And now what would it be?
My spiraling ceased abruptly due to the protector rifling aroundmykitchen cupboard, making a terrible racket.
“What in the hells do you think you’re doing?”
They didn’t answer. Instead, they stuck their head farther into the shelves.
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re—”
“Your jam collection is impressive! I like that it’s color coordinated.”
“You don’t have to poke fun,” I quipped back.
“No, really.” They emerged from my cupboard, tea leaves in hand. “Absolutely genius. And pretty to look at.” They said it with such genuineness I almost believed them. “I’m going to make you a cup of tea.”
“You are not making me a cup of tea in my own house,” I said flatly.
“But you’re freezing,” they said, heading to the oven, where my pink tea kettle with tiny strawberries lay in wait. The tips of my fingers were turning purple from holding the frigid, dripping dress, and my teeth chattered in my skull. But that did not give them the right to do anything about it, okay? I led the charge on my own demise and discomfort, thank you very much.
“I can make my own cup of tea,” I said. “And for Goddess’s sake, will you please take your mysterious hood off? You look like a shadow haunting my house!”
“Right, I forgot.” They set down the tea leaves and moved toward their hood.
My heart started racing and that same tug pulled at my heart again, somewhere deep inside of me—the same one I felt about the Celebration this year. Whoever they were, they were now part of my story, and I a part of theirs. I waited with bated breath, trying to look relaxed despite a thundering exhilaration going through every part of me.
The hood fell.
And my world stopped.
What kind of sick, cruel game were the Fates playing when they thought to send me a muscled woman with a scar above her lip?
—opening line attempt 22
Before me stood the most striking person I had ever seen. Amber-brown eyes stared at me, the flecks of gold therein shining in the candlelight. Her face was rugged, ruddy, and sharp, like the sides of a cliff. Her skin was olive—interrupted by harsh, white scars scattered like stars. If I had to guess, she had to be from somewhere north of here—possibly Windemere or even farther. But she didn’t speak with a Windian accent. She sounded like those in Eldrene’s Train, from anywhere and everywhere.
Her red lips offered the only softness on her face, and they were currently turned up in a sideways grin, with a tiny slash running through the top of them—a real arrow piercing her cupid’s bow. Her midnight hair had been cropped to her chin and slicked back. Some wayward curls were protesting their way out of the look, though.
Fierce and fiendish.
“You like what you see?” She quirked her sculpted eyebrow.
I glared back at her in reply.
“Tea?” She held up my bag of tea leaves.
“Fuck off.” I started climbing up the ladder into my bedroom. She discarded the tea leaves and began to follow.
I paused my climb, foot prepped to kick her in her masterpiece of a face.
She looked up at me in surprise, my waterlogged dress now dripping onto her leather.
“Can I help you?” I asked, keeping both hands on the ladder and staring down at her.
“I have to stay by your side.”
I let the ladder go and jumped down, narrowly avoiding crashing into her. She climbed down, looking at me with surprise.
“Let’s get one thing clear, Hesper Altanfall. You will never, and I meannever, share a room with me. Let alone a bed.”
