Welcome back to our guest writer, Phoenix Illing! Phoenix is a newly graduated high school student, and their interests include writing, reading, baking, spending time outside, and playing with their dog. They have been writing since they were eight years old, but only in the past year have they really seriously written pieces. They try their best to represent minorities that they don’t often see represented, and they want to draw awareness to mental health issues. Phoenix uses they/them pronouns.
Many thanks to Phoenix for sharing their story with us. "Adira & Wyetta" is being released in two parts. Scroll down to read Part 2. Click the link below to be directed to Part 1. This story should be read in order.
TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains sexual and physical abuse, self-harm, suicidal ideation, and attempted suicide.
Image Description: A cobblestone bridge leads to the half-domed entryway into a castle. Black and white turrets reach up toward the sky. A forest surrounds the edifice and gray skies hang overhead.
Credit: Folco Masi / Unsplash via Webador
Adira & Wyetta (Part 2)
To what ends will you go for salvation?
It first starts as a trickle, then a stream, then a downpour of images, memories, thoughts. Girls from her childhood, glimpses of stolen moments, flashes of a smile, an echo of a lavender laugh. Hair cascading over a shoulder. Shy glances from honey colored eyes. They all build up to the sudden realization. When she was little and thought she wanted to marry her best friend. When she was partnered with another girl on a project in school, she just thought it could be something more.
When she imagined her future and she saw herself with another woman. She was not destined to be with a man. Her destiny instead lay at the hands and embrace of a woman.
It doesn’t take long for Adira to wish she were dead again. It only takes one more night of Borden’s abuse for her to come to a decision. If the assassin wasn’t going to help her, she resolved to get away on her own. So she plots a way to escape.
The sand was clenched in the fist of her toes. The waves rhythmically lapped around her, encasing her in its welcome symphony. She closes her eyes--the green of false hope speckled with the gold of lost promises--and breathes in the murky air. Slowly, drops of red mar the surface of the water, poppies in a field of forget-me-nots. Her legs give way, sending her crashing down like a puppet whose strings were just cut. The lake sloshes stinging waves of icy water around her body, folding her into its protection. The shard of ceramic bowl tumbles out of her fingers, splashing into the lake.
She opens her eyes, a hazy canopy of swirling grays and blacks before her. The surface beneath her reminds her of the hard resilience of a knife, with the sturdiness of a reliable horse. She sits up, the world tilting and leveling as her eyes adjust. Her ankles are shackled to a hook on the floor, leaving her unable to move much, except a couple steps in each direction. She recognizes this immediately to be one of the cells Borden uses to relieve himself of the irritation of those who he despises.
It was the early hours of the day, long after Borden had gotten his night’s pleasure, that she had tried to join her mother. But from the way the light slanted through the bars of the window, highlighting specks of dust, she could tell that it was late afternoon. She sat up and looked down at her arms, now wrapped in thick swathes of cloth. The sudden motion made her head spin, and the guard outside her cell looked up.
“So you’re up,” the guard shrugs.
“I guess I am,” Adira replies.
The guard gives a sharp whistle, shouting “Oi, tell Borden she’s awake,” to supposedly an inferior of theirs.
A guard runs off in search, soon returning with the king.
“Welcome back to the outside world, princess.”
It is Borden. He has arrived. He unlocks her cell and steps inside, dismissing the guard.
“Leave her to me.”
It is the middle of the night, after her nightly session with Borden, when the assassin comes for her. At first she only hears a grunt as the guard stationed outside her door buckles to his knees, unconscious. Wyetta appears in the small barred window of Adira’s cell door. She is covered in a cloak the color of crushed stars, hood concealing her face in shadows. But Adira recognizes the sea green lilt to the voice as that of the one in the forest. There is no doubt in her mind that it is Wyetta.
And she has come to do her job. At long last.
The lock rattles as Wyetta picks it. It clinks and clanks, finally releasing. The assassin steps in and startles at the sight of Adira.
“Did he do this to you?!” She whisper-shouts in outrage. “What in Saints’ names was he thinking? He can’t possibly hope to keep his crown if it is shown how he treats his wards.”
“Everyone already knows. Why do you think they stay away? It sure isn’t out of respect. It’s out of fear.” Adira stands up, wincing. Her dark skin has blotches across it, looking like ink spilled across a canvas. There is blood seeping out from the bandages on her wrists, staining her skirts with drops of liquid fire. Of course, there is also the curse that Borden’s enchantress had put over her, a façade of an elderly woman. Skin hangs off her like bags weighed down with rocks. Her hair is now the color of snow, speckled with flecks of gray.
“He did this to prevent me from escaping again or getting help. Who is to believe the king abuses an old woman? I can hardly walk, let alone run away. And the worst thing is, the enchantress said the only way to break it is by a true love’s kiss. But I’m so Saints forsaken terrified that it will end up being Borden or the new Saints be damned bloody prince, and stars, I don’t know what to do, and I just want to scream, and–”
She cuts off as Wyetta interrupts her.
“Why in the heavens do you think it would be that cursed Borden? He is your abuser and tormenter and such a, a, a cruel, twisted person who no one would ever be soulmates with. You, on the other hand, you are such a strong, stars, fierce individual, who can do so much better than that ass. I can guarantee you that he is not your true love.
“Anyways,” Wyetta adds, winking, “you’re perfect no matter what age you appear to be or how you look.”
Adira blushes, turning the bruises on her face into the colors of a fiery sunset–the last moment before night overtakes day.
“You can’t possibly mean that.” She holds out her wrists, saying, “I was so close, Wyetta. Why in Saints’ names did you have to refuse me the first time? I asked you to do your job, and you can’t even do that much. Just please, I beg of you, end my suffering. Help me escape this pain. Help me get out of this mess.”
“I will do no such thing.” Wyetta crosses her arms and pouts. “I came here to rescue your sorry ass and get you the stars out of this wretched town.”
“But at this point, I’m too far gone to save.”
“And what makes you believe that? Did you suddenly realize you’re a ghost? WAIT ARE YOU A GHOST?! DID YOU CROSS THE SPECTRAL PLANE?!”
Adira smiles begrudgingly. “No, I’m not a ghost. Just look at me. I’m under a curse, I have the terrible weakness of not liking men, and I have repeatedly tried to kill myself–all of which have failed. There is nothing keeping me here.”
“On the contrary, I believe that your still being here is proof that something is keeping you alive.”
“But what would that be?”
“The little things in life. Clouds, trees, rain, sun, laughter, books, new experiences, friends, romance, finding a woman to break the curse, animals, sunsets, sunrises, the way the sunlight falls through the canopy of a tree, stolen glimpses of others’ lives, and so, so much more.” Wyetta tilts her head, spreading her arms. “Even here, there are small things that are worth living for. Just look at the dust beams dancing in the sunlight. There is beauty surrounding you.”
“I hope that there’s more to life than just pretty things. It doesn’t seem like much.” Adira groans. “And curse the stars, I’m just done.” She slumps to the floor.
“Hey, don’t say that,” Wyetta crouches down next to her.
“Just–go away. Leave me alone. If you’re not going to end my pain just, just leave. Please.”
Wyetta opens her mouth, but Adira cuts her off. “No. Please go.” Wyetta cocks her head to the side like an inquisitive dog. But she sighs to herself, stands up, resigned.
“I’m not going to give up on you. Not now. Not ever.” She turns to go.
“You hardly know me,” Adira whispers. But Wyetta is already gone.
Days spill over each other, like waves in the ocean. Borden continues to visit her every night, unrelenting. Adira retreats to the bluff by the sea, stoically taking this punishment, for she deserves it. It’s all her fault. It’s her fault her father died. If she had asked him to stay home instead of wandering off across the land, he’d still be alive. It’s her fault her mother wanted to help her and her brother, accepting Borden’s proposition and moving into the Saints damned castle. It’s her fault her brother vanished supposedly to another kingdom, but for all she knew it could be to another
spectral plane entirely. She was only a burden and everyone would be better off without her. She was glad, of course, that those she loved had escaped this cruelty. But she missed them with every fiber of her being, and she wished she could be there with them.
Borden didn’t let her out of her cell for almost a month. Wyetta had popped in from time to time, leaving nothing but a witty comment, a glimmer of a smile, or fragments of a glance. When she was let out again, the first thing she did was to sink back into old habits. The scars on her arms grew longer and deeper, staining her skin with streaks running down her arms like angel’s tears. Borden had long given up commenting on them, finding them only a minor aggravation in lieu of a major issue. He still gave her long looks of dissatisfaction, just being in her presence seemed to upset him. But that was the point. He cared not for Adira’s wellbeing, instead only focusing on his own grievances and issues with her. She was no longer a perfect being, but Borden still desired her companionship. She was sure she was only burdening him at this point, yet he refused to let her go. He was losing on this investment, but he wouldn’t fold. Could it be that he actually loved her? Or was it her resemblance of her mother that was what he desired?
There were more attempts to take her life, but each time, one of Borden’s guards caught her before she was too far gone. After every attempt, more security cautions were put into effect. Wyetta still kept returning, no matter how many guards were posted around Adira. It was these moments when Adira felt the most sane. Wyetta grounded her, just sassily commenting on the guards or the nature of things or whether goats were better than ravens. Adira said ravens for their cunning intellect. Wyetta said goats, for their sheer, stubborn, tough-headedness. Wyetta never did give up on Adira. She kept her promise and kept returning. When Adira was in the cells. When Adira was free to roam, they’d meet up in the woods, the chatter of squirrels and chipmunks and the whisper of the tree boughs.
The night Adira is once again released from the cells, the moon is full, hanging in the sky like a drop of water without gravity. It is the color of dreams, of infinity, of promises long forgotten. It stares out of the sky’s face at Adira, seemingly promising multitudes. It is then that Wyetta returns once again. This time, instead of turning her away, Adira accepts her company. They sit on the edge of the balcony, legs dangling between the slats of the safety railing Borden installed to keep Adira from plummeting to her death like a star from the sky.
“So I see you still haven’t found your true love yet,” Wyetta nudges her. Adira winces.
“Sorry, it’s still a sore subject.”
“I get that,” Wyetta nudges Adira’s foot with her own. “But the great thing about this curse is, there’s a way out.”
Adira groans, leaning her head to rest against the bars of the railing. “I guess. But do you see anyone here that is remotely interested in me?” She says it shyly, hoping for a specific answer.
Wyetta scoots her hand closer to Adiras. Adira glances down, a small smile hanging on her lips. She interlaces her fingers with Wyetta’s–chocolate and caramel winding together. She rests her head on Wyetta’s shoulder, sighing.
“You know, you’re the only good part in my life right now. You make me feel alive in ways that I didn’t even know were possible. Your Saints damned sarcasm is just wonderful. I can’t explain it.”
She winces. “Stars, I said too much. Forget it. I’m sorry. That was a lot.” Adira gulps.
“Wyetta brushes Adira’s hair away from her face. “For Saints’ sake, stop apologizing for having feelings.”
“Sorry.”
“No. Don’t say that.”
“S–whoops. I won’t. Pinkie-swear,” Adira says, holding out the pinkie on the hand not intertwined with Wyetta’s.
“You know you can’t break a pinkie-swear, right? If you do, I’ll have to forcibly remove your pinkie.” Adira gulps. “I won’t enforce that rule, but just for future reference, in case you decide to make a pinkie-swear to a much more serious person than me.”
“Thanks for the consideration.”
They sit contentedly in silence, the whisper of the trees and the song of the stars washing over them. The sky is the lavender of new dreams mixed with the deep orchid of fresh hope. The stars are cast about the sky like a handful of salt strewn across a canvas.
“You know…” Wyetta begins.
“What?” Adira turns her head toward Wyetta. Their lips are inches apart, breaths mingling in the summer air; cinnamon and peach, violets and daisies. Wyetta leans in, pressing her lips to Adira’s. Eyes closed, she tastes exactly as Adira imagined. Cardamom and ginger and apple and old books and cold steel. Small balls of light start to spiral around them, encasing them in a cocoon of sparks. Adira’s skin shrinks back towards her body, hair darkening from gray to a deep, rich black.
Adira glances up when they break free, tears trailing down her face. Wyetta reaches a soft fingertip out to wipe them away.
“Thank you,” Adira whispers.
“Of course,” Wyetta replies. “Now let’s get you out of this stars damned hell.”
And off they run to the kingdom of Atlas, to live happily ever after.
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