7 | A Flutter of Wings

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You are my best friend. You are the safe harbor when the world goes nuts. I am the same for you. Together we navigate this stupid life, grow, follow our passions. If anyone has a friend like I have you, Mar, well, they're feckin fortunate.

Even if she is too far to hear me say it, I whisper this, and more, to the now-stranger on the other side of Pit number two.

A brass helmet covers the unknown girl's face all the way to her slim, pale neck encased in an iron gorget. Sturdy goggles in the shape of butterfly eyes hide her grass-green irises from me.

Hide her soul.

Sleek strands of the light blue hair fall upon her shoulders, touching the chain-mail protection she has donned. Yet the most enthralling piece of her apparel is milk-white butterfly wings attached to her back — golden veins crisscrossing upon them are the perfect hue to go with such pure whiteness.

Dagnabbit, I can't help but take my hat off to her outfit. Mar took her Menagerie nickname and wore it like armor. So it can never be used to harm her. She owned her shame and her weakness and turned them into her pride and strength.

If only you weren't the one in the Pit with me. I don't want this. Don't want you here. Where you could get seriously hurt. Where I could get seriously hurt. Where I could lose you. Where you could lose me.

And then we would again be ever so alone in this world, Mar. Accompanied by nothing but a never-ending burden of corrosive guilt.

The sound of the combat bell rolls through the battle arena, like thunder before the storm. As it dies down, its echo reminds me of children's giggles, as they form their loving bonds during a funny game.

Traitorous beef steak and chunks of garlic cooked in a creamy bechamel sauce lunge at my throat, determined to leave my stomach, but I shove them back with an angry swallow.

It feels as if my lungs aren't there. I try to bring the air in, and I gasp through my mouth. My muscles strain and for a moment, the thoughts in my head turn from fear to a dizzy confusion. 

No. No, Veda. Just breathe. Breathe, dammit. Everything's gonna be feckin' okay. We can do this. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, luminaries of the world."

I welcome the voice of the eejit of the Grand Duke, because it gives me something else to focus on than my inhales and exhales. Today he stands before the crowd in an apple-red vest, complete with golden buttons and matching breeches.

"Here. We. Are. It is the semifinals of the one and only... Gaslight Trials! The stakes are higher than ever. The key to the city and the aero ship eagerly await the two winners. After the victory, they will be a step closer to this ultimate prize."

And the two losers a step closer to their grave. 

"I would like to inform you about a significant modification compared to our quarterfinal matches. The Lighthaven Battle Arena is now divided in only two pits, instead of the previous four. This should give our Champions even more space and more... maneuverability."

I think how I could have used more space when I faced Diana, and my acid-burned arm tingles in the painful memory of our encounter.

"Our two combatants today both hail from the suburb of Fumedge. On your left: you know her as a girl who doesn't give up, who surfaced as a victor against all odds. Please welcome your very own crowd-crowned favorite... The Yellow Champion: Spark!"

An erupting applause threatens to deafen me and I raise my palms to my ears. Whistles, claps and howls of the entranced Lighthaveners remind me of a bunch of rabid animals.

Gaslight Trials | The Wattys2023 Shortlister ✔️Where stories live. Discover now