At sunrise on paper street, the only activity came from the bakery. The smell of yeast and baked goods made its way through the town, telling everyone it was morning.
Meanwhile, back at the manor, detached from it all, Raven Athavale dreamt of soft gold light and woke up sore and exhausted. As he stumbled through his morning, the sun burnt brighter and brighter behind the silvery gauze curtains. In the back of his mind, thoughts like I’m late and Dad’s gonna be pissed at me bounced around among strange words like Eden and Gift holder. Once he finally got himself ready, he all but floated down the staircase and nearly collided with the butler at the bottom.
The baker was a gruff, traditional old man. He wore the same uniform every day; a brown shirt and slacks under his burlap apron. Aside from him, there were two other workers, both young men who had been taken under the elder’s wing. All of them lived in the loft above the shop.
“Raven. You haven’t slept so late in years, are you all right?” His mother had been waiting in the dining hall, sitting elegantly behind an empty plate, evidently all morning.
“I’m fine, mother.” He sat strategically a few seats away from her. “I just got home late is all.”
Her eyes narrowed, sending a spiderweb of wrinkles across her brow.
“Who were you with? Not that Capulet boy, surely?”
“Gray is my friend. You know I don’t care about that drama.” Raven said drily.
“He’s a bad influence, I swear. Imagine having the opportunity to raise your whole family’s standing…”
“I don’t think that was the only factor.”
“Evelyn is a lovely young girl. Anyone would be lucky to have her, and no one marries for love anymore, anyway.”
“Selkie is too young. He doesn’t need to worry about that.”
“They,” She used the pronoun gingerly, “are of age.”
“Barely.”
“The amount of years over 18 does not matter, they are both still young.”
“I don’t see why we’re even having this talk. I didn’t even see Gray yesterday.” Raven scooted his chair back decisively. “But I am going to today. I’m craving cake.”
Raven’s mother sighed disapprovingly.
One of the baker’s apprentices was a soft young man with blonde curls that made girls swoon, but he never seemed to return the interest. His name was Gray Capulet and he often behaved like it was a sentence- dully, without passion or thought. That is, until he heard a familiar scratching behind the storeroom door.
His light blue eyes betrayed excitement for a moment while he finished lining up the buns on a tray for Elio, the other apprentice, to replenish the displays as needed. Then he quickly ducked into the room, where he found Raven waiting among the flour-dusted boxes.
He smiled, and to Raven, it seemed like things had just shifted back into place. He hugged him tightly and murmured,
“I missed you. I have so much to tell you about.”
“Does that include an explanation for where you were yesterday?” Gray asked.
“And more.”
“It better be good. I spent the whole day worrying someone else would hear you back here before me.”
“I promise, I will explain everything.” Raven pulled back to look the other in the eyes, but their hands still remained on each others’ waists.
“Not here though, there isn’t time today.” Gray frowned.
“Meet me at our spot tonight, then?”
“Okay.”
The voices outside grew suddenly louder.
“Guess I gotta go, then,” Raven said apologetically.
“Hey, one more thing.” Gray brushed Raven’s forehead gently with his lips. “Don’t be late.” The doorknob jiggled loudly.
“Promise.”
“Damn door! Useless broken piece of shit!” It swung open erratically. “Oh. Hi, Gray.”
“Hello Mr. Orotiz,” Gray said sweetly, pulling open a slightly crushed box.
“Why is the window open?”
“Some flour spilled in its box, so I opened the window to clear it out.”
“Close it when you’re done. You know how much damage a squirrel or something could do in here?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“And as soon as you can, take over the cashier. That poor boy has been asked where you are by four different girls since noon.” Mr. Orotiz sighed exasperatedly. “It’s almost like they don’t even come for pastries.”
“People are so shallow these days,” Gray agreed, placing a carton of honey into the baker’s gesturing hands.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Seeming satisfied, Mr. Orotiz left the room, and, after he finished latching the window, Gray followed suit.
The day passed at an uncomfortable pace- not fast enough to fly by and not slow enough to enjoy. Raven found his way to their spot before the sun finished sinking, a small clearing only a few minutes from paper street with clumps of purple hyacinth and daisies dotting the earth. He was only waiting a few minutes before Gray appeared between the trees and found a spot to sit cross-legged on the ground.
“I wasn’t late,” Raven said.
“No.” Gray agreed.
“I’m sorry for yesterday.”
“I forgive you.”
“I know I probably stressed you out,” Raven continued. He settled in behind Gray, placing his arms over his shoulders and his legs over his hips, crossing them in front of the other boy. “I really meant to be there.”
“Ray, I love you, but get on with it.” Gray sighed.
“I know, I know. I’m just trying to figure out how to start.”
As the darkness covered the two of them, Raven recounted his day. When he finished, Gray was quiet for a moment.
“So,” He said. “You… have a gift, but it just tells you if someone else has a gift?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t know because the only person with a gift you’ve ever seen is Adria.”
“And she left when I was little, yes.”
“Okay.” Gray squinted. “That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
Gray slowly pulled the petals off of a daisy growing next to them, and Raven watched his hands work quietly.
“Are you going to leave?” He finally asked.
Raven squeezed his arms tighter around his lover.
“I don’t see how I can.”
“I don’t see how you can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you gonna do? Go back to life pretending nothing’s changed at all, never go back to that house, never talk about it, and what? Pray you can spend the rest of your life that way?” Gray crushed the now petal-less flower head between three fingers. “That’s stupid.”
“No, I’d live the rest of my life the same as before, with you.”
“I want that.”
“Yeah. Can we not talk about it anymore?”
“Of course.”
-
In the palace, the young princess had a splitting headache. She had locked herself in her room early that morning, and no one saw her all day long. It had worked thus far, but to her disdain, there had been an incessant knocking at her door for nearly half an hour now, and she doubted it would go away on its own.
“Cassandra,” The voice on the other side called, muffled distress audible through the dark oak.
“That’s Princess to you, Marcos.” she huffed.
“Please come eat something. You will feel better after you do.”
“I will not, I guarantee you. Leave me be.” She wondered if her lies were detectable. However, this was suffering for a purpose. As her hunger grew, the visions became more frequent and clear. Even now she could make out a familiar profile- wavy hair, brown skin, golden eyes. But it wasn’t Adria or anyone else her mother kept in this castle. It was someone important- someone she would meet soon. That’s what the visions always meant, in some way or another, until she became too weak to see any more.
“Please, Princess. You worry us so much when you do this.”
“I have changed my mind. It’s neither. You’ll call me Your Highness, and you will leave me alone.”
She gasped, a bolt of pain shooting through her head. The color gold- gold money hair eyes money flowers? What were those for?
And then the vision ended. Unhelpful yet again. Maybe if it came back, it would reveal something more. Or if she slept now, she might dream- yes, that would help. Unless her exhaustion was feeding the visions, then they might go away if she went to bed now. That was bad. She’d have to find out at the same time as everyone else, with only the benefit of hindsight despite all of this effort. How frustrating.
She leaned heavily against the wall, vaguely noticing her hands shaking. The knocking had not stopped. What an annoying old man. He had gotten quieter though. Or, was everything quieter? That didn’t make sense at all.
The floor felt unstable underneath her feet, and gradually, she began to understand.
“Fuck,” she muttered to herself, as the floor rose up to meet her. “Again?”
. . .