"You've got funny ears," was one of the first things Clio said to her. 

“How can you tell, you can’t see them!” Regina retorted, sticking her tongue out at him. Her sleek black hair swung freely at the sides of her head.

“I saw when you were hanging upside-down from the tree!” Clio screeches. He used his fingers to brush the hair away from the side of her head, revealing nothing but holes where her ears should’ve been.

“Hey!” Regina said, slapping his hand away in annoyance.

“That's so interesting!” Young Clio said, unfazed. “Look, I have these marks on my arms. The doctors say I look like a chicken,” he said, rolling his sleeves up to show her.

“Whoa,” she responded, grabbing him to observe it closer. It was almost like small, dark craters that ran in neat lines down his arms. "That's… freaky,” she told him.

"I think your ears are freakier," Clio said with a playful shrug, rolling his sleeves back down.

“I think you're the freakiest,” Regina shot back, crossing her arms in mock indignation.

“I’m not a freak! I’m Clio! Clio!” He said with glee. His strawberry hair was too long and getting in his eyes. She smiled at him, finally.

“I’m Regina. Do you want to go swing?” She tugged his hand gently. Clio laughed and let her pull him toward the playground, the swings creaking in welcome as they ran. Even as kids, they both knew the world wasn't kind to people like them, but in each other, they found curiosity, not judgment. 

Regina glanced back, expecting to see Clement just behind her, but the space where she should have been was empty. The silence was deafening. No footfalls. No breathing. Just the sound of her heart slamming in her chest.

Regina ran until the vineyards ended and the forest began. She didn’t look back. When her legs gave out, she vomited into the roots of a shadepine and wiped her mouth with shaky hands. She started to run again. Her feet were the only things that carried her as her mind raced with possibilities. When did she lose her? Why didn’t she check to make sure she was there? Why did she run without grabbing her? Why was she so scared? 

She found Clement’s body hanging from a tree branch above the picnic blanket she had set up just hours before. There was blood dripping off the tips of her socks. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from. She refused to look up. She couldn’t look at Clement’s face yet. Her knees hit the earth before she even realized it, and her hands, shaking, trembling, reached for Clement’s body, holding her calves gently. The blood covered her fingers, warm and sticky, and she choked on the horror of it all. Hot, choking tears flooded her eyes, relentless. She couldn't understand what had happened. It felt like she was in someone else's life, someone else's body, watching all of this unfold. She stood up to face her body, coming eye-to-eye with her chest. Regina looked to her side and picked up Clement’s hand, pressed it against hers, and wrapped her fingers over Clement’s. Except this time, she could feel the warmth fading. She knew she had to look at her face. To remember her face, she demanded that she remember this crime. To remember her true story and not the one told at her funeral.

She closed her eyes and slowly looked up. She remembered touching her face with her hands. Regina let out a scream too big for her body. 

The sting on her cheek pulled her back from the dream, sharp as the branches in her nightmare. She gasped, her hands instinctively brushing her hair over her ears, and half-expecting to find leftover blood clots. Instead, damp sheets clung to her skin. Relief trickled in, though the panic still thrummed faintly in her chest. She was sweating, and her cheek stung. When she finally opened her eyes wide enough, she was in her own bed, in her own bedroom, with Clio's shadow standing over her. 

“Sorry, hon. You wouldn’t wake up—I had to take drastic measures,” Clio said. She pulled herself up to rest against the headboard. She rubbed her cheek, remembering the sting her father had once left, and felt a flicker of agitation.

“You always did like a woman you can slap awake,” Regina said groggily. She rubbed the dust out of her eyes and noticed the darkness of the night still lingering. As her vision came into focus, she saw the embers of a fire crackle with a faint red glow from outside, now doing nothing to keep the cold away. The outline of a small photo frame above the door became clear, and although she could not see the picture, she knew it by memory. A mandatory photo of councilwoman Morgon Jude. Above the entrance to their home was a similar portrait of councilman Linden Eldrich. The curtains were drawn to help keep in the heat. She couldn't hear the loud voice outside spewing nonsense about the Terra Unification Efforts, so it must be after eleven. Then she finally noticed Clio, sitting gently on the edge of the bed, his wings spread about on the mattress.

He was wearing her navy robe again — she’d told him a dozen times maroon suits him better, but he never listened. His feathers are green, like an oak tree about to turn colors. Underneath, however, he had long feathers of blue and red. He was stunning, and she often told him that. Together, they had no clue what bird his feathers came from. She wished she knew. So much knowledge had been lost in colonization that the question now seemed almost unimportant. She thought it would be incredible to see more wings like his. His eyes are pale green, only two or three shades off from being white. His hair had gotten lighter over the years, too, turning more white-ish than the strawberry blonde she once knew.

“I don’t need an excuse to wake you up, darling,” He said sarcastically, smirking slightly. Regina chuckled a bit.

“Because I make a lovely sight at two in the morning, don’t I?” She shot back.

“Aeolas on the centerfold, pigeon toes? And it’s three AM,” Clio said with unneeded sass. At that point, she remembered her blue sleep shirt, which must have been on the floor. Royal Blue was her color. She pursed her lips and brought the duvet up to cover her breasts, using her arms to press the blanket down over herself. She looked at Clio and sighed.

“Touché…. Was it that bad?” She asked. He nodded a little.

“Yes, this time you were shouting rather loud… ya know we’re trying to keep a low profile in this house,” he said light-heartedly, patting her leg from over the covers and bringing a wing over to rest on the bed. 

“The neighbors will think you’ve kept me in line,” she said, smiling at him. Of course, he laughed. But he looked at her with that same knowing look—that one he has when they are awake in this bed together at this time of night. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently. Regina shook her head. 

“No, of course not. It was the same dream again,” Regina said. He took a deep breath and took her hand in his. She felt his feathers shudder.

“It was the same memory,” He said gently again. How could one man switch from cruelty to tenderness so easily? I’ve always been the same, Regina thought. She nodded. 

“You’re not there anymore; you’re right here with me, okay?”  She could feel tears threatening to escape, both from remembrance and the pain that began to set in from the slap.

“Do you want me to sleep in here tonight?” All she could do was nod again. If she tried to speak, she would cry. He smiled at her and stood up, moving from one side of the bed to the other, and obnoxiously throwing the blankets around to get comfortable before lying down next to her. He scooped her up with one wing effortlessly and cradled her head in his chest, laying them both on their sides. 

He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair, humming softly. He lightly shifted her around to wrap his wings around her whole body. She was tall for a woman, but still felt small when Clio held her like this. His wings are smooth, and the weight of them comforted her. 

They stayed still, wrapped together in the warmth. Clio began to hum, as lightly as he could. It’s a familiar lullaby, one she could sing along to in her head. 

Sleep, my love, sleep

Three moons are your eyes,

The birds don't cheep,

And night creatures rise.

Sleep, my love, sleep,

Before sunshine appears,

Collapse in a heap,

For a thousand years.

Sleep, my love, sleep,

Clouds cover the sky,

A feeling bone deep,

And a kiss goodnight.

It was now that Regina allowed herself to cry. Even when she felt safe, the ghosts of her past crept in unbidden. She felt guilty just for lying in bed with her husband. For all the chaos swirling in her head, the weight of his wings helped ground her. Clio’s feathers wrap around her like forgiveness, but it was forgiveness she couldn't accept. Once, long ago, Clement’s hands steadied her. She could practically feel her warmth lingering. How long ago, Regina tried not to remember. 

Regina doesn’t remember doing this, but before rushing out of the vineyard that day, she ran to the nearest phone booth to call Clio, she grabbed her backpack, and shoved the box of tapes into it. After a full afternoon and evening of answering questions and speaking to lawyers, there she sat. Alone in her bedroom, staring at her backpack. She reached for the strap and brought it closer to her, unzipping it and pulling out the cardboard box. Regina set her backpack aside and placed the box gently on her bed. Life suddenly felt uncanny, like her hands moved of their own volition. Or the sky changing colors on its own. Surely, someone else must be controlling such things. 

She opened the box again and squinted her eyes in confusion. One, two, three… Three?  There were only three tapes! She turned the box upside down, searching as if the box must be bigger on the inside. Only three. Frustrated, she put the tapes she was unable to play back into the box and put the lid back on. Previously gone unnoticed, were the small flecks of blood on top of the box. They were perfectly round, of varying sizes, but none bigger than a pea. Regina’s eyes began to lose focus of the dots as her eyes drifted toward the ring on her finger. Clement’s promise ring. Her breath quickened in her chest, and she could feel the sting of tears come to her eyes. Regina grabbed the box and flung it across the room, scattering the tapes. She looked again at her hand, where she removed the ring as if it burned her, and flung that as well, scattering it to some corner of the bedroom.

She remembered a small tap at her bedroom door. 

“Regina, it’s Clio, will you let me in?”

She doesn’t move. “Regina, please, let me in,” He asked again. Regina grabbed her comforter and wrapped it around only her head, hoping to block out the noise. Not long after, she fell asleep. Clio slept outside her room all night, waiting till she was ready to open the door.

Clement was seventeen when she was murdered, a year younger than Regina. To this day, the scent of emberfruit was enough to make Regina’s stomach churn. Clement’s promise rests heavily on her chest, a silver ring she wears as a talisman of a love lost. But the promise she made—her promise—was the one that keeps her alive and keeps her moving forward.

The hum in Clio’s chest faded into another hum — the broadcast static in her old classroom.

She found herself dreaming again. She actively tried not to, but after a nightmare, it was all she could do not to harbor it. She felt angry that she could never properly mourn, frustrated that she could never love correctly, sad for the future she had lost, and resentful of the unknown. She forced herself to remember the good memories, to keep the bad ones at bay.

“How can you hear me?” Clement asked Regina. She looked at her with a raised brow. The daily morning broadcasts are playing over the loudspeaker, reminding them to have good faith in our council, to praise loyalty, and to eat a full breakfast. If there was one available. The councilwoman read that one. In the afternoons, the councilman reminded them to report ‘suspicious individuals’, respect DCAT faculty (Department of Corruption, Altercations, and Technology), and to listen to their parents.

“The same way you can hear me, your ears aren't why you can hear. They're cartilage mostly,” Regina responds, leaning back in her desk chair. “How can you be this annoying?” She said sarcastically. 

Her school was small, with maybe fewer than a hundred students and only a handful of teachers. Her town of Blackrock was large in size, but people are having fewer children nowadays. Her class was big compared to just a couple of grades below them. Days North was the largest city in North Axis, Meridian, where Clement lived before coming here. If Clement hadn't decided to move south, they never would have met. Grim thoughts, indeed.

“Being with you, it grinds your nerves, until they're exposed. “ Every time you touch one, I get more annoyed,” she retorted. “What about your hands…?” Your fingers are so long…” Clement drifted off in her sentence. She took Regina’s hand to compare it to her own. Palm to palm, Regina could bend her fingertips over Clements. Clement sucked in her lower lip, and Regina smiled widely at her. She could feel the warmth of Clement’s palm against hers. A small, forbidden comfort in a world that would never allow them this closeness. 

Clement leaned in closer and began to whisper. 

“If your toes are that long, I bet I could make them curl.”

For a moment, it was just the two of them, hands pressed together, the rest of the world fading into the background. Regina could feel her heartbeat rise as it took all her strength not to take her on the desk there and now. They stared into each other’s eyes with a longing Regina had never felt. Then came the sharp bang of a textbook slamming down, shattering the false reality.

“Do you two have a death wish? Someone could walk in!” Clio whispered loudly to both of them.

They both quickly lowered their hands to their laps and faced forward, still smiling. Regina looked over to Clio and promptly winked at him. He rolled his eyes and began unpacking his book bag. Regina laughed and started doing the same. No one else was in the classroom yet, but they knew Clio was right. The consequences could be deadly if anyone suspected them of being more than classmates. Most are not as accepting as Clio, and together, they held each other's secrets tight. 

The following day, Regina woke up to breakfast in bed, delivered by Tristan. Even as he entered the room, Clement’s voice haunted her. Sometimes, she wondered if she had run back faster, would she have made it in time? Why did she run at all? 

The smell of roasted rootfroot her back to the present.

“Hey, baby, I heard you had a rough night,” He said knowingly. He placed the breakfast tray that rested on his lap on the table beside the door before coming in, leaving the door open behind him. One of Regina’s pet peeves, but she couldn't blame him for it. The room would be warmer if they left the door open to circulate the air. She stretched her arms and sat up, resting against the headboard. 

“Yes, that's a given. My neck is sore this morning,” Regina said, massaging her muscles.

“Clio’s wings might not be goose-down, but he makes up for it with his food,” Tristan said jokingly. Regina smiles.

“What’s on the menu?” She asked, stretching over the bed to see what was on the tray.

“All-in. Roasted roots, frostkraut, steamed buns, a glass of water you will finish, and some tea,” Tristan concludes. Mineral tea, and she only liked it when Clio made it. It had a metallic tang, like most things, but just lightly sweetened with glowberries. 

“The only thing I'll ever thank Clio’s parents for is teaching him how to cook,” she said, grabbing a warm bun and biting it, letting out a satisfied groan while chewing. She paused for a moment, tasting the soft meat inside.

“You and me both,” Tristan responded. He grabbed a bun himself, biting the side with a small hole to let out the steam. Regina paused her chewing, recognizing the oily meat inside.

“Eel? Where did you get this?” Regina pondered.

“Clio ran into some migrants at the market, they had just surfaced and had fresh Eel for trade!” He said enthusiastically. She smiled at him and took another bite, adding some frostkraut with it.

“He has his talents… Did you know Clio would braid my hair in the school bathrooms?” She asked Tristan. He shook his head, rolling closer to the edge of the bed to listen to her story. Regina smiles faintly, thinking of Clio’s quiet ways of showing care—ways that had saved her more times than she could count.

“He would do different kinds. There was one that went from my forehead and down my back. Sometimes, he did two or three braids like that. I let him experiment with different hairstyles using my head. They were beautiful, and I would wear them like they were shiny. Knowing my friend did it as a gift. But that was when I learned that children can be cruel. They would look at the place my ears should be with these squished faces. With disgust. I never cared. Until one day, we got caught. 

You guys can't be here! Were you two kissing? Eww, I’m gonna tell! This girl I had never seen before just showed up and started yelling at us. I panicked, sitting frozen on the toilet seat. But Clio didn’t care. No, don’t! he said. 'Your name is Anne, right?' She blushed at him like all the girls did, nodding her head. He smiled and called her over. I’ll tell you what we were doing, he whispered. I’m the one who's been braiding her hair. If you don’t tell anyone, I'll braid yours too, he told her. He was forced to braid her hair every day for a year until she eventually moved to another town. People said they were dating because of how many times they were seen sneaking out from the bathroom or broom closet. But he stopped doing my hair. There was a day, after he did my braids, when some kids beat me behind the garden shed. They left me there, and a teacher found me. I had to get five stitches,” she said, pointing to the faded scar above her left brow. “Clio never forgot that,” Regina concluded.

“Do you think he’ll ever move on from that?” Tristan asked quietly. Regina shook her head. 

“No, but I hope one day he does. I hope he flies away from us one day,” Regina stated in a moment of vulnerability. Clio deserved much more than the life he was settling for. She hoped he realized that, because from where she was sitting, Regina didn’t believe she would ever truly move on from the forest Clement died in. And Clio didn’t need to be stuck there with her.

“Do you ever think he will?” Tristan whispered as if he could tell what she was thinking. Regina got quiet for a moment. 

“Yes. Yes, I think one day he just might,” she whispered. Tristan bobbed his head in agreement.

“What if I don’t want him to?” Tristan asked her. Regina looked at him with teary eyes and held his hand lightly in hers. 

“Will you be ready when he does?” She would never be ready to leave him. They are a puzzle missing a piece. She wished Tristan had gotten the opportunity to meet her before her passing. Sometimes she caught herself staring at Clio and Tristan when they were together— staring at their hands in each other's. She hoped one day to have that care again, the love that only comes from the outside looking in. Her parents were never that way; they were second-generation nesters. Her grandparents were the ones who helped settle the New World. ‘Terra’, they called it, not changing it much from ‘Earth’. They were too busy starting a war to care about her or a clever name

“It doesn’t matter. We pretend, and when he’s gone, we cry. And we pre

pretend harder,”