Reforging

"You're welcome, sir."

 

Shanoa bowed as she turned away from where she had been helping Eugen with his blacksmithing, tending to the coals. She wiped some sweat off her brow.

 

The witch had returned from Castlevania's ruins only a few short months ago, in late autumn, but the person she once was felt a world apart. Now it was early June, and it was as though she had been awoken from a long slumber, and the world was new. (But nothing of the world had changed, really. It was all her). She felt like a ghost brought to life. She felt like something. She had her brother to thank for that.

 

She occupied her time with mundane tasks. Helping the people of the village Wygol was something she had always done, but it took on new meaning now: a strive for purpose now that her duty was complete. She found solace in a life that was relatively normal, as though she hadn't spent the years prior being molded into a perfect weapon.

 

She supposed that was a bit like blacksmithing.

 

"Stop by again," Eugen said, with a familiar gruff tone to his voice. "It's good to see that look in your eyes. You've got a proper talent."

 

"What look, sir?" Shanoa asked.

 

"You have purpose now; something brighter," he mused.

 

Eugen's praise was similar to an observation he had made of Albus, long ago, when Shanoa had first rescued him. She felt a familiar heartache, recalling her brother's devotion that led him to his death. That was the intense purpose in his eyes- but Shanoa's must be something new. She wasn't sure how to respond to this revelation, so she let a simple 'thank you' suffice. "I'd best be going, sir. It's almost noon," she then added.

 

"Why not stay for lunch?" The smith asked. Shanoa appreciated the offer; despite his tough exterior, Eugen was a kind and thoughtful man.

 

"I'd like to, but I already promised Laura I'd join her today. Once she heard from Daniela that I liked picnics..." Shanoa trailed off with an amused tone in her voice.

 

Eugen chuckled. "That girl likes you, you know that?"

 

"Of course she does. She wouldn't spend so much time with me if she wasn't fond of my company." The witch said matter-of-factly.

 

The smith said nothing in response, only shook his head with a knowing smile.

 

"I'll come again on Tuesday." Shanoa promised, before heading out the door onto the cobbled streets of Wygol.

 

It was a sunny day, but clouds still readily dotted and obscured the sky. The shade of the surrounding evergreens, ever pleasant, brought an involuntary smile to her face. She loved the woods, she loved the sea and the mountains, and she loved Wygol- her home- most of all.

 

She passed by the young boy Serge, who waved at her excitedly. "Hey, Lady! Do you want to play tag today?" He asked.

 

Tag... Shanoa's grasp on her old memories was shaky at best, even after she had reclaimed them, but playing tag with Albus as a young girl... that she remembered, clear as a bell. She felt nostalgia swell within her, but she had to turn down his offer.

 

"I'm afraid not. Maybe later, though. Why not ask Anna?" She explained, softening her voice as she usually did around the children.

 

"No way! She's no fun to play with. She always cries when she can't catch me." Serge made an exaggerated face of disgust. "She's such a baby sometimes. Little sisters are so weird."

 

Shanoa chuckled. It was a bittersweet thought, that she used to do the same thing. Albus always let her win.

 

"My time is occupied right now. I'm having lunch with my friend. But I'll stop by later if you wish." She patted Serge on the head, then turned away to walk to the center of town.

 

"See you, Lady!" He called to her, a grin on his face.

 

Laura, picnic basket in hand, waited outside her house and next to the overgrown archway that signified the pathway out of the village. She wore her usual silk around her head, and her scarlet dress, an elegant thing. Her unruly black tresses of hair spilled out around her face, which had lit up when she noticed Shanoa's approach.

 

"Good afternoon, Laura." She said softly, the smile still gracing her lips.

 

She made a habit of smiling around Laura, as she had once made it a personal quest to attempt to stir Shanoa's long-dormant heart. Shanoa couldn't have understood then, how kind it was of Laura to see such a deeply unhappy person and do everything in her power to bring her joy, even if it was impossible at the time. She'd thank her a million times over for her efforts if she could.

 

"Perfect. You're just in time." Laura responded. Shanoa pondered for a second whether she should change into a new dress after having worked up such a sweat at Eugen's; as though reading her thoughts Laura added, "I'll wait, if you want to get cleaned up first."

 

"Yes. Thank you." Shanoa replied. She hurried inside Laura's cluttered workshop; she spent most nights in her cottage, and kept her things there. The woman was delightfully hospitable, one of many kind hearts in the village. Shanoa had much to be grateful for.

 

She patted Laura's cat Tofu, who was asleep in a comfy wooden chair, as she approached the bedroom. She then pulled off her work dress and well-worn boots with ease, a much less intricate affair than the backless dress and armor she once wore. She turned towards the mirror in the bedroom, intent on grabbing the hairbrush and fixing the tangled mess, but stopped.

 

Her gaze wandered in the mirror past her ever-present blank stare that never seemed to go away (much like her near-monotone voice), and her scarred, muscular flesh, the aftermath of many battles, to the tattoos on her shoulders and back, and she shuddered, a small motion, albeit a visible one. What once seemed like magical boons, the source of her power, felt more like a branding. Some part of herself would always be claimed by the Dracula-worshipping cult that had raised her. She didn't like the thought of that. It was best to keep her tattoos hidden; that old dress she once wore had been collecting dust ever since her return from the castle (She didn't have much need for her Glyphs anymore anyway, apart from Arma Felix. Cats make for excellent conversation).

 

She settled on her favorite white cotton dress, a quaint little thing Monica had made for her soon after her rescue. The young girl had insisted that it wasn't good enough; she had a distinct lack of self esteem. Shanoa liked it just fine, though. It was comfortable, which counted for a lot, in her opinion.

 

She liked having opinions. It was nice to feel so strongly on things as mundane as dresses.

 

She tied her hair into a ponytail with a yellow ribbon (a gift Anna had once given her as thanks for the charmed collar she and Laura had made for Tom), and put on another pair of boots- still sturdy, but nicer than her work pair. She decided that she had sufficiently cleaned up, put on an earring Laura had made for her, for good measure, and ran to rejoin her awaiting friend outside the door. As the two left together down the path through Ruvas, Laura met Shanoa's gaze, her pale green eyes gentle and kind. "You always look so pretty in that dress. Oh, and you're wearing that lucky clover I made! It flatters you."

 

"Thank you," Shanoa murmured, clutching Laura's hand tightly. "I'll have to thank Monica for the dress again, I'm so grateful to her... Well, to everyone, really. You've all been so kind to me."

 

Laura laughed, a warm, comforting sound. "I'm certain that Monica has to be a little tired of how often you thank her."

 

"I do it often...?" Shanoa wondered aloud.

 

"Yeah, I've noticed that about you," Laura mused. Laura was a perceptive woman: she was the first to notice how Shanoa's emptiness had affected her. "You tend to make a point of your gratitude."

 

"Hmph... Well..." The witch sighed. "I never got to thank my brother before he died- not truly. Maybe that's why." Shanoa felt a bit of shame as a tear welled in her eyes. That's stupid , she thought. There's no need to be ashamed of mourning. She let the warm tear trail down her cheek, a sensation she still wasn't quite used to. Despite how devastating it felt, she was relieved at the regret consuming her. It would be unforgivable to feel nothing for the murder, especially now, she thought.

 

"Sorry! I didn't mean to bring up something heavy." Laura fretted. "I'm sure Albus knew how grateful you were. When you smile, it makes the world brighter."

 

"It's alright." Shanoa leaned closer to her. "I'm... I think I'm alright now. Here."

 

Laura rubbed her palm comfortingly, looking around at the thick piney woodland. The once monster-infested place had become quite peaceful following Dracula's defeat, as if the creatures of the night had never been there to begin with. The land had healed, just as the people of the village did, and just as Shanoa was healing now.

 

"We're almost to the clearing Daniela and I usually stop at." Shanoa changed the subject. "It's nice. You can see Kalidus and the lighthouse from there." She marvelled at the enthusiasm in her own voice. She loved the ocean, and though Kalidus was a remarkably stormy sea, the water was pleasantly warm. On calmer days she liked to swim. Maybe she and Laura could go together one day, weather permitting. She wasn't sure if Laura liked swimming. She'd have to ask sometime. "Maybe we should have invited her."

 

"No offense to Daniela, she's a lovely woman, but I wanted it to be just us today." Laura replied.

 

Shanoa nodded. She didn't understand completely, but it made sense. Something about her relationship to Laura felt especially significant, though she wasn't sure why. 'Friend' didn't feel quite enough of a word to express their bond, one that had quickly forged itself following Shanoa's returned emotions. Laura had always felt strongly for her, but it was then, when the affection became mutual: when Shanoa could truly understand how much Laura had tried for her... How much she had fought in vain for that locked-away soul. Their closeness was something passionate and strong. It was something Shanoa had somewhat encouraged, providing the gemstone spoils from her frequent excursions whenever Laura so much as asked- perhaps some deeply buried part of herself wished she could have smiled, too.

 

She tried.

 

The jeweler was a bit like Albus, honestly. Her brother had never given up on her, even when he probably should have, and neither did Laura. It was only now, with her emotions restored, that she could understand the significance of that.

 

Shanoa loved her. She had known for some time, on some deeper level, and yet it felt surprising to realize it.

 

"Is this the clearing?" Laura asked, the soft, high-pitched lilt of her voice sounding especially pretty.

 

Shanoa nodded. "Yes, this is it."

 

Laura set a blanket down on the soft, lush grass, making sure it was even on the ground (probably a fruitless effort). She assessed it for a moment, deemed it satisfactory, then placed the basket almost exactly in the center. She then sat down gracefully, and looked up imploringly at her companion. Shanoa obliged, sitting very close. She had begun to enjoy physical closeness, she had found, especially with her.

 

"Daniela told me you usually eat sandwiches together, so I made some myself." The jeweler said with a hint of pride, pulling a paper-wrapped triangular sandwich from the wicker basket. There was something to be said of how the jeweler was so attentive to the small joys in people's lives, and her dedication to cultivating it best she could, with her handiwork or otherwise.

 

"Thank you. I appreciate it." Shanoa replied, unwrapping it and taking a bite. The bread had been toasted to near-perfection, and the sliced meat was delicious, clearly fresh. If Laura hadn't been so dedicated to her jewelry, Shanoa was certain she'd find success as a chef (and definitely more success than Aeon, as much as Shanoa liked his killer fish. Shanoa wasn't a picky eater; she'd eat almost anything. To most everyone else, Aeon's dishes were very much an acquired taste).

 

She leaned on Laura's shoulder as she ate, and closed her eyes. Neither needed to speak: the silent bliss said enough. A cool summer breeze sent slight movements reverberating through the grass and wildflowers, and the needles and branches of the surrounding trees. It was unexpectedly beautiful, the quiet whooshing sound it made, accompanied by the distant waves of Kalidus channel.

 

Laura, having finished her lunch, plucked a sprig of violet-colored flowers from the nearby grass, and tucked it behind Shanoa's ear. She paused to cup her face with her velvety-soft hand, and the witch opened her eyes, meeting her gaze longingly. She wanted to hold onto this brief moment forever, but too soon Laura pulled her hand away.

 

There was a sudden awkward tension, something unspoken. Shanoa wanted to speak, and grasped at her thoughts for a potential conversation. Curse my limited imagination .

 

"Do you swim?" Shanoa finally asked. "The channel isn't bad when the weather settles down a bit."

 

"Not often," Laura said thoughtfully. "And never in Kalidus channel. I assumed it'd be cold."

 

"It means warm."

 

"What?"

 

" Calidus . It's a Latin word for 'warm'." Shanoa explained. "The water is warm. Other places around here have Latin names- timeo for fear, somnus for sleep..."

 

"You know Latin?" the jeweler asked.

 

"It was taught to me in Ecclesia. Among other things." She frowned, as the topic wasn't really a pleasant one. She owed many of her abilities to the Order's teachings, and it wasn't comforting to acknowledge the way she had been molded . Even her name was a designation Barlowe had given her; she couldn't even remember what she had been called before then. So many aspects of herself had been created in this specific image; for a specific use, like a tool- a weapon. It was uncomfortable.

 

Laura cast her a sympathetic glance. "I get the feeling that it bothers you."

 

"It does. I don't like it." Shanoa said bluntly. "Like it or not, I'm still shaped by Barlowe's teachings. He created me, in a sense- even made me into that hollow thing you first met me as. He forged the blade... And I killed for him. I killed my own brother."

 

"I think... It's not about where you learned it, but what you use it for. I have my own grievances with my master and how he treated me- it was why I ran away, after all, but I still learned so much from him. It's not his skill, but my own, so I wouldn't give up jewelry-making for that. I can still use this skill to make people happy, despite the pain associated with my apprenticeship." Laura soothed. "But it's more serious in your case, isn't it? He wanted you dead !"

 

"Yes." Shanoa replied. "But I understand what you mean."

 

It was a curious thing, how despite all their differences in upbringing, the root of their trauma stemmed from a similar place, their respective teachers. Maybe that was why Laura seemed to hold this deeper understanding of what Shanoa needed, this intrinsic similarity.

 

"If you were truly the weapon he wanted, you would have never gone to Castlevania or slayed Dracula, and you wouldn't have tried to give your own life for humanity's sake. You would never have sought to shape yourself into a new identity..." Laura continued. "In what should have been an absence of one. That's what I think. Who we are is formed by others, but also ourselves. People never stop changing."

 

Shanoa hugged her gratefully. Laura understood her better than she understood herself sometimes.

 

"I'm sorry for being so melancholy during such a nice picnic." Shanoa muttered.

 

"I understand. You were hurt." Laura said. "It takes a long time for that to go away. I know firsthand. But, damn it, I'm glad I'm spending time with you. I like you a lot, Shanoa. I love you. Don't forget that."

 

That girl likes you, you know that? Eugen's words echoed in her thoughts. It made more sense to her now, to consider that she may feel the same. She felt closer to her friend than she ever had before, and then she dared to speak her feelings aloud: "And I love you," Shanoa echoed. "Very much. Thank you for everything."

 

Laura clasped her hands, with a strength that betrayed her Belmont lineage. Her expression said everything, and was yet still unreadable. It was a silent pleading.

 

The witch let intuition lead her; Shanoa leaned into her, lips against lips, contact so soft yet the most intense in the world, and she understood . Laura didn't say anything when they parted, only kissed her softly again, again and again. Shanoa smiled against her lips, letting her feel her happiness.

 

You are my joy.

 

This had been coming for a long time, Shanoa realized, thoughts tumbling over all of Laura's remarkable kindness, every comment (though in retrospect that thing she said about a "finely shaped ass" should have made it quite obvious from the beginning. Shanoa was a bit dense, she was now realizing).

 

And I will make something powerful enough to touch your heart, the jeweler had vowed.

 

What she said then took on more meaning now. Shanoa guided Laura's hand to her chest, allowing her to feel her heartbeat, mirroring that oft-spoken desire and making it literal.

 

Oh, Laura. Oh, you did.

 

Laura had the melted iron in her grasp, but she did not shape it. Only Shanoa could do that; only she could tend the flames.

 

"I wanted to tell you for a while." Laura said finally. "But I wasn't sure what you'd think."

 

"That you loved me? I only just realized." Shanoa breathed. "I only just realized what I was feeling... That I felt so strongly at all. There are still things in life I don't understand."

 

"I knew since we met, there was something pulling us together. I had to help you," Laura's thumb rubbed lightly against Shanoa's chest where her hand still lay, something that thrilled the dark witch in its unfamiliarity. She had never known such intimacy. "And, of course, I did think you were pretty attractive. That helped."

 

"You do believe in soul mates." Shanoa observed.

 

"Well, I found one, didn't I?" There was a sparkle in her eyes, like twin emeralds, and Shanoa found that utterly enchanting. "You're my muse, my best friend... I don't have the words. You helped me heal, and overcome my insecurities. You have no idea how much you've impacted me. It was like you were who I'd been waiting for all my life."

 

Shanoa realized that she had managed to do all that, to forge that connection, when she had been heartless; cold; a nothingness. Even in that state, as that past self she now hated, that bloodsoaked blade, Laura had loved her unconditionally. Shanoa was overwhelmed.

 

She started to cry.

 

She wasn't accustomed to how the emotions bubbled up from something internal to a physiological response, and she wept quietly into Laura's chest. It was like she was feeling everything at once, overwhelmingly so. Laura stroked her back, a comforting gesture, but one that reminded her of the marks she kept hidden. She pushed that thought aside. It didn't matter! Ecclesia was no more, damned to be forgotten. That was her final vengeance, when she destroyed all records of the Order's existence and research.

 

"I don't know why I am crying. I'm not sad." Shanoa finally managed, her voice cracking slightly, once the outpouring of tears had finally subsided.

 

"Maybe they're happy tears." Laura wiped the few remaining tears away.

 

"Hmm... Yes. That makes sense." A slight smile returned to the witch’s face, and she snuggled closer. They spent a few moments like that, relishing this newfound closeness- both physical and emotional.

 

Eventually, Laura rummaged through the basket again. "I brought some scones Irina made the other day. Once she heard we were planning a picnic, she insisted I take some." Shanoa took a cranberry-filled scone from her lover's hand and chewed it pensively. It was firm at first bite, but crumbled easily.

 

"It's good," Shanoa assessed, wiping away crumbs that fell on her dress. The scone was indeed good: Irina was the best baker in the whole village, though she was a bit overbearing at times. Irina sometimes said something about finding Shanoa a male suitor, an offer she always was perplexed by. She had never found any worth in the romantic approaches of men, a distaste she was quite open about. So, no, male suitors were entirely unnecessary. (The romantic attention of a woman was much preferable!)

 

Laura stood to look over the horizon at the distant churning sea. The wind swept her raven-colored curls of hair and they danced on the breeze. "You're right. The view is beautiful."

 

"Yes," Shanoa usually would have been speaking of the landscape, but her intent was fixed on the older woman now. "I see a very pleasant view." Shanoa rose to stand beside her.

 

Albus would be happy to see me like this , she realized. It was starting to hurt less, remembering her brother. Wherever his soul now dwelled- if it even still existed at all- she hoped he knew she was happy.

 

The scones were long-finished, and Laura hadn't thought to pack any more food for their luncheon. Shanoa had half a mind to ask Laura if she was ready to go back to the village, but Laura spoke first.

 

"It's a shame we've finished already. I kind of wish we could let this moment last forever. That's silly, isn't it? Whatever! I'll pack more food next time."

 

"It's not stupid at all. But... we can spend the rest of our lives together. I'm not going anywhere." The witch assured her. "We can have a thousand picnics if we want."

 

"That's a relief... You know, I thought I'd lost you when you went to Castlevania." Laura's tone was light, but it betrayed a hidden sadness. "Knowing you, I thought you might not have returned. You'd have done anything for your mission." It was true. If not for Albus's sacrifice in her place, she would be dead, and never have experienced happiness and love. It was a devastating thing to imagine now, to be deprived of that light.

 

"I'm glad I came back alive." She muttered. “I expected to die. If I did, I wanted my last act to be a heroic one.”

 

"And you went there anyway." Laura mused.

 

"Logically, I shouldn't have cared what Dracula did. I was emotionless. But I went anyway. It wouldn't be fair for anyone else to be dragged into something my Order caused... And I guess I wanted a purpose to guide me, because without that I was nothing." Shanoa said bluntly.

 

"I don't think so." Laura replied. "Because you were my friend- the whole village's friend- and that's something."

 

"When you've spent your whole life being trained for a 'greater purpose', it can be easy to forget. But I won't forget now." There was conviction in her voice. "I will not forget."

 

“That’s the girl I fell in love with. Determined... and stubborn.”

“Aren’t you stubborn too?” Shanoa asked, an eyebrow cocked upwards in amusement.

 

“Yeah, maybe a bit.” Laura grinned. She had begun to fold the blanket and stuffed it into the picnic basket, knelt over the ground.

 

They would return to the village soon, and Shanoa felt like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Laura was right: she was always changing shape, like liquid metal. She was no sword, and she had a life of peace and love ahead of her. She smiled again, as she did so often now. She couldn’t help it, when everything was so right .

 

“Let’s go home, love.” She spoke softly, and could see Laura’s cheeks turn rosy when she did.

 

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Laura whispered, her heart aflutter.

 

"Of course."

 

~

 

The day had come to a happy close. Shanoa did play tag with Serge, as he had requested, said hello to Monica, and spent the rest of the afternoon reading a book she had borrowed from Father Nikolai. Evening soon set in, painting the sky a pale violet as the sun sank beneath the trees.

 

Shanoa looked out the window of Laura's cottage. She liked the twilight, the time betwixt the sunlight she so loved and the now-peaceful, quiet night. From the distant mountains, wolves could be heard howling- Shanoa expected Irina would see that as cause for concern, and the witch wouldn't hear the end of it. She laughed to herself as she imagined it, but she didn't blame Irina for worrying for her children's safety. She wished she had a mother to fret over her sometimes. There was no family left to her now, now that Albus was dead.

 

That isn't true , part of herself said. You've found a family here in Wygol.

 

Maybe that was true. It felt true.

 

The cobbled streets outside were lit by lanterns with an enchanting orange glow, contrasting beautifully with the darkening lilac sky. This was her home, more than Ecclesia had ever been. She was curled up on the wooden chair in Laura's workshop, dressed in a lacy dark blue nightgown (another of Monica's works, one Shanoa had commissioned soon after she began living in the village following Dracula's defeat) with Tofu sitting on her lap. The purring white kitty was getting in the way of her reading, of course, rubbing his face all over the pages.

 

"Don't wrinkle the paper." She scolded. "Nikolai won't be pleased."

 

" Mrrow ."

 

There was just no reasoning with kitties.

 

"My little rapscallion isn't giving you trouble, is he?" Laura called from the kitchen where she was tending to the stew, her voice soft with affection for the little white cat.

 

"Only a little." Shanoa responded.

 

"Here, kitten, I'll give you some meat from our dinner." Laura beckoned, and Tofu purred happily as he leapt from Shanoa's lap.

 

The witch put a bookmark in the leatherbound pages, and set it down on the desk next to a necklace display. The book was losing her interest anyway. She entered the kitchen and hugged the shorter woman from behind as Tofu chewed a strip of the meat he had been offered.

 

"It might be a bad idea to distract me from a boiling pot." Laura said with a hint of mirth.

 

"I wanted to hold you." Shanoa replied.

 

"There's plenty of time for that, angel." The jeweler lifted Shanoa's hand to her lips and gave it a delicate kiss, something that delighted Shanoa more than she had expected.

 

“You’re right,” Shanoa acquiesced. She sat at the table (which was in the kitchen, as Laura’s house was fairly small and only had a few rooms) and she watched Laura work- she had such wonderful efficient hands, whether she was handcrafting a ring or stirring a beef stew. The scent emanating from the pot was delicious. A light lunch and a hearty dinner was much to Shanoa’s taste.

 

“It’ll be ready soon.” Laura said, her gaze fixed on the steam rising from the hot, thick liquid. She had been making the stew for a little while, while Shanoa had been reading.

 

“That’s good,” she spoke absentmindedly. Beneath the chair, Tofu weaved around Shanoa’s legs, his white fur silky-soft against her skin. She tapped her foot on the wooden floorboards, something she usually did when she needed something to occupy her. The older woman hummed as she worked. Shanoa found that endearing.

 

Laura put her hands on her hips as she assessed the simmering pot, and then announced with pride: “It’s finished! Your heart won’t be able to withstand my expert cooking.” She dipped a large ladle into the pot, and poured the thick stew, with chunks of beef, potato and carrot, into a large bowl. She placed it in front of her beloved with a flourish. “Now, be careful, it’s still piping hot.”

 

"I have faced things more frightening than hot soup," the witch replied.

 

"Don't blame me when you burn your tongue." Laura made an exaggerated scoff, to which she chuckled. She blew on her stew as Laura sat down beside her with a bowl of her own. Perhaps Laura had overexaggerated out of concern; the stew was a perfectly fine temperature. She ate eagerly, finished quickly, and readily got herself a second helping.

 

Laura ate at a slower pace, but when she finished, she urged Shanoa to go to bed. “Look at you, you’re exhausted!” She was right, of course: Shanoa usually woke up with the rising sun, leaving her more tired by the end of the day. “I’ll handle the dishes. I know you were probably going to offer to, right? But don’t trouble yourself.”

 

“You know me too well.” Shanoa said with amusement. “I like helping.”

 

“I know. That’s why I love you... One of many reasons.” Laura smiled, and Shanoa knew she couldn’t say no to her.

 

“Goodnight. I love you too.” Shanoa kissed her forehead softly, and retired to the bedroom.

 

The bed was heaped with fluffy pillows, and a thick blanket stuffed with downy feathers, a now-familiar comfort after all the nights Shanoa had spent in Laura’s dwelling. She occasionally stayed with Daniela, too, but now... Now she wanted to spend every night at her beloved’s side. She was sure the old woman would understand.

 

She snuggled into the comfortable resting place, and soon after, Laura came to join her, choosing a nightgown of her own from the dresser-drawer. Suddenly Shanoa realized that she should probably look away, and she did so, covering her face with the blanket with a rush of color to her cheeks. When she was able to look again, Laura was wearing a sheer white nightgown. It certainly flattered her curves, Shanoa thought. She moved to allow more room for Laura to lay beside her, and they embraced, comfortably warm. She pressed her face close to Laura's bosom while the older woman stroked her long, ebony-colored hair.

 

"I love you so much," Shanoa murmured, half-asleep. "I love being alive and feeling things. Joy, but... Sadness and regret, too. All of it."

 

"I'm glad for you, Shanoa."

 

Shanoa was barely conscious enough to hear it, slipping deep into dreaminess, and her last thought, as she succumbed to soft slumber, was that she was in the pit of warm, life-giving coals of Wygol's metaphorical hearth now: reforging herself, from a blade into something new and beautiful.