“One translation doesn’t?—”
“Not one translation. It’s every single time I’ve asked you a question, you’ve known the answer. Every time you’ve looked at a text, you’ve understood it. The knowledge is still there. You haven’t lost it.” Zara’s hand found hers. “You’ve just convinced yourself that you have.”
Ramona’s eyes were burning. “What if I can’t do this? What if I try —really try— and we still fail?”
“Then we fail.” Zara squeezed her hand. “But at least we’ll have tried together. At least you’ll know it wasn’t because you didn’t show up for yourself.”
They sat there for a long moment, hands joined, the grimoire open between them.
“I’m really scared,” Ramona whispered.
“I know.” Zara’s thumb traced circles on her palm. “But you don’t have to be alone in it. That’s what this”—she gestured at the tether between them—“means. We’re in this together. Your fear. My certainty. All of it.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“No. But it’s true.” Zara picked up the grimoire again. “So. Are you going to help me understand this text? Or are you going to read another article about whether Jupiter is affecting your love life?”
Despite everything, Ramona almost smiled. “It wasonearticle.”
“It was three.”
“Okay, it was three.” Ramona took the grimoire. “But in my defense, that astrological timing might actually matter for ritual work.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Zara said, rolling her eyes.
She looked down at the text. The words were still there, still familiar. And for the first time in days, it didn’t hurt quite as much to read it.
“Okay,” Ramona said, too exhausted to argue. “Let’s do this properly.”
They started earlyevery day all week. Coffee first, then books.
This time, when Zara asked about a phrasing construction, Ramona didn’t immediately deflect. She pulled the grimoire closer, studied the text, explained the grammatical structure and what it meant for the spell’s execution.
They worked through the morning, taking breaks when Ramona needed them but always coming back to the books. Slowly, Ramona felt something in her chest start to loosen. Not the grief — that was still there, sharp and present. But the resistance. The fear that touching her old work would destroy her.
She was still here. Still Ramona. Still capable of reading a medieval grimoire and understanding what she saw.
With two days left until the new moon, they’d compiled a complete list of materials, a detailed breakdown of the incantation with notes on pronunciation and intent, and a step-by-step plan for the ritual itself.
“This is good work,” Zara said, reviewing their notes. “Really good work.”
Ramona looked at the pages spread across the table — her handwriting mixed with Zara’s, arcane phrases annotated with explanations, cross-references to three different grimoires.
Itwasgood work. The kind of thorough, detailed analysis she used to do before everything fell apart.
“Thank you,” Ramona said quietly. “For pushing me. For not letting me hide.”
“Thank you for trusting me enough to try.” Zara met her eyes. “I know this wasn’t easy.”
“No. But it was…” Ramona struggled to find the word. “It was good. To remember that I can still do this.”
“You never stopped being able to do this. You just stopped believing you could.”
They sat there for a moment, surrounded by evidence of their collaboration. The tether hummed between them — warm, steady, something that felt less like a burden and more like…
Ramona didn’t let herself finish that thought. “We should start gathering materials,” she said instead. “The new moon is in two days.”
“Agreed.” Zara stood up, stretching. “I’ll research where to find magically active hawthorn trees. You handle the moonstone and blessed salt?”
