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Lady, You Don't Need to See

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Sitting bolt upright in bed, a wave of intuition crashed over Cordelia. Hot sweat clung to her frame and caused her sheer nightgown to adhere to her skin. What was it? She couldn’t remember the dream that had stirred her awake. A chill tingled up her spine. All of the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something wrong is going on. Cordelia swung out of bed and grabbed her cane from where she had left it right beside the nightstand. Fumbling around with her robe, she tied it around herself, and then she padded out of her room.  

The cold hardwood floor bit into the soles of her feet. Cordelia pressed a hand on the wall. There. She Saw it, the wisp of clothing, feet on the stairs—and then she heard it, thrumming through the walls, footsteps drumming down the stairs toward the back exit. Someone’s leaving! Cordelia marched down the stairs. “Who’s there?” She didn’t want to disturb the other sleeping witches, but the wispy dress escaping alarmed her. They needed all of the witches to perform the task of the Seven Wonders. The coven was lost without its leader. Until they discovered the identity of the next Supreme, Cordelia couldn’t risk losing any of them.  

The staircase proved an obstacle, but not insurmountable for Cordelia, as her bare feet followed the fleeing witch. She Saw the figure retreating out the back door and into the yard, leaving it open—the sound of Cordelia’s voice had spooked the witch, and she fled down the porch and into the dewy grass of the late hour. Cordelia stumbled after her. She was less certain with her bare feet as she touched down in the overgrown lawn. Where has the gardener been? “Come back! Wait!”

Sliding through the mud, she stumbled and dropped her cane, but as she felt around for it, she found nothing but a stick. Drawing herself back upward, Cordelia plodded onward, her back to the chilly night wind which cut through the sheer material of her gown. “Wait!” She staggered onward. Her feet slapped the earth. She prayed the impact of her soles upon the ground would frighten off any snakes lying in wait for her. The witch, however, did not slow. “Wait—”

The low-hanging branches of the tree in the backyard whipped Cordelia’s face. “Oh, fuck.” The branches tangled up into her hair with their twigs ripping it all askew. Leaves showered around her. Her hands reached up to try to battle her way out. The splinters dug into the tender skin of her face. Sharp tugs at her scalp made her grow still under its reach. Desperate fists tore at her hair, trying to free it. Her toes curled into the dirt and grass with frustration.

Footsteps approached her. She paused, both hands on the branch. “Miss Cordelia?” Misty’s voice broke the silence of the night birds and the insects chattering away at the moon. “You’re all tangled up.” In spite of the circumstances, Misty didn’t hesitate to touch her. She reached out and grabbed Cordelia’s wrists, batting them away to work on her hair. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

The touch brought visions to Cordelia’s Sight—Misty, running away, fleeing into the night. She tucked her hair into a hoodie at the side of a highway and stuck out her thumb, hiding her face in case anyone recognized her, and then she crawled into the bed of an old truck driven by a cowboy and asked for a trip back to the swamp. She wants to run away. “I—I could ask you the same thing.” I was chasing you, and clearly my ability to chase is not optimal anymore.

“You already know what I was doing, don’t you?”

Cordelia hesitated. Misty was right. She already knew. “Why?” she asked instead. “We need you.”

With gingerly fingers, Misty plucked the dry, broken twigs off of the branch one by one and allowed Cordelia’s hair to fall back around her shoulders, filled with twigs, splinters, and thorns but otherwise untouched. Once all of her locks were free and Cordelia could move again, Misty took the blonde hair into her hands under the moonlight and plucked the tiny wood pieces out of her hair one by one. “Nah, you don’t.” Cordelia wanted to reach out and grab Misty’s face. She restrained herself. “I appreciate what you did for me, Miss Cordelia, beyond words… But I let one of y’all get away with killing me once. Once is enough. I’m going home.” Misty paused with her hands in her hair. “Would you like me to walk you back upstairs?”

“What? No.” Cordelia caught Misty’s hands by her wrists. “No, please, don’t go. We need you,” she repeated, like it would have some hold over Misty. “You belong with us. With the coven.” How could she possibly have failed so badly? The witches were meant to take shelter with the coven, but Misty had decided to run from it—the same way she had run from the witch hunters. How had they managed to frighten a witch so badly that she feared the very group designed to protect her?

Worse yet, Misty’s fear was not unfounded. “No offense, Miss Cordelia…” Misty addressed her with that title. It made her feel special. None of the other witches gave her such respect. She didn’t blame them. “But I need this coven like I need a hole in the head.” That isn’t true! Cordelia wished she had words of comfort to offer, but she didn’t. “Y’all got a problem of killing people. Killing each other. What with Kyle, then Maddie, then Myrtle, then me—and Nan? With Queenie, being hurt? About the only person here who hasn’t been killed is you, and you see how that worked out for you.”

She has a point. Cordelia swallowed hard. She could feel her eyes moving in her face—it was a strange feeling, something she thought she would never become accustomed to, the sensation of her eye muscles twitching but nothing happening in response. “It was safe before Fiona,” she said, “and she’s gone now—the coven needs a Supreme to lead us. It’s safe.”

A derisive snort left Misty’s nose. “It was safe for you before Fiona.” Cordelia flinched at the sharpness to Misty’s words. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no… You’re right.” How many witches did Hank kill while my back was turned? She had trusted him so. She had trusted him with everything. In the scheme of things, she was the only one who was safe. Cordelia cleared her throat. “But Hank is gone now, too… Fiona took care of that. The witch hunters are gone. It’s safe for you. You can stay.”

Misty’s gritty hand closed around hers. Misty had long-fingered, broad hands. “Let me take you back upstairs.” She avoided the topic.

Biting her lower lip, Cordelia allowed Misty’s hand to wrap around hers. “I think it’s you.”

“You think what’s me?”

“The Supreme.”

“We’re still talking about that nonsense?” At Misty’s question, Cordelia swallowed hard. “I ain’t nobody’s leader, Miss Cordelia. Yours or nobody else’s. I told you, I don’t want nothing of it.”

“Being the Supreme isn’t a choice. You’re an extraordinarily powerful witch, Misty.” Misty tried to pull her back toward the house, but Cordelia planted her heels into the cold, dewy grass. She didn’t mind losing some of the feeling in her toes. She needed to talk to Misty. “Resurgence is a very uncommon gift. You’re telekinetic, too.” She knew Misty had summoned a knife to kill the intruder alongside all of the other witches. She works wonderfully with them in tandem. Lord knew the coven needed a leader who knew how to be a team player. “Have you done anything else?”

A quiet sigh fluttered from Misty’s lips. Goosebumps prickled all over Cordelia’s arms and legs. The nightgown was no protection from the night time chill. A rustling of fabric followed, and then a soft shawl draped over her shoulders, covering her arms. “I ain’t done nothing that didn’t come natural. God’s honest truth, Miss Cordelia, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m no good at the incantations. I don’t even know what the rest of the Seven Wonders are , let alone if I can do them or not.”

She’s talking to me. Cordelia considered it progress. “You’re already doing two of them. That’s rare.” Her hands clawed away from Misty’s. Misty closed her eyes and allowed Cordelia to press her cold palms to her face, leaning into the embrace. “The others… Transmutation. Appearing and disappearing at will. Have you done that?”

The expression under her hands shifted. Eyelashes battered against her palms. “Not at will, no. I have done it in the back of Zoe’s car.”

That’s something. “Divination—learning things from divine means, like beads or tea leaves.” Misty shrugged. She didn’t understand. “Concilium—controlling the minds of others at will.” She shook her head. Misty wouldn’t try to do something like that even if she could. She could hardly imagine Misty trying to manipulate anyone. “Descensum—descending into hell and reemerging.”

Round lips formed an O of disbelief. “You’re kidding. You people just waltz into Satan’s dominion for shits and giggles?”

A confused look flexed across Cordelia’s lips. “It’s—It’s a test.” It sounded pretty arbitrary when Misty said it that way, but she had a point. Was it frivolous for her to entrust all of her students to perform such dangerous tasks? Surely there was another way to identify the next Supreme. “The last is pyrokinesis.”

“If I had the ability to control fire, I’m pretty sure I would have figured that out when I needed it.” The vision flashed before Cordelia’s Sight again—it never failed to take her breath away, no matter how many times she saw it by touching Misty. Misty’s body bound to the stake like Christ on the cross, arms tied above her head, shoulders on the verge of dislocation from all of the strain upon them; the flavor of gasoline stung the inside of her mouth, acrid and toxic. The fumes rose around her. The man pouring it from the tin covered his nose and mouth with a cloth, but Misty had no such luxury, and the fumes caused little figures to dance around the corners of her vision, big splotches of light and darkness. She forgot the flavor of clean air. The struck match, so tiny, so innocuous, dropped onto the line of gasoline and flicked up her body. The minuscule candle in the darkness blasted into an inferno—and Misty was the fire wood.

The sensation of flames upon her flesh was unreal. It lasted for a few seconds which passed like hours. With every tired shriek, she drank in carbon monoxide and ash and soot into her lungs. By the time the third deep breath entered her lungs, she blacked out. Blissful darkness consumed her. Her fried nerves caused her to shiver, feeling only the cold, only the shock. But her body kept on burning. Her body kept burning until the ropes had singed to nothingness, and the magic pumped Misty’s soul back into her crispy shell, the burned, charred remnants of what once was a woman, and she could do nothing but sink into the mud just beneath the stake and wait, wait in agony for the magic and the mud to heal the wounds inflicted by man. She emerged from the earth anew, naked as the day she was born—and it was fitting that she was born again from the earth when Mother Nature had done a much better job of raising her than her family had—and she climbed to her feet, shivering and afraid.

Cordelia knew Misty would never forget what had happened to her. But, still, she gently said, “Witches can manifest new powers following a traumatic event. Madison is much more powerful than she was before.”

Misty peeled her hands off of her face. “If you’re going to hit me with some ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ nonsense, I’ll stop you right there.” Misty held Cordelia’s hands. “Let’s go back inside. It’s cold out here. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Wait.” Again, Cordelia rocked back onto her heels and refused to let Misty pull her away even as her toes had grown numb in the dirt. “What can change your mind?” I shouldn’t. I should let her go. But what about Misty’s search for company, for companionship? Where had that ended up now? What about her tribe? What about the moments they had shared in the greenhouse when Misty demonstrated her power under proper instruction? “Misty, I don’t think it’s best if you leave.”

A quiet sound wheezed from Misty. “With all due respect, Miss Cordelia,” she said, voice indiscernible from the wind so it seemed a spectre whispered to her ear, “I didn’t ask what you thought. I’m sorry. I left to try to keep from getting killed. These tasks—they’re dangerous. I know I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

Swallowing hard, a sigh left Cordelia’s lips. “I don’t want you to leave.” The words, small and broken, weren’t meant to escape from her, but she couldn’t draw them back in once she had spoken them. Was she selfish? Misty was her friend—her only friend. Having someone care about her was a novelty she didn’t want to relinquish. This isn’t about me. It was about something much larger than her. Misty demonstrated signs of the Supremacy. If it was time for her to ascend, she couldn’t run away. But if it wasn’t—if Cordelia’s inclinations were wrong, if the Supremacy belonged to some other witch—Cordelia would miss her, anyway.

The silence followed like Cordelia had punched Misty in the gut. “This ain’t my fight,” she said, “and it ain’t gotta be yours, either. You can come with me. I’ll keep you safe. We can go wherever you want, long as it’s out of town where nobody will recognize me—”

Eyes fluttering wide, Cordelia’s jaw dropped open. “I—I can’t leave . This is my home, Misty, and—it can be yours, too!” She squeezed Misty’s hands, pleading with her. “You belong here with us, with witches like you.” Misty’s skepticism bled off of her into her aura. “You belong with your own kind. You can grow. You can become powerful. You are powerful.” She bit her lip. “I know you don’t want to hear it… But Myrtle believes you are the next Supreme.” Misty began to pull away. Cordelia held fast to her, fervor bleeding from her touch. “Listen to me. Myrtle raised me. She’s never wrong about this sort of thing. She’s been working with the Supremacy since Fiona ascended. She knows.

“You just listed five things I can’t do that I gotta be able to do to be the Supreme. I like Myrtle, I do, but she’s wrong, Miss Cordelia. She thinks I’m all that because I saved her, and I’m grateful I found her, but I’m not half the witch she thinks I am—I’m not half the witch you think I am.”

Cordelia shook her head. “You can do them. You said yourself you can transmute—you just need to learn more to know how to do it at will.” She didn’t dare let go of Misty. She was lost out here. Misty was her only hope of getting back inside—and she wouldn’t relent until Misty decided to stay with her. Misty was too kind to leave her out here in the dark and the cold. Misty’s shawl dangled from her shoulders. “You have a brilliant intuition. That’s a guiding point to divination and concilium—mind control. Descensum is just a spell, and pyrokinesis can be learned—”

“I thought you said all this stuff was out of reach for a regular witch.”

“I don’t think you are a regular witch.” Cordelia’s eyelashes fluttered. Misty didn’t owe her anything—she wouldn’t dare dangle it over Misty’s head—but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her now, after she had worked so hard and given up so much to get her back. “Misty,” she said, unable to stop saying her name, “please. I’ll help you. I’ll help you learn. I’ll prove it to you.” Licking her lips, Cordelia hoped the wind wouldn’t chap them. “Stay with me—Stay. Please.”

Stay with me. Cordelia hadn’t meant for her tongue to slip, but she prayed it aided her cause. She couldn’t lose one of her witches now. “I’ll stay,” Misty said quietly. She brushed her hand across Cordelia’s tangled hair, tucking the strings behind her ears. “I owe it to you, for what you did for me.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Cordelia placed her hand over Misty’s and allowed the palm to linger on her cheek. “I had to find you.”

The calloused hand rubbed the delicate skin of her cheek. “You’re too sweet, Miss Cordelia.” Misty’s hands had grit in them and splinters from picking all of the twigs out of Cordelia’s hair. “Thank you.” She held out her hand. Something whistled through the air. Misty placed Cordelia’s cane in the palm of her hand. “Let’s go back inside before you catch a chill. You city folk aren’t built to be out in the weather. The wind blows on you and you start sneezing. Stand out in the rain, you catch pneumonia, I swear it.” Cordelia swept the ground with her cane, giving a soft chuckle in response to Misty’s quiet words. She wrapped her hand around Misty’s arm and held onto her. Misty didn’t mind guiding her. She didn’t have anything to hide. Whenever she touched Misty, visions of flowers and gardens and small animals assaulted her, like she had touched Snow White.

The stairs creaked as they proceeded up them. Misty closed the back door and locked it after herself where they had left it standing open; Cordelia prayed no animal had seen the opportunity to enter the house and cause trouble. She took the stairs one at a time, and Misty didn’t rush her, keeping her arm offered but not forcing Cordelia onto it. Misty left her safely outside her bedroom door. “Put on something dry. You got your gown all wet with the dew.”

“I will. Thank you, Misty.” She touched Misty’s hand. “We start tomorrow?”

A silent moment followed. “You were serious about that whole training thing? I figured you were just trying to finagle me into staying.”

Cordelia blinked in surprise. “I was serious. I want to help you any way that I can.”

Misty squeezed her hand once. “Yeah, alright. We start tomorrow. Get some sleep, Miss Cordelia.”

She walked away. Her footsteps struck the stairs. “Where are you going?”

Misty paused on the landing. Cordelia knew where she was from how many steps she had heard. “I’m sleeping on the couch downstairs. Queenie didn’t want to share a room with me, and I wasn’t crazy about sleeping in Nan’s bed, honestly, so I decided to crash out of her way.”

No wonder she doesn’t feel welcome here. Cordelia held out her hand again, this time in invitation. “You can stay with me if you like.” It was a bed too large for one person. She missed having a familiar weight on the other side of the mattress.

Misty didn’t start back up the stairs yet. “Nah, Miss Cordelia, it ain’t my place to ask that of you. The couch is fine.”

“You didn’t ask. I insist.” Sharing a bedroom with a student was inappropriate, but Misty wasn’t exactly a student—she was older than the other girls. She had come seeking shelter, not knowledge, and she had become Cordelia’s only friend. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her to sleep on the too-short couch. “Come to bed with me, Misty.”

A dry snort left Misty’s mouth. “Bet you never thought you’d be saying that.” She drummed her feet back up the stairs and brushed by Cordelia. “I’m a light sleeper,” she admitted. “Sometimes I leave the lights on.”

“Wow, you’re right. I can’t imagine how I would deal with such a thing.” Misty shivered a silent laugh from her chest as she entered Cordelia’s bedroom. The covers were still folded down from where Cordelia had gotten out of bed. She lay back down from where she had risen. “Come on.”

“In the bed with you? Are you sure? Because I’m not completely totally clear for lice yet, and just saying I find new ticks on myself every night when I shower, and, like, you’re not exactly in a position to check yourself for critters—”

“You’re not infested, Misty. Come to bed.” Cordelia patted the mattress beside her in invitation. Maybe she isn’t comfortable, she considered, and biting her lower lip, she added, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” but she wondered why Misty had agreed to follow her in here if she didn’t plan to share the bed with her after all.

The bed creaked as Misty sank onto it beside her. “It’s alright. I think I can handle it.” She wriggled beneath the covers. “If you’re alright with it.” Her gaze prickled all over Cordelia’s body; the hair stood up in response.

Cordelia put her hand over Misty’s. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I weren’t okay with it.” Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, she waited for the sound of Misty’s head striking the pillow. All of her long, slender limbs stretched out on the bed. Misty’s bones popped. She let out a satisfied sigh. At the sound, Cordelia smiled. “Sleep well, Misty.”

A breath whistled from Misty’s lungs. She was shivering. “Sweet dreams, Miss Cordelia. You cold?”

“It’s chilly in here.” But the blankets formed a tent between them, and their shared body heat warmed them in a few minutes of silence. Misty faced Cordelia—her every breath fanned across her face. The blankets swaddled them up to their necks. Cordelia reached under the covers and touched Misty’s hip. The soft, level breaths of the other woman betrayed her sleep. But then she snorted back into wakefulness with a thin sound. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Withdrawing her hand, Cordelia tried to tuck back up into herself. “Nah, you didn’t.” Misty caught her by the wrist. “I don’t sleep well here. Too quiet. Too stuffy.” She rolled onto her tummy and nestled her arms under her pillow. “I like being with you, though. Makes me feel safe.”

Safe? Cordelia smiled, ducking her head. She repeated the word. “Safe? You think I’m capable of protecting anyone?”

Her hand floated in the air, and Misty caught it and placed it on her cheek, giggling. Misty’s dark, throaty giggle warmed Cordelia’s chest and face. “Don’t be silly. You’d do anything to protect any of these girls.” Misty clutched her hand. “You know,” she said in a whisper, “I don’t put any stock in this whole thinking that I might be the Supreme. But if I am, I’ll be damn sure you never have to do anything to save them ever again. Your eye-stabbing days are behind you, Miss Cordelia, ‘cause I’ll take care of them for you.”

I hope it’s her. Dear god, please let it be her. “I did what I had to do to best serve my coven. I would do it again.”

“God, you make this place sound like some kind of creepy-ass cult. People dying for it. People living for it. Having your own religion. You need Jesus.”

Cordelia chuckled. “Goodnight, Misty,” she said again. She rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes. Misty settled beside her, but she didn’t fall asleep so quickly this time; Cordelia listened for her breath to change. It never did, and eventually, Cordelia’s mind slipped off on its own, having no confirmation of Misty’s slumber or lack thereof. Her breath leveled out, unaware of the soft blue eyes peering at her figure while she rested.

Misty never slept very solidly, and having some company in the bed with her worsened the struggle as she was reluctant to risk disturbing Cordelia. She left the bedside lamp on and watched Cordelia’s face as she slept. The witch’s mutilated, scarred face twitched as she slept. I wish I could strangle the man who did that to her. But the blindness—Cordelia had done that to herself. I didn’t deserve that. She didn’t know why Cordelia had worked so hard to free her. She was nobody special. Clearly Nan hadn’t warranted such a reaction. In fact, neither had Madison, since Misty had become responsible for reviving her. And Queenie? Alive when no one knew for how long?

Cordelia had let the other witches slip away from her—undoubtedly, she had mourned them, but she hadn’t found a way to save them. She had done it for Misty. I don’t know why. Maybe Misty was easier to save. Maybe she was within reach. After all, Cordelia couldn’t bring back the dead. But Fiona could, and she didn’t try to save anyone. Biting her lower lip, Misty studied the way Cordelia’s face moved with every breath, the slight way her cheek expanded and then sucked back in. She’s beautiful.

Her face twitched in the beginning of a dream. Misty observed, her smile at Cordelia gradually dropping off into a frown. Mangled eyelids moved visibly beneath the flushed skin. The rapid eye movement indicated a dream. Not a good one. Cordelia grunted and grumbled, one hand coming up to her face and clawing at her eyelids. Misty took her wrist and pulled it away, not allowing her to hurt herself. Then, she pressed her palm to Cordelia’s cheek. She settled beside her, gazing intently at her face. Can I send you a better dream? Closing her eyes, Misty took herself back to her garden.

In her mind, she strolled the path between the flowers and the fruit, holding Cordelia’s hand, guiding her. In her imagination, Cordelia could see all the wonders of the natural world. A pretty snake slipped away into the undergrowth. A sunflower beamed at Cordelia’s face. Misty tickled her nose with the yellow petals until she sneezed. Distantly, a brook babbled its song. “Ain’t it nice?” Misty asked her. The sunlight caught Cordelia’s caramel-colored hair and illuminated it. The canopy bent back to cast her into the queenly light. Misty broke off a growing sunflower and tucked it behind Cordelia’s ear. “There you are. All pretty.”

The fantasy had Cordelia with her mismatched eyes, because those were the only eyes Misty had ever seen of hers. “Are you having a better dream now?” she asked in her mind, even though she knew Cordelia couldn’t answer her. When she opened her eyes, Cordelia’s mouth had curled upward into a grin. I made her happy. Something settled, all soft and sweet, in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes again, and this time, sleep stole her away.

When dawn first cracked the sky, Misty’s eyelashes fluttered into wakefulness. Her head rested upon Cordelia’s chest. Clearing her throat, she glanced up at the sleeping witch, who had tangled both hands into Misty’s soft hair. The dawn light filtered through the windows. Misty itched to get out of bed and get to work—she liked an early breakfast, an early start—but she doubted she could rise without disturbing Cordelia, and that felt like the number one priority to her right now.

The hands in her hair shifted. She lifted her eyes to Cordelia. “Misty?”

“I’m awake.”

Licking her lips, Cordelia didn’t yet relinquish her hair. “I had the most wonderful dream about you…” She hesitated. “It felt real.”

“You were having a nightmare. I decided to send you a little vision. It worked better than I thought.”

“You did it on purpose?”


“I didn’t know anyone could do that.”

Misty shrugged. She didn’t think it was anything strange. “I gave it a shot. Did you sleep better?” Cordelia nodded. “Cool.” She settled her cheek back on Cordelia’s chest. Cordelia wasn’t letting her go, but she didn’t mind. She liked having someone to touch. The presence in the bed beside her disturbed her rest, but it also soothed some part of her soul.

At the sensation, Cordelia released her hair. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat and started to sit up. Misty followed. “That’s—That’s good. That power. That’s—It’s almost concilium.”

Arching an eyebrow, Misty resisted the urge to roll her eyes at first. She can’t see me. She rolled her eyes. “We’re still on that whole top bitch magic kick, aren’t we?” Cordelia had made her a promise, and Misty supposed she intended to keep it. Feels like a waste of time. But Misty had stayed for Cordelia. Cordelia was her friend. She couldn’t just throw that away. “Alright.” She rolled out of bed and landed on her feet on the cold hardwood floor. “What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook us something.” Cordelia’s silence was her only reply. “Or I can toast us some bagels.”

“No, um—thank you, but I’m okay.”

She misses a lot of meals. Misty frowned. She had observed Cordelia’s failure to attend dinner. “You need to eat, you know,” she said softly.

Cordelia fidgeted on the bed, playing with the hem of her nightgown. “I do. I prefer not to stab myself with cutlery in front of the entire coven. Or bite my fingers. It’s embarrassing.” She fumbled onto the end table. Her black sunglasses bounced away from her fingertips. She scrambled after them and placed them over her face, hiding her mangled eyes from view.

“I can help you.” Misty placed the offer bluntly. Maybe she doesn’t want my help. She swallowed hard at the thought. “I won’t let anybody make fun of you. C’mon, you need to eat. And something that isn’t a sandwich or baby carrots. Let me scramble you an egg or something.” A quirk appeared between Cordelia’s eyebrows. Misty took her by the hand. “I’ll put tomatoes in it,” she enticed. “And onions. And peppers. And whatever else you want.”

A quiet giggle snorted from Cordelia’s mouth. “I don’t know. I’m messy… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to try at being the Supreme, yet I’m doing it for you.” For you? Was that too forward? It was honest. She only stayed because Cordelia didn’t want her to leave. Cordelia was the first friend she had had in a long time. “C’mon,” she said again. “What do you take in your omelet? I’ll do anything you want.”

“You sound quite confident in your cooking ability.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Cordelia snorted again. I like hearing her laugh. Cordelia spent so much time looking sombre. Her laugh lit up Misty’s ears. “Whatever you think is best. I trust your judgment,” Cordelia conceded, standing from the bed.

Misty grinned in victory. “Awesome!” She hopped up, too. “I’ll get cracking.” She patted Cordelia’s hand and released her. I wonder what she Sees when I touch her. It was a curiosity. Misty wasn’t afraid of Cordelia’s power. How could she be? Cordelia’s power had saved her. She couldn’t fear it. Stepping out of the room, she drummed her way down the stairs, an unusual skip in her step.