📜🎩 T H E ☆ M A G I C I A N - Act 71

🐍▶ Read all from the start
BOOK I: 1-3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 l 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19
BOOK II: 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 28½ | 29 | 30 | 30½ | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 41½ | 42 | 43
BOOK III: 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60 | 61 | 62 | 63 | 64 | 65 | 66 | 67 | 68 | 69 | 70 |
🎩▶ Last Chapter

- - - ------------------- ☆ ------------------- - - -

T H E  ☆  M A G I C I A N

- - - ------------------- ☆ ------------------- - - -

Act 71

Mary

It has been almost two weeks since they parted. For Mary, however, it seemed timeless.

Not because she was missing Melodie, but because she had to actively distance herself from everything. Her thoughts, her memories, her fears, her hopes, her feelings. Only this way could she bear this sort of latency. By putting everything into some sort of its own liminal space, out of her reach.

And it hadn’t even been the Magician who had asked this of her; on the contrary. It had been Mary herself. She wanted Melodie to truly think things over, to not decide on a whim. If things would’ve gone Mel’s way, they would’ve met again only a day or two later, but Mary had refused profoundly. 

If they had decided to stay together, Mary would not have been able to shake off the thought that Mel only agreed because she felt remorse. Or maybe even fear of hurting Mary further in a different way. Or because of other tinted glasses. Not necessarily rose-tinted ones, but any.

No… Mary wanted the Magician to think long and well about everything. And then present Mary an answer true to the heart, however it might look like. And even though waiting until that day was terrifying, it was a small price to pay in the end, Mary decided. Perhaps it was also something she needed for herself.

She hadn’t dared to think much about it. So much didn’t make sense. So many things about Melodie were… inexplicable. And even though Mary wasn't very knowledgeable about magicians overall, with Mel being the first time she had been confronted with one, all these inexplicable things didn’t feel like the seemingly usual “a magician never reveals their tricks” shtick. Mary had questions—but she also knew at the same time that staying with Melodie would mean accepting a life alongside these questions. 

She also hadn’t dared to think about the possibility of Melodie eventually dismissing her, besides simply accepting it in case it would happen. She would have to, of course. But the thought… it burned. It hurt. It was no use to think about it yet. Mary would have to confront it once it happened, to not let it influence her into manipulating Melodie in any way.

There were, of course, so many more questions and feelings creeping on the bottom of her core: anxiety about whether she had done something wrong, about Melodie’s mental and physical well-being, and anger over how she had been treated, but also relief and joy for the trust that the Magician had gifted her. And not at least all the positive and strange feelings that Melodie had evoked within her over the last weeks.

It was all… too much. So Mary had put everything in cryostasis, surviving the last two weeks in a trance-like state. Barely eating, barely noticing what had happened around her, dissociating until they both were ready to talk again.

Which was now.

Mary was standing in front of her hotel—another one than the one where everything had happened; she just hasn’t been able to bear living in it anymore—waiting for Melodie to arrive. This time, she hadn’t put any special thought into her clothing. She didn’t do anything with her hair besides brushing it and putting it back into a carless bun. She wore the simplest and most comfortable thing she owned, which wasn’t very flattering nor visually pleasing, admittedly. But maybe that was for the best. She would rather not visually contribute to Melodie’s decision in any way; it was only her job to accept whatever choice would follow.

Apparently, Melodie thought similarly. Because for the first time, the Magician didn’t arrive in an old-fashioned or flamboyant vehicle, but in a simple, albeit charming, British cab, wearing unusually simple and loose clothing and a ponytail. With a beige jumper concealing any sign of the signature curve.

Mel looked downright… normal.

For some reason, and even though Mary looked similarly, it still wrapped Mary’s chest in a sorrowful blanket. But it was alright. It was better this way. And in some way, it was cute that Mel approached their talk in the same fashion Mary did.

---

Mel

When Mel saw Mary after they left the car, they had to swallow hard at first. The girl looked just as tired as she did when they had left her. She still had those dark circles under her eyes, which looked exhaustedly up at Mel, her hands playing nervously with her black cardigan, one that didn’t suit her usual style at all.

Immediately, Mel regretted agreeing to this lengthy period of contemplation. The young woman looked like she hadn’t stopped suffering since this whole ordeal had started.

“Rosemary,” Mel said, careworn, while reaching out and holding the girl’s hands.

Mary accepted the touch but then quickly pushed Mel’s hands back into their own personal space and let go.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Melodie. Shall we go?”

A moment later they both sat in the cab again, with the distance between them feeling painfully far. Melodie wanted nothing more than to feel their beloved close to them, to brush over her head, call her their little dove again, and tell her that everything would be okay.

Their fingers longed so much to feel hers, it ached.

But they knew this wasn’t the time. They did not deserve to touch her again; maybe they never would. She had made it clear just a moment ago. It all depended on how their conversation would go.

So all Mel could do was to endure.

The drive took about 45 minutes, but it felt so much longer than that. Neither of them talked; thankfully, neither the driver nor the demon did either. When they arrived at the destination, Mel was taken aback. It was a bland, white, weatherboarded house in the middle of nowhere, next to the river Thames, with “THE WORLD’S END” written in big, black letters on it.

Rosemary must’ve seen Mel’s face, because she suddenly looked abashed. “We… we can go to a different place, if you want?”

Mel regretted having their mask slip so easily. “No, it’s alright. I trust you chose this place for a reason.”

Mary nodded, then got out of the car, with Mel following after. 

They entered the building. And it looked just as… subpar on the inside.

You’re just a spoiled brat, kid. 

Lusje was probably right. The last day Mary had organized—which seemed to have been a lifetime ago, not just three weeks—had been almost overwhelmingly splendid. It wasn’t nice of Mel to expect Mary to take that much care in choosing places all the time. 

But… if they were going to a simple, unremarkable place, why did they have to drive for so long? And why would that damn place have such an ominous name?

Rosemary led them to one of the tables that looked like they were partially randomly cluttered in the room, and they sat down. A waitress quickly approached them, pen and notepad ready, smiling kindly.

“Sparkling water for me, please, and the menu for them,” Rosemary stated.

The ominous feeling inside Mel’s chest grew tighter.

‘Them’.

Not she. Them.

Even though this way to address Mel was as correct as could be, it stung. It sounded distant. 

“Are you alright?” the girl asked.

Mary was either even more vigilant than Mel had thought, or Mel, again, had their mask slip.

“I… yes,” they answered a little too quickly, but then they reconsidered their choice to stay more honest in their communication and said, “I mean, I’m surprised. You used ‘them’ for the first time.”

“Was that wrong?”

“No, no, not to worry. You used it perfectly fine. It’s just… you usually use the feminine.”

“I felt this might be… better, for now. Until we know how we go from here.”

Another wave of melancholic emotions washed over Mel. But they understood Mary’s choice. ‘She’ was unique to their dynamic. It held a lot of meaning. It wasn’t just a mere pronoun—in their specific case it sounded more like a possessive pronoun, like “mine” or “hers”. It was intimate. 

“I understand. Then… how about we start to figure it out?”

🐍🎩▶️ NEXT CHAPTER

- - - ------------------- ☆ ------------------- - - -

Spotify🎵 Mel | Mary | Bastet | Lusje | Lynette 🎵