soul deconstructors (it was mine first)

She wakes up, and Imogen is beside her, and she can’t figure out if this is another cruel joke of Delilah’s doing or some miraculous afterlife.

Her limbs are even stiffer than usual as she bends an elbow and holds her hand under Imogen’s nose; warm puffs of breath tickle her icy digits, and she resists brushing one across Imogen’s cheekbone. A touch could break the spell; eyelids could snap open and reveal glowing green pupils; the mattress beneath her back could become harsh, unforgiving bark, encircle her, ensnare her—

Laudna wrenches her gaze from the slumbering body and her eyes instead begin to dart around the room. The stone walls, ornate furniture, and glimmering chandelier are all unfamiliar, and both windows are covered with large swaths of fabric, disallowing any insight into her current location. She can feel a unique, almost profound sense of exhaustion tugging seductively at the edges of her consciousness, but a part of her dreads where she might wake up the next time, and she opts instead to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the bed.

Her bare feet sink into a plush rug, and she hesitates to put her full (if miniscule) weight on it in case of some hidden void waiting to send her plunging down into the darkness once more, but the floorboards don’t so much as creak under her first step, or her second, or even her third. The window looms closer, opaque and teasing and giving absolutely nothing away as she extends her hand, fingers trembling in midair before they grasp the edge of the cloth—

The bright sunlight that pores in is disorienting, but the massive tree it spotlights in the distance is unmistakable—

(Unrelenting pressure around her neck, tight tight tight tight tight—

Layer upon layer of agony, one blending with another crashing into the next—

She would cry if she could breathe—

Can’t breathe—

Can’t breathe—

Can’t breathe—)

Something hard under her knees, against her palms—

(The branches bowing aside, terrible green light peeking in through the cracks—

“Laudna—”

A phantom grip on her shoulder—)

The worst thing that’s ever happened to me has already happened.

“N-no,” she hears herself gasp aloud. “Not again, not again, not again, please—”

The touch moves from her shoulder to her back, moving in delicate circles with a tenderness she hasn’t felt since—

“Laudna,” is the warm, familiar whisper in her ear. “Sweetheart. Take a deep breath.”

(Tight tight tight tight tight)

“Can’t. I—can’t.”

“I know it’s hard,” says that charming lilt, smooth as silk, “but you’ve got to try.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t. It’s too—tight. Too tight. I…”

A forehead presses to her temple. “Laudna, breathe.”

The plea slices into her eardrum like the finest shears in all of Exandria, filling her head and her lungs and her throat and then her mouth falls open and she sucks in the biggest, loudest, only gulp of oxygen she’s taken in more than three decades.

“Steady,” is the next word, hushed and calm and close. “I’ve got you.”

She half-chokes on the next breath, but she keeps going, tries to remember how her lungs work, hates all this noise she’s making, wonders if there’s even a point in trying to keep her wits about her when this is undoubtedly one scenario in an endless sequence of…

A thumb wipes away the tears she didn’t know were falling and she turns toward the gesture: lavender hair, face full of freckles, sparkling eyes, and forehead crinkled with worry, all filling her vision and temporarily erasing every other thought from her mind. “Im…” she tries, runs out of breath, struggles for more. “Imogen?”

Her favorite purple irises fill with moisture that brims over as she nods. “It’s me,” she whispers, “and you’re alive.”

“But…” She’s shaking from head to toe. “The tree.”

“We’re in Whitestone,” Imogen explains, now holding Laudna’s face with both hands. “We… brought you to Whitestone. It was the only way to get you back.” Her voice cracks on the last word, but the corner of her mouth quirks into a watery smile. “And we did, Laudna. We did it.”

Laudna blinks, listens to the sound of her labored breaths filling the room, tries to process the warmth of the palms against her cheeks. “She’s…?”

“Gone.” A cautious fingertip tucks some hair behind her ear. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about anymore. That evil bitch is never gonna hurt you again.”

There’s a subtle ringing in her ears and Imogen’s voice suddenly sounds like it’s traveling through an infinite pool of water.

“Stay with me, Laudna.”

She glances up as if she could follow the air bubbles to the surface of whatever ocean she’s drowning in, and her gaze once again falls upon the makeshift curtains. “Interesting decor,” she thinks she mutters out loud.

Fingers now brushing along her scalp. “We covered ‘em up while you were sleepin’. We were tryin’ not to trigger you.” There’s a soft, humorless chuckle. “Some good that did, I guess.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Laudna stammers, her vision once again going blurry with tears. “You were so thoughtful and I…”

“No, no, honey, it’s not your fault.” Something shifts and she vaguely understands that Imogen is cradling her in her lap. “You woke up in a strange place, and you’re one of the most delightfully curious people I’ve ever met,” Imogen says, using her sleeve to dry some of the moisture. “Now, what d’you say we get you back to bed?”

Laudna doesn’t move a muscle, because a new thought just hit her like an Eldritch Blast. “Imogen,” she asks, her voice hushed and panicked, “where are we? Where in Whitestone?”

For the first time since Laudna woke up, Imogen takes her time responding. “The castle.”

The sensation of plummeting off a cliff; stomach in rapid free fall. “Their castle.”

“Lord and Lady De Rolo. Yes.”

Laudna swallows hard. “Does she know who I am?”

“She does. She fought for you, actually. Lord De Rolo didn’t want us to risk settin’ Delilah free, but Lady Vex’ahlia wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Laudna is used to being cold to the touch, but the chill that spreads through her bones at each name is something she hasn’t felt before. “That’s very considerate of her.”

There must be something off about her tone because Imogen immediately takes her hand. “Look, I know all of this is really weird and scary for you, and it’s bringin’ back a lot of shitty memories, and you know what?” She squeezes. “I think it’s time to go home.”

A brand new wave of tears. “I’d like that very much,” Laudna whispers.

Imogen kisses her forehead. “I’m gonna send a message to Ashton,” she announces, then clears her throat and begins the spell. “Laudna’s awake. She’s okay, but not feelin’ well. I think we should leave Whitestone as soon as possible. Might be rude. Don’t really care. Thoughts?”

Only a few moments go by before Laudna both hears and feels another soft chuckle.

“What did they say?”

“Their exact words were Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

An abrupt laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in Laudna’s chest even as her tears continue. “I really adore that strange marble man.”

“He missed you a lot,” Imogen says, then kisses her temple. “We all did.”

Laudna finally remembers how to move her arms and wraps them around Imogen, letting a few remaining sobs shake themselves out. “Fuck that tree,” she rasps into Imogen’s shirt.

“Fuck that tree,” Imogen agrees sincerely, and holds Laudna until her eyes dry.

.

She’s told that they’ll be traveling back to Jrusar through a tree; not the tree, Imogen assures her multiple times, but simply one large enough for the Tempest to do some magic.

Expedited transport is a far more sensible option than what would otherwise be weeks of travel, and Laudna is well aware of that, but reason and logic can’t make up for the way Keyleth keeps looking at her as they navigate to the edge of the city: compassionate, sympathetic… pitying.

Her friends are a bit more subtle with their emotions, but not with their body language. Everyone stays close, with Ashton, Orym, and Chetney flanking while Fearne and Fresh Cut Grass guard the rear of the group. Imogen is holding her hand, an act that’s common between them in moments of chaos or danger but not usually for an entire journey.

(Not that she minds; in fact, it’s the least overwhelming gesture of support she’s received since her reunion with the group, and she cherishes the constant contact.)

Conversation is minimal, and while Laudna is glad that she needn’t worry about respecting any social cues for now, the silence that takes its place is surprisingly unnerving. It gives her space to listen, to anticipate, to wonder, to worry. When they arrive at their special doorway tree she hears a voice in her head (I won’t let go of you, I promise) and her entire body flinches before she has time to process that it’s Imogen.

“I’m sorry,” Imogen whispers out loud, only for her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Laudna shakes her head and squeezes Imogen’s hand. “It shouldn’t have. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothin’s wrong with you,” Imogen says, and squeezes back. “It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Laudna argues far more harshly than she means to.

Her outburst earns glances from everyone except Keyleth, who remains focused on her tree.

Letters reverses away from Ashton and pivots toward Laudna. “You want a Calm Emotions for the road?”

“Oh, don’t waste your spells on me,” Laudna deflects, keeping her tone as light as she can manage.

“It’s never a waste if it makes you feel better.”

Orym nods. “I’ll second that.”

Ashton crosses his arms and jerks their head in FCG’s direction. “Yeah, what the recently reformed killing machine said.”

“I’m fine,” Laudna insists, then flutters a few fingers in Keyleth’s direction. “Tempest, how’s that fancy portal coming along?” she asks just as a loud hum fills the air around them and the trunk parts down the center—

(The branches bowing aside, terrible green light peeking in through the cracks—

“Laudna—”)

“Imogen—wait…”

The woman in question steps directly in front of her, blocking the rest of the world from view. “What is it?”

(She’s not inside the tree. Her friends are here. Delilah is gone.)

“I’m right here, Laudna,” Imogen confirms softly. “I’ve got you. I promise.” When Laudna doesn’t respond, Imogen rests her free hand over Laudna’s heart. “I’m gonna talk in your head, okay?”

She nods.

I could give you that calming spell, if you want. Nobody else has to know.

She blinks away some fresh tears, hesitates for a beat, and nods again.

A warm pulse of magic transfers from Imogen’s hand to Laudna’s and she feels her adrenalin fade, muscles relax.

Feel better?

(Branches—

Impacts—

“Laudna—”

Like visions, on repeat.)

Thank you, she replies, because she hates lying to Imogen.

.

“In my experience, the best solution to a life-altering-trauma problem is the most expensive fucking drink you can afford at the time.” Ashton pats his pockets for emphasis. “And right now, we’re fucking swimming in it.”

“Well, that is an option,” Fresh Cut Grass agrees, “but sometimes it’s best to avoid mind-altering substances during times of emotional turmoil.”

“Sometimes I like breaking shit,” Chetney pipes up, twirling his chisel between his fingers. “A little harmless destruction to take the edge off.”

“Oh, oh!” Fearne exclaims. “We could have a little girls’ night! Do our hair, paint our nails, go to get a nice steam bath…”

Laudna is staring out the window of their gondola, hearing the others’ words but not quite listening.

“Orym, maybe you could tag along and walk on our backs, like a massage.”

“I think I’d be afraid to break Laudna’s spine,” he jokes quietly, “but I could give it a try.”

The gondola begins to sway a little in the strong breeze swirling around the spires and there’s a shiver beside her.

“You would think someone as powerful as the Tempest could’ve found a tree in the Core Spire,” Imogen mutters.

At first Laudna is content to remain in her self-induced trance, but then Imogen’s words send a shock through her system and she takes both of her hands with a sudden gasp. “Oh, Imogen! I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry for what?” she asks like she has no idea what Laudna’s talking about.

“I—I wasn’t thinking about how much you hate these things,” Laudna admits, her grasp quickly becoming white-knuckled. “I should’ve checked in with you right away, I should’ve been holding your hand, I should’ve been distracting you, I…”

Imogen has been shaking her own head through the entire confession. “Laudna, you’re fine. Of course I always appreciate your support, but you’ve just been through somethin’...” She trails off for a beat. “You’ve been through a lot. And I’m a big girl—I can handle a gondola ride, even if I don’t like ‘em very much.” Imogen takes one of her hands back, puts it on Laudna’s shoulder, and squeezes. “I promise.”

“But… but I always… I…” Laudna stammers to a stop as she realizes all of their friends are watching her. “I’m sorry,” she whispers once more, though she’s not entirely sure to whom or about what she’s apologizing at this point.

Imogen brings Laudna’s hand to her own lips and kisses her knuckles. What do you wanna do, Laudna?

The question makes her eyes burn and blur. Well, Laudna replies after a beat, you did promise to take me home.

She nods and turns to the rest of the group. “I think we’re just gonna go to Zhudanna’s and take a breather,” Imogen tells them.

“Zhudanna’s sounds nice,” Fearne says.

(Tired.)

“Just Laudna and I, for now,” Imogen corrects her without hesitation.

Ashton crosses their arms in that way he does for important strategic calculations. “Can you at least bring Orym or Letters with you? Big protection in a small package. Nice and discreet.”

Chetney glares at him. “Why am I not on that roster?”

“Because you’re one of the least subtle creatures I know,” Ashton fires back, “and I’m a little afraid you’ll give that old lady a heart attack.”

(Tired, retreating back into her trance, so tired—)

“I got it,” Imogen interrupts firmly, to cut them all off. “If anything happens I’ll send y’all a message.”

Nobody objects as the gondola lurches to a halt and the door swings open.

Laudna remains seated, gods forbid the party keeps watching her every move, and Imogen does the same; only once they’re alone does Imogen nod her head toward the platform.

A promise is a promise. You ready?

She smiles at Imogen, and she means it.

.

Zhudanna’s kept their room clean and unoccupied even in their prolonged absence, and her only reaction to Laudna’s emotional sniffles is to give her a shaky but sincere hug right there in the middle of the kitchen. Imogen insists on cleaning the sink full of dishes and raises an eyebrow when Laudna finds an old cloth and begins to wipe down the table.

“A little Prestidigitation would probably clear that right off.”

Laudna’s fingers twitch at her side as if readying to perform the cantrip, but she continues to scrub the wood the old-fashioned way. “I don’t mind using my hands, just this once.”

Imogen’s eyes, as always, are searching hers intently. “I can take care of this, y’know. You could go lie down. I don’t mind.”

“It’s alright,” Laudna says with a slight shake of her head. “I missed out a lot when I was… wherever I was. Feels good to be helpful.”

“You know you don’t have to—”

“And it feels good to be around you.”

A rosy pink tint rises from Imogen’s collar and shades her cheeks, though it’s quickly followed by a few tears that she blinks away. “You should’ve led with that,” Imogen says softly.

Laudna nods in agreement. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Okay, you have got to stop with the constant apologies,” Imogen interrupts, shaking the excess water from her hands and stepping away from the sink to wrap Laudna in a tight embrace. “Go get cozy, okay? Do it for me. I’ll be there soon.”

“If you insist,” Laudna relents with a sigh.

“I do.”

She enjoys Imogen’s hold for three, four, five more seconds before pulling away and heading down the hallway, letting herself into the last bedroom on the right. This space, their space, seems utterly unchanged, and she feels a small burst of warmth in her chest as she closes the door and does a slow spin, taking in the furniture and the bedspread and the vase of dead flowers that Laudna had requested never be replaced. She leans down for a sniff, then notices a crack along the side that she hasn’t seen before, like it got knocked over and set back upright while they were gone. Laudna extends a hand toward it and imagines mending the glass, but the incantation dies in her throat and her fingers curl into an uncooperative fist. She rotates the broken side of the vase toward the wall, draws the curtains closed, and eases herself down onto the bed.

Closes her eyes.

Allows herself to be still.

She quickly realizes how much she relies on Imogen’s breathing to fill the silence, which now presses against her eardrums, fills her nostrils, and sits on her chest like slabs of dense stone. Laudna decides to take an unnecessary deep breath both to spite this phantom weight and for the sake of some noise—

(Pressure around her neck.)

Her body is still and stiff.

(Tight tight tight tight tight)

This can’t be—

(Can’t breathe—)

“Im…”

(Tight tight tight tight tight)

Laudna looks for the door—

Bright green light glowing from the other side, leaking through the gaps at the top and bottom and left and right—

The smooth wooden panels slowly morph into tree bark; uneven, rough, impenetrable—

(The worst thing that’s ever happened to me has already happened.)

“Not again, not again, not again…”

(An ugly, piercing screech—)

“Laudna, wake up!”

Her eyes snap open and all she sees is warm candle light and Imogen in her bedclothes, hair messy from sleep and tickling Laudna’s cheeks as Imogen leans over her. Laudna sits up and Imogen stays close like she knows Laudna might disintegrate on the spot if Imogen strayed beyond her reach in this moment, holding the base of Laudna’s head with just enough pressure to keep her grounded.

“You were havin’ a nightmare,'' Imogen whispers. “A real bad one, from the sound of it.”

Laudna swallows hard and scratches her fingertips across the skin where that fucking noose would be, one way and then the other, then again, making sure, making absolutely sure. Imogen sees the movement, searches Laudna’s eyes for a beat, then slowly leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to the side of her neck before wrapping her arms around Laudna, delicately. “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head, and shakes free the moisture she didn’t notice blurring her vision. “I-I… it’s…”

“It’s what, honey?”

Laudna’s brow furrows as she blinks away her tears. “Strange,” she manages. “I got so used to being the protector.”

Imogen pulls away enough to make eye contact, and gods, she looks so sad. “Well, you’re damn good at it,” she says, then tries to wipe away some of Laudna’s tears with the pad of her thumb. “How am I doin’ so far?” she asks, playful but still genuine.

“Phenomenally, of course, but—but you shouldn’t have to. We have a system…”

“It’s called love, Laudna,” Imogen interrupts before she can get any further. “And that’s exactly what love is. It goes both ways.”

Laudna sniffs, looks at the door again, then looks back to Imogen, and eventually nods. “It’s been a while,” she mutters through the lump in her throat, “since things… sucked. The way that they used to.”

Imogen’s jaw clenches a few times as she works through several emotions before settling on a small smile. “Well, how about we skip all that isolation shit and go right to the part where we have each other to lean on?”

“Both ways,” Laudna agrees quietly, and Imogen’s smile swells to a grin.

“That’s my girl.”

A quiet creak in the hallway shatters the moment and Laudna zeroes in on the sound, then feels Imogen’s hand on her shoulder.

“It’s Zhudanna,” Imogen promises. “She’s just gettin’ a glass of water.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Laudna sighs in exasperation, holding her head in her hands as a migraine begins to simmer in the background.

Imogen shifts on the bed, and when Laudna looks up, she’s glancing around the room as if looking for something. “In all of our time together,” Imogen says, “where have you felt the safest?”

She takes a few moments to process the question, then thinks of all the places they’ve been that have entrances and exits and dark corners and wood and trees, but finally recalls one that didn’t and perks up. “Do you remember that meadow, where we had that adorable picnic lunch with Paté after Zhudanna made too much food?”

“I remember,” Imogen replies, getting to her feet, “and I have an idea. Do you want a Calm Emotions before I do some concentration stuff?”

Laudna grimaces a little. “To be perfectly honest, it really only works for this,” she admits, gesturing to her chest, “and not so much for up here,” she continues, tapping the side of her head.

Imogen nods. “Hold onto something.”

“I beg your pardon?”

But she’s already waving her hands, and soon the entire bed rotates away from the door to instead face one of the blank walls in the bedroom. Imogen rejoins her on the mattress, and after some more hand gestures, Launda watches her conjure an image of lush grass and open sky, but darker, as if their picnic had happened at twilight rather than midday.

“It’ll only last for ten minutes,” Imogen explains softly, “but maybe it’ll help with the bad-scaries.”

Laudna is almost speechless as she tucks herself against the warm body she loves so dearly, feeling her own insides slowly de-escalate in a way that the other spell couldn’t quite manage. “Imogen,” she murmurs, letting her eyes close, “you’re my favorite person in the world.”

Her friend says nothing, and Laudna’s remaining thoughts are swallowed by the darkness.

.

Each morning, Imogen asks Laudna if she wants to meet up with the group (she doesn’t), and each night, Imogen conjures the same illusion on their bedroom wall in hopes that it will keep the night terrors away (it doesn’t). They spend their time walking around but never straying from their neighborhood, chatting about everything except Launda’s headaches, and Imogen seems to limit herself to one difficult question per day.

“Have you tried usin’ any of your powers?” she asks while they peruse a cart selling beautiful handmade scarves.

“No. Not yet.”

.

“Are you afraid you might not have ‘em anymore?”

“Well, I don’t feel any less magical…” is all Laudna says about it.

.

“Can I ask you for the world’s biggest favor?” Imogen asks the next afternoon, sounding even more cautious than usual.

Laudna glances down to where their arms are linked and hopes Imogen can’t feel the way she’s tensed in anticipation. “Of course, darling.”

Too much hesitation. “Would you mind showin’ me your form of dread?”

“Now?” Laudna inquires, trying to disguise her nerves with incredulousness. “In the middle of this market? There’s no need.”

“I think there is,” she says softly. “And it doesn’t have to be a whole thing—”

“Why are you suddenly so intent on me proving myself to you?” Laudna interrupts, struggling to keep her tone even.

Imogen steers Laudna to a bench that borders a small stone fountain and gives Laudna a few moments to settle before she speaks again. “It’s not about that, sweetheart. It’s about getting reassurance that my best friend can still defend herself the next time things go to shit.” Imogen takes Laudna’s palm into her own and sets her other hand on top of it. “Why are you avoidin’ usin’ any of your powers? I am beggin’ you to be honest with me, Laudna. I need—”

“What if it’s like a fucking homing beacon?” Laudna bursts, raising her voice for the first time since she woke up in Whitestone, but Imogen doesn’t even flinch. “What if my abilities help her in some way? What if I bring her back?”

She’s crying again, and Imogen lets her, and eventually rests her arm around Laudna’s shoulders. “Can I tell you somethin’?”

Laudna wipes away some black snot. “If you must.”

“Those are some scary questions. Not fun-scary, like you, but real-scary.” Imogen squeezes Laudna’s upper arm and gives her a small smile. “The thing about real-scary questions is, you don’t have to deal with ‘em on your own.”

She nods maybe a few more times than necessary. “I hear you,” Laudna says quietly, “and I think that’s enough for today.”

“You got it,” Imogen promises, and kisses the top of her head.

.

Laudna wakes before sunrise, thinks for hours about all of the questions Imogen has asked and all the others she hasn’t yet, and when her friend finally rouses, she’s ready.

“Let’s go see the others today.”

Imogen rubs the sleep out of her eyes and props herself on one elbow. “Really?”

“Sure,” Laudna says with what she hopes is a casual shrug. “I think it’s been long enough.”

She grabs her glasses from the bedside table and sits up until she’s cross-legged and facing Laudna directly. “I haven’t been pushin’ you too hard, have I? ‘Cause I would never want you to do somethin’ before you’re ready.” Imogen finds Laudna’s hand and laces their fingers. “You can take as long as you need, okay? There’s no rush to get back to… all that.”

Laudna shakes her head. “You haven’t, I promise.”

“Okay. Well… great!” Imogen says, looking relieved, then thoughtful. “I can send FCG a message to let everyone know we’re comin’, just so they’re all… y’know, aware. They’re gonna wanna ask how you’re doin’, but we can just let ‘em know you’re fine, and tell ‘em all to mind their—”

“I know I took a bit of a break, but I know how to be around our friends.” The statement comes out harsher than she means it to, so she clears her throat and pastes on a smile. “I appreciate your attentiveness, but I promise, I’ll be fine. I am fine,” she amends a beat later.

Imogen squeezes Laudna’s hand. “I know you are.”

She glances out the window, eyeing the sun’s position in the early morning sky. “Shall we see if we can make it in time for breakfast?”

“Sounds good to me,” Imogen replies with a wink that makes Laudna feel like maybe she really can make it through the day.

(Imogen gets dressed, and Laudna absentmindedly massages her neck.)

.

They plan a brunch picnic of sorts, loading up on pastries and fresh fruit and inviting the others to join them at a modest patch of green space in the Windowed Wall.

The group is happy to see them, but also gives an unexpectedly wide berth as if they’re afraid of breaking her, and Laudna finds that… curious. She doesn’t mention it, though, and the meal is honestly quite nice: Chetney asks Imogen if she’s figured out how to work the toy horse yet, Ashton practices tossing small pebbles into FCG’s mouth, and Fearne gives a brief show-and-tell of all the fun trinkets she’s “found” since they returned to town.

In fact, nobody’s mentioned anything at all about Delilah or Whitestone or Otohan, nothing and no one even outside of Jrusar. Between the scattered awkward silence and each of their friends’ occasional glance at Imogen, Laudna figures out before long that something isn’t quite right.

“So,” she segues abruptly after Orym comments on the weather for a third time, “how about that Delilah? Am I right?”

Everyone seems to commit to very careful non-reactions, except for Fearne.

“Wait, I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about her,” she says, then sticks a finger in her long fawn ear. “Did I miss an update?” she asks Imogen, who simply looks at Laudna with an apologetic expression already in place.

Fuck this.

Laudna gets to her feet in a huff and begins to speed-walk away—somewhere, anywhere else.

Imogen is the first to call after her. “Laudna, where are you goin’?”

“To get some air,” she retorts without turning around, and hears what she can only assume is the sound of Imogen following her.

“But… we’re already outside,” Fearne says back at the blanket, sounding genuinely confused.

Imogen’s voice is close behind. “All I did was give ‘em a little heads-up about some topics to avoid. I thought that might make you more comfortable, I didn’t mean—”

Laudna stops abruptly and whips around. “Did you not trust anything I said this morning? Imogen, I told you that I was fine.”

Fresh Cut Grass creeps forward and raises his metallic arm as if asking permission to speak. “Laudna, if I may… I think that given the circumstances, Imogen’s just tryin’ to make sure you’re bein’ completely honest with yourself about your needs.”

“I’m sorry if I’m bein’ overprotective,” Imogen adds, fiddling nervously with her hands, “I just—”

“No, no, it’s not even protection, it’s…” Laudna struggles to find the right word, pulling out a few locks of her hair in the process, before something deep inside of her snaps: “EVERYONE NEEDS TO STOP FUSSING OVER ME LIKE I’M SOME HELPLESS CHILD.”

(“Do you want to play a game with me?”)

The voice is right in her ear, all around her, filling the entirety of the field—

(“Come on, it’ll be so fun.”)

She shakes her head, takes a step back, clenches her fists at her sides—

(“What’s wrong? It’s just a game.”)

“Laud—”

(“—tilda?”)

Her surroundings fade into pitch black and she shakes her head again and again and again. “I don’t trust you.”

“Laudna, it’s me. It’s—

(“—just a game.”)

Throat tightening, eyes already stinging with tears. “No. Not again. I won’t let you.”

“Come back, sweetheart. Come—”

(“—on, it’ll be so much fun.”)

Not enough space, not enough distance. “Stay away from me!”

“Laud—”

(“—tilda…”)

A single hand extends through the darkness—

(Fistfull of dirt flying through the air, in her direction—

The castle staff giving her the best bubble bath she’d ever had—

Presenting her with that dress—

Her own fingers stained and skeletal, unrecognizable, digging into the soil as she used all her energy to crawl away—)

An anguished cry tears from her throat as an Eldritch blast erupts from each fist—

Loud voices, then movement, then a pair of hard stone arms wrapping around her torso from behind—

(Pressure, tight tight tight tight tight—)

She thrashes in their grip, gathers more magic in her palm—

(The worst thing that’s ever happened to me has already—)

LAUDNA.

The voice is in her head, and it’s tense and desperate and acts like a barrier erecting itself between her and all the other noise—

LAUDNA, IT’S IMOGEN.

Her spell flickers.

YOU’RE SAFE, AND YOU NEED TO STOP.

An unnecessary breath stammers in her chest as the words hit her, wrap around each of her limbs, and seep into her skin—

(Left leg.

You’re safe.

Right leg.

You’re safe.

Left arm.

You’re safe.

Right arm.

You’re safe.

Waist.

You’re safe.

Neck—)

“I’m not,” she confesses under her breath, then repeats it louder, words ragged and fatigued and halfway to tears: “I’m not. I’m not safe. I’m right back to where I was the first time I…” Her sobs grow louder and those stone arms continue to pin hers to her sides. “I survived her, goddammit. I survived everything. The torture, and death, and confusion, and all that fucking loneliness. I can’t… I can’t do it again. It’s not fair.”

You’re right, Laudna. What she did to you isn’t fair. The way she used you isn’t fair. You having to relive all of that trauma isn’t fair. But you’re not back to where you started, because this time you have friends by your side.

“You have me,” Imogen finishes in a whisper, much closer than Laudna expects.

She’s trembling as she opens her eyes, and the tremors get even worse when she sees the blood trickling from Imogen’s nose—

(You did that.

You did that.

You did that.

You—)

“I’d like to say a few things, if you don’t mind.”

(Ashton’s voice, clear and gentle.)

“You don’t need to respond to any of it. Save your energy. Just focus on the words.”

(She can’t stop staring at the blood.)

“None of us think you’re helpless. Never have, never will. But you know what? Even powerful people need help. I’m a fucking barbarian with zero fucks left to give, and I still have a fucking emotional support robot. That person in front of you is your emotional support sorcerer—use her. Not in the shitty, manipulative way. In the ‘you two love each other a whole fuckin’ lot, and that kind of love can change everything’ way.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then: “Yeah, that’s all I got. I’m gonna let go of you, and we’re not gonna do any more spellcasting at people we care about.”

“I-I… I didn’t…” Laudna splutters.

“I know.”

The arms loosen enough for Laudna’s knees to buckle, and Ashton eases her to the ground, making sure she’s steady enough to keep upright on her own. Imogen is right there kneeling with her, and now Laudna can see Orym flanking with a watchful but sympathetic eye.

“Welcome back, friend.”

She may as well be splitting in half, the way she utterly dissolves into Imogen’s ready embrace, crying so many black tears that she thinks she might vomit.

The halfling remains at his full height when he joins their hug from the other side. “Easy, there. We’ve got you.”

“Orym,” Laudna chokes out, “I’m sorry. I can’t—I don’t—think I can—for a while.”

“Can what?” he asks softly.

(The worst thing that’s ever happened to me—)

“Be—h-happy.”

Orym is silent for a moment. “Laudna, can I tell you a secret? Everyone looks at me and sees this really calm, put-together guy. But the truth is… I’m not. And I don’t think I have been for a long time.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, like he’s trying to sooth them both. “There’s not much in this life that lasts forever, and that’s okay. You don’t owe us anything, let alone a smile.”

Laudna returns her attention to Imogen, using the pad of her thumb to dab at the blood. “Are you alright?” she asks quietly.

“Letters will take care of it,” Imogen answers, reaching up to hold Laudna’s hand in place.

“Okay,” she whispers.

A single lavender sprout blooms from between their hands and twists around Laudna’s thumb as Orym heads back to the group.

Imogen, as always, searching her eyes. “Are you alright?”

She opens her mouth to speak, then clamps it shut and feels her bottom lip quiver as she shakes her head.

Imogen kisses Laudna’s palm. “Okay.”

.

Arrangements are made. Nothing brand new; just a few slight adjustments, mutually agreed upon after an extensive discussion about Laudna’s actual emotional needs.

First: Laudna and Imogen are going to sleep in the hole. Their room is just big enough to spread the fabric out flat, and the group dedicates an entire day to clearing out the junk they’ve accumulated to make room for the bed and a few magical light fixtures. No stone to remind her of castle walls, no wood or door to remind her of the tree, and more space for Imogen to cast her illusory meadow.

Second: Ashton and Fresh Cut Grass are going to stay in one of Zhudanna’s newly empty rooms, and Laudna is going to talk to them. Imogen has helpful abilities, but FCG has training and Ashton has experience, and they all agree that both women are better off not limiting Laudna’s support system to one person.

Third: …Chetney has something for Laudna?

“So listen,” he begins as he leads her back to their picnic spot from the other day, “I know you’ve really been going through it with this tree thing, and you know that the Sun Tree is the sexiest creature I’ve ever seen—”

“Chet, what the fuck are you getting at?”

He clears his throat and gets back to business. “I had an idea. And at first glance you might have the urge to freak out a little, but I want you to hear me out.”

Laudna glances warily between him and the odd shadow looming in the distance, human-sized but not human-shaped, that she soon realizes is something covered with a large tarp.

“Brace yourself, alright?” Chetney reminds her as he grips one of the corners. “I mean it. I didn’t invite anyone else ‘cause I thought you’d want privacy for this, and I don’t want the deep respect I have for you to bite me in the ass.”

She crosses her arms tightly across her chest, gives him a small nod, and then nearly dislocates both shoulders when Chetney pulls away the cloth to reveal a scaled-down, eerily accurate replica of the Sun Tree.

He holds up his hands to steady her. “When something hurts you, you have two choices: forgive, or destroy. And since that evil lady is long gone, and you obviously can’t do anything to an ancient relic in the middle of Whitestone…” Chetney pats the trunk fondly. “This gal’s made of pure balsa, nice and soft. I think an Eldritch blast or two would do the trick.” He walks toward her and pauses at her hip. “The choice is all yours, as it always should be. I’ll leave you to it.”

And he does.

Laudna stands still for a very long time, thinking about the ropes and the pain in her neck and thick wooden limbs folding over her like cell bars, and then she holds up her hands with both palms facing outward.

She breaks off all the branches one by one, but leaves the rest of the tree standing.

.

Weeks pass.

Days get better.

Nights stay mostly the same, except Laudna gets used to how it feels when Imogen takes every single nightmare just as seriously as its predecessor. She hates waking her, but gods, she loves the warmth of Imogen’s arms scooping her up, pulling her close, and holding her tight.

“No space for Delilah here,” is what Imogen whispers in the dark, with her forehead touching Laudna’s, fingertips ghosting gently along the places on Laudna’s neck that scare her the most.

Laudna keeps her eyes closed, basking in the sensations on her skin. “Agreed,” she murmurs. “You take up far too much space in my heart. No way she could ever weasel herself back in.”

Imogen’s fingers go still for a beat, and Laudna senses a sudden onset of nerves.

“What is it?”

The touches drift up to her jaw, her cheek, then her hairline. “I know you’ve been really afraid that you came back different,” Imogen says, maybe softer than she’s ever spoken to Laudna before, “but I can tell you for certain what hasn’t changed.” Thumb drifting across her cheekbone. “I’m still in love with you.”

“Oh,” is the one word that comes out immediately, and Laudna hears a small sound like Imogen might be sniffing back tears.

“And, look, it’s perfectly okay if you don’t… reciprocate. I just wanted you to know, is all.”

Laudna’s all-but-unbeating heart feels swollen with electric knots. “Imogen, I… oh shit.”

Imogen rolls away, onto her back. “Ah, fuck me, did I ruin everything? I’m so sorry, I…”

“No! On the contrary, I think…” Laudna feels like she’s having to translate her thoughts into a brand new language. “I’ve never… with anyone. Whitestone was shit, and then I was dead, and then I wasn’t anymore, and you know the rest. But you’re my favorite person, Imogen. Like, my absolute favoritest person—”

“Could you…?” Imogen interrupts, but then cuts off her own thoughts. “Sorry. It’s… that phrase is hard for me right now.”

When Laudna remembers, it’s like stepping into a cone of frost. “Otohan.”

“She could tell how I feel about you. And she killed you because of it.”

Laudna tenses at the edge she hears in Imogen’s tone. “If you’re about to tell me that you blame yourself for what happened…”

“How can I not?” Imogen asks, and her question is painfully small in the pitch dark of the hole.

She feels her way to Imogen’s shoulder, then chest, then chin, turning Imogen’s face toward her even though she can’t see anything. “Because she’s an evil fucking asshole, and I’m learning that the actions of evil fucking assholes aren’t ever our fault.”

There’s a long stretch of silence that has Laudna half-convinced that Imogen fell asleep.

“Laudna?”

“Mmm?”

(One beat, then two, then three.)

“Can I kiss you?”

“Of course, darling” she answers automatically.

(One, two, three.) “I mean, like… on the—on the mouth.” (One. Two.) “The romantic way.”

Laudna blinks. “Oh! Right. Because of the whole—in love, thing.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She can feel herself smiling. “Please.”

“You—you want me to say please?”

An actual laugh, now. “No, Imogen, I’m asking you to please kiss me on the mouth.”

Imogen laughs a little too, and shifts closer to Laudna again. “Fuck, I’m real bad at this.”

“Nonsense.”

(One, two, three…)

You ready?

I’ve always been ready for you.

Imogen’s nose against hers, warm breath on her cheek.

“Good,” Imogen murmurs just shy of Laudna’s lips, “‘cause I’m never leavin’.”

Even with the illusion long gone, Laudna still sees stars.