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Daisy is in trouble.
It shouldn’t be news to her at this point. Her whole life has been trouble from top to bottom, one thing after another. Being born into lifelong servitude is a bit like that, and she knows full well that she’s never made it easier on herself or anyone else. Even as a very, very young child, just before her father vanished from her life for nearly two decades, she can remember people saying to him: Entrecote, that one is going to be trouble when she grows up.
Suits her fine. If the world’s going to throw hell at her, she’ll raise hell of her own in return. It’s only fair.
Life outside vassaldom has been trouble in its own ways, ways that still cut fresh into her, both literally and figuratively. Every day has been a struggle. At one point, she’d had her sister to navigate every hell with. Clove- Honey- her sister had always taken the lead between them, tried to reign in wildest of Daisy’s free-spirited, trouble-making tendencies. Taken a lot of falls for her when she got on the wrong side of anything. It had driven Daisy round the fucking bend, even if she knew Clove had just been trying to protect her. She’d spend every minute of every day being condescended to and coddled and having her behaviour dictated by a bunch of ogres who thought she was some kind of idiot. She didn’t need the same thing from her own kin.
They’d had a lot of arguments about it, about Daisy staying hidden away and safe, particularly just before she’d… passed.
No. Before she was murdered. Daisy isn’t going to mince words about it – that’s not the kind of person she is. Her sister was murdered, brutally, by some horrific abomination, and that’s the facts of it. They’d been a pair – Clove and Alcatra, Entrecote’s kids – and now, it’s just Daisy. Daisy and her five new friends that had helped protect her from a similar fate.
They’re an interesting group, and that’s putting it lightly. Foreign to her, from the way they look to how they act – though at the end of day, Daisy finds, not altogether so different from some of the people she grew up around. Still, they provide her a wildly different array of new perspectives and ideas and histories to try and piece together. They’re kind, for the most part. They certainly seem very invested in helping her stay alive and free, which she is, if nothing else, damn grateful for.
Truth be told, they’re very easily sidetracked by little things. Decisions only come after minutes to hours of deliberation. Very fond of the sound of their own voices, this lot.
Then again if Daisy had the ability to speak aloud, she’d never, ever shut up, so she can’t exactly fault them there. Everything about this gang of castaways is so strange compared to what she’s used to and Daisy enjoys that. They give her hope that the world isn’t as cut and dry as she’s been raised to believe, hope that she can somehow carve out a place of her own. At the risk of sounding too much like those stuck-up ogres she used to live with – they interest her to no end.
There lies the trouble: Daisy has never in her life been more interested in a woman than she is in Queenie March.
With all the madness of the past… week or two? However long she’s known them, it had taken a while for that interest to fully settle in. Queenie had been to her about as similar as the rest, which is to say not at all. She’d definitely spent the most time talking with Daisy in the beginning, bridging over the language barrier between them.
She’s the one who gave Daisy her new name. At first, she’d been mostly indifferent to it. Alcatra was a name she’d always despised for the way it made her feel like a slab of meat, so anything was better than that.
The name’s grown on her quickly. Queenie had drawn her a rough approximation of a daisy flower in the snow at one point, telling her all sorts of facts about where they grew and what they were used for. People sometimes make jewellery with them, odd as it sounds. Queenie has promised that when – not if, to Queenie, but when – they get off Drakkar, she’ll teach Daisy how to make a flower chain.
That sort of confidence is hard not to be drawn to. Queenie doesn’t second-guess herself in the same way most vassals back in Ogreton always had to, the same way Skrimm or Taishen or many of the others seem to from time to time. She has conviction in everything she does. Whether she’s wrong or right, Queenie takes it all in stride and pushes forward with her head held high. Never cutting out any part of herself to fit a situation – she adapts the situation to fit her. After a lifetime of having to tread lightly around fixed egos, Daisy respects the hell out of that.
Truth be told, Daisy had found her a little overbearing at the very first. It was only because she’d been so ardent about keeping Daisy safe, which… giant man-eating monster notwithstanding, Daisy has mixed feelings about after twenty-two years of being a younger sister.
No-one will ever fill the hole that Clove’s death has left in her life. For better or worse, Daisy doesn’t want them to.
The notion that Queenie was trying to do that was buried during their cheese-wheel run on the winter solstice, which in hindsight is a really stupid place for feelings like the ones Daisy is wrestling with to have started growing. They were chasing ghost-cheese down the side of a mountain, for fucks sake.
She’d been in desperate need of something to take her mind off the clusterfuck of the previous days. Both friendly competition and cheese had always been good for that, in Daisy’s limited experience. She’d had a whole goddamn mountainside at her disposal and she’d wanted to run helter-skelter down it and scrape up her knees the way she might’ve done as a kid, if she’d ever grown up anywhere else but Ogreton.
And Queenie… Queenie hadn’t given her the safety lecture she’d been expecting, oh no. She’d stoked the fire, subtly called Daisy’s bluff, pushed her own chips in and raised the stakes. Baiting her back and forth with faux-seriousness, playing the game with her.
*I’m gonna win.*
‘Sure. We’ll see about that, Daisy.’
*Alright.*
‘Alright.’
*We will see.*
‘The winner gets the other persons cheese.’
*You’re on.*
The cheese was on the line and tensions were high, but when Queenie had reached up to hug her during their teasing, Daisy had squeezed her back without a second thought. It’d been a while since she’d had a hug; she hadn’t realised how badly she’d needed one.
Queenie’s hugs are honestly incredible. Warm and soft, which is probably due to the fur. Steady, unwavering and scented with a heady mix of pollen. It had left Daisy slightly dizzy and embarrassingly emotional in a lot of ways.
Then, Queenie had proceeded to absolutely kick her ass in the race. Despite her disappointment, a spark had lit in her chest when she’d staggered over to see her friends victorious grin.
Daisy got those skinned knees she’d been after – eating shit in a pile of gravel sure was one way to distract her mind. She’d taken it with as much grace as she could manage and given Queenie a token to boot. No-one likes a sore loser.
Of course, Queenie being Queenie insisted Daisy share in her winnings anyway. Cheese not-quite-won is still sweeter than cheese earned, especially when paired with what little honey was in the pot Queenie carries around and some cloudberry liqueur. The taste of it had lingered on Daisy’s tongue for the rest of the evening.
The ragtag group of survivors Daisy is travelling with are now the closest thing she has to family. Queenie has openly expressed as much on her end, and yet…
Daisy isn’t an idiot. She’s not brand new to this and she’s not in the habit of lying to herself, either. Her feelings for Queenie aren’t at all as platonic or familial as she might like to pretend.
It’s dawned on her more and more from the time they left the mountain behind, heading south as the worst of the winter begins to pass. As promised, they’ve all been trying to teach her ways to survive. Barnabos has been helping her improve her axe-work in combat, and teaching her whatever cooking skills he can with the limited resources they scrounge up. Taishen and Jornir have put a joint effort to training up any sort of magical potential she might have. No luck in that department so far, but she has learned how to brew a decent tea and how to utilise medicinal herbs for non-lethal maladies, so the time doesn’t feel wasted. Skrimm… doesn’t have much in the way of skills to pass on, but he will occasionally give her advice on how to best run and hide if a fight goes sideways. She’s also gotten pretty good at Blackjack thanks to him, good enough to blindside all five of them a few times which is very entertaining.
Most of Daisy’s days, however, are spent learning to hunt and forage with Queenie.
She’s stood by the fire listening to Taishen talk about ideal steeping time when Queenie comes up and gently knocks a hand against her own.
‘Should be clear enough for tracks, today. You wanna come help me kill somethin’ Barnabos can put in a stew?’
Is that even a question? Of course she does. She grabs her sisters bow and quiver and follows along, weaving this way and that through the forest at Queenie’s side. Every now and again her friend will stop and point out something in the snow, her keen eyes locking onto signs of animal activity that Daisy would have blundered past without a thought.
Despite this, the first part of their day doesn’t yield much. A lot of hunting, as Queenie explains, is hours of tracking and trailing and prep-work, all for the sake of a few prime, make-or-break moments where an animal is in your sights. It’s thankless work. With every hour of slow walking that passes, Daisy starts to feel grateful that her sister was ever able to bring back any game at all. The fact that Queenie has been doing this her whole life is impressive to say the least.
In between their tracking, they work on Daisy’s aim. Queenie tells her that she’s a quick study, but her precision and the strength of her bow draw both need work. Larger targets (like caribou, or eldritch caribou monsters) are easier to hit, but harder to hurt; small game like birds or rodents, she’d be able to kill easily if she could ever hit the fuckers.
‘We’ll get some practise in while it’s early.’ Queenie looks around the clear stretch of forest thoughtfully. Before Daisy can blink she nocks an arrow and sends it flying into a tree about 20 or 30 metres away. ‘There’s your target. Show me what’cha got, I’m gonna watch and give ya some advice afterwards. Let’s say ‘bout… three rounds?’
She draws a line in the snow with her foot for Daisy to step up to while she stands back to the side. Daisy looks out at the tree, then back at her.
*Sure this isn’t gonna waste any arrows?*
Queenie’s eyes glitter with pride. ‘It’s a clear day so we can just pick ‘em up later. I could find a piece of hay in a needlestack, don’t you worry.’ She gestures for Daisy to continue, ‘Good to be savvy ‘bout it, though.’
Daisy feels rather pleased with herself; she’s obviously asking the right questions. She turns her body to the side, pulls an arrow from her quiver and sets the nock against the string. There’s the feeling of eyes on her back as she starts to lift the bow. She’s suddenly nervous and she realises it’s not the prickle of discomfort from being stared at but the bubbling of performance anxiety. Maybe this is meant to be practise, but she wants to impress Queenie with how much she’s already learnt.
Her eyes flick back to her friend for just a second before locking in on her target. She breathes deeply as she draws the bow and holds it as she reaches her anchor point, thumb brushing against her cheek. With a quick breath out, she lets the arrow fly.
It doesn’t even reach the tree, plummeting into the snow a few metres before it.
Shit.
‘Hold a sec.’ Queenie hails her before she draws her next arrow. ‘You're gonna hurt yourself, breathin’ like that.’
She stretches her arms down, as if holding an invisible bow and arrow. ‘Try somethin’ for me. Pretend you’ve got an arrow ready. Take a breath in while ya lift the bow up, like this-’ She breathes in through her nose and lifts her arms, ‘-and then let it out slowly while ya draw.’
The movement is so fluid for her, it looks to all the world like she does have an invisible bow in her hand. Her nose twitches, rabbit-like as she exhales and Daisy tries to bite back a smile.
‘When you're about halfways through the breath, that’s when ya wanna shoot. Keeps your aim steady. Your lungs are gonna thank you, trust me.’
Queenie has her do it once without any ammo, then steps back again and lets Daisy nock her second arrow. She copies Queenie’s breathing as she draws and releases, this time aiming a little higher to account for gravity. The arrow whizzes through the air, only just missing the tree and disappearing into the snow beyond.
‘That’s it!’
Daisy cheers internally as she pulls her last arrow. This is gonna be the one. She tries to aim it as close to Queenie’s as possible, hoping to get them side by side. A half-breath out and the arrow soars – about two metres wide of the tree.
She can’t stop herself from kicking at the snow a little, even if it feels like a temper tantrum. What the hell is she doing wrong?
‘Ain’t gonna be perfect from the get-go, that’s why we’re trainin’.’ Queenie strolls up and gives her a once over. ‘Hold still for a minute.’
She walks in a circle around her, looking Daisy up and down with a critical eye. Pursing her lips and nodding to herself, she moves up behind her and holds her hands out.
‘I’m gonna correct your posture, you alright if do a little manhandling?’
Something inside Daisy leaps and then drops. She wrestles against the need to flinch. Being out here for too long has made her jumpy and her anger at her own lack of archery skill has her tense - She can trust Queenie, she knows she can.
Queenie must see her nerves because she makes a calming sort of noise in the back of her throat while Daisy nods her consent.
‘I’ll be quick, promise. Alright-’ Queenie reaches up her hands to hold Daisy’s shoulders and at that moment Daisy realises it isn’t fear or frustration that’s making her so nervous. The feeling inside her amplifies, flip-flopping in her stomach like a landed fish.
Queenie’s hands are so, so warm.
‘You’re keepin’ your chest low, which is good, but your shoulders are roundin' up to compensate.’ She smooths her hold over the top of Daisy’s back and down her shoulder blades. The movement makes Daisy lightheaded. ‘You gotta drop the girls down a smidge or you're gonna lock yourself up. Less tension means better range.’
It takes a few seconds for Daisy to make her body move while her mind is reeling. Queenie keeps her hands there until she feels the muscle loosen. Daisy sighs a little as she lets go, not sure if she should miss the touch or feel relieved she didn’t make a fool of herself. Surely, she’s capable of staying composed while Queenie-
‘Good. Next, spread your legs a little more for me, huh?’
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Her face turns beet red almost instantly. She’s glad that her friend is standing out of view. Queenie’s toes tap the back of her right foot, getting her to shuffle it a few centimetres across.
‘Bend your knees a tiny bit. Back straight.’
Daisy does so, hanging onto her every word. Queenie steps to her side to give her another lookover, too focused to notice how blown out Daisy’s pupils must be.
Slowly but firmly, Queenie puts one hand on her hip, another on her stomach, nudging Daisy into the position she wants her in. Daisy isn’t sure if this is her heaven or hell, but either way she feels like she’s on fire.
‘Pelvis oughta be more forward, oh! Make sure ya always engage your core when you shoot. Got a whole lotta strength in here,’ She pats Daisy’s stomach, ‘It helps keep everythin’ else streamlined.’
Daisy thinks she might just pass out. Her skin is burning under her many winter layers, the pads of Queenie’s fingers and palms sending sparks running through her veins. If it weren’t so goddamn freezing, Daisy thinks, she could take her shirt off and see glowing outlines of every place Queenie has laid hands on her. Like one of the spells her friends use, but instead of healing, all it does is make Daisy want to lean down and kiss Queenie ‘til they’re both breathless-
Dammit. Daisy might be kinda fucked.
Now isn’t the time to worry about it, though, as Queenie backs up and nods in satisfaction, looking out along their makeshift shooting range.
‘How’s about one more shot so you can see how it feels?’
Right. Archery. Yes, Daisy can do archery. Arrow comes out of the quiver, nock goes on the string, lift the bow. She remembers to keep her shoulders down at the last second and is a little surprised at how much easier the draw feels. She breathes out slowly, eyes on the fletching of Queenie’s arrow, remembering Queenie’s hands on her hips, her core. Keep the core engaged, release-
The arrow flies and buries itself in the base of the tree with a dull thunk.
Daisy can hardly believe her eyes – she actually hit the damn thing. There’s a low whistle from beside her and Queenie elbows her hip.
‘Nice shootin’, Tex!’
Daisy rubs the back of her neck, caught between pride and embarrassment at getting praised for a simple shot.
*Yeah, that tree sure didn’t see it coming.*
‘Don’t be a downer, Skrimm does enough a’ that for all of us.’ She can feel the eyeroll without seeing it, ‘Friend a’ mine always used to say; A pinch of talent don’t mean nothin’ without a pound of skill. You gotta work for skill.’
Before she can reply, Daisy hears a noise out amongst the trees. She and Queenie stare up, watching as two birds, Daisy couldn’t say what kind, flap lazily over the forest and start to descend a few hundred metres to the south.
There’s a weird, gurgling sound. Daisy takes a second to realise it’s her stomach, and Queenie’s, both rumbling at the same time. They look at one another and Queenie grins.
‘You wanna try with a moving target?’
Daisy would try shooting a fly from a mile away if Queenie asked her to and it meant a meal. She nods and they shoulder their bows, trailing their way through the forest.
---
The birds are migratory, according to Queenie, probably returning early. Each one is much smaller than the game-birds that the ogres kept, not quite as plump, but Daisy certainly isn’t going to be choosy about it. Once they’re in sight, Queenie nocks an arrow and creeps forward, gesturing for Daisy to follow.
Daisy preps her own bow and moves as quietly as she can, trying to get any cover possible despite the bright snow and the harsh glare of sunlight. She wants to rush forward before the birds move on and nail them while she has the chance. Queenie’s pace and her lessons about patience are the only thing keeping her from jumping too soon.
The birds bob around on the low branch of a gnarled tree, settling in. Queenie leads them as close as she can manage, giving Daisy her best stay put motion as she slinks further to the side, weaving silently around another tree to get a different angle. Daisy gives herself a brief moment to admire her skill, but the emptiness of her stomach keeps her from getting too distracted. She crouches, watches, waits for Queenie’s signal.
The little birds shuffle on the branch. One puffs up its feathers. Out of the corner of her eye, Daisy can see the top of Queenie’s ear twitch as she slowly draws. Daisy moves her foot slightly as she breathes and lifts her bow. She hears the snow crunch. The other birds turns its head back and forth, blinking. It starts to lift its wings and Daisy, breath steady, thinks please, please don’t fucking miss and fires.
If there is a god, it must’ve decided to cut her a break today. The arrow hits the bird in the thigh, making it drop to the ground in a mess of flapping and blood. The other bird starts to take off and Daisy panics, reaching back to her quiver – her hand barely rises before an arrow zips straight into the bird’s head, killing it before it leaves it’s roost.
Daisy feels her heart beating in her ears. Before she can stand, Queenie crashes into her side and squeezes her in a tight hug.
‘That’s my girl!’ She whoops, ‘I knew you could do it! Hell, we’re gonna eat good tonight!’
With that, Queenie darts forward to collect their kills. Daisy can only watch her, stunned, as the words “that’s my girl” settle themselves comfortably in the back of her brain.
She turns them over and over, even as Queenie shows her how the break the neck of the still-struggling bird to put it out of its misery. They make their way back to camp, picking up Daisy’s missing arrows as they go. Queenie never stops lavishing her with compliments and encouragement, especially when they approach the makeshift lean-to the others have put up for the night. She calls out to Barnabos at the fire, waving the birds above her head and laughing when his eyes go wide.
‘Take a look at what me an’ Daisy brought down!’
The guys are all singing her and Queenie’s praises while they clean their kill and Barnabos prepares a large pot. The stew is meagre, gamey and very seasoned, but compared to the past days of starvation it feels like a feast.
Through it all, the words keep echoing, bright and warm; my girl. Queenie’s girl. Daisy has never… wanted to be wanted before. To be someone’s and have someone she can call hers. She looks at Queenie, basking in the firelight, happily drinking down her stew. She swears she can still feel the phantom sensation of hands on her shoulders and hips. Something in her ribcage swells and settles, holding onto the warmth.
So yes, Daisy is in deep trouble and falling fast. During the nights she sleeps on the outside of their little huddle, curled next to Queenie with her hands held to her chest, fighting the temptation to card her fingers through the auburn hair on the pillow next to her. She wakes up with her face pressed into it and the sensation sets her entire body ablaze. She’s first out of the tent, rushing to help Barnabos with whatever meal preparation they can do for breakfast so she doesn’t do something stupid.
She walks behind Queenie while they march through the forest, searching high and low for animal tracks to stop her from staring at the swing of Queenie’s hips, the strength of her gait as she hops over the snow like it doesn’t even bother her. On a few occasions Daisy’s caught sight of her fluffy tail poking out underneath her winter coat, usually while they’re foraging what plant-life they can find. She wonders over and over how it might feel between her fingers.
The absolute worst is the time Queenie stumbles over a snow-hidden log and scrapes her leg just below the hip. Daisy is cutting lichen from the side of a tree when she hears a curse and a dull thump. She’s at Queenie’s side as fast her legs will take her, hoisting her up from the snow.
‘I’m alright, just shocked the hell outta me.’ Queenie leans into her, rubbing at her hip. ‘Reckon I scratched myself up a bit. Ain’t no big holes ripped in my pants, are there?’
Daisy checks – a few small tears but nothing that can’t be sewn up. More concerning is the dots of dark stains starting to spread along the fabric.
*Fuck. You’re bleeding.*
‘Huh. Stings a little, but I’m sure it ain’t so bad.’ She moves forward away from Daisy, clenching her jaw as she steps with her hurt leg. ‘Been through a hell of a lot worse out here.’
*We should go back to the others so Jornir can heal that up for you.*
Queenie sighs, looking out at the forest, then at Daisy. ‘Guess you're right. I hate coming in from a hunt with nothin’ to show, but I’m gunna be useless as tits on a boar hog like this. Found a couple mushrooms out here, at least.’
*I got some lichen too… maybe Taishen can make a tea with it?*
Queenie laughs, turning back to the east and starting to hobble back along the path of footprints they’d left. ‘Taishie’d brew snow if he could manage it, I reckon he’ll make it work. Get your tail in gear, now, we got a long walk back to camp.’
They trudge for 10 minutes, moving as fast as Queenie’s leg will allow while the sun sinks lower in the sky. She huffs deeply with each step, trying to save face while keeping up with Daisy. Daisy takes small steps to match her speed, tries and fails not to look very concerned.
*Are you sure it’s just the scrape?*
‘Yeah, pretty sure. Maybe a lil’ bit of a twist in my ankle too, but I ain’t lettin’ that stop me.’ She shivers as a gust of icy wind blows against them. The cold must be going straight through her torn clothes and onto that scratch.
Daisy pats herself down. She might have some bit of extra fabric she can use to bundle Queenie up for a bit. She could tear off some of her coat? Or, maybe there’s something in her pack…
She opens her bag and feels like hitting herself upside the head. At the very bottom sits a few bandages and herbs from Jornirs medicine kit that he’d shared with her, probably for this exact situation.
She taps Queenie’s shoulder. *I’ve got some healing stuff. I’m no expert, but I can try to wrap the wound if that’d help?*
She perks up immediately, a bright grin replacing her pained look. ‘I won’t say no to that. Thanks, Daisy.’
They duck behind the thick trunk of a tree for some privacy – from whom Daisy has no idea, considering they’re the only people around here, but not standing out in the open puts her more at ease. She pulls out a tin of salve and a bandage, looking up just as Queenie is undoing the tie of her pants and shuffling the waistband down one leg.
Even in the below-zero temperature, Daisy feels flushed. She fights to keep a straight face as she takes off one glove and scoops out some of the salve, holding it in a clenched fist to warm it up a little.
‘I’d say no rush, but I’m kinda freezin’ my ass off so don’t worry ‘bout gettin’ it perfect.’
Daisy steels her mind and nods. She gives the wound a very quick inspection for any woodchips or fibres that need to be cleared away, just as Jornir taught her. She doesn’t want her friend left cold for any longer than necessary. The more clinically she can approach this task, the better.
Queenie, on the other hand, seems entirely at ease; chatting away about how Daisy’s lessons have really been paying off, which direction they might be hunting in tomorrow, something Skrimm said earlier that had got her goat about such and such. She hisses through her teeth when Daisy applies the salve and it makes Daisy pause, but Queenie urges her to continue.
‘I’m a tough bunny, honey. I can take it.’
Daisy dabs on the rest of the salve and starts the bandage like a consummate professional, firm and steady and not at all hopelessly taken with the woman above her. She isn’t gonna be weird about it. Her friend is pain and needs her help, she can’t let her feelings distract her from doing the most efficient patch-up she can.
That thought is enough to quell the nervous tremor in her hands as she finishes wrapping the wound and gives Queenie a thumbs up.
‘Lookin’ good!’ Queenie wiggles her hip experimentally and seems relieved with the feeling. ‘Lil’ more practise an’ I reckon you’re gonna put Jornir outta a job.’
Daisy shakes her head and pretends to scrutinise her handiwork so she doesn’t let on how pleased the compliment makes her. The bandage is secure, digging slightly in the tan fur of Queenie’s leg. Queenie runs a hand over the cloth to test its give. The movement makes something tingle in Daisy’s spine. She wants to trace her fingers against it in turn, to squeeze and feel the soft fat belying strong muscle underneath.
She’s struck with the sudden, desperate urge to lean her face into Queenie’s hip and gently bite at the plush curve of her thigh.
The horror of how goddamn bad that sounds hits her like an avalanche and makes avert her gaze until Queenie’s fully clothed again. She keeps her distance as best she can while supporting Queenie on her arm the whole walk back to camp, shaking the memory of the thing that tried to kill them from her mind.
It isn’t like that. At least, she’s pretty sure it isn’t. Daisy is a lot of things but a cannibal isn’t one of them, no matter how little she’s eaten over the past few days.
No, it’s a different kind of hunger that holds sway over Daisy, one that she really can’t afford to let distract her from surviving. It sits in the back of her head and taunts her in the middle of the night. It gnaws a hole in her chest and refuses to leave. Daisy wants, she aches, she craves with a strength she didn’t think was possible, especially when she otherwise feels malnourished and tired and mournful and angry.
These other feelings don’t ever leave her, not really, but Queenie helps push them into the background for short amounts of time. She recites dirty jokes and even worse limericks, only seeming satisfied when she can tease a silent laugh out of Daisy. She tells stories of faraway lands filled with heat and herbage, sunlight and savannas, places snow has never touched. On the evenings Daisy gets respite from her blood-soaked nightmares, she dreams of wildflower fields and blue skies. Queenie is there, radiating warmth as if she were the sun itself. Daisy rests her head in her lap and feels happier than she can ever remember being. There’s fur under her fingertips, laughter against her neck, honey-sweet nothings whispered in her ear.
She wakes up in the cold dead of night with a sore back and heavy tongue and cusses up a storm to herself, just to do something with all her frustration.
Daisy is so fucked.