Chapter Text
“Remember,” said Twilight under his breath. “If you change your mind at any point, just let us know.”
“Yes,” Yor agreed with a whispered breath. “It’s not the end of the world if you’re not feeling well!”
“Papa! Mama!” Anya sighed exasperatedly. “I’m really fine. I can do this.”
She squared her shoulders to the door in front of her and rang the doorbell.
Anya clenched her hands tightly and resisted the urge to bounce on her heels. She wasn’t exactly lying to her parents when she said she could do it - because the more accurate reality was that she had to. She had no other choice, even if her parents might have disagreed.
Even though Anya’s head buzzed uncomfortably ever since yesterday’s incident at the Tournament, Anya knew that she had to go to the Imperial Ball - for Damian, and for Twilight, although how she could manage to do both without messing up was a little bit beyond her at that time.
Not only that, but she had to make sure that she and Becky were still friends. If she avoided Becky now, then Becky would undoubtedly know that Anya was still uncomfortable with revealing her deepest secret to her best friend, and if Becky thought that, then maybe she wouldn’t want to be friends with Anya anymore and she would abandon Anya forever.
So, Anya had to go to the Ball, so she could reinforce her friendship with Becky and make everything normal again, so that she could be there for Damian, and somehow manage to help Twilight with Operation Strix all at the same time. The entire point of Operation Strix was to infiltrate the upper echelons of Eden Academy, to get closer to Donovan Desmond, but Anya knew that the chances of him actually making an appearance at the Ball were slim to none. Donovan had never attended the Ball while Damian was an Imperial Scholar, and even though she had never met him, his disregard for the second Desmond son was painfully blatant. (Emphasis on ‘painfully’.)
Which was exactly why she had to attend the Ball: to support Damian, and give him at least some happy memories of a school event that he hated before they both graduated.
The door swung open, and the stern face of Martha acknowledged them both.
“Welcome Dr Forger, Mrs Forger, Miss Forger,” she said in her typical perfunctory manner, and guided them swiftly inside. “I’ll let Miss Blackbell know that you’re-”
At that moment, Anya lost all of the air in her lungs as she was immediately tackled by a large flash of deep purple.
“Why if it isn’t Anya Forger!!” said an alarmingly exuberant voice that Anya would know anywhere.
“Hi, Mr Blackbell!” Anya wheezed, but she only caught her breath once Becky’s father had managed to release her, and gave a crushing hug to each of the Forger’s in turn.
“Welcome! All the Forger’s in one place - it must be my lucky day!!”
“It’s been so long,” Loid smiled as even he tried to catch her breath from Mr Blackbell’s attack.
“I know,” Mr Blackbell lamented. “I’m afraid my recent business trip has been extended a few too many times, but I must say that it is lovely to be back - Becky being invited to the Imperial Ball is such an honour, and we have such wonderful news to celebrate!”
Martha delicately coughed, getting everyone’s attention. “Miss Blackbell has requested that champagne will be served in the blue drawing room for Mr and Mrs Forger while Miss Forger joins her in her room.”
“Ah! Yes, quite right,” Mr Blackbell nodded more to himself as he gestured for Anya’s parents to join him. “Come, come - champagne! ”
Mr Blackbell walked confidently in one direction, before Martha delicately cleared her throat once again. “The other blue drawing room, sir. I’m afraid that wing is closed for renovations.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr Blackbell looked momentarily bemused as he reoriented himself, and he launched himself in the direction Martha had indicated. “Parents! This way for drinks while our dear daughters complete their rituals!”
Anya hid a chuckle as she watched her parents leave, following Mr Blackbell in what was hopefully the right direction, and all the while he excitedly narrated tales of his recent travels. She listened as his voice gradually became quieter and quieter as they advanced further into the other wing, and all the while, Anya could. Not. Move .
What was wrong with her? Anya gritted her teeth as she tried to lift her leg to take even a single step forward, but suddenly, it was as if she had frozen completely to the ground. Sweat gathered on her forehead and in the palms of her hands, and Anya tried to wipe it on her skirt, but somehow she knew that it wouldn’t be enough to hide her anxiety.
She had tried not to think about how much Becky now knew , tried to forget the look of absolute horror on her face as Anya disclosed the vague details of her experimentation, tried to forget the way that Becky couldn’t get away from her fast enough afterwards, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the terror inside her.
It was only a matter of time before Becky would tell her she didn’t want to be friends any more. She had pictured it hundreds of times, had nightmares about it nearly every night - it was almost inevitable that Anya would be cast aside as a witch, a freak, a strange girl that didn’t deserve to be around the heiress of the prestigious Blackbell family, or have any happiness of her own.
“Miss Forger?”
“GAH!” Anya jumped out of her skin. “Martha! You snuck up on me!”
Martha raised a very delicate eyebrow, silently communicating her concern. “Are you feeling quite alright, Miss Forger?”
“Yes, I’m-” Anya swallowed dryly. “I’m fine.”
Martha regarded Anya with a careful once over, and did not seem to be appeased by Anya’s terse answer.
“Would you like me to escort you to Miss Blackbell’s rooms?”
“Oh! No, thank you, I’ll be fine on my own…” Anya trailed off quietly.
How could she have not noticed that Martha had been waiting for her to move the whole time? Embarrassing.
Anya took a fortifying breath, and forced herself to move, inching ever closer to the stairs, one step at a time. She gripped the mahogany bannister with force, using it as her strength to slowly pull herself up, and all the while her heart hammered in her chest, stronger than it ever had before. Somehow, it was even worse than when Damian visited her at the hospital - when she knew that he had found out her secrets, and she wondered if he would reject her, too.
Damian had found out practically by accident, but this time, she had told someone about her past for the first time ever. She poured her own heart out, a feeling so strange and vulnerable that it was almost like she had exposed her own soul. Would that even make a difference? Would her friendship with Becky ever be the same again?
She had to talk to Becky. Maybe ask her to forget everything, so they could both pretend to be normal, pretend that she had never opened that Pandora’s box of secrets, and try to stuff it back inside before it ruined her life again. Life was better when the secrets were in the box. The fear of being rejected and abandoned was always there, but at least before it didn’t feel so real .
Her heel touched down on the marble floor, and the staccato clack reverberated through the air, the only sound in the silence of the vast Blackbell Manor. Even her parents were too far away to hear anymore.
Was Becky’s house always this big? Anya wondered. Somehow, she felt as though she were shrinking in its vastness, until the corridors had swallowed her entirely.
Anya closed her eyes before the dizziness washed over her. Inhale, exhale - just like her Papa taught her. She couldn’t afford to panic, not at such an important time.
She took a moment to steady herself before opening the door to Becky’s room.
Immediately, Anya was drawn to the explosion of colours that covered every inch of Becky’s once-immaculate bedspread and flawless marble floors - dresses piled all over the room, while the heiress herself sat primly at her vast dressing table. A woman that Anya didn’t recognise had gathered locks of Becky’s hair in one hand, and held a curling tong in the other.
Anya’s heart dropped. She really hoped that they would have time alone, but with Becky’s stylist in the room, there was no way that they would be able to talk about what happened the day before.
“Anya!” Becky called her over without turning her head. “Thank goodness you’re here! I’m already behind schedule and I need your opinion on a dress now - I’ve narrowed it down to eleven choices - oh no, I can’t believe we’re so short on time!” Becky fanned herself with both hands, but she couldn’t move from her chair while the stylist had such a firm grasp on her hair.
Anya blinked, so surprised that she momentarily forgot about the anxiety that almost swallowed her.
“We have three hours!”
“Exactly!” Becky stressed. “We’ve only got three hours and there’s so much to do! Now, go and pick a dress!!”
“Okay - but - I mean - um…” Anya faltered, unsure what she was trying to say.
It all felt so weird. This wasn’t the version of Becky that she was expecting, and it stumped her. A dark voice inside Anya worried that Becky was trying to send her away, put her somewhere else so that she wouldn’t have to look at her - but that would be crazy, right?
Anya tried to squash down her anxiety, but it wriggled in her stomach, restless and agitated.
“What?” Becky said with faux innocence. “What am I supposed to do? Wear them?” she scoffed. “Desmond’s probably got a tie by now, right? Did he tell you what colour he picked?”
As she took in the sight of Becky sitting straight in her seat, hair being slowly curled one lock at a time, something niggled in the corner of Anya’s mind. Becky didn’t seem to be acting any different than usual, but there was a slight tension in her voice that kept Anya on edge.
“Er,” Anya stalled as she tried to remember. “I think I told him I’d wear something green.”
Becky’s eyes lit up. “Perfect! That’s so your colour! Miriam-” she pointed at another woman that Anya didn’t even notice - “can you please remove all the green dresses from my wardrobe and lay them over there -”
“It’s alright, I can go in and look for myself!” Anya interrupted, and spun on her heels, practically diving into the relative safety of Becky’s wardrobe. She barely managed to cross the threshold before the pain started to build in her chest, and Anya’s breath came in shallow gasps.
She wanted to convince herself that she was imagining it, but even without her ability to read minds, Anya could feel that something was very wrong. Becky was trying too hard to act normal, she was sure of it, but she had no idea what to think about that. How much was Becky pretending? Was Becky buying time before she would break the bad news (that she didn’t want to be around Anya any more)?
She had only told her about her powers yesterday, and already Becky was pretending that everything was normal, like it had never happened. Did that mean that she wanted to forget about it altogether? Was she keeping the staff around so that Anya couldn't talk to her about it in front of them?
Anya leaned against the wooden door frame of Becky’s wardrobe, and sucked in a panicked gasp, trying to remember what her Papa had taught her about breathing.
In and out. A torturous activity for her, and all the while she wondered when she would stop feeling stupid. Was it working? Was she doing it right? Was it through the nose or mouth? She had already forgotten.
In another effort to calm her nerves, Anya carefully scanned the view of Becky’s wardrobe in front of her. The wardrobe - if it could even be called that - was a gargantuan entity unto its own, with racks of dresses and clothes all lined up neatly in colour order; hats adorned almost every spare space on the wall, while spinning racks of shoes of varying heel heights glittered and gleamed in the bright light.
Luckily, Anya had seen the interior of Becky’s wardrobe enough times that she was no longer dazzled by it, and she was immediately drawn to the “green” section of the “formal wear” area (she knew how Becky liked to arrange her clothes). Anya surreptitiously ran her hand along the luxury fabrics, feeling their silky and soft textures, before she arrived at a shade of green that made her heart leap, and her immediate thought was: Damian would love it .
The dress still had the tag on, indicating its novelty, and the name of the (exclusive) designer that had curated it for Becky. (Anya half-expected the price to still be on the tag, but she knew from observing Becky over the years that the highest fashions opted to omit the price.) Anya carefully pulled out the dress that had caught her eye, the same shade of emerald as her eyes, and held it in front of her, admiring its statement beauty. It had a silky underskirt that gave a subtle sheen beneath layers of sparkling chiffon, with a cinched waistband, and fluttering chiffon sleeves -
Anya caught her breath.
Short sleeves.
Of course it was hopeless. She wrapped an arm around herself, her fingers digging into the skin where her scars hid beneath her shirt, forever a reminder of the freak that she was. She was stupid to ever think that it was behind her.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the tide of thoughts that came for her - but they didn’t sound like the voices of other people.
This time, it was her own thoughts clamouring for the spotlight, each one louder than the one before:
I’ll never be normal - They’ll take one look at me and they’ll all know - I don’t belong - I’m a freak - I can’t hide from this - I’ll never be able to hide from this - I’ll never be normal - I don’t deserve to keep pretending - Everyone will know I’m a freak - All they have to do is look at me and they’ll all know that I’m not one of them - I’ll never be one of them - I’ll always be a freak - I should run away - Running won’t help - I have to disappear - They’ll catch me - They’ll find me - They’ll kill me - They’ll kill me - They’ll kill me -
Her chest wound tighter, a rope that coiled around her torso squeezing ever tighter, cutting off her oxygen.
A noise at the door, and Anya’s eyes flew open, only to see Becky at the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the wooden frame.
“Are you okay?” she blurted instinctively. “I heard-” Becky stopped herself short, and her amber eyes swept over Anya in concern, noting her hunched posture, the space on her arm that her fingertips pressed into, the lovely dress that had now fallen to the floor.
“Oh, Anya,” she breathed in understanding. “I’m sorry, I should have realised…”
Anya’s chest constricted with each rapid breath, feeling like she had just been caught doing something forbidden.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, her mouth far too accustomed to forming those words for them to sound sincere.
Becky’s amber eyes didn’t leave Anya’s for the few seconds that it took for her to make a decision. She leaned her head behind the doorway, addressing the two women in the room:
“Actually, I’m going to help Anya with her dress, you can both take a break and come back in twenty minutes! Martha will guide you to the kitchen for some refreshments!”
Footsteps - a door closing - and then once they were gone, Anya’s skin prickled under Becky’s discerning gaze, and her breath caught in her throat as Becky didn’t move an inch.
A dark feeling twisted in her stomach and Anya clenched her hands to stop the shaking.
She wished that her powers had returned fully, so that she could see what was going on in her best friend's mind…
“Um..” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry… I’ll be out soon…” Anya cringed at how weak she sounded.
“Actually,” Becky worried at her lip, avoiding eye contact. “I have to tell you something.”
Becky stepped over the threshold of the wardrobe, and Anya was too frozen to take even one step back.
This was it. This was what she had been afraid of. Becky was about to tell her that she didn't want to be friends anymore. That she thought Anya’s powers were too strange, too unmanageable, and there was no way that she would be able to be friends with a freak like her.
“Please don’t hate me for this, but…”
Anya had been preparing for this moment her whole life. She had nightmares about it for years, and she had been called a freak enough times in her childhood for it to not sting as much anymore, but there was something about being face to face with her best friend, that all the fear kept rushing back.
Anya closed her eyes, and braced herself for the impact.
The next words out of Becky’s mouth took her breath away completely.
“I got a Stella Star,” Becky started, her voice shaking. “For… rushing in to help you. And getting the medics. Henderson told me yesterday after you went home.”
Anya blinked.
“You got a Stella?” she repeated mindlessly. It was all she could do to stall, to try to figure out her own feelings, because of course a green monster had risen in her chest, seething with jealousy.
That Stella was supposed to be yours , it said without remorse.
Anya pushed it down, and, too late, she remembered what she was supposed to say.
“Wow!” she gasped out of genuine surprise. “Congratulations!”
She tried to put some feelings in her words, but they fell so ridiculously flat that Anya could have kicked herself. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be happy for her best friend. If it was at any other time she would have been happy for Becky - but it was the day of the Imperial Ball, the deadline that Anya had set herself to become an Imperial Scholar - she had failed Damian and her father, and suddenly Becky was the one who got a Stella.
It’s not fair, she wanted to cry out, it’s not fair! Why did this have to happen?
“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend to be happy for me,” Becky said hurriedly. “I know that you’ve wanted to be an Imperial Scholar for ages, and it’s totally fair for you to feel like I’ve stolen your chance, but I swear I tried to reject it and they said they couldn’t give it to Desmond or Bill because they already are Imperial Scholar’s and, well, everyone thinks that I helped you too, but…”
Becky petered off, and too late, Anya realised that Becky wasn’t actually apologising for getting a Stella Star - no, Becky was apologising because that award meant that she was now an Imperial Scholar.
Just in time for the Ball.
Oh, oh no, no, no, no, Anya cried inside, and hoped that her pure shock did not show on her face, but it was no use. The tears rose unbidden to her eyes, and it wasn’t long before they cascaded down her cheeks in salty tracks.
Anya wiped them shamefully away.
“I’m happy for you,” she said in a small voice, and hiccuped, dislodging more tears from her eyes. “Really - I am - it’s just - I’m sorry - I’m so embarrassed to be crying like this when you earned a Stella and you’re an Imperial Scholar and that’s really amazing…”
“Daddy’s over the moon,” said Becky quietly. “But I’ve been so scared of telling you, because I didn’t want you to hate me.”
“You… you thought…”
Anya had no idea what to say. It was almost laughable that Becky - of all people - was afraid of Anya’s reaction, when in actual fact, it was the other way around.
“ That’s what you were so scared to tell me?” Anya exclaimed, and despite herself, it triggered another wave of fresh tears. “I’m such an idiot!” Anya laughed as tears rolled down her face. “And here I was thinking that you were gonna tell me that you didn’t want to be friends with me anymore!”
Becky gasped. “Oh Anya! Is that what you were scared of?! What…” She joined Anya in her laughter. “What’s wrong with both of us?!”
“So many things!” Anya wheezed, and both girls dissolved into tearful titters.
Until Becky held both of Anya’s hands in hers, and gave a supportive squeeze.
“Honestly, Anya, it is a lot to get my head around, and I’m not there yet, but you have to trust that I will be, okay?”
“Okay,” Anya nodded, and let out a breath of relief, and for the first time that day, her heart started to untwist, relieving the pain in her chest. “And I really am proud of you. After all this time, you deserve to be an Imperial Scholar.”
Even though her gut twisted as she said it, Anya did mean every word, she wiped the tears from her face with a final flourish. She could be supportive, even if she was sad at the same time, and instead of lingering on their residual anxiety and worry, both girls embraced each other in a restorative hug.
Becky was the first to pull back, and she glanced briefly at the dress on the floor. “You know, I hoped you would pick this one. It’s perfect for you.”
“Really?” Anya breathed. “Wouldn’t it be… you know…” Too short? She wanted to say, but the words were left hanging in the air.
Becky held the dress against Anya, noting the colour against her complexion and the length of the material, and nodded to herself in approval. “No. It’s perfect. You should wear it.”
“What about my… um…”
She didn’t want to say it out loud, not when there were potentially people listening nearby, but Becky waved away her worry with just a flick of her manicured hand.
“Oh, don’t worry! I have an idea, come on-”
And she pulled Anya out of the wardrobe, and gently set her down at her own dressing table. Becky reached for the nearby supply of makeup, finding the selection of brushes that she needed, and a collection of bottles and creams that Anya didn’t recognise.
“Now roll up your sleeves, and hold still…”
Damian shoved his hands into his pockets and watched his breath disappear in clouds into the night air.
The cold was creeping up on them, but he liked the way it soothed his perpetually burning skin. These days, Damian felt as though he was always too hot - from anxiety, stress, and just being too close to Anya in general - and he relished the way that the frigid air nipped at his skin, even though cold burned in a different way. It probably made his cheeks and nose look a little red, but he didn’t care. Hopefully nobody would notice his complexion in the dim lighting of the refectory and the ballroom.
Behind him, people made their way to the entrance of Eden Academy, drawn towards the colourful lights from within, and the music slowly swelling into the atmosphere. All the guests dazzled in their finery - the ladies in their gorgeous designer dresses, and the men in their bespoke tailored suits, and even the students (normally so sweaty and hurrying to their next classes) cleaned up nicely. Even Damian himself had put in more effort than before, making sure to have a new suit made, getting the green tie that he spoke about with Anya, and paying unusual attention to his hair (he tried to smooth it back somewhat, but his proved somewhat resistant to being managed in any way, and he had to resign himself to the fact that his dark hair would just retain its usual shape).
Damian bobbed up and down on the spot, stopping himself from feeling too cold, although he couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of emotions all at once: mainly nervous and excited, both because this would be the first Imperial Ball that he actually would have friends attending. And, of course, Anya .
He hadn’t seen her since she fell asleep in the infirmary, when she looked pale from the fatigue and the blood loss, and a light sheen of sweat had covered her face and neck, soaking into her clothes. He hoped she would be feeling better for the Ball. He had been looking forward to their first dance…
In previous years, he attended the dinner and drinks portion as he was expected to, but it all felt so hollow. He didn’t need mind-reading powers to understand that everyone only talked to him because of who his father was, and Damian largely grinned and bore it, until he was free to leave, which was usually after the first dance of the evening - and he never danced. He didn’t want to dance with any of the usual attendees, and the thought of forcing himself to dance with any insipid socialite made him feel sick.
But this year… it could all be different. Hope flared in his chest as he thought of what the night ahead could hold for them, and suddenly his chest flooded with warmth, despite the bitter chill of the wind picking up around him.
Just then, he noticed a familiar black car pull up alongside the entrance gate to Eden College, and his heart stilled in his chest, before picking up the pace double-time. He pulled at his tie, sure that he had tied it too tight, and that it was now cutting off his air supply.
It slowed to a stop, and soon the figures of Dr Forger (secretly a spy) and Mrs Forger (secretly an assassin) elegantly emerged from the car, looking every part the Eden College parents that they had been for the last twelve years.
Damian gulped. He couldn’t fault their pretence at all - but of course, at this point, they weren’t pretending any more, were they?
Mrs Forger looked elegant in a satin red dress with a black coat, while Loid complemented her look with a black suit and red tie, and Mr Blackbell appeared in a plum-coloured suit - so garish that Damian simultaneously wanted to look away, and yet he was transfixed by its’ lurid colour.
It was the first time he saw the Forger’s after learning about their secrets, and though he hoped that they wouldn’t act too strangely around him, Damian was relieved to note that they were as welcoming as ever.
“Damian! You look fantastic!” Yor cooed, and gave him a rib-crushing hug, before she pulled back to look at him once more. “Anya won’t be able to take her eyes off you!”
“Uh,” Damian coughed delicately, hoping in vain that a blush hadn’t appeared on his face. “Speaking of…”
Yor followed the direction of his gaze to the car, and she gasped. “Oh! Yes! Becky and Anya are just doing some last-minute touch ups in the car, they should be right out.” She flashed him a reassuring smile.
“Right…” said Damian, suddenly more anxious than he had been five minutes before, but he didn’t have time to say anything else before Twilight had taken his hand in a firm handshake.
“Good to see you, Damian,” said Twilight with a genuine smile. “Are you looking forward to the evening?”
“Um, yeah,” Damian mumbled, and the tips of his ears grew warm. Faced with the Forgers after everything that had happened the week before, he only got more nervous around them - but even worse, they didn’t seem to return the same awkward feelings. Were they really that unaffected by their secrets being revealed? Or was there something bigger going on that kept them distracted for the time being?
A movement in the background, and Damian noticed Becky gracefully emerge in peacock blue dress, and behind her -
Damian’s heart stopped in his chest.
A flash of green - emerald, like she promised - and he didn’t even realise that he was peering over Loid’s shoulder to try to get a better view, until Loid stepped away with a knowing smile to join his wife.
Damian hurried to the car entrance, and offered his hand to her. “Here, let me help you out.”
He couldn’t help but stare at her - the way that her large green eyes look up at him made him want to melt, especially with the lights from the school reflected in her irises.
“Oh, thanks,” Anya breathed. Her warm hand slid into his, and she allowed him to pull her up.
As she rose, the light chiffon material swirled around her like leaves on the wind, glittering like the stars, while curled tendrils of her pink hair framed her delicate face, artfully escaping from the elaborately braided hair that had been twisted into a bun.
He couldn’t look away. She was a goddess incarnate, a forest spirit, the princess of a fantasy realm. Everything about her drew him in, and he couldn’t help but place his hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him, into a tight embrace, and he breathed in the wonderful and familiar smell of strawberry and mint.
His heart beat staccato when she returned his embrace, and she leaned her head into his chest, both savouring the feel of the other. How long had it been since they last held each other so close? Damian couldn’t remember, but a powerful sense of protectiveness surged through him. He wanted to hold her forever, and see her smile every day, and always see her eyes alight with wonder and joy.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispered earnestly into her ear. “I can’t wait to dance with you.”
Just as he hoped, Anya broke into the most beautiful smile, and she looked away shyly. “Me too,” she whispered back.
Although the heat of the car still lingered on her skin, Damian shrugged off his suit jacket, not caring that the chill of winter would hit him, and draped it across her shoulders. (It was only a short walk to the school entrance, but he was raised as a gentleman.)
And only because he had his back to her parents did he feel brave enough to lean down, and capture her lips with a soft kiss. If he had more time, he would kiss her into oblivion, until he was dizzy with her and she had moulded her entire body to his, but he kept his desire in check. They would have more time later.
After the Imperial Ball.