“Alright, then!” Claire said, looking for her coat amongst the things she had brought fromthe convent. Once she found it, she draped it over Mirela’s shoulders, adjusting it so the hood shaded most of her face. The fabric was big on Claire; it always swallowed her frame, but on Mirela it was just right.
“There,” she said softly. “Now you look mysterious, no one will think twice.”
Mirela’s hands brushed over the edges of the coat, hesitant. “I look ridiculous,” she muttered, though a small smile ghosted across her lips.
Claire’s chest warmed. “Ridiculously beautiful,” she teased gently, tightening the clasp at the collar. “And safe. That’s all that matters.”
Mirela turned toward the window. She stared at it as though the light itself was dangerous. “What if it’s too much?” she whispered.
“Then we’ll come back,” Claire promised immediately. “The moment you say the word, we’ll turn around. I swear it.”
For a moment, Mirela just looked at her. Claire held her gaze, steady and open, hoping Mirela could see what she meant without her having to say it aloud: that there was no pity here, only the overwhelming need to have Mirela learn more about the world outside the cathedral.
Mirela nodded once. “Alright.”
Relief and pride swelled in Claire’s chest. She reached for Mirela’s hand, marveling again at how small her own looked inside that strong, scarred grasp. “Ready?”
Mirela’s breath trembled a little. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
They started down the spiral stairs. Claire led the way, glancing back every few steps to make sure Mirela was still close. With every turn, the sound of music, laughter, and the rhythmic clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones grew louder.
At the grand doors of the cathedral, Mirela froze. Light spilled through the open doorway like a flood, touching her hood, her hands, the edges of her sleeves. Claire could almostfeelthe tension radiating off her mixed in with both curiosity and fear.
She squeezed her hand gently. “Breathe,” she whispered. “It’s only the sun saying hello.”
Mirela let out a shaky laugh. “It’s very loud.”
Claire smiled and brushed her shoulder against hers. “Then we’ll let it speak first.”
Together, they stepped outside.
The city of Paris unfolded before them. There were lanterns strung across windows, and ribbons fluttering in the wind. There was the scent of warm bread and sweet fruit drifting from the marketplace. Laughter rang out from a group of children chasing one another through the square. The world was alive, just waiting to be experienced.
Claire watched as Mirela’s eyes darted from face to face. No one stared. No one whispered. A few smiled inpassing, but most went about their day as if the two of them were just another part of the crowd.
Mirela’s grip on her hand tightened. “They don’t even look,” she whispered, voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “Ferron was wrong,” she said, her upper lip twitching in anger.
“I told you,” Claire murmured. “The world’s too busy living to notice what makes us different.”
Mirela tilted her face toward the sky, the sunlight sneaking beneath her hood to touch her cheek, highlighting her gorgeous teal eye. Claire watched as her expression softened, a smile blooming across her lips.
“See?” Claire said quietly. “Not so scary after all.”
Mirela exhaled slowly, still staring up at the light. “No,” she said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Then she exhaled and looked down at Claire, her smile never fading. “Not with you here.”
Claire’s heart fluttered. She squeezed Mirela’s hand, and together they stepped further into the streets of Paris.
***
Mirela
Mirela’s stomach was on the brink of turning inside out. The tension sat heavy in her chest, hot and restless, until she thought she might be sick. She hoped Clairedidn’t notice how damp her palms were. If she did, she was gracious enough not to say anything, and Mirela was thankful for that.
The streets were alive around them. Laughter, music, the clatter of wheels and hooves. The sun pressed down on her. The coat wasn’t helping at all since it trapped the heat against her skin. Yet, she would rather sweat beneath it than face the world bare. Later she would take it off… when she was feeling braver. For now, she would hide.
They passed rows of vendors, their stalls bursting with the colors of ripe fruit, clothes in every hue, and the smell of roasting meat that made her mouth water despite the nerves. Ferron brought her meat occasionally, but it wasn’t much, at least not enough to satiate her hunger. Bread and cheese usually did it for her. But now that she was out, staring at the sizzling roasted meat before her, her stomach turned once more, not out of anxiousness, but hunger. A vendor carved a piece straight off the spit, and before Mirela could protest, Claire had already paid for a portion.
