bea hops down from the rose bush to settle in the white grasses at Goldie’s feet.
Goldie steps back. ‘What is it?’
I need to tell you something you don’t want to hear.
Now Goldie feels a twist in her stomach; she wants to leave, wants to wake, wants to run. She’d rather tear through the white roses, torn at by thorns, scratched till her skin’s shredded into ribbons that stream behind her as she runs and runs and never looks back.
Sometimes it’s a sister’s duty to say that the thing she most fears to be true, is.
Goldie shakes her head.
Yes.
‘No, no you’re wrong.’
And yet, you know what I’m going to say.
‘I don’t.’ Goldie starts to walk away. ‘I don’t, I . . .’
You cannot trap him like this, you must let him go.
Goldie presses her hands over her ears and starts to run, but it’s too late now.
Leo
Are you all right? You’re quiet tonight.
She nods.
Goldie?
‘Oh,’ she says, remembering that he can’t see her. ‘Sorry, yes, I’m fine.’
You’re not. You’ve hardly said a word. Usually you can’t shut up.
‘Gee, thanks.’
Laughter shakes his boughs. And I love it, that’s why I’m asking. I miss my chatty little thief.
‘Is that how you think of me?’ Goldie frowns. ‘That’s the first descriptive word that comes to mind? Thief?’
Of course not. It was only one word. I have many that come to mind when I think of you: unparalleled, outstanding, astonishing, breath-taking, spectacular, phenomenal . . .
Goldie smiles, momentarily forgetting her fear. ‘Go on.’
I think of you as a warrior, a witch, a . . .
‘All right, you may stop now,’ she says, still smiling. ‘I’m placated.’
I’m glad. Now, instead of trying to distract me with a fight, tell me what’s wrong.
Goldie’s silent. ‘I can’t tell you,’ she says, at last. ‘Because it will change everything.’
It sounds as if it already has.
Goldie inhales, holding her breath for what she hopes is an eternity. ‘I know you’re not happy,’ she whispers. ‘I know you want to be free.’
Now he’s silent.
Who told you that?
‘My sister.’
Which sister?
‘Bea.’
Another laugh shakes the boughs. That’s ridiculous. What does she know of my heart?
And, if Goldie didn’t know him so well, if she couldn’t trace the lines of every remembered smile, decipher the meaning of every sigh, the subtext beneath every word, she might believe him.
Scarlet
It’s only been days but to Scarlet it feels like weeks, months, years. So long has she been steeped in sorrow, it’s as though she’s never breathed anything else but the bleak misty airs of January. All her life.
How is it possible, she wonders, to be so completely and so quickly changed? What’s happened to the girl she once was? So independent, so strong. Scared too, of course, but still whole. And now her heart’s been cracked and her character crippled. Her spirit’s been broken by betrayal and is forever changed; she’ll never again be able to love in that unlimited, unbounded way: full of faith and innocent of pain. She will always hold one hand over her heart, a protection and a defence.
‘Well, you were right,’ Scarlet says. ‘I should have listened; I suppose I’d have saved myself a lifetime of pain.’
She sits under a willow tree in Everwhere, between the exposed roots, leaning against the trunk, sheltering behind the respectful curtain of its leaves. She needs its solidity today, not the great uncertain expanse of moss and stone. Scarlet needs something to cling to, in case her broken spirit suddenly crumbles and she finds she cannot pick herself up again. She waits now, half-expecting her sister’s retort. But none comes. The glade is quiet, except for the murmuration of blackbirds above, and the faraway roar of the wind.
‘Tell me,’ Scarlet says, after a while. ‘Tell me what to do now.’
She listens, but no answer comes. No voice. No sound.
‘Is this some sort of “life lesson”?’ Scarlet says, making air quotes around the words, though no one is there to witness her. ‘Are you telling me I need to find this out for myself? Or are you giving me the silent treatment? Are you still saying you told me so?’
When still no response comes, Scarlet curses. Her breath is tight in her chest. A sigh rises in her throat that she slowly, deliberately exhales. ‘You’re going to leave me all alone in this then, are you?’ Her left foot starts up an agitated tapping. ‘My fiancé left me, now my sister too.’ Scarlet cracks each of her knuckles one by one.
And then, she stops.
Enough. In that word, in that decision, the world shifts on its axis.
She’s had enough. Enough of asking others for the answers, enough of looking for advice and direction and solace. All at once, Scarlet feels very calm. Her sorrow has ebbed and, in its place, has risen rage. Now she sits up, spine straight as an arrow. She doesn’t need the tree to hold her up. She will not beggar herself for love, she will not belittle her worth. Her value is not depreciated by the actions of one man. Despite everything, Scarlet is essentially unchanged. That is the truth. She closes her eyes.
In the silence the answer comes. And when it does it comes not from Bea but in Scarlet’s own voice: He did not break your heart. No one can do that but you.
It takes one long, eternal moment for that truth to sink in and when it finally does Scarlet realizes that her sister had been wrong when she’d said: ‘He will burn you. He will scar you. He will break your heart.’ Right about the man, wrong about the consequences. For, now Scarlet understands that such a thing is not possible. A man can act as foully as he likes, but he cannot harm what is not his. And her heart, along with her spirit and soul, is hers alone.
So, you may think yourself broken, but you are not. You can lose yourself only by your own actions, not by anyone else’s. The enemy may spit and taunt, may do his damnedest to make you feel worthless, but if you never believe him, if you hold fast to your own truth then you know what you’re worth. Even in battle, no matter how bloody and bruised you are, if you retain your will you are not broken. Even in defeat, even in impending death, if you do not surrender yourself you remain victorious.
Scarlet stands. Her spirit stirs. A spark fires. A flame is lit.
Slowly, purposefully, Scarlet smiles: she is a Sister Grimm once more.
Scarlet now hates Eli more than she ever imagined it possible to hate anyone. She doesn’t care about the affairs, doesn’t give a fuck who he’s fucked. Only that he gave her the greatest joy then snatched it away. Ripped it up, ruptured their life, tore away their baby’s future, burned it all to hell. For that, she will never forgive him.
Burn him back. A whispering rises from the hush of the shadows, like the murmuration of blackbirds above. Burn him back.
Scarlet cocks her head to listen. Unseen, her eyes flash as black as the raven’s.
Shatter his heart.
Rupture his spleen.
Split him apart.
Scarlet listens.
At her fingertips, sparks illuminate the dark.
Scarlet sits on a cold rock, far from the glade where her sisters gather. She is steeped in shadows and fog, cloaked in black and white. For the first time in a long while, she thinks of her father. At least he, demonic though he was, never betrayed her. Never pretended to be one thing when he was another. He displayed his darkness for all to see and, even then, he loved her, wanted her. Ezekiel Wolfe did the worst of all things. He tricked her.
Burn him, the whispers in the shadows say. Shatter his heart. Rupture his spleen. Split him apart.
Scarlet listens. Now it’s not only sparks at her fingertips illuminating the dark but great flashes of fire.
‘I will.’