57

57

F lora walks in colorful, vibrant woods.

It's warm. The sun streaks through the trees like a painting. In fact, the entire world looks like a work of art. As if she could reach out her hands and touch the paint with her fingertips, mixing its colors and altering the landscape with a simple gesture.

Her body is healthy, her skin radiant. She can see from both eyes and walk with both legs. Her hand is not branded with images from the birth tusk.

Flora comes to a clearing in the trees. The ground is blanketed in grass instead of branching roots, and the open sky above her goes on forever and forever and forever.

"You're here!"

It's Zephie. She wears a dress matching Flora's, a flowing baby-blue cotton piece. Her hair is tied back, and the gold flecks in her eyes are more pronounced here in this half-real world.

"I'm so glad you're here," Zephie says, jumping up and greeting Flora with unbridled enthusiasm. She pulls Flora by the hand toward a fallen log. And that's when Flora realizes why this landscape feels like a painting: it is the creation of a child. She can tell by the too-bright colors, the butterflies that approach rather than fly away, the trees that bend in response to her movements. It's like she has stepped into the illustration of a children's book.

Together, Flora and Zephie forage for candy mushrooms and stuff themselves full of jelly beans. Their bellies never hurt. They climb trees and swing from long vines and never scrape their knees or bump their heads. They giggle and sing and roll down grassy hills and do somersaults under the sun that never feels too hot.

The two of them find a shady spot under the biggest, most majestic tree Flora has ever seen. Each of its leaves is bigger than Flora's head, and they shine with vibrant oranges and reds and yellows even though it's not autumn. Flora imagines this place doesn't have seasons, but rather boasts the best part of each season all the time.

Zephie snuggles in close to Flora. "We'll be safe here," she says.

Flora considers what that would mean. Staying with Zephie in this picture-perfect world, living in a body that works and isn't consumed by pain.

"Zephie," Flora says, feeling the cartoon-soft grass beneath her legs, "I can't stay here."

"What do you mean? Why not?" She looks at Flora with sad, round eyes.

"I have to at least try to go back."

Zephie pulls away. "No! I made this place for us! A place where she can't get us!"

Flora pauses, then gently strokes Zephie's hair. "We don't have to worry about that anymore," Flora says. "That version of her is gone."

But Zephie bites her lip and shakes her head. She is still frightened. Flora wonders, then, if Zephie understands who she really is.

Flora takes a breath. "Did you know your real name is Zephyr?"

Zephie frowns and tilts her head to the left. "What do you mean real name?"

"You always hated it when I called you imaginary, right? You always felt like you were real, didn't you?" Flora asks, and Zephie nods. "Well, that's because you were real. You were a little girl. You were my twin sister. And your name was Zephyr, or ‘Zephie' for short."

Flora watches as Zephie takes this in. She pulls the girl into her lap and rubs her back. After a moment, Zephie asks, "So what happened to me?"

"You were hurt," Flora admits. "Very badly. Your body stopped working after only six weeks."

"Who hurt me?" Zephie's eyes lock with Flora's. "Was it her ?"

"Yes, it was our mother." Flora doesn't know how to articulate such complicated circumstances to a child. "But it also… wasn't her."

Zephie contorts her face as she tries to puzzle together Flora's words.

"Her brain tricked her," Flora explains. "It knew she would never hurt us, never in a million years. And so it made her think she was doing something good. It made her think she was saving us."

"Why would her brain do that?" Zephie asks.

Flora shakes her head slowly, pondering. "You remember the Night Hag?"

Zephie nods, fear lacing the rims of her eyes.

"It haunted me my whole life," Flora says. "And in the end, it looked like Mom, but… I think that's just because it knew that's what would scare me the most." She fiddles Zephie's hair between her fingers. "It wasn't really Mom. It was… something else. And it was there that morning, the morning she hurt us… so maybe—well, maybe the Night Hag haunted her, too. Maybe it made her do those terrible things."

Zephie considers this. "What happened when the Night Hag left?"

"I'm not sure she ever did," Flora says. "Mom spent her whole life punishing herself. She never let herself get close to me." Flora realizes that she might not forgive her mother, not yet, but she is at least beginning to understand her. "She was too afraid that if she got close to me, she would hurt me again." Flora tastes the salt of her own tears. "She deprived herself of a lifetime of love in order to keep me safe. At least, that's what she thought she needed to do."

"But she was wrong?" Zephie asks.

Flora thinks about this. "I don't know," she admits. "But I do know that I would have been happier with a mom who loved me fearlessly. And showed it."

They listen to nearby birds chirp a singsong melody nearby.

"So that's why I have to go back," Flora finally says. "I have to be there for my daughter. In a way that Jodi couldn't be there for me. For us."

"And where do I go?" Zephie asks, and Flora's heart breaks.

"You have to leave me," she answers. "You never belonged to me. I've kept you trapped without even knowing it."

"But I don't want to leave you," Zephie says, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I know," Flora says. "And I'll miss you, too."

They hold each other for a long time. It feels familiar, and Flora remembers their time together in the womb, because she can remember such things in this place. The weightless floating of their two bodies, perfectly intertwined, speaking through pulses and hiccups and kicks. Their own shared, sacred space.

Zephie sniffles. "If I leave you, I'll be alone. And I don't want to be alone," she says.

Flora looks at her, and her heart squeezes as she gets an idea.

"You don't have to be," she says.

Zephie looks at her, curious.

"You can go find Mom. Our real mom. The real Jodi." Flora holds Zephie's gaze intently. "And I promise you—she will keep you safe."

"But how do you know?" Zephie asks.

"Because," Flora says, a deep peace in her bones, "she has waited a lifetime for that."