Elisabeth Writing

Iris could feel the exact moment her heart stopped. She wondered if it would begin again, or if she might die here, too, where death was supposed to be impossible. She remembered the moment her heart had stopped in that life before here. A slow and steady decline, darkness, and then brilliant light. She’d awoken here. Ourania was one of the first people she’d seen, smiling down on her tenderly, pushing her hair back, murmuring reassurances. Iris had blinked and asked: “Are you an angel? Is this heaven?” Ourania had laughed, and it sounded like bells, like joy. “Not quite,” the woman had answered, “to either of those questions. But you’re welcome here, Iris. You’re safe and well.” Iris had looked down at her arms, looking for marks, and Ourania had grasped them and slowly shook her head. “Safe.” She’d promised. And that was when Iris began to cry. 

Unlike then, though, her heart restarted. And it fluttered like a frightened hummingbird in her chest. Ariel came up behind her and stroked her arm in reassurance, but Iris barely felt it. “Gone? Gone where? For how long?” 

“Ariel, there are things I need to discuss with Iris. Alone.” Ariel grasped her shoulder and dropped a kiss on her cheek before shuffling away, glancing over her shoulder again and again until she was gone from sight. Ourania turned her face away, a prism of light hitting the deep gold of her cheeks, where Iris could swear she saw the glimmer of tears. “I’ve been putting this off because I’ve… because I’ve selfishly wanted to keep this bit of happiness for you.” 

Iris drew back, as if the words were wasps, stinging her cheeks. “What do you mean, ‘keeping this bit of happiness’? Putting what off?”

Ourania twisted her fingers in her traditional white stola, betraying her nerves. Instead of answering she stood and began to walk towards a hallway encrusted with rose quartz and carnelian crystals. She turned back to look at Iris, her eyes pleading as she extended a hand bedecked with rings. “Come with me, please. I know you don’t want to. I know you want to rush off on your own and go searching for your answers, looking for him. But you won’t find him. And I want to explain.” Unable to do anything else, Iris merely followed in her wake. The hallway seemed to buzz and vibrate as they approached it, and Ourania cocked her head, a small smile gracing her face for the first time. “They like that you’re here.”

She blinked. “The crystals?”

“Mmm. They recognize your presence, sense our training. They can feel the mantle that might come to you one day, hovering over you. They’re – happy. Excited.”

Iris cleared her throat. She felt like she had to respond to some of that, even though little of it made sense to her. “Um. Thank you… crystals.” Ourania chuckled and they continued on in silence. Although now Iris could feel the vibrations, like the humming of bees, which was apparently their – approval? It almost made her smile. Almost. The passageway they were striding down was one she hadn’t been in before. This place was so huge that she’d barely explored a quarter of it, and she was almost positive that they were going towards Ourania’s private quarters, which she’d never seen. There were large archways built into the wall to the right of them, letting in sunlight and the sound of wheeling gulls. The billowing ivory drapes might have charmed her at any other time but today they reminded her of burial shrouds, as if someone were in mourning. But, she’d always thought that here they were free from the need to mourn, insulated from the loss. There was no death here. No goodbyes.  Except… except that wasn’t entirely true, was it? 

She suddenly remembered, with crystal clarity, a moment she’d had with her neighbor Leah, not that long ago. The morning had been uncharacteristically cloudy and chilly, and Iris had stolen one of Wilder’s fisherman sweaters. It smelled like pine and bonfire smoke and it was so large it nearly fell to her knees. Shivering, she’d packed a basket with some soda bread, lavender cookies and a lemon scrub, all of which she’d made herself. Leah had been somber and quiet lately, and Iris was concerned. She wanted to cheer her up, and so she’d ventured over to the fisherman’s cottage with the thatched roof, her basket over her arm and a smile on her face. When she knocked, Leah opened the door with a pale and bloated face, her eyes rimmed with red, half moon purple crescents beneath them. She’d been crying. Iris had stuttered something like, “if it’s a bad time I can leave, so sorry to disturb you,” but Leah had only stepped back and opened the door, unable to meet her eyes. The cottage felt lonely, Iris noted, which was odd because Leah lived there with her husband Patrick and her daughter Suzy, and the family had a reputation for being warm and welcoming to anyone and everyone. They’d welcomed Iris with open arms, in those early days, and helped her to settle into this new life. She and Wilder would often go over there to play poker or croquet or any number of games, and they never failed to cheer her up. Suzy with her bright eyes and innocent smile; Patrick with his booming laugh and his large hands; and Leah, who never met a person or an animal that she didn’t take under her wing. The change in her now was so eerie and startling that Iris didn’t know what to say or do. She weakly gestured to the basket. “I brought you some things, you’ve seemed a little sad and I thought… anyway. Just a few things I’ve made.” 

And Leah had tried to force a smile, taking the basket with an appreciative nod. “You’re a dear, Iris. Your Wilder is a lucky man.” Irish flushed to the roots of her hair, her toes curling in her sturdy boots. She’d murmured a thank you, smothering a smile at the thought of Wilder’s light blue eyes locked on hers, the way his grin became predatory as he looked her up and down, snagging on every curve like he was physically hooked to them, the promise in his smirk that he was going to make her beg for him in a million different ways as soon as they were alone… 

Leah’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Sit at the kitchen table, and I’ll make us some tea.” 

Iris, cheeks flaming red, merely sat and placed the basket on the table that Wilder had made from a few old glass windows. She was always awe struck at how he managed to make his creations artistic as well as practical. She ran a hand over the glass, the little carvings he’d etched into some of the wood, and watched as Leah made her way around the kitchen. She was moving slowly, like her body had become something heavy and cumbersome, and her bright red hair looked dull. Finally, when the silence stretched to the point of being unbearable, Iris let go of the words that were pounding at the roof of her mouth. “Where… where are Patrick and Suzy?” 

Leah had recoiled, and the kettle filled with (thankfully cold) water dropped from her hands, spilling all over the floor. Iris immediately ran to the linen closet and grabbed a towel, sopping up the water as Leah stood there, trembling, her chin quivering and her eyes glazed with tears. Iris made soothing sounds and led Leah to the table, sitting her down and taking control: cleaning the mess, filling the kettle again, cutting into some of the bread she’d made and putting it on the small plates with the border of blue flowers, adding the butter dish and some knives. When she finally sat down, Leah had regained control of herself, at least somewhat. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a garbled voice, and Iris shook her head and took Leah’s hand in her own.

“No need to be sorry. Are you alright? What can I do to help you?” 

Leah just shook her head. “You’re so young and new. You don’t know the ways of this place yet. I daresay few of us do. I’ve been here a long time, I’ve seen all manner of people coming and going, and it still didn’t prepare me for…”

“For what, Leah? Where are Suzy and Patrick?” 

But Leah just pressed her lips into a thin line. “I can’t tell you. And I hope you never have to know what this feels like. There are rules and ways here, and I’m sure you’ll learn them, from Ourania herself no less. I pray you don’t have to, though. I pray you keep your love and your happiness for as long as you both can.”

The conversation had scared Iris, but when she pressed her friend for answers, Leah would say nothing else. And so eventually she’d stopped asking, and they’d had their tea and bread and talked of other things, simple things, until Leah looked less like a shattered porcelain doll. 

A few days later, Leah disappeared. And no one, not a single soul, knew where her or Patrick or Suzy had gone. She’d asked Ourania, but the goddess had said little to nothing about it, instead changing the subject to new lessons and responsibilities. And because Iris was afraid of what she might learn, because she was so happy to be curled up with Wilder in their bed with the crickets chirping and the owls hooting, she’d shoved that memory and that fear deep, deep, deep down. 

Until now.