Hannah felt her pulse like she rarely felt it. Veins and arteries across her body, from her forehead to her wrists, made themselves known.

It really was go time.

The chapel was laid out in the most uninviting way possible, so Hannah had to invite herself in. The great wooden doors made an even greater noise as she pulled them open. They squeaked and groaned, they cried and called for solace and mercy.

She granted them none.

Once upon a time, she had thought of a chapel as a second home. Hannah, child of a pastor, knew every inch of that home sanctuary. There wasn’t a patch of ground left unexplored, no pew left without being hid under or sat inappropriately on.

But homes had expiration dates. Homes curdled like goat milk, rotted and fermented like the foulest of cheeses.

The doors were finally open, and Hannah stepped on through. Whatever nerves she was feeling had to take a back seat.

“Hello,” she called into the great expanse of the sanctuary, “I’m from The Daily Apocalypse… Is anyone home?”

If no one was there, that would make this whole heist ordeal so much safer…

Of course, someone emerged. It couldn’t be easy, after all.

He was dressed in the usual whites of the clergy, with the whole robe and collar thing. As he came closer, Hannah saw echoes of her father in him; it was mostly the outfit, really. She chafed against her Sunday best clothes.

“Hello, ma’am. Did you… The Daily Apocalypse? You’re a reporter?”

Hannah removed a prop notepad and pen from her bag.

“Yes, sir! I hear this church is the home church of a historic order of knights, and my bosses at the paper thought it’d be good to do a profile on everything here.”

“Oh my goodness! Yes, yes, come in, come in. I will go fetch Lord Gaius.”

“Excellent.”

The chapel was just as unpleasant on the inside; the sun shining through the red-stained windows covered the floor in blood, and every surface was covered in some sort of relief of a dead dragon.

The pastor scrambled over to a set of doors at the far end of the chapel and knocked on them. There was no response.

“Lord?” he asked.

Nothing.

“Lord Gaius.”

Knock, knock, knock, nothing.

“Lord Gaius, there is a journalist from the Daily Apocalypse who would speak with you.”

The double doors practically burst open.

“Hello…. Oh!”

Hannah shivered. Lord Gaius’ most notable feature was his gaze, which was currently trying to nestle itself inside Hannah’s brassiere.

“Yes, hello. Daily Apocalypse,” she said, “I’m here to do a profile… sort of a Dragonquell retrospective.”

“A bit late for that, I’d think.”

“Dragonquell is every day at the DA, sir.”

This got an eyebrow raise out of Lord Gaius.

“Indeed?”

“Yes, we’re all in awe of the history of it.”

It was an easy enough lie. Hannah had spent some time traveling, and had picked up a thing or two in some of the smaller cities that celebrated the holiday. Of course, that had all been to visit Jake Howard’s extended family… Man, that sucked. Hannah was so happy she was rid of the man.

“I didn’t know we were so highly regarded!”

“Well, you are. Might you sit down with me?” Hannah asked, so as to draw him from his spot by the doors.

“No, I’d rather stay standing.”

Okay, fine. She could cope with that.

“Alright. So, first question: How do you feel about the legacy of this grand holiday? As it pertains to your ancestor’s role in it, of course.”

She added that last bit to really hook him in. Judging his reaction, she could say that it worked like a charm.

“Well, proud. As you can see, we take our dead dragons deathly seriously here! The glass mural on the wall is my pride and joy.”

“I see!”

Hannah scribbled out a squiggle on her notepad. It looked enough like writing to pass as a journalist’s notes. Lord Gaius approached her with some interest, as if to look over her shoulder. She started writing actual words in response to this.

Even though the words were nonsense; her pad read ‘fresh fruits form fast friends’ and ‘list of dogs to invite to my birthday party’ in lieu of any actual journalist-y notes.

“How do you folks here celebrate Dragonquell?”

Lord Gaius laughed, “Well, we do things a little uniquely. Of course, the holiday is all about revelry and breaking the rules… and then enforcing them, at the end. We elect two people as our deviants, our sinners, who usually dress up in humiliating outfits and--”

“Humiliating outfits?”

“Women’s clothing. They have gotten elaborate with it, to further the humiliation.”

Oh. Wow. That was a whole lot to take in.

“I see…”

“It’s a kind of exorcism, really. We all are incomplete men, striving for an ideal. Dragonquell reminds us of the dangers; the two we choose to be our deviants show us what we could be if we didn’t behave ourselves.”

He paused for a moment.

“Then, the rest of us take the role of penitents; we mete out the appropriate festive punishments, and give out the usual rewards of sweets and savory foods.”

“Most people prefer the role of the,” Hannah cleared her throat, “deviants. Interesting how you have most on the other side of the equation.”

Lord Gaius smiled, but it was a mean smile. It was a smile that would gladly kick dogs or throw rocks at frogs and smash innocent insects.

“Yes, well. This year things are going to be different. We're not really celebrating it much, you see. We have an anniversary party to prepare for.”

“An anniversary party? What’s it for?”

“To gather donations. We are under assault from the Inquisition, who would cut our funding, because they’re a bunch of faithless serpents. It’s in a few weeks, you should attend it and see for yourself,” Lord Gaius said.

Hmm. Hannah wrote that down. Free food and entertainment didn’t sound so bad, really. Even if it was from a bunch of pricks.

Though once more, the Lord was staring at her tits. There was a short list of people currently allowed to do that, and he wasn’t on it. The invitation surely had an ulterior motive.

“Why don’t you come into my office with me, ma’am?” Lord Gaius said.

He made a move for the doors; Hannah saw a blurry shape dive behind his desk. She had to think of something, fast.

Could she… appeal to her own modesty?

No. She had none of that to spare. But maybe she could fake it? He seemed like the type to get his underwear in a knot over virginity, after all. She put on her best dishonest smile and crinkled her eyes a little.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, but I’m an unmarried woman, and one of the terms of my employment at the paper is I avoid temptation. We are a religious news organization, after all.”

“Oh. Yes. Apologies. Though… you’re unmarried? I’m surprised.”

“You flatter me, lord,” Hannah replied, in a way that only a total dipshit would read as flattered. Thankfully, he either couldn’t tell or didn’t care that she hated every second of this conversation. Next time there was a heist, Hannah would make someone else be the distraction.

“Yes. Men are keen to say I’m not the marrying type.”

“Not the type? What sort of men are you talking to?”

Well, the one she was supposed to marry. Poor Jake. He was so looking forward to marrying her and having a captive audience to lecture on how to resist the Moonflower’s influence.

Oh well. Surely he’d have an entire flock of congregational sheep to talk at soon.

She looked at the floor.

“The wrong type, I guess. Can we turn back to your Order?”

The Lord nodded.

“Good. So...”

 

***

 

The view of the back corridor behind the chapel was an astounding one, Lillian thought. On an early evening like that one, the lights of Watermilfoil were not only visible but clear and resplendent. On that particular night, though, something incredible was happening in town.

It was a column of tiny pricks of light, starting from midtown and moving away from the castle. There must have been hundreds, thousands of them. Lillian found herself mesmerized as the flicking dots went further and further away.

“Huh. I guess Dragonquell is tomorrow,” Bailey said.

Lillian and Bailey both stood out back the chapel, but neither had said anything until then.

“Is that the light parade?” Lillian asked, “I’ve never seen it before.”

“They don’t do it in Golden Ravines?”

“Not often. There is bad blood between the Order and the Inquisition, and Dragonquell is considered an ‘Order’ holiday, what with the history of it. And people are far more frightened of… us, the Inquisition, in Golden Ravines.”

She exhaled. A bubble of self-hatred rose to the surface of her, and she found herself asking a question she definitely shouldn’t have said out loud.

“Bailey, how do you stand me?”

“Pretty easily,” Bailey said, without even a second of hesitation.

Lillian was always a little confused; Bailey actually liked her. Not in the attraction sense, that wasn’t the confusing part, but the ‘liking as a human being/dragon person’ sense. Lillian could admit she looked good in a suit… but she did not think she was very likable.

“No, I mean… you know what I am. I am a part of something vile. Even now, trying to do good, I am...”

All Bailey did was shrug, as if that was answer enough.

“I don’t know. I’d much rather you weren’t an Inquisitor, but we can work on that.”

“Can we?”

“I don’t know how yet, but I’m sure of it.”

Lillian made a noise that was like a laugh, but without the laughter part.

“I will hold you to that.”

“Good. Now,” Bailey craned her neck to look through the window, “it looks like it’s go time. Get going.”

“He’s left?”

Bailey nodded. 

At this confirmation, Lillian leapt into action. She took up her bag, kicked off her boots and winter gloves, and bid her nails to thicken into claws worthy of the climb. They did so, honing themselves into long points that could grab at gaps in the stone work.

She began to climb, and found it quite comfortable. In fact, she took to it as a skittering lizard might take to the task. Her limbs weren’t the most suited to the motion, at first. But she felt them shift into a more draconic stance, better for gripping and clawing at tall cliffs (and stone walls).

When she reached the window, skittering as she did, it struck her how odd how comfortable she was. Her arms and legs were just alien enough, both in that they had feathers covering them, and in that they weren’t quite a shape she was used to. In fact, she was so comfortable she could easily just cling to the wall for a while like it was no problem.

Then, when she got sick of it, she could glide down--

No. No gliding. No flying. No dragon thoughts. It was business time.

She willed her arms to a more human shape, and opened the window. It was covered in a filmy layer of frost, the sort that would take months to melt, but her clawed hands made easy work of it.

With that done, she pulled herself through the window and flopped onto the hardwood floors. Thankfully, it wasn’t actively snowing outside. Otherwise, the flopping down would have left a lot of physical evidence.

Lillian didn’t bother willing her feathers back into her. If she was caught, she was doomed regardless.

She stood up and caught her breath. The office was its usual self, covered in weapons and insecure-looking. Most surfaces had some token of masculinity affixed to them, whether it be one of the legendary dragonslaying weapons of yore (lance, shield, and sword), or whatever hideous taxidermy job was hanging over the desk.

All seemed in order, but for one thing. The doors were ajar; enough for someone to get a peek into the office.

She would have to move fast and subtle.

Wordlessly, she took to searching the desk.

“An anniversary party?” she heard Hannah say from the chapel. “What’s it for?”

“To gather donations. We are under assault from the Inquisition, who would cut our funding, because they’re a bunch of faithless serpents. It’s in a few weeks, you should attend it and see for yourself,” Lord Gaius said.

Oh, if Lillian succeeded, it would be more than their funding that would be cut. The whole organization would be reduced to a relic of memory. Hey, remember those guys, from the Dragonquell story? Yeah, I do, kind of, people would say. Weren’t they kind of assholes?

The file folders were numerous; there was a page for every member of the Order, excepting Henry, who had yet to sign anything.

She found Ulysses’ soon enough. Bill’s, however, wasn’t there. It must have been--

“Why don’t you come into my office with me, ma’am?” Lord Gaius said.

Lillian jammed Ulysses’ file back into the folder, jammed the folder into its spot, and dove underneath the desk. She forced herself to breathe small, even breaths. There were footsteps approaching the office.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir,” Hannah said, “but I’m an unmarried woman, and one of the terms of my employment at the paper is I avoid temptation. We are a religious news organization, after all.”

“Oh. Yes. Apologies. Though… you’re unmarried? I’m surprised.”

“You flatter me, lord,” Hannah said, in a voice Lillian knew to be faker than a fishhook.

Lillian pulled herself up a little, enough to see the ajar door. Her quarry’s back was turned to it. Thank goodness.

Just in case, she grabbed the personnel folder and took it back under the desk with her. The conversation continued out through the doors as she opened it up.

“Yes. Men are keen to say I’m not the marrying type.”

Okay, there were… incident reports involving Sir Frederick. Some were fairly recent, detailing conflicts with Sir Byserson, and the Lord himself. But…

“Not the type? What sort of men are you talking to?”

This was not the personnel folder. This was the blackmail folder. If Lillian was objective and not petty, she’d close this one and put it on the desk and get back to her work.

There was a report, dating back twenty-four years. This one was marked with a little tab for easy access, as if this was frequently referenced.

It detailed how Sir Frederick had… been caught at a tavern in the nightlife. Wearing…

She closed the folder. That was none of her business. No matter how ostentatious the dress apparently was or how much he was reprimanded for it afterwards.

For a moment, just a moment, a pang of sympathy shot through her. But about a year after that incident, he had gone on to lead an attack on an innocent community and also steal a child during that attack. Whatever he was suffering paled to the victims trod underfoot, or left homeless, or just dead on the ground.

She stuck the blackmail folder on the desk and took the personnel folder.

Without much trouble, she retrieved Ulysses and Bill’s contracts and personnel files. They went into the bag easily. 

Phew.

She sneaked over to the window and dropped the bag out of it.

Now all she had to do was get down again.

 

***

 

Henry had known that being a lookout was, ideally, doing nothing until the caper was complete, but the reality of that nothing was something else entirely.

He was facing the back corridor behind the chapel, keeping an eye on the intersection of it and the path that ran along the side of the building. No one had come by thus far, thank goodness.

At the edge of his view was Watermilfoil, laid out like a botanical illustration of a weed. It was getting dark fast, and the lights glittered in the distance, scintillating away like so many stars on a clear night.

The pre-Dragonquell light parade was going on down there. Henry wasn’t much of a holiday guy, but he had to hand it to Dragonquell. Maybe if more of his holidays were spent with people he cared for and not either alone or actively working, he’d find an appreciation for more of them.

They didn’t do Dragonquell back in Lantern Springs, really. Dragonquell was a time where the shackles of gender roles could be torn off, for just a day, and much revelry could be had. That ran counter to the Lantern Springs way. It was a town of two industries; fishing and imprisoning debtors. There was little room for breaking the rules.

And of course, they didn’t do it at boarding school. The whole point was to teach the wayward assumed girls of the nation to be normal, enthusiastic servants of faith, family, and social order. Dragonquell would open the door to allowing further infractions: Shock! Horror! Wearing men’s clothing! Kissing girls! Unionizing at work! Turning out to actually not be girls at all!

He kept watch, through his reflection, which was good. Because Sir Frederick was headed his way from the side path.

“Henry! There you are!”

Uh oh. He had to stall pretty well, else this whole thing would go tits-up.

“Yes, hello,” Henry said.

“Where have you been?”

“Around. How have you been, Sir Frederick?”

It was cordial enough. Whatever frustration he felt towards the man could take a back seat for the time being.

“You’re in big trouble,” he said, which wasn’t an answer. “But that can wait. I need to talk to you about Bailey.”

Henry’s heart was somewhere south of his stomach. He gulped.

“Yes?”

“I discovered something about her today… she resembles my Emma, doesn’t she?”

All Henry could do was inhale and play it cool. So that’s exactly what he did.

“I guess.”

“I think… she ought to have been mine. Bailey, that is. You see…”

Sir Frederick trailed off.

“I adopted Emma. I took her from an unsafe environment and brought her to a safe place where she could grow up to be a normal girl, where she wouldn’t be scrutinized as badly. But she had two siblings… I didn’t get them. I should have.”

“You should have?”

“Yes. I regret that whole series of events.”

Did he, now?

Out the corner of his eye, Henry saw some papers drop out the office window. Just a little longer, and the heist would be over. He could pull through.

“I… I might ask Bailey if she was interested in getting to know me. As… as my daughter. Or, my rightful daughter.”

“I don’t think she’s in the market for more parents.”

Lillian was climbing out the window, now, with her claws out. She looked like one of those lizards running across a flat patch of land. It was a bit unnerving to witness, really.

“Well, I know hers passed on some time ago…”

“How do you know that?”

“We did it. The Order, that is. I had no part in it, but the fire was on Lord Gaius’ orders. Tying up loose ends, you understand.”

Now Lillian was on the ground, looking more human in the limb department. She and Bailey were moving to sneak away down the back corridor. This all made a good thing to focus on so Henry didn’t lose his shit.

“So… this Order…”

“Henry, before you judge--”

Henry shook his head.

“No. Uh-uh. Not doing this. Sir Frederick, I don’t want any part of this organization. I wanted to be a knight to do good things.”

“Well, good is rela--”

“No. Not here. I’ve heard bits and pieces about Bailey’s family. There is no good in their destruction. And the ‘heroism’ you did, at Ancient Gulch? I’ve heard of that, too. You’ve got blood on your hands.”

Sir Frederick’s stare was empty, like a doll’s.

“Only because it was smeared on me first.”

Lillian and Bailey were on the move, now. Henry could barely see them.

“I quit.”

“You--”

“I’ve signed nothing. I’ve promised nothing. I barely know how to hold a sword. I’ve mostly done pointless domestic work and gotten punched in the stomach. Oh, and I’ve stood in line. There was plenty of that.”

He exhaled. Saying the words aloud was like finally breathing in after months of submersion in bloody river water.

“Alright. You quit. I understand. I wish I’d done it, too.”

“Then do it.”

“It’s hard,” Sir Frederick said.

“Most worthwhile things are.”

And then, Henry left Sir Frederick in the cold evening air, with naught but the lights of the pre-Dragonquell festivities as company.

 

***

 

The Dragonquell light parade was something else to behold up close. Emma had always wanted to go, but it had taken her years and years of living near the city to see it.

She sat against a house on the main road of the city, and watched it go by. 

It was hard to pin down the most extravagant part, but she was pretty sure it was the lanterns. People carried torches and metal box lanterns inlaid with gold leaf or etched with silver in them. The flames were all sorts of colors; some altered by magic, some by the chemicals in the fuel that kept them alight. Greens, reds, blues, and purples cascaded on the city streets, making the whole city look like an unholy party.

The costumes were quite gaudy and ostentatious, too. Even though the holiday itself was the next day, people were already dressed in strange outfits. Most were in some way references to one of the Enemies; people (heedless of gender) wore dark black and purple gowns and masks that hid their faces, as the Sorceress was said to. Many wore fancy masculine wear, from colorfully dark suits to tunics with woven bits of gold in them. Others dressed as dragons, with shining scales or feather patterns painted on their skin.

And, of course, many were clad in dresses made of faux leaves or covered in fake flowers. Or, alternatively, they were barely covered at all by flowers. Emma was pretty sure she’d seen someone wearing nothing but trousers and flower-shaped nipple covers.

The whole thing was… fun. Bands and choirs passed, declaring joyous Dragonquell, may chaos and fuckery (yes, that was the real lyric) reign.

But the fun also tugged at her insides, a little. This whole thing felt… dangerous. If you let people get a taste of the fine things in life, of freedom and the choice to be whatever they wanted to be… they’d want more of it. How many people dressed like dragons would one day attempt to become them for real? A nonzero amount, that was for sure.

“What are you thinking about?”

Emma jumped at the sound of Dorian’s voice.

“Figured I wouldn’t leave you by yourself. You look so sad,” he said, in a way that was neither sympathetic nor empathetic.

“I’m fine alone.”

He sat down next to her, in his goofy robe.

“Sure, sure.”

“I mean it. Piss off,” she said.

A group of revelers carrying a burning effigy of a knight passed by, all dressed in form-fitting material and faceless masks. How did they even see through those?

“I don’t think I will.”

“Fine,” Emma said, “but can you at least not talk?”

“If you insist…”

She did. He shut up, thank goodness.

Watching the parade, she couldn’t help thinking of Bailey. She’d love the festivity and the music and the… chaos. That was the word. She would love the chaos.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Bailey was a little chaos demon, and Emma was a girl of order (and the Order) in her heart. They couldn’t bridge that gap. Their natures were too far apart.

And not to mention Alice. Alice, who aspired towards dragonhood. That was a dangerous path to go on… and dragons were ontologically bad. Their existence was against the rules! They were unnatural.

But then again, some said that of trans people. But… it was different. You could get permission, and you could let the church handle everything. In a way, when one transitioned through the church, it was the ultimate surrender to them. They chose what changes had to be made; how they’d be done, and they could even arrange proper partners or work for a person done with the process.

Emma would do it, someday. Use their services to find herself a husband, settle down, have a quaint existence. Maybe he’d be rich!

It all sounded pretty good. She didn’t understand what Alice’s problem was with it.

“I once made a timeline where all of the dragonquell guys died,” Dorian said.

She wanted him to shut the fuck up so bad, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“And?” she asked.

“The Sorceress’s revolution actually succeeded. The church went splat. It was pretty funny.”

What?

“So… that was the thing that made it happen? They lost because one dragon died?”

“Oh, no. It was a bunch of little things that added up. For some reason, it rained on the day the revolution got crushed in the line we’re in now instead of being a clear day, and the rain made the difference. Muddy ground and low visibility, you know?”

The parade kept on going. A group of actors advertising their new play showing in some eleventh ward theater shouted out lines in enneameter, which Emma only knew about because of a poetry class she failed in university.

“You made it rain?”

“I guess I did,” Dorian said.

Neither spoke for a moment, as a brass band passed by. Their horns glittered in the reds, greens, blues, and purples of the lanterns surrounding them.

“Why me?” Emma asked.

“Because of our history. Because I know you’re smart and you’re… not a freak.”

“You want my help because I’m normal?”

Dorian nodded.

“You won’t believe how weird and ill-adjusted the others I asked to help were. Sure, they had technical know-how, but I have standards to maintain, damn it!” 

“I mean… alright. Fair enough. But still, you want me?” 

Once more, he nodded.

“Need you, actually.” he said, “just like before, huh?”

“If you needed me so bad, you wouldn’t have gotten me expelled and stolen all my inventions.”

“I was young and dumb. I want to try again. I know better this time.”

Try again. Which part did he want to try again? The bad sex or the nasty codependent relationship that turned sour? How gullible did he think Emma was?

“I’m not sure I want that.”

“You need it, though, don’t you?”

Her mouth trembled.

She was immune to this. There was nothing that could make her go with all this… so what was the harm in letting him keep talking? Surely this was all fine. All she had to do was say no later...

“You need someone who understands the world like you. Who sees that all of this,” he waves around at the parade, “is artifice. We’re all born puppets and dolls, Emma. Let me help cut your strings loose.”

She looked back at the parade, only to find that it was over. People were beginning to disperse, in twos and threes. Families and friends left together, many holding hands or laughing or...

“Look at these idiots. They need people… because they’re all bound in a spider’s web. I’d rather be a spider than a fly, wouldn’t you?”

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t need anyone. You don’t need anyone. We’re fine without all that. We could be spiders to their flies.”

She looked at him with disdain. It was the disdain of forever, the disdain of all space, compressed into a single facial expression.

But once more, her curiosity overrode her desire to make him suffer. She could always break his nose later. What was a few more days before her revenge? Nothing on the years of waiting.

“There’s a we?”

“There could be!”

“You’re really set on this, and I don’t know why. Let me think about it.”

The party was over, and the streets were clearing fast. Soon, there was nobody but her and Dorian, watching the empty streets. The lanterns burned out, one by one, and the families and friends had gone off to better places.

Better places without Emma. They could run off to their little families and their polycules and what-have-yous and they wouldn’t even remember that she existed.

Maybe they were idiots.

“I’ll get back to you one way or another tomorrow,” Emma said. “I have Alice’s party to attend, then. We’ll see how it goes.”

 

******

 

When the four met up at their rendezvous spot (Bailey’s bedroom), it was with the glee of adrenaline and the joy of a job well done.

“Alright,” Lillian said, “so. I have something for each of you.”

“Yeah?” Henry asked.

She planted kisses on each of her accomplices. She gave Henry one, first. His beard scratched at her face and some part of her went ‘oh this is a very good texture. More please’. So, she went in for a second one.

The last time her mouth had met his had been a stumbling, awkward affair. Their lips had barely made contact before they both shrunk away from it. This was not at all the case, that time. Henry wrapped his arms around her and they really went at it.

There was something familiar about the kiss. They had both changed; they had both grown into adults with adult faces. In some ways they were so different from the teenagers they had been.

And yet, she recalled this kiss. From whence, she did not know.

She turned to Hannah.

“My turn!” Hannah said.

Hannah’s mouth didn’t stop moving, even through a kiss. Her lip trembled all through it. Somehow, Lillian’s body anticipated this.

Sure, she had once kissed Hannah, but they actually both missed and bonked their noses into one another. Neither of them had really been in the mood to try it a second time, after that.

So how did she…

Hmm.

Hannah tapped at Lillian’s back, which somehow Lillian instantly knew to be a sign to come up for air. They broke the kiss and began breathing again.

“Wow. Okay. Yeah. Damn,” Hannah said, “very nice.”

“You’re a nerd,” Bailey said.

At this, Hannah rolled her eyes.

“You’re one to talk.”

“Oh, hush. Lillian?”

When things got amorous between Bailey and Lillian… Bailey took on this energy. It was hard to name it, but it was commanding, it was dark, and it was deeply sexy.

“Yes?”

Bailey gestured for Lillian to approach, and she did so gladly.

“May I…”

“May you what?” Bailey asked, with a smile that said ‘I know what you’re asking, but I want you to say it out loud’. This was oh so cruel of her and Lillian loved it.

“May I kiss you?”

Bailey wrapped her up in her arms and took a rather active role in that kiss. Lillian tried to take notes on it, but she found herself overwhelmed and flooded with a familiar sense of comfort. She gladly let Bailey guide the kiss, from start to finish.

And when it broke, and they had to breathe again, Lillian realized she had felt exactly that way before… but could not recall when. The memory of the feeling didn’t fit into the timeline of her life.

Certainly, there had been crushes. Katya Nelson, another inquisitor, always glancing at her during muster, came to mind. But...

She had kissed Bailey once, just the other night. So why did it all feel so familiar?

Why was it that, after one drunken kiss, she remembered the shape of Bailey’s mouth? She recalled the curves of it like she had spent a lifetime finding all the different crevices, each dip of the lips, each quirk of the form.

Not that she was complaining. But it was a curious thing, to remember a mouth so well that she had just recently gotten to know.

Everyone just sort of looked at one another for a while. Did they recall each other’s lips as readily as Lillian did? Most likely not. But it was a curious thing…

Bailey cleared her throat, after a while, and spoke up.

“Seeing as tomorrow is Alice’s Dragonquell thing,” she said, “I… wanted to suggest…”

All eyes were on her.

“We went as like. A date? Romantically. Or… whatever. It’s--”

Lillian took Bailey’s hand. Henry took the other, and Hannah laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s,” Lillian said.