Archive of Our Own

The island is back.

You still don't remember anything, but it's there, in the distance off the shore of Bambouche. It's there.

People are talking about it. How it's always been there, that's the only reason people remembered it existed at all, but suddenly it feels less like a background set piece and more like... part of the world, again.

...

You would have done your best to ignore that gossip. You tried to. But then Nille came home with a story about how one of the fishing ones made it closer than anyone has in years and they didn't even get a headache, and they got close enough to see those lightless beaches, so they're sending out a crew to see if they can reach the island again and you just couldn't ignore it anymore.

You're in the market of Bambouche, and there's people talking everywhere. Someone is wondering what happened to the people living there. Someone is saying how they tried to read a book, and it doesn't give them a headache to try anymore but they still couldn't understand the language. Someone is explaining that their mother went there for work and was supposed to come back the very day the island disappeared, and they could never remember what happened to her but they do now, and they hope she's okay.

You try not to wonder about your family. Your birth family, not the one you have here—though, speaking of, they all seem to have noticed something is off about you lately. You haven't been very successful in not thinking about your past, and you suppose it shows.

So you're sitting at the dining table in Bonnie's house, and Nille is setting out the food, and Mirabelle says, "Siffrin? Are you alright?"

You blink. You stare at the seafood dish Nille just put down in front of your plate and try to remember something. You lived on an island, you had boat, you knew how to sail as a child, you can fish by muscle memory... You must have eaten a lot of seafood, surely. It must familar, surely, there must be some memory to find in it, surely—and with the island back, your memories shouldn't be locked behind an impenetrable wall anymore, right? So surely–

"Sif?" Isa says, and puts a hand on your shoulder. He's careful about it, light, as always. They all are, always, no matter how many times you try to tell them you want to be manhandled like clay in a way that isn't so concerning. "What's up?"

You exhale. You need to stop getting so stuck in your own thoughts. "I'm–" Mm. No. "I want to go to the island."

"You– huh?" Mirabelle says.

You look up. You feel... a little nauseous. Just enough that you're not hungry. You had a snack earlier, anyways... You nod. "With the people who are sailing there to investigate it."

"Why?" Bonnie asks.

Nille grunts softly as she sits next to them and begins dishing out food for herself and Bonnie. "Huh! They aren't sure they'll be able to get there though, y'know?"

"They will," you say quickly. The wall is fallen. Maybe the Wish Craft—you have to assume it was Wish Craft, if only because you don't know what else could do that besides the Universe itself, and you have to believe it wouldn't remove its own worshippers from reality for no reason—wore out, or expired, or something. If that's possible.

"Why?" Bonnie asks again. "Why d'you wanna go so bad?"

It's a lot to explain. And they'd all just feel bad. And they'd ask questions you don't know the answer to, and maybe think you're less of a person, and–

Mmg. No, it's fine. It would fine. Just not good dinner conversation, and you don't really think talking about it would make you feel better at all.

When you don't answer, they continue, "Is it 'cause of endless school?"

You laugh. "No. Just curious."

"Is it... particularly important to you?" Odile asks. She's got that look in her eyes like she's trying to read between the lines and learn more. It's a little scary! It didn't used to be, you don't think.

You nod. Isabeau passes a plate of food to you and you put a little on your plate and pass it on to Mirabelle.

"Oh, is that...?" Mirabelle asks as she takes the food. She puts more on her plate than you did. Is it weird that you're embarrassed by that?

...You tilt your head and hum questioningly.

"Um," she says. She puts the plate of food down. Isa passes another to you. "Are, are you from there?" She laughs anxiously. "Probably not, I mean, but–!"

You put a big forkful of food in your mouth and shrug vaguely. It tastes great. You are... really not hungry.

"That would explain some things," Odile says.

You mumble "stars" around your food. You shouldn't have taken such a big bite. It feels flat and heavy on your tongue.

She chuckles. "Like that."

You grumble, and swallow. "What? Stars?"

Odile opens her mouth, and then. Closes it. She looks confused. "Isabeau, what did you say that means, again?"

"Stars?" he says.

"You could just ask me," you huff.

Odile frowns. "I... feel like that's important."

...You say, "The Universe leads, and I must follow."

She stares at you.

Nille gasps. "I recognize that! It's, uh, it's about the Universe, isn't it?"

You blink. "Uh. Yeah."

"The huh?" Bonnie says. "Yoo-nee-verse?"

You laugh at how they drag the sounds out. "The Universe, Bonbon. It's all of the world and more."

They squint at you, face all scrunched up. "All of it? And more? There isn't more, is there?"

"Of course there is!" you say, smiling. "Like the Sun and Moon and stars!"

Mirabelle tilts her head. "Those are all... part of the world, though, aren't they?"

You look at her like she's said something absurd. Because she has. That's absurd. "No?? That's like, a whole step down from saying that the Earth is the center of the Universe."

"They're gemstones in the sky," Odile says. "Of course they're part of the world."

You sigh. "That's very nice uh, imagery, but it's. Mostly false. The Sun and stars are firey gas and the Moon is a big rock."

"Could a paper type defeat the moon?" Isa asks.

"...No, it's huge.The only thing that could defeat it is another big rock, probably."

"Za's big and rock," Bonnie says. "I believe in him."

You laugh. "I'd like to see that!"

...

You ask again later. You're all getting ready for bed—in the living room, because Bonnie and Nille have a small house and no guest bedroom, so you've all been playing sleepover in the living room. You're not arguing. You like having everyone within arm's reach!

You're all getting ready for bed, and you say, "I want to go to the island."

"They're leaving tomorrow," Nille says. "Shouldn't you prepare more?"

"It's not too long a trip," you say. You don't know how long exactly, but you would go with your parents to Vaugarde sometimes and it was hardly ever more than a day trip.

"Even then," Odile says, "who's to say it's not empty?"

It's not. It can't be. "It's not too long a trip," you repeat. "If there's nothing there, I'll come right back."

" We'll come right back, you mean," Isa says.

"Is it really that short a trip?" Mira asks. "It seems so far away..."

"Boats are pretty fast," you say. And as long as you wish for good sailing weather–

...

"I just remembered something," you say, and stand from where you'd been kneeling on a cushion on the floor. "I'll be right back," you say, then go to the front door and shove your feet into your shoes and hurry outside.

You're in your pajamas. You don't care, really. You've done this before, gone out to the beach after you'd already gotten ready for bed, and it's fine because your bed always ends up sandy eventually anyways.

You stop at the shore. You pull your shoes off and toss them back and step into the gentle waves. You walk along the shallowest part, where the water laps calmly at your feet like a sleepy cat, and scan the sand for...

There. You pull up the hem of your pajamas enough to kneel without getting them wet, and dig around in the wet sand till you can pull out a shell. It's big and swirly and unbroken—and has a name, but you can't remember what it is. You shuffle a little into the water, deep enough to reach and wash the sand out of the shell.

Then you stand and hold the shell up. You inspect it for a moment in the moon's light, decide it's suitable, and put your mouth to the little end.

You play a song. You... don't remember how that even works, how you're able to use a random shell like an instrument, but it does. It does work.

It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it works well enough that the song is clear to you, which is all that matters.

You imagine a conductor. There's a conducting constellation, fully visible for most of the year and partially visible for the rest, and the Guiding Star is part of it. You remember this.

You lower the shell.

...Ah, there might have been Craft in that little ritual. Oh, it was a ritual. So. Definitely Craft. You're not supposed to be using Craft, still. ...You're a little dizzy. Because of the Craft.

It was worth it. You'll be led true tomorrow.

You hold the shell to your chest and turn– And Isabeau is standing there, with your shoes in hand, looking worried and a little awed.

"Sorry," you mumble as you walk up to him. You don't stop walking till you bump into him, and then you lean on him as much as you can without completely losing balance. "J's'... had to do that. Real quick." You look up at him and smile brightly. "So the wind's good!"

His free hand lands on your back, gentle as always. "Yeah? Is, is everything okay?"

"Mhm," you say with a little nod. You step away and start back to the house. You like that it's so close to the beach. Yours wasn't far from it, either...

The shell is set atop your cloak, which is neatly folded as always, in the exact same way as always. It's missing your hat. You hated that it was missing your hat for a while—it was worse to not be able to have your hat folded up with your cloak than it was to not have your hat to wear, for a while, until you knew for sure that it wouldn't ruin anything to have the cloak folded up alone. Putting the shell on top doesn't mess that up, at least.

Everyone asks what you were doing, asks about your shell, but you don't answer. That tired you out. You can answer tomorrow.

You fall asleep quickly and contently. You're going home, tomorrow.

☆

Everyone ends up coming with you. Even Nille! All half out of concern for you, half out of pure curiosity, they told you. It makes you happy that they care so much!

The morning is all a bit of a haze. The boats will leave not long before noon, which gives you all plenty of time to prepare. Well. It gives you plenty of time to prepare, and plenty of time to wait restlessly. Everyone else puts a little more into their preparations.

And then the first part of the boat ride is a bit of a haze too, until the fishing ones start cheering about how close they're getting to the island.

You can see the lightless beaches the King spoke of. You can see the mountains too, and some houses and docks and boats. And then the decorations on the docks and houses, which you only see as soon as you do because you know them—you think you could point out details even with Odile's glasses on over a bleary eye.

You wonder if your parents will be there! You wonder if there will be friends of yours, delighted to see you again after all this time! You wonder what people there will be to introduce your new family to!

You hope there are many! You hope there are many people glad to have you back! You hope you can know your home once more!

You hope you hope you hope! It's been a long time since you've hoped so much. You taught yourself, during the loops, that hope is a cruel thing—it can keep you going, but if you don't need it, it will break your heart. You... hope it doesn't.

The boat docks. You practically leap off, before they've even said you could, and run down the pier and to where there is a path from the docks and the beaches to where things are built. You hear your family behind you, wondering at the the lightless sand, recalling how the King mentioned it in his final moments before freezing.

It was a vision of the future. You wonder if he mourned that he never got to see that future. You wonder if he was just content to know.

...It's still. You stop before you enter civilization proper and wait.

....You're impatient. You are being led and you are not following. There are people to see! Your people! Your home!

You turn and.

And it's still. It's empty.

You had thought it weird, when the docks and piers were empty, when there were blankets on the beach and nobody sitting on them. But there was a small bonfire burning there too, even if it had no people around it, and a fire like that can't keep burning with nobody to keep it up.

You had thought it weird, but this is certainly weirder.

There is a painted mural on the wall of a shop, half finished with supplies half packed away around it. There is a romantic restaurant with its candles still lit, and when you go and peek inside there are uneaten dinners on the tables. You hurry to the window of a house, and there is a board game on the center table of the living room, unfinished, and a knitting project draped across a rocking chair, unfinished.

There is a house with an open front door...

...It feels like a ghost town. It feels like... like the island left behind the people. It feels like the environment has been. Frozen in time.

There is a house with an open front door. You wander inside, and...

Something hits you.

You walk down the foyer hall and past the living room and into the dining room, and there is dinner on the table. Dinner for three, with something delicious and home cooked on the plates. It looks just as it would if it were set out only half an hour ago. It smells heavenly.

Dinner on the table, dinner for three, and two of them are nearly finished and the third is all eaten but the vegetables. The third's chair is shoved away from the table, the spoon is on the floor, the fork and knife have been slid away from the plate. And all that is left on the plate is the vegetables.

Dinner for three, and the third hasn't eaten their veggies.

You step forward. You stand at the table, and you take the third fork and you take the lonely veggies and you bring it to your mouth.

It's still warm. It smells delicious. You don't know why they never ate it.

You don't know why you never ate it.

You eat it.

It's still warm.

You've finished it all off before you realize you're doing it. You drop the fork on the plate and sink to the floor and clutch your cloak, lovingly made, and digest what you've just consumed.

Stars. Stars, stars.

You are in an unfamiliar home, but it is home and you could walk it blind. It is a new place, you have not been looking around carefully like you should, and you have not bumped into a single thing. You are in someone else's home, have eaten someone else's dinner, but it is mid-afternoon and there is nobody who could claim it all more than you.

There is nobody to greet you back home but the dinner you abandoned.

You curl in on yourself, force yourself small, bury yourself in your cloak, lovingly made, and mourn what you've just consumed. You left with an argument and there are no more conversations to be had. There are no more vegetables to be eaten. There is no more home to run away from.

And you still don't remember what they looked like. Your parents, you mean. You're glad, almost—you'd hate to learn that by seeing them angry.

You breathe in, and breathe out. You breathe in, and breathe out. Your, your Papi taught you that. You breathe in, and breathe out.

You pull yourself together, pull yourself apart, and pull yourself up.

You backtrack to the living room. There is a soft knit blanket on the couch, a book on the center table. There is a shelf with wood carvings, there is a carving of a leaping fish and a carving of a little humanoid creature with a hat like yours, and a carving of three cats laying together. One of the cats is little, a kitten.

There are drawings, too. Portraits of a family.

If you doubted it before, you do not now. The family is three people, two adults and one child. A tall person, with big fluffy darkless hair just longer than shoulder length and midshade dark skin; a person with shiny light hair that falls just below their ears, pin-straight and pushed back, and darkless skin; and you. You, much smaller, but with that same fluffy darkless hair and darkless skin and odd cowlick and round face and joyful toothy grin and darkless hat and cloak, lovingly made.

You take one of the portraits. You angle it so the glass cover of the frame reflects your face.

It's you.

You swallow. You taste your Mama's cooking.

They look happy. ...You all look happy.

You wish. Mm. If only you hadn't left, hadn't argued, hadn't taken it all for granted... If only, then. Then maybe you wouldn't all be happy, you'd just not exist, but at least you would have stayed happy for the rest of your existence.

Ha. If only you'd quit while you were ahead.

Your thumb brushes your own drawn face. If you could speak to this child, you'd tell them to treasure what they have while they have it. You'd tell them, please, please, know that it's good. Please, don't... don't...

Is it bad that you regret escaping this fate? Is it bad that you're glad you left your home behind?

"There you are," someone says behind you. "Please try not to run off into random people's houses."

You don't say anything. You think if you tried, all that would come out would be a raspy little squeak.

"...Siffrin?" they say. It's Odile, you think. You're... distracted.

You wonder which of your parents made your cloak and hat. You're sorry you lost the hat.

You swallow. "Mm," you hum.

"Siffrin?" Odile repeats. "Are you alright?"

"Mmn." You're tempted to smother your feelings with a blanket (or a cloak, lovingly made) but. You promised to not hide like that anymore.

She walks closer. ...You tuck the portrait into a pocket.

"I don't really want to talk about it," you mumble.

"Siffrin–"

You don't let her finish. You say, firmly, maybe a little too firmly, "Not right now, Odile."

You can't argue with her. You– you can't.

You leave the room instead. Go down the hallway to the right of the dining room, to the fourth door–

You close the door behind you. You lock it. Your Papi just installed a lock in your door, said you were old enough for proper privacy now. And you were so happy you locked yourself in your room and read until you felt sad that your parents couldn't get to you and went and sat in the living room for a while.

...

This is your room.

It's...

It's familiar, but you don't know anything.

You go sit on the bed. The mattress bounces exactly like you knew it would. You fall back and the woven blanket on top is soft on your cheek when you turn your head.

There is no dust anywhere. The bed is messy like you left it this morning when you got up over a decade ago.

...You've been off this island longer than you've been on it. (You'd been looping longer than you'd been traveling with your family.)

You roll onto your side and curl up and grip the blanket. You can't feel it through your gloves... So you sit up and take them off, and while you're up you take off your heels and toss them into the center of the floor. You put the gloves on the nightstand and run your hands across the blanket. It is soft and lovingly made.

You lay back down and pull the blanket around you and curl up again.

Siffrin is in the house with the open front door. You see him through the front window, standing in front of a bookshelf of trinkets, staring down at something in his hand.

You are glad to see them. By the time everyone was off the boat, they'd long since run off. Given that this is, for all intents and purpose, a brand new unexplored location—possibly with locals who haven't had contact with the outside world in over a decade—you were all a little worried.

You only worried more upon finding the entire place deserted.

Granted, you were somewhat expecting that. What really put you on edge was how much it felt... lived in, yet still.

Like the towns frozen by the King, but without the telltale lightlessness and cold of his Time Craft. And without the people.

This place is a ghost town.

You only worry more.

There is no dust. There is no overgrown greenery inbetween bricks, no rust on metal, no boarded up windows. There are no signs of age. None at all.

Siffrin is in the house with the open front door.

You enter, ignoring how your mind scolds you for trespassing, and say, "There you are. Please try not to run off into random people's houses."

...

The first and only thing they say is that they "don't really want to talk about it." And then they disappear down a hallway and in through a door. You hear the click of a lock as soon as it's closed.

You are left standing at the entrance of the hallway, looking down it at all the closed doors.

You go back to the bookshelf he had been standing in front of. He'd pocketed something.

...There are family portraits and little wood carvings. It is a family of three; two adults, and a smiling child in a darkless cloak and hat. And with darkless skin and hair and dark half-moon eyes.

...

You pull all the portraits to lay face-down.

It's not very comfortable, being in a family home.

That sounds stupid, but it's true. For you, at least! The place itself is, for all intents and purposes, pretty cozy, but there's an itch under your skin.

It's the dishes from dinner still on the table. It's the blanket haphazardly thrown across the couch. It's everybody crowded in the living room. It's the fact that everything is full and lived in and you can tell that people have been here for a long time.

It's the crabbing picture frames turned face-down on the shelves, and it's the crabbing evidence of a verbal fight in the dining room.

But Bonnie is comfortable, at least. And excited. They're loud and happy and upbeat, as always, and it... You'd like to say it sets you a little more at ease, but really, it just makes you more anxious and restless. But if you focus hard enough on them, it's alright.

Anyways.

This place is crabbing weird. Siffrin is off holed up in a room down a hall, and everyone else is just sitting in the living room, some people on the couch, others on the floor. Beau is standing and looking at all the trinkets on the shelves.

"These remind me of the stuff Sif makes," he says. Usually you'd tease him for always talking about Siffrin, but. You're a little too on edge.

Mimi says, "Really?"

Bonnie says, "They're just wood carvings."

Beau turns up a picture frame. He stares at it. He puts it back on its face. He says, "Hey, speaking of. I'm gonna go check on them."

Your leg is bouncing. "Isn't he? Asleep?" Mimi asks. Not that anyone could know that for sure, because he locked himself in that room.

Beau doesn't answer. He just leaves the room.

Your leg bounces harder.

You push yourself up off the couch. "I'm gonna look around," you say, and leave in a similar fashion.

This place is weird. You don't like it.

You wander into the dining room. You hope you don't end up staying the night here. There's a landscape painting of a mountain hung on the wall by the door to the patio; looks amateurish, but probably better than you could do. You wonder how much of the art in this house was done by the people living here. There's a... star chart? On another wall? You don't. Really know what that is.

There's a vase of flowers on the kitchen bar. They're hardly wilted at all. The bright petals are soft to the touch. They smell like... flowers.

"Nille?" calls Bonnie's voice from behind you.

You turn. They're standing in the wide doorway, wok in hand.

"Would it be rude to use this kitchen to cook in? There's nobody here, so I don't think anyone will be able to mind, but Belle said to probably not, but 'Dile said she doubts the people who lived here will be coming back. So I wanted a third opinion."

"Um," you say. You look at the kitchen. It's a nice kitchen, though with older appliances than Bonnie is probably used to, and a bit messy. It looks like someone just used it not too long ago. You're... wary, of someone coming back and finding a bunch of strangers using their house, but. Odile has a point. You get the feeling that, despite all the signs of recent activity, nobody has been here in a long, long time. "Uh, sure. I guess."

"Yess," Bonnie says, and hurries past you into the kitchen proper. They immediately put their wok on the stove and start climbing on the counters to look inside cabinets.

You open your mouth to dissuade them from stealing, but. You're already using the kitchen. If there's nobody to care about that, there's nobody to care about food being taken.

Still. Something in you twists at the thought of being caught.

"Careful," you settle for instead.

"I'm always careful!" they declare.

You laugh. "Of course you are."

They really are. They're a kid, and as clumsy in every aspect as kids tend to be, but they're also perceptive and quick on the uptake.

Doesn't mean they have perfect balance. You stand behind them in case they fall.

Beau comes back down the hall; you know because you hear his footsteps. You glance over and see, as he turns to the living room, that he's frowning.

Bonnie hops down from the counter. You leave the kitchen and peek into the living room.

Beau is saying, "The door is locked. They didn't answer."

"Are you sure they're in that room?" Mimi asks.

"I checked all the others."

You don't hear anything from Odile.

...

They're probably just moping. They do that a lot. (You wish they'd lighten up a little, but from what you understand, it's probably better that they don't. You're kinda jealous selfish like that.) Hopefully they're done by dinner.

You wake to the sound of knocking on a door. You breathe in deep and are struck so solidly with a wave of nostalgia that you are shocked to full wakefulness. You could almost trick yourself into thinking it's 12-ish years ago, maybe 13, maybe more.

You roll over onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. It's dark. There are little stars on the ceiling, Crafted to glow. You pull the blanket around your shoulders and sit up, and stare at the carpet beneath your socked feet for a moment.

"Siffrin?" comes Mirabelle's voice through the door. You stand and go unlock the door.

"Mira," you say quietly after opening the door.

She blinks and looks you over. Then she peers past you into the bedroom. She's frowning.

You reach up to fiddle with your eyepatch self-consciously.

"Um," she says, "dinner's ready. Is everything okay?"

...

You shrug. "Nobody's here."

She clasps her hands together. "You were so excited... I'm sorry, Siffrin–"

"You couldn't have done anything about it."

She presses her lips together gently. After a moment, she sighs a little and takes a step back. "Let's go eat."

You nod.

You follow her down the hall to the dining room. Nobody's actually sitting there, since it's only big enough for four, and the fourth chair isn't out right now because Babi is off in Mwudu–

You shake your head.

...

You'll unpack that later. There's food to eat now.

The kitchen is bigger than the dining room, so everyone is congregated there. You know there's a picnic table out back, and a telescope too. There's probably space for everyone to sit and eat there.

When Bonnie spots you, they bound over and yell, "Frin! Where were you!"

You swallow. Your throat feels dry and a little sore—you must've slept with your mouth open for a bit. "Taking a nap," you say.

Bonnie sighs dramatically. "You're weird. And you almost missed dinner."

You smile. "Good thing Mira got me, then!"

Nille clears her throat. "What'd you make for dinner, Bonnie?"

"Oh!" Bonnie jumps. "Yeah! I found a cookbook but it was in a different language so I couldn't read it, but I recognized the food in some of the pictures, so! I made! Misk-ah-lay-nus seafood fritters!"

"Miscellaneous," Odile says.

"Miscellaneous seafood fritters!"

You swallow again. "That sounds really good, Bonbon," you say.

...Ah, stars, they probably used some of the ingredients here, huh? Unless Odile dissuaded them, for safety... Unless she was curious and let them do it anyway...

You glance over at the counter, where a large plate is sitting. You don't remember what they brought on this trip, but... you get the feeling it wasn't enough for all that.

It's... fine. It's fine. It's just food.

You adjust the blanket on your shoulders. "There's room to eat outside."

"It's growing dark out," Odile says. "Are you sure that's–"

"There's no light pollution here." Ah, you cut her off. "Sorry. Um, there's no light pollution here, so as long as it's not a new moon we should be able to see pretty fine."

...

You tighten your hold on the blanket.

Isabeau grins. "That sounds like a great idea, Sif! Picnic under the stars!"

You smile and bounce lightly on your heels. Bonnie goes to slide the plate of food off the counter, but Nille gets it first. You slip past everyone and to the mudroom door.

You glance down at the shoes lined up by the door to outside. Your old ones are all way too small, now. And your Mama's boots are probably too big. You slip Papi's sandals on over your socks and go outside. It wouldn't mind.

The backyard is a little unkempt, mostly thanks to the garden from when Babi got really into flowers. They weren't really ever around consistently enough to actually tend to it, so it kind of grew out of control. To the far right is Papi's big workbench, for projects too big to work on inside. Between it and you is the picnic table. You head over to it and sit down.

The others join you. Mirabelle sits on your left, Nille on your right. Bonnie is directly across from you, Odile is on their left, and Isabeau is on their right. Bonnie places the food in the center of the table and Nille distributes plates.

As you're picking fritters for yourself, Bonnie asks, "What's with the blanket? Did you steal it?"

You pause and shift in place. "Nno, I don't think it counts?" It was yours...

"If Siffrin is stealing the blanket," Nille says, "we definitely stole food."

Bonnie looks displeased.

You smile, and lift a fritter to your mouth.

...

"Siffrin?" you hear Odile ask. "What's wrong?"

Bonnie gasps. You don't look up. They say, "Frin?"

"Are you okay?" Isa asks.

You sniffle. You put the fork down and rub at your eye and try to breathe, breathe like your Papi taught you–

"You're crying," Bonnie says.

Stars. Stars, you can't hold it back anymore—you're in your childhood backyard, at your childhood home, with your old favorite blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and you remember, you're home and you remember, and nobody's even here to see you. You hunch over and cry and you sob, "It j's' tastes like my Mama made it," and you keep crying and crying. Mirabelle rubs your back and you tip into her and cry. "I wanna go home," you say, though for all intents and purposes, you're already as home as you'll ever be. "I wanna go home."

Mira pulls you into a hug. You rest your cheek on her shoulder, and you feel her hair tickle your forehead. It's still natural. Your Mama almost always had his styled natural. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

You stay like that for a few minutes. Then a couple minutes more once you're all cried out, then you sit up and finish your food and try not to cry again.

As you eat, Odile says, "You're from here." It's not a question. She knows. She's known, really, you haven't exactly been subtle, and she's perceptive and smart.

You nod. "This is my family's house."

Isa hums. "I saw the pictures..." he says.

"I did too," Odile says. There's a weight in her voice that you recognize. "You were small." You were happy.

You sniff.

You keep eating. It really is good food. When you're done, you lean against Mira again and look up at the stars.

It's not a full moon tonight. You can see plenty of stars. You can see the Milky Way, too. It's beautiful.

You missed this. You still do. You still do.