For the first time in a century, and on the tailend of my having kidnapped his family earlier this year, Pollux is associating with me. Regularly. Via a little pink birb abomination namedPeony, sure. But still. He has been sending me Good Vibes every single day since Alexios’s birthday on July 6th. And I…I’ve been sending him Good Vibes back.
Even though it’s not exactlycommunicatingsince the app doesn’t have DM functionality beyond the handful of reactions in their “Good Vibes” library, it’s…something.
Something warm.
I don’t know what to make of it.
According to my past experiences with revenge, this is not how the vengified party behaves in the aftermath.
Yet, here we are.
On…tentative terms. Texting. Annoying me withboundariesandprivacy.
Me: You have my dagger. What more do you want?
Willow: A happy ending. For you. And Dani. And the rest of us.
Me: Endings, generally, aren’t happy, you meddling weed.
Willow: The best ones come with new beginnings.
Willow: Just for the sake of your sad boi anxiety, I didn’t say anything to Dani that would hurt your chances unless you’ve already hurt them all by yourself.
My stomach knots as I sag against the closet door and tilt my head back into the wood. In front of me, a menagerie of boxes lies in askew stacks. In the corner, a spider takes residence, dangling from a cobweb. Or. At least. It did. Up until a moment ago.
Now, I watch the tiny creature fall—thin stone legs remaining intact as it drops to the ground and rolls before my shoes.
Throat closing, I fight back the familiar burn of tears.
Gripping my phone, I change topics.
Me: What’s Polly’s number? Xios was the one who sent his Finch friend code to me, so I don’t have his personal number like I have come to have many of the rest of yours.
Willow: If I give it to you, you have to promise me you won’t harass him. I don’t want to have to change his number in my phone if he decides that he needs a new one. It would be………….simply too much effort.
It would take her literally less time than it took her to type that message.
Grimacing, I take full advantage of the fact fae words hold no power in textual mediums.
Me: I promise.
She sends me ten digits.
My finger shakes as I add Pollux as a contact, open a message stream with him, and stare at the screen until it goes black.
What am I supposed to say to someone who spent years as my advocate, burned through every reason to keep me, and decided it would be best to go a separate way?
I am dangerous.
Always, alwaysdangerous.
When I want to be.
When I don’t intend to be.
When I’m trying—desperately—not to be.
I loved you, Pollux told me not so long ago. He loved me. Once. In the past. Helovedme, and I ruined it. Because I ruin everything.
