Chapter 9.e – Crossing Over
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Acceptance of the Self

Book 1: Attunement of the Hearts

Chapter 9.e - Crossing Over

___________________ ღ♥ღ ___________________

 E

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[ - Saturday Sept. 07 2019, 12:30pm, Dawn's house - ]

 

The smell of homemade waffles fills Dawn’s kitchen. 

 

I’m pretty sure she let me win our little race down here, thereby forcing herself to pick what we’d have for brunch. The both of us hate making decisions that affect other people, but once she realized we had all the ingredients for her family’s waffle batter recipe she didn’t have to agonize over the decision.

 

We’re sitting in our usual spots: Dawn at the west head of the table and me next to her on her right. There’s a plate with three thick waffles stacked up in the middle of the table near us, backups or leftovers depending on how hungry we are this morning. We’re each several bites into the two beautiful pastries on the plates before us. Dawn’s put hot butter on hers with cool whip spread atop that, while I’ve got peanut butter smeared across mine and hot syrup poured over it. The two of us can’t stand each others’ choice in waffle toppings, but over our many years together we’ve managed to come to an agreement not to belittle each other too much about our culinary preferences.

 

“I still can’t believe you ruin these beautiful breakfast delights with peanut butter of all things,” Dawn says conversationally, before shoving another bite into her cheekily grinning mouth.

 

I blink at her in disbelief. Scratch that, it is on.

 

“At least I have the decency to add nutrients to my meal,” I say with self righteous indignation, “at least I don’t smother it in cold fluffy sugar.”

 

Dawn scoffs. “I have created a delicacy, you sit before an abomination.” She actually has her nose turned up at me.

 

“Listen here lady,” I say in a threatening growl, “I thought we agreed to ignore how wrong you are about waffle consumption. Get off my back!” Try as I might, I can’t keep the smirk off my face. It’s kinda fun to find ways to add gender into the insults I hurl at her.

 

She keeps up the elegant air as she daintily cuts off a small bite of her desserffle with fork and knife. “I may possibly remember something to that effect,” she says nonchalantly, “but you looked far too comfortable ruining that entree for me to ignore it a moment longer.”

 

I narrow my eyes at her in suspicion, realizing what she’s probably playing at. “You’re just trying to make me feel better about being crazy, aren’t you?” I ask.

 

“Darling, the only thing crazy about you is your love for peanut butter on far too many breakfast items,” she replies with a smile. “But I suppose I was hoping to distract you from the heavier things on your mind.”

 

I nod slowly, swallowing the bite I’d been chewing as she talks. The sweet taste of the syrup mixed with the savory peanut butter reminds me of the simplicity of my early childhood; it honestly helps keep me from getting too down about said heavy things. 

 

“Well, thanks,” I say seriously, meeting her eyes. Then I smirk and add airily, “but I suppose both waffle toppings and my sanity are topics we’ll have to agree to disagree on.”

 

Dawn rolls her eyes, but there’s still a spark of mischief in them. I stick another square of sweet peanut buttery goodness into my mouth, waiting for her to take her turn in this dance of jests.

 

“Thankfully,” she says after a moment of munching, “given that there are two of us here and we believe in actual democracy, my vote for you being both waffley wrong and sanity-ley up for debate brings this council’s decision to a stand still. I guess we’re both wrong today.”

 

I’m too busy chewing to reply to her right away, and I watch as she sits up a little straighter in her seat and fixes her gaze on me. “All of that being said,” she says more seriously, “I have thought of some heavier questions for you, I can start asking whenever you’re ready.”

 

I swallow, grimacing. I toy with the idea of waiting till we’re done eating, but decide I’d rather not put this off any longer. I stick my fork into another piece of waffle with a furrowed brow, nervous about whether or not Dawn will continue being so nice to me once she learns just how far off the deep end I’m about to take her. “What the hell, shoot,” I reply. 

 

She nods in response. “Alright cool, first up: was what happened on Tuesday after D&D related to these Anne visions?” she asks conversationally, dipping a piece of waffle into an errant dollop of cool whip on her plate.

 

I stare at her for a moment, chewing and trying to remember what she’s talking about. Then it clicks. “Oh!” I say with my mouth full of peanut butter, as the memory of the crowd noises outside her car comes back to me. I swallow and reply, “Yeah, that was actually the first time it happened I think. At least as far as I can remember.”

 

“Gotcha,” Dawn says readily, “And have you had anything else going on? Like any weird physical symptoms, or any mental stuff like more than normal anxiety, depression, or thoughts that are out of the ordinary besides Anne-related stuff?” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Like I remember you had a headache after the noises on Tuesday.”

 

I frown, staring at the syrup dripping off the waffle piece I’m holding halfway between the plate and my mouth. “Let’s see,” I begin, trying to recall as much as possible. “I’ve definitely had headaches a few times after visions, but not every time. I’ve been super stressed out about everything happening too, Anne visions and trans revelations included. And I had barely any sleep until last night. It’s kinda hard to tell what might be out of the ordinary, since I’ve basically been on fire all week.”

 

A look of heartfelt concern flickers across Dawn’s features, replaced by a furrowed brow of contemplation. “You poor girl,” she says quietly. 

 

She sits back in her chair and seems to get lost in thought. I eat the final piece of my waffle and set my fork back down on my plate, ruminating on the past few days and waiting for her next question.

 

"So," Dawn says after a few moments, "how are you feeling today? Just in general."

 

I look down at my syrup-coated plate, trying to get a feel for myself in the moment. Understanding my emotions, even just recognizing them in the first place, has never been my strong suite. 

 

"Hmmm," I say slowly, "I feel pretty okay right now, all things considered. The nine ish hours of sleep did wonders for my mood, and those waffles really hit the spot.” 

 

I flounder, trying to come up with anything more than that. Dawn waits for me patiently, and I decide to just start saying whatever comes to mind in the hope that some of it’s useful to her.

 

“I'm definitely feeling scared of you knowing this stuff about me, like really scared. And I’m afraid of everything happening in my head in general...” I trail off, and give her a weak smile. “But even though I’m scared, I feel better about you knowing this stuff than I felt while trying to hide it all. I can actually like, breathe a little bit."

 

It's a small relief to notice that, honestly. I feel more able to think about all these bizarre visions rationally, with someone else to ground me in reality. 

 

I say as much to Dawn, and she gives me a serious look. “For what it’s worth I’m really glad you told me, E,” she says with sincerity, “I obviously don’t know any more than you do about this, but I’m going to be here for you no matter what. I’m honored that you trusted me enough to share this stuff.” 

 

I feel gratitude well up within me, the emotion far too big to be expressed in mere words. It's more than just thankfulness too. Dawn knows more about me than any other person on this earth, and yet she still has my back. I really trust this person, I trust her with my life. It feels like a weight lifting off my shoulders, as I process how vulnerable I am in this moment.

 

I smile a lot more sincerely at her, and can feel myself starting to tear up. “Fuck, Dawn... Thank you, for being my friend,” I say softly.

 

“Of course,” she replies simply. As if this care she’s showing me is the most normal thing in the world to her. The tears become harder to hold back, and my smile is wide enough it’s starting to hurt. This mix of gratitude and trust feels like a relief, a release of all the stress I’d been accumulating the past few days.

 

A wave of calm washes through me, carrying with it a noticeable clarity, and it’s then I realize these emotions aren’t confined to just me. My joy is being met with an answering echo from somewhere else. Another presence brushes against my mind, or maybe my mind’s the one doing the brushing? All I know is I’m feeling Anne: her emotions are leaking through to me, resonating with my own. 

 

Dawn says something to me, but I can’t parse it. This is the first time I've felt Anne while relatively free from earthly responsibilities, and I can’t help but keep still: paying sharp attention to my thoughts. Part of me is so damn curious about what's happening between Anne and I, and it tries to block out the other parts of me who are still anxious about this whole situation and want nothing to do with it. Though I try to ignore them, the anxieties clamor for my attention doggedly: demanding I at least let Dawn know what’s going on.

 

With irritation, I dig the fingers of my left hand into my right palm, focusing on the sensations and trying to rein in my wandering mind and ground myself firmly back to Dawn’s kitchen. When I open my eyes, I find her looking at me with cautious interest. 

 

“Aha, um,” I say nervously, not quite able to meet her gaze, “the ah, thing is happening. Anne, I mean, I feel her. I want to explore it a bit? If that’s okay?” 

 

Dawn’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Alright, do your thing. I’ll be here,” she says, though it’s clear she’s itching to ask questions. I don’t let the flickers of guilt over not paying attention to her stop me, though. I trust that she’ll understand. 

 

I close my eyes and focus intently on that trust, on how happy I am to have Dawn in my life: searching for that answering echo of Anne’s gratefulness. It’s easy to find, and I feel it in addition to my own gratitude towards Dawn. I try to zero in on the stream of emotions I can tell are coming from Anne, using it like a trail to guide me towards her. 

 

I can feel that my thankfulness towards Dawn is being mirrored, strengthened even, by the immense gratitude Anne’s experiencing on her end. I learn that Anne’s younger sister, Leahna, is the subject of her trust. I get flashes, bits of imagery, thoughts and feelings. Leah is helping her sister even after all she’s learned about Anne’s past, and it’s got Anne near tears right now. My trust mixes with hers, each of us feeling the other’s friendship, the other’s kinship.

 

The sensations of the kitchen fade as I’m drawn more fully inward. At first it’s easy to let myself focus on Anne’s thoughts and be drawn towards them. But once the sensations of my body fade entirely, it becomes difficult to discern where my feelings end and hers begin. I find myself getting confused, turned around. I wind up accidentally following a stream of emotions back to my body more than once. It feels like I’m flowing along a river in a pitch-dark dream, but halfway to the other end of it is a cavern of confusing whirlpools and rapids that I can’t seem to navigate by intuition alone.

 

I let out a frustrated sigh, opening my eyes to find Dawn with her phone in her hands and an eyebrow raising. She meets my gaze quizzically.

 

“What’s up?” she asks with interest, leaning a little bit towards me and setting her cell down on the table.

 

“Just trying to figure out how to contact the magical girl in my head,” I reply with a shrug. “I’ve got no idea what I’m doing, but I’m not gonna let that stop me.”

 

I try to remember the sandy beach that Anne had visited me through last time. She seemed to know how to do this mind-travel stuff a lot better than I’m managing: maybe there’s something I can learn there. 

 

“Anything I can do to help?” Dawn asks.

 

I give her a smile. “I don’t think so, at least not right now. Maybe let me know how long I sit here meditating or whatever?” I reply.

 

She nods and picks up her phone. “I’ll start a timer.”

 

“Thanks! I’m going to try again, talk to you in a bit,” I tell my friend. 

 

I close my eyes, and relax back into my chair.

 

I picture the imaginary bridge Anne’d built between us, trying to figure out what she’d done that had allowed her to enter my side of our connection. There’s a sense of purpose to this wood bridge: it’s more clearly defined in my memory than the rest of the beach. Even though I don’t know exactly how all the details looked before, I find that focusing on that memory - thinking about how Anne had walked out of the mists on this giant root-looking bridge - helps me ‘remember’ things that I’m almost sure I hadn’t ever known before. It’s almost like this bridge-scene is a compressed file in my head: accessing the memory opens up a wealth of feelings and thoughts that Anne must have left behind, whether on purpose or not I’ve no clue. But now I know there’s something special to this bridge. On the other side of it is Anne, and I get the feeling it’s a fairly straight shot in fact. The bridge is like the concept of my connection to Anne given form, as if she wove the feelings and sensations of connecting to me all throughout this imaginary structure.

 

She hadn’t known how our connection works anymore than I do, but she had figured out that slipping over to my side had happened almost automatically when our emotions were strong and similar. And then she’d found that concentrating on the idea of me, sans any big emotions on either of our parts, had helped her find the thread of, well, she used the word ‘magic’, connecting us. It’s unlike any magic she’d encountered before, apparently, but I guess she had enough of a sense of it to weave it into this imagery of the bridge. And it had worked, she’d used it as a path that allowed her to access my mind even when I wasn’t thinking about her or feeling anything in particular. That must be why it felt different when she visited me in the courtyard at school: she’d been doing it on purpose, it hadn’t been a random accident like the rest of our time together. 

 

Not all of the information I have left over from Anne makes sense, but at the very least it helps me get a vague understanding of what I need to do. The bridge reminds me of something I once read about on a wikipedia binge - I want to say it’d been called a memory palace or something? - a mental shorthand for accurately recalling these specific feelings and sensations she wanted to remember. 

 

Whatever it is, I want to use it.

 

I start by imagining myself as a disembodied view point floating down the bridge: pushing into the wall of mists beyond my beach and moving forward steadily using the idea of the bridge as a guide. 

 

I feel kind of silly at first. It’s really more of a story I’m telling myself than a vision; I don’t so much see the bridge as will myself to believe it’s there. But it definitely helps me draw closer to the faint feelings of trust still resonating out from Anne’s side of the connection.

 

When I return to that confusing midpoint where it’s hard to tell where I end and Anne begins, I tell myself that I’m following the bridge this time. I know the way, I don’t have to suss it out. I’m going to the other end of it, towards Anne. It’s still confusing to the more rational parts of me, but I try my best not to let that uncertainty cloud my thoughts. 

 

And when I start to feel the turbulence calm, Anne’s emotions have grown much stronger. Now they’re like a beacon I can home in on, even without the bridge imagery. The more I focus on moving towards my mental companion, the stronger the sense of her becomes. 

 

Why hello E, Anne think-says at me after another moment of concentration on my part. Her thought comes through loud and clear, and I get the sense that she’s a little surprised I’m here. 

 

Hi Anne, I reply awkwardly. I still don’t really know how to ‘talk’ without a mouth, so it’s more like I think ‘hi Anne’ really hard and hope she gets the message. She seems to hum in contentment though, so I think it works. 

 

There’s a tug in my mind, like someone's grabbing my attention and yanking me towards a concept. Suddenly I’m no longer a disembodied bundle of consciousness guided by will and feeling alone. A set of senses is sort of thrust at me, and I instinctively latch onto it. In a moment I have a kinesthetic sense of a body again, and I feel my hair stirring in a cool ocean-scented breeze.

 

I open my eyes, and find myself looking at the now-familiar connection bridge stretching out ahead of me. I'm facing away from the fog wall now, and looking out across teal-blue water towards a huge, mountainous, jungle-covered landmass. The bridge rises out of the water the closer it gets to the steep stone-cliff shore, and I realize it literally is a massive root that disappears into the dense, giant rainforest further inland.

 

I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out if I’m actually here here or what. In the distance, I see a tall bronze-skinned black haired figure standing on the bridge right where it meets the cliff of the island. Anne looks way happier than I’ve seen her thus far, and she gives me a little wave. 

 

Welcome to my little sanctuary, she says in my head, her voice as loud and clear as it’d been before I’d been tugged here. 

 

This feels so real, I say incredulously, am I actually here? Did you pull me into your head? 

 

I start walking towards her, but then, in a blink, I find myself standing about two feet away from her atop the cliffs. I stumble back a step, gasping in shock. Long brown hair whips into my eyes, and I brush it aside without a second thought. A look behind me shows the giant root descending and leveling out over the sea until it disappears into the mists; I’m about fifty meters away from where I’d just been standing.

 

This is ‘real’ in the sense that you and I are here, experiencing it, Anne replies with patience. I turn back to her, my brow furrowed, and find her watching me with keen interest. 

 

However, she continues, this place exists only in my part of my system’s mind. No one but you and I can come here without some hefty mind magic and the knowledge that ‘here’ exists.

 

O-kay, I think at her slowly. I blink a couple times, trying to process everything that’s happening. I don’t feel right, but I’ve no idea why. I’m still sorta stuck on the question of how I can be here getting all of this rich feedback from the world around me - each moment bringing new scents and sounds from the ocean below and the forest ahead - if I’m still basically just a thought in Anne’s mind. 

 

From within the forest behind her, a chorus of alien-sounding birdsong from what must be hundreds of different species drifts to us. There’s even the occasional monkey-esque screech or big-cat roar thrown in. Below there’s the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the cliffs, the cries of seagulls and the scent of brine drifting up to us. I brush my hair out of my face again. Is this kinda shit what sinking all your skill points into ‘imagination’ can do?

 

Anne laughs as I think the question. It’s a low, carefree chuckle that has the corners of my mouth instinctively turning up. 

 

You create worlds as vivid as this in your dreams every night, do you not? she asks. 

 

Uh, I reply, maybe? I don’t often remember them. I try to quiet the rest of my mind, so that I’m not broadcasting every thought loud enough for her to hear it. Anne just grins at me. 

 

“This is like a shared dream,” she explains, talking aloud in her lilting voice for the first time, “your consciousness is reaching out for feedback from this place, as is mine, and the both of us are subconsciously generating sensations that seem like they ought to be here. This is a place I frequent when I’m not ‘fronting’ in our body, so most of it is already well-defined. Hence it being so alien to you.”

 

I tilt my head at her, and cross my arms as I think about that. This action, however, immediately ends all other thoughts in my mind aside from the abrupt realization that this is not the body I’d assumed I was inhabiting.

 

I yelp in a voice that’s several octaves higher than usual, whipping my arms away from my chest like they’d been burned. When I look down, I find two decent-sized breasts attached to my body, stretching the soft black fabric of the scoop-necked t-shirt I’m apparently wearing. The arms that I’m now holding out parallel to my chest are much slimmer than I remember, even though they look well-muscled, and my fingers seem almost delicate. 

 

I freeze up as I attempt to understand what I’m seeing and feeling. I just stare at these new additions to my body, my brain unable to really process the ten thousand thoughts that are trying to ram themselves into my consciousness. 

 

I feel as if I’m a stranger, standing somewhere outside this body yet feeling everything it feels. Idly, I realize I’d been feeling ‘off’ because my sense of balance must have changed to accommodate for this extra weight on my chest. Not to mention whatever the hell else is different about this form. I realize I’ve been dealing with the wavy long brown hair that’s still blowing gently in the wind: pulling at my scalp in a way I’ve never imagined before. My skin tingles with every gust of the salt-scented air. Altogether these new sensations are just far past too much for my poor beleaguered mind to handle.

 

I have a billion questions I want to ask but they all get stopped up inside me. Every fresh sensation from the world around me is overwhelming and further shuts down the rest of my mind. I feel completely numb.

 

And then, all of a sudden, the wind dies down, and the noises of the world around us become muffled and fade into the background. Even the glaring light of the sun above dims, as if covered by a convenient cloud.

 

For a few moments, there is blessed silence.

 

I’m sorry this overwhelmed you E, Anne says softly in my head, feelings of concern, warmth, and love reaching through to me along with her words. You can sit down if you like, she continues, there’s now a cushioned chair beside you. I can help you adjust this body however you like if it does not suit you.

 

Please let me keep it, I think back immediately. There’s no panic behind the thought, it’s just a detached statement of need. My eyes twitch, and then blink, and then I look up from my chest to my companion.

 

I am silent for another moment. Until a writhing serpent of overwhelming emotions - joy, confusion, awe, fear - bursts into the void of my mind and blasts beyond me with a single word: How? 

 

---

 

Anne and I sit facing each other on comfortable scarlet-cushioned arm chairs that seem to grow out of the root-bridge beneath us.

 

At my request, Anne had materialized a simple rectangular room around us: just four wooden walls and a roof over our heads - all also growing from the wood of the bridge. There’s two small square windows on either wall to my left and right, but none ahead or behind me. They let in the natural light of the sun outside, while the rest of the structure shuts out the cacophony of sensations that fill the air outside.

 

In here, I find myself more able to think, to reason. The body I’m currently possessing is one I’ve only seen a few times before in scattered, half remembered dreams of joy and peace. Being in it now, fully conscious of myself, and fully aware of why I love this feminine form, is overwhelming all on its own. But it’s the best chaotic riot of emotions I’ve ever experienced. I’m just sitting here curled up in a comfy chair and hugging myself, my face wet from the happy tears I’ve cried.

 

I had hoped giving you a form closer to your ideal self might help you feel more comfortable here, Anne think-says to me, regret woven through her words, I did not anticipate how jarring it would be for you, and I apologize. 

 

I shake my head at her firmly, and clear my throat. “Thank you,” I state softly, in a voice that’s small and undeniably feminine. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You were right, this is the kind of dream I wish could go on forever. Sharing it with someone else is, new. And sometimes new is hard for me. Especially so much of it at once. But that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy.”

 

I hug myself a little tighter, staring at the far taller woman sitting less than ten feet away from me. My mouth feels dry from the nervousness coursing through me. It’s one thing to come out to myself about being a girl; suddenly appearing in a strange new place with a strange - though undeniably pleasant - new body feels at least a few thousand steps beyond the limits of my comfort zone.

 

“I’m very glad that you’re here,” Anne says in her language tentatively, pulling my attention back to her. She looks as awkward as I feel. Gone is the unflappable warrior woman, in her place is a nervous twenty-something dressed in a simple green blouse with a deep brown skirt. She looks like she belongs in a library, or maybe a temple, rather than this wild imaginary island. “A lot has happened since we last spoke,” she continues, staring down at her skirt-covered knees. “Most of it is...” she hesitates, then admits: “Not good.”

 

It’s my turn to drop my gaze to my lap, where I belatedly register the fact that I’m wearing sea-green capris and white running shoes with pink accents and laces. “Do you, um, want to talk about it?” I ask in Amaranthine.

 

Anne sighs. “Not really,” she admits, “but we need to. It involves all of us, including you.”

 

I frown, wondering what fresh new problems this connection is about to bring me. “Oh yeah?” 

 

“Oh yeah,” she echoes firmly, and then her expression darkens. “It turns out there’s a reason the last recorded bond like ours was over a century ago.” Her tone is angry, and that anger is seeping over to me emotionally as well. “Someone or some thing has been making them disappear.”

 

I choke slightly on my own spit as that sinks in. Disappear how? I ask in thought-speech.

 

“Anyone in my city,” Anne explains, “who comes forward about a possible connection like ours, vanishes as soon as they try to go public about it. The council that runs the city is involved somehow, we think, but we don’t know if they’re behind it or not. All we can say for sure is that these people are never seen again.”

 

My eyes widen, and a thrill of trepidation runs down my spine. It’s clear Anne is incredibly on edge about this, and it’s leaking over to me.

 

“Fuck,” I say eloquently.

 

“Fuck,” Anne agrees, also in English and nodding slightly.

 

“What are you planning to do about that?” I ask.

 

“If it were up to me,” she says irritatedly, “I’d keep a low profile and try to figure out who's doing the abducting.”

 

I raise an eyebrow at her. “I take it it’s not up to you, though?” I ask.

 

As if on cue the center of the wall to my left suddenly pulses, and a crimson red streak of fire spirals outward until reaching a seven foot tall ovaloid shape. It looks like a portal to hell. I catch Anne rolling her eyes as I turn to face this flaming hole in reality. “Nope, it’s sure not,” she mutters in answer.

 

A black metal-armored leg steps out of the burning hole. It’s followed by an attached figure kitted out in more metal-looking black armor with a sheathed longsword at their hip.

 

The only place not covered in armor is their head, which features black skin, black hair that’s woven into rows of tight braids, and crimson red eyes. Their red glare fixates on me, and their hand tightens around the hilt of their sword.

 

I know more about this person than I ought to, having never met them before. But through Anne I know this is Amira, another person in Anne’s dissociative system. They use they/she pronouns, and are the ‘protector’ who handles fighting and generally standing up to the outside world. They feel like a tough older sibling, perfectly capable of kicking my ass or defending it, depending on the situation. 

 

Nice to meet you, E, Amira thinks at me. I start a little in my seat. Their thought-voice is distinct from Anne’s, though it’s difficult to say how exactly. The general vibe is more direct than Anne’s has ever felt, and their emotions seem tightly controlled and hidden from me. It’s like their personality is woven into the words.

 

“Ahh-um, hello,” I say in a small voice, with more than a little trepidation.

 

“It’s okay,” Anne reassures me, “Amira’s my closest friend, they’re not going to harm you.”

 

“Don’t go making promises for me,” Amira shoots back, glancing over at Anne. Their voice is low, throaty and vaguely threatening. “I’m in charge of making sure we’re safe, and that includes from her,” they say, with a glance of their crimson-colored gaze towards me. I shrink back a little more in my chair, and Anne glares at them.

 

“She could be in as much danger as we are, protector,” she counters firmly, “If the people taking other bonded are working with allies in other worlds, E needs just as much protection as we do. For all our sake.”

 

At that, Amira smiles wolfishly. “I know,” they say, “that’s why I’m here.”

 

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Anne scoffs.

 

"I'm going to help keep the both of you safe, but that doesn't mean I have to trust her yet," they shoot back.

 

I’m still a few steps behind in the conversation, not quite following their rapid fire banter. But my brain finally registers what Anne just said. 

 

“Wait hold up,” I half-shout, drawing both their attention, “are you saying there might be other people in my world like us?”

 

Anne starts nodding while Amira rolls their eyes.

 

“It’s definitely possible,” Anne replies, “we know you’re connected to our world, and Leah found there's precedence for multiple bonded pairs working on the same two worlds. She thinks that, in general, the more things there are directly connecting two worlds together, the easier it becomes for new bonds to form between their populations.”

 

“That’s Leahna’s theory, at least,” Amira adds.

 

I stare at Anne, trying to figure out if this is good news or bad news. On the one hand, not being alone on Earth as the only one with weird otherworldly connections might be nice. On the other, I'd really, really like to avoid getting kidnapped or whatever was happening in Amaranth.

 

Still though, this seems like a big stretch. “I doubt that's the case. If other people on Earth have been connected to magical worlds like yours, why the fuck haven’t I heard about it?” I ask them, “There is no magic in my world, something like this would have been - is - a huge deal!”

 

Amira raises an eyebrow at me, while Anne takes a centering breath.

 

“Is it not possible,” Anne starts, “that others like you might have kept their connections hidden? Or, even if they did try to tell others, that most of your world disbelieved them and their stories were lost to time?”

 

“Don’t you have books about this sort of thing?” Amira asks pointedly, “Anne mentioned your love for ‘fantasy’, do you think maybe some of those stories might have started as ‘nonfiction’?”

 

I cross my arms, taking comfort in the press of my forearms against my breasts. I’m really not ready to argue with these two, especially not while I’m stranded so far away from everything I know. I feel tense and defensive, and I don't even really know what I'm defending or why.

 

"I..." I start quietly, "I don't know." 

 

“Amira,” Anne says suddenly, causing the enby to turn towards her sharply, “can you leave us? E needs space, and this isn’t a conversation we need to have just yet.”

 

The protector nods. “Sure, and I’m sorry I’ve been harsh, E. Anne trusts you, and I respect her, but I also need to look out for her, for all of us.”

 

I manage to smile a little at them, though I feel incredibly off balance. “Sure, I get it,” I reply quietly, "I can't say I trust you at the moment either."

 

They smirk at me, then turn around. In moments, they’ve stepped back through their fiery portal and it vanishes from existence. The wall of our little shelter is back, and I’m left alone with Anne once more. There are a few moments of quiet, during which I try to wrestle with the awkward vulnerability I feel.

 

“I have an idea,” Anne says, a mixture of excitement and nervousness radiating off her, “Can I accompany you back to your world? Perhaps talking with your friend about these potential dangers would be beneficial.”

 

I stare at her for a few moments. Then I swallow the lump of trepidation in my throat, and reply, “Yeah, that might be a really good idea.”

 

If nothing else, I figured, at least having Anne and Dawn in the same room would help the latter analyze the former.

 

End of

Chapter 9 - Crossing Over

 

Update 01/11/22: eightish months after I published this and I only just realized I forgot that E and Dawn's breakfast race was to decide who *had* to make the decision, rather than who *got* to make the decision. Thanks to AndreaWiggin for pointing this out ^^.

 

Additional thanks to PurpleCatGirl and friend K for help with prereading and editing this and many/most other chapters!

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