Behind Romy, the world burns.
Ash falls like rain onto her dark hair—a crown of loss and ruin. Her feet take her somewhere familiar, though she can’t say the same for the people of Morren. They run past her and touch her skin, leaving sooty handprints and drops of fire that should burn her. The satchel gently thumps against her hip as she walks. She hears objects clink against each other, and she clutches it against her side as she jumps over a fallen branch.
The passers-by thin out. She didn’t count every single one of them, but it’s only been a few minutes. Romy starts to panic, pain tightening her chest. She grabs one of the last people left. Her grip causes her to stumble, and Romy uprights her before gripping her shoulders. “Is there anyone left?”
“Not anymore,” the girl replies. Her tear stains are illuminated by the flames, a strong intensity burning in her eyes. She blinks and jolts back. Like she saw her own future reflected in Romy’s eyes. “The Dew failed us.”
The Dew, the forest spirit, a wild protector. Gift her honest, gift her true, or flames will burn like morning dew. Whispers echo in her head at the mention of Morren’s oldest, living ghost. They don’t have much culture they can call their own but this one thing—a spirit they honor twice a year in exchange for safety and abundance. Looking up at the red-orange sky, she wonders if their faith still bleeds warm.
The girl runs away before Romy can stop her. Maybe she did see her future in her eyes.
Dread climbs up her throat and her steps quicken, footsteps pounding away from the girl and away from the fire. She holds the satchel close to her chest now. Path lined in rocks, braided with flowers. Romy starts to lose hope as her vision dims. Despite the heat, she feels cold and chills erupt on her bare arms. The thin dress she stole fits looser than she thought, a short, thin brown thing she thought would hide her. From what, she’s not sure. She must’ve forgot it was fall in Morren.
As her feet slow in exhaustion, she notices the first aster. Then a couple pansies. The marigolds nearly blend in from her vision tinted orange, but she notices them weaved in as well.
Romy can feel her bare feet collect dirt as she walks. Like a veil being lifted, the river comes into view; the wind softens and the sky turns to smoke. It paints the water silver as it reflects the grey and she slows to a stop to admire it.
The bag falls off her shoulder with a clunk. For a girl others saw as smooth and natural, she felt completely out of her element. She was used to blending in. Being something outsiders, like that girl with wild eyes, never looked twice at. But if she pulled at her skin right now, dug in with both hands, clawing, searching, she would find organs and bones and muscle. As if her mind could come alive, she wants to do just that. And smash them into the earth.
Romy shakes her head at the thought and watches the water pulse like a heartbeat. What an arduous day. She didn’t know the human body could survive like this.
“I’m sorry, Nuri,” Romy mutters. She grabs the satchel from where it fell and opens it. “I didn’t think it would take this long.”
Her breath puffs out in a cloud in front of her as she takes everything out one by one.
Sheepskin, a chipped mug, handwritten notes wrapped in twine, a jar of orange peels. So that’s what was clinking in there. An empty locket, a handpainted doll with black eyes.
Romy, the river rumbled, dew of the sea.
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
A figure rises out of the river, water-shaped and silver. And angry.
Nuri towers over her as she kneels, and it’s the only time she ever will. Her long hair mirrors her own, though it isn’t black like Romy in human-form. That was a decision she made herself.
As each offering touches the earth, the flames grow. Not in this veil, but outside—she can feel it more than see it. The last offering hits the ground, a broken frame with a half-ripped picture inside it, and she looks up at Nuri.
You’re missing one, she says.
Romy squints her eyes and looks back down at the bag. She flips it upside down, shakes it, throws it to the side. Counting the gifts, she throws fifty-three of them in the river. Her human heart sinks to her feet, she didn’t know it could do that, and she shakes the bag one last time.
Fifty-four, not one m—
“Thank you!” Romy yells and something longs to break free. Maybe it’s her organs, her heart? It beats inside her like a drum, making her palms sweat despite the chills she still harbors, and she screams, right through Nuri, in this stupid veil no one else can see, and she almost wishes they can. See Romy for who she is, and who she isn’t. She didn’t know humans could feel like this too. So untethered and lost.
The feeling persists as she throws the bag into the water too. She chose Morren due to its proximity and size, though it didn’t fall in her favor. It never does.
Nuri doesn’t look as angry anymore, just confused. She doesn’t blame her. Her throat throbs from her scream and she wants to do it again. Do human throats bleed if they scream long enough?
No, she doesn’t yearn to know them anymore than they yearn to know her. After all, they believed her to be some goddess, some abundant creature that can help them if only they give her something that binds them here. If only she would accept some poorly written letter as a sign of gratitude, no, she just needs proof they exist. Simple permission. Another gift surrendered is another root she can pull to return to the earth. To finally take what’s been lost. Stupid humans and their stubbornness.
She did a good enough job on her own. Romy is here and most of them aren’t, if the running bodies she faintly counted were any proof, but of course, as always, it is not enough. She digs her hands in the dirt a final time before standing, towering over Nuri now. Confusion turns to disdain as she reads her mind and Romy leaves, leaving the veil.
Romy can find one person. One person that doesn’t worship her, that doesn’t have some half-assed idea of what binds them as a person. And that might be even better. She doesn’t want to look into the eyes of betrayal as she rips their heart from their body. Does she know any other organs? She doesn’t think so, though she will find out soon enough.
The sky turns back to orange, even brighter than before, and she walks alone. The world continues to burn as it waits for Romy to find the last root to pull.
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