“Right at home?”

 

“Might just slip off my work shoes then and skive—”

 

“Believe me, I want you to slack off, but when you put it like that, I may have to file a firing order—”

 

“Gosh, make up your mind,” Evie groaned playfully, poising her left fist and then hurling her right fist at Willo’s shoulder instead, causing him to yelp through strained lips that caught some attention from other colleagues in the bustling halls. “Don’t even lie; you want me here—”

 

“You seem”—Willo wrenched strands of the nymph’s knee-length hair with an agitated look—”chippier than usual.”

 

After an awkward bout for childish supremacy, Evie swatted the man’s grasp away and proceeded to recover professionally by waving courtly to muddled passersby. Willo fastened his loose tie and unbuttoned shirt with a disapproving tut, following suit with cordial greetings.

 

They ambled past the resplendent windows that filtered the morning rays into the silvery and greeny interiors of the headquarters, shadows flashing across in vivacity as delivery Puppets breezed through the cyanic sky beyond the glass. The humming of workmanship and robotics harmonized with jovial chatters between a tight-knit community, the air purified by palpable confidence and joint optimism. The high-octane flow of the workplace was a ritualistic marker of business at its zenith; everything was growing in tandem with one another, and it felt right.

 

Even after their run-of-the-mill spat, they wore lofty looks as they breathed in the climate. She knew her eyes would sag once more as soon as she spun herself back into the tornado of her work life. However, while her mind was awake, she finally took in the ambience for once and felt her mind open up. She once again took notice of the many humans and nymphs that coexisted to fortify a sustainable future in this business she had grown with for decades. 

 

She still had many questions and doubts—an unavoidable process she couldn’t escape—but she felt she knew what she wanted. For once, she was in her element, where she could finally feel what she wanted to feel and think what she wished to think. Even with the aluminium pledge that she used as her right arm, she didn’t feel as much weight; she felt boundless but still grounded. 

 

As they neared a door with her name and occupation plastered on it, she clutched the handle with a newfound determination. She fidgeted with the handle with conflicting knowledge of what this meant if she entered back into the cycle she worried about.

 

“So, you’re going back into seclusion again?” Willo interrogated the dryad with a wily grin, nudging snobbishly yet satisfyingly at Evie’s unspoken doubt. “I don’t want to baby a hag, y’know; you need your sunlight.”

 

“Let me be a hag for a little while longer,” Evie pleaded with a mock puppy-eyed expression, turning to face an unimpressed Willo with a flimsy pout. “I promise I won’t be too long—”

 

“At least try to persuade me. Cry, grovel, or whatever—”

“Just get me some coffee, thank you—”

 

“God, you’re freaking helpless,” Willo snorted, folding his arms tightly as the dryad forced down the knob and pushed open the door to a dark room that automatically sprung to life. “Dark?”

 

“I’m feeling flat white—”

 

“This is the last time I’ll be fueling your useless addiction—”

 

“Thank you for spoiling me then, Will,” Evie quipped, giving the man her best toothy grin, making Willo cock a brow at the sight.

 

“Wow, this is quite the opposite of the sad look you had a few days back—”

 

“Thank you, thank you, hope that retracts the ‘hag’ comment—”

 

“One occasion of beauty ain’t gonna cut it; this needs to be a normal thing.”

 

Evie’s robotic fingers clutched the handle tighter, porcelain dimples curving upward at the rare compliment from her closest companion. She stared into the lighted room; the figmental calls for her to resume her long-standing mission echoed from the blueprints and toolboxes that littered the floors. She didn’t want to overwork again; she wasn’t a machine, that was for certain. Though she wished to work. Unlike many other times when she stepped into the zone, however, she was working not out of some obligation but out of her own volition. 

 

The truth—she had to face it. She had to stop this onslaught of contemplation and finally confront the authentic feelings she’s refused to confront for so unbelievably long. 

 

She pushed the door further in but peered behind her to see if Willo had left.

 

There he still was, expectedly with a knowing smirk—the foreseen expression of someone who has known her for ages.

 

“Where’s my coffee?” Evie asked plainly.

 

“My question is why you are stalling so much. I’m assuming you have some beans to spill—”

“Crud—”

 

“You promised you’d spill—”

 

“Fine—”

 

“It was a 100% Willo guarantee—”

 

“Fine—”

 

“Do it—”

 

“You’re such a child—”

 

“I know, and you are too. Such a hypocrite,” Willo scoffed, amused at Evie’s scornful gaze. “So, what do you have to say?”

 

Evie toned down her snide impulses, her mouth agape with uncertainty. Finally faced with the judgmental mallet that imposed a need for confession on her, she gulped sweatily. She was unaware if she was doing right or wrong—acting on impulse had scarred her ever since she began thinking independently. Her feelings were genuine this time, straightening up as a fire sparked in the wood nymph’s emerald gaze.

 

As she opened her mouth, akin to astral projection, she escaped from the worry-ridden stupor of her body and flashed through over 600 years of life in that single second. She accepted everything at that moment, and the strength came to her.

 

She felt her fleshy hand tug on her cybernetic one, flaring to life like a person.

 

“I haven’t grown sick of the outside world, as hard as it is to believe,” Evie started, her voice shaking yet resolute.

 

Willo kept silent with a comfortable smile, leaning against a nearby wall as he watched his older sisterly figure with patience.

 

“I…”

 

She trailed off, her eyes pricking like thorns as she remembered how greedy she had been lately. She felt oddly terrible, but she didn’t care. She wanted to want. She wanted to desire. She wanted so much. She didn’t take the time she spent with generations for granted anymore; suddenly she was much more in line with Rhea during that night that never left her head. 

 

After taking life, she began cherishing it. She wanted to cherish it. She wanted to nurture it.

 

If this greed was a vice, then she’s succumbed to it.

 

“I love my job; I love it to bits. I love the people here. I love the Swoboda family. I love you. I love Rhea. I love Beck. I love Miami. I-I love the human race!”

 

She sinned against the natural order. She felt virtuous, as her rosy cheeks wettened and her body shook at the sudden weight that was exorcised from her. She wanted to say more and let loose this sudden euphoric pang; however, she let herself finally feel weak and stoop to the level of the race she had come to adore. 

 

“You’re lucky barely anyone’s around this area, or this phenomenon will be on every headline,” Willo cackled, closing the distance between him and the dryad and using his thumb to gently wipe away the puddles on her cheeks. He noticed her quavering smile and returned a sympathetic one in return, enraptured by the naturalness she discharged wildly.

 

“Oh, shut up, Willo—”

 

She sniffled. Willo snickered.

 

“Dummkopf—”

 

“Stop—”

 

“To think you could become even more helpless? Do you need some breather time?”

 

“No, my goal to repay for my deeds back then still remains. That’s… something I can’t just drop—I’m sorry—”

 

She inhaled sharply. Willo embraced her softly with a more comforting demeanour.

 

“You don’t need to apologize—”

“Sorry, I just—”

 

“What did I just say—”

 

“I haven’t said what I’ve wanted to say for so long. I’m sorry… I’ll—”

 

“So it took you this much energy to say something so obvious?”

 

Evie’s eyes widened and met Willo’s, noticing the man’s understanding beam and mocking yet equally teary eyes—the look that had all the care in the world.

 

“What—”

 

“With your devotion to your work and everything else, we’d already think you were enjoying yourself,” Willo laughed, knocking the shivering nymph on the head and receiving a metallic knock to the arm in return. “You don’t need to point out the obvious; I’m not an idiot.”

 

Evie blinked in disbelief, having been read again despite not understanding her own emotions.

 

“Obvious?”

 

“Come on, Eve. You’re dense as hell—”

 

“But—”

 

“Goldmann called me out the other day—unexpected—and I began thinking that I have become as stupid as you!”

 

Evie scowled as she wiped at her lashes with the back of her sleeve, Willo pushing away from her to get a good look at her elegant visage.

 

“But, y’know, Eve, I like it when you’re like this. A wreck, yes, but you’re the best wreck I could ever ask for,” Willo said with that same oversentimental mien she always recognized in this youthful soul. “We are living in some of the best times we could ever ask for, so there’s no time to be bottled up and hide this mess that you are. So, Evie…”

 

Evie looked up at her brother, who put both hands on her shuddering shoulders and gave her a determined look.

 

“Grow up.”

 

At that moment, she discovered a connection that wasn’t that of the nymphs’ neuronal connection but an inconspicuous link that she had failed to see ever since she started her mission.

 

Connection to the human race—on par with nymphs.

 

“Don’t grow up so quickly that you’ll abandon the mission you’re determined to complete… but grow up just enough to enjoy this good, good present!” Willo exclaimed to her with a sparkle in his chocolate gaze. “Mistakes were made, but, y’know, we gotta keep moving forward. Just like now because…”

 

His smile widened as Evie was now staring in amazement at his words, not taking notice of the snot she had to wipe to remain professional.

 

“You look… just fine,” Willo would sarcastically comment towards Evie’s glamorous mess of a face, shoving his hands into his pockets as he sauntered away from his sister with a small snivel of his own. “I can definitely get you coffee, but I’m not getting my hands dirty in your mucus. Fix up—”

 

“Right back at you, Swoboda,” she hissed, swiping a handkerchief from her breast pocket and swabbing her nose with it.

 

“Stop talking about yourself!” Willo exclaimed, chortling obnoxiously as he turned a corner away from her line of sight, walking with swagger like someone who had just about everything figured out in life—everything he ever wanted.

 

The dryad slid the folded handkerchief into her pocket, swinging her head towards the workspace she was always trapped in. Though, with her robotic arm outstretched—laced with more verdure than ever—she didn’t feel controlled anymore. With all that weight off her shoulders, she breathed a delicate breath and clenched her equal fists. There was a fire in this wood nymph’s heart, but she didn’t let it singe her. It raged inside her as her main drive was back in full throttle but was being driven by a different force this time—a different puppeteer.

 

500 years after the end of the war she helped start, the dryad assisted in inspiring change. Though, considering the mission she set herself as her animate eyes fluttered over her metallic limb—just this once—she didn’t bother verifying something from herself that she knew she’d never get an answer to.

 

Without much doubt in her mind, she felt right.