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"Alright," Sasha whispers as they step into a grand lobby, arms linked and faces inches apart. "You know the rules, Mars," she says, her breath hitting Marcy's cheeks in warm waves.
"Yes," she nods but her grip on Sasha's pink sleeve tightens as they move into the house, past couples and cliques of girls in much richer dresses than her own. "But would you mind telling me again?"
Sasha sighs but runs a thumb across Marcy’s bicep. "It's simple! Don't start talking about the stars, sit with your ankles crossed, don't cross your arms over your chest, and whatever you do-" before she can continue she was cut off.
A girl in a purple dress covered in ruffles comes up to Sasha's other side, not caring to wait until they finish before taking control of the conversation. "Oh, Sasha! You're looking absolutely darling tonight," her friend says with a pitchy laugh.
"Thank you, Maggie but I really must-" Sasha tries, pulling Marcy closer to her side in an attempt to get out of the conversation she’s been pulled into.
"Whatever you do, what?" Marcy hisses into Sasha's ear, "Sasha what was it-"
"Nonsense!" her friend cries, then finally peered around Sasha to take in Marcy. Her piercing grey eyes scan her from head to toe and her lips lift at the sides (though Marcy suspects it was not in a kind way). "I'm sure your friend will be fine."
Sasha lets out a quick laugh, casting an apologetic look to Marcy. "Maggie, this is Marcy's first ball–"
"She'll be fine, Sasha," Maggie all but growls, finally managing to tug Sasha out of Marcy's tight grasp. "And if she's not I'm sure she knows the way out," she mutters, giving Marcy one more scathing look before turning to grin at Sasha.
Marcy watches with wide eyes as Sasha opens and closes her mouth for a moment, her eyes flitting between her two friends before eventually settling on Maggie. "Alright," she sighs as she’s pulled away into the crowd, "I'm sure she'll be fine."
Marcy was not at all fine; she's only been at this ball for ten minutes and was already prepared to find Sasha and leave, for in those ten minutes she'd had a whole manner of looks and sneers sent her way.
It was no secret that she didn't belong, anyone could tell by her faded green dress that was just slightly too short for her and lacked the poof all the other gowns contained, that she had only been brought along because Sasha did not want to arrive alone.
Marcy didn't mind not fitting in, she was used to the glares and upturned noses, but she truly had tried to look good for Sasha's ball. First impressions had always been the most important and Marcy had wanted to make a good one for Sasha so at least she wouldn't have to worry about being embarrassed by her plus one. However, just like everything else, she'd failed and without having said a word, had cemented herself as the one person no one will talk to all night.
So yes, those ten minutes had certainly been enough for her to want to leave. The only issue was that she couldn't go without Sasha, not when they lived so far away. She had tried to make eye contact with her friend, but there were so many blonde girls in pink dresses twirling around to the point she couldn't really tell which one was Sasha.
Marcy isn’t one to give up though, and ends up leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed over her chest (she could picture the disapproving look on Sasha's face), her eyes scanning the mass of silk and cotton to find Sasha's radiant smile.
Several songs have passed when Sasha finally spins into view, panting a little but giggling all the same, her hand is held by a man Marcy does not recognise - and by God does she hate how it makes her heart sink, to see Sasha so happy in a man's arms. She ignores that feeling however and waves at her, pointing to the exit when Sasha waves back.
"It's too early," Sasha calls over the crowd, shaking her head. She's already being pulled away again, but not before Marcy rolls her eyes and pulls a face that garners several looks from the other girls there (the familiar laugh that flutters out of the crowd makes up for them).
She watches again, as the string quartet starts up again and Sasha gets spun back into the crowd. It's mesmerising, Marcy thinks distantly as around twenty girls are lifted into the air for a second before they are spun to the floor again, giggles filling the room as the dance continues. Marcy can’t help but wonder how Sasha does it, all the spinning and lifting, without getting sick.
She gets bored of watching after a few minutes. There’s only so long she can stand at the edge of a ballroom watching her best friend dance with someone that isn’t her. So instead of waiting in a crowded room, Marcy pushes herself off the pillar and slips through the ever growing mass of people to find some kind of solace, a quiet place for her to wait whilst Sasha dances with all her friends, her true friends.
It doesn’t take her very long before she comes across an apparently empty room, cut off from the main ballroom by what looks to be a heavy velvet curtain tied against the wall. At first glance, it doesn’t look like much and appears to contain a small table and a plush sofa that she highly doubted would fit more than two people (if Sasha sat down there, Marcy didn’t think she would be able to squeeze on, her skirts taking up the leftover space).
As she approaches, Marcy can’t help but notice the fire burning in the fireplace at the back of the room. Strange, she muses as she gently nudges the curtain to the side and steps into the warm room, who starts a fire when the house is already so warm?
There wasn’t much time to question it though, not when a small gasp from behind her causes Marcy to freeze. An apology is already rushing out before she can think to move, the words tumbling out as though they had a mind of their own: “I'm so sorry, I didn't think there would be anyone here-”
She’s cut off, though, by a light chuckle. “It’s quite alright, Miss,” the person says and the tightness in Marcy’s shoulders immediately dissipates at the warm voice.
Marcy turns on her heel and her hands shoot to her sides as she stands up straight at the sight of the girl in front of her: she’s not wearing pink like many of the other girls, instead she’s dressed in dark blue silk, layered to perfection and dotted with a dark yellow that glints in the light like gold (Marcy thinks she looks as though all her favourite constellations had been picked from the sky and sewn ever so delicately onto the dress - but she does not say that, not when she doesn't even know the girls name). Her hair is pinned up into a complicated style, but a few of her brown curls escape the multitude of pins and fall around her face to highlight the softness of her cheeks and her gentle smile. The light of the fire seems to dance off her very skin, giving her an ethereal glow Marcy had only read about.
In all aspects of the word, the girl in front of Marcy is beautiful, and all she can do is stare, a warmth rising up her neck and hands clenching her skirt.
The girl in question blinks, her ever so soft lips curving into the smallest frown. “Miss? is everything okay?” she asks, taking a small step forward and reaching out slowly, her gloved hands rising to cup Marcy’s elbows. “Would you like to sit down?”
Shaking her head, Marcy finally finds her ability to talk. “No,” she says quickly, too quickly, and steps back with a small smile. “No, I'm fine, thank you, Miss…” she trails off, widening her eyes when she remembers she had yet to get her name.
Fortunately, the girl seems to realise at the same time and sticks her hand out, a smile on her face once again. “Boonchuy, Miss Boonchuy,” she pauses and tilts her head, a mischievous glint flickering in her eyes. “Though most people call me Anne,” she whispers as though it’s a secret. A secret that Marcy was allowed to know. A secret between friends.
Anne.
Marcy takes Anne’s hand (and gracious even through her gloves, Marcy can feel her warmth) and shakes it.
“Marcy Wu,” she replies quietly, keeping her eyes on their joined hands instead of the beautiful smile gracing Anne’s face.
“Well, Marcy Wu,” Anne giggles and lets go, stepping back to take a seat on the sofa, the fabric of her skirt fanning out around her. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, too,” Marcy nods, moving to hover by the sofa, unsure what to do with herself. That is until Anne pats the spot next to her and looks up at her with those wide, mesmerising eyes.
"Don't just stand there Marcy, there's enough space for the both of us."
"I know, I know," she lets out a breathy laugh and perches on the edge of the seat. "I just don't want to ruin your dress."
"Well that's silly, Mar Mar."
Marcy ignores the way her stomach flips at the nickname.
Sasha had given her many over the years, but it felt different coming from Anne. Anne who she has just met. Anne who's smile seems to light up the room far more than the fire does. Anne who is leaning ever so casually against the sofa, eyes glued to Marcy with an avid curiosity.
"Your comfort is far more important than my dress," she says, pulling her skirts out of the way so Marcy has space to move back – she doesn't, but the thought was there and that was more than enough.
"It looks quite expensive, Anne," Marcy mumbles, eyeing the star strewn silk wearily.
Anne snorts and gently tugs Marcy back. "You won't break it Marcy! The worst that could happen is a small rip and my mother could sew that up in a split second," the confidence in her tone is what finally gets Marcy to relax and sink into the red couch.
"Do you know much about the stars?" Marcy asks after a few minutes of sitting in a strangely comfortable silence, gesturing to the pattern across Anne’s skirts. She isn’t sure why she mentions it, Sasha’s advice playing in her mind as soon as the words leave her lips. Maybe it’s the fact she only met Anne a few very short minutes ago, sitting away from the rest of the festivities. Maybe it’s because, for the first time since Sasha’s arm left hers, she doesn’t feel judged simply for breathing.
There's a hum as Anne's head shoots up from where it was resting on her arm, she blinks for a few moments before her eyes land on Marcy and a sheepish smile overtakes her face. "I'm so sorry for drifting off," she apologises quietly. "It's just ever so warm in here-"
"Maybe a dance will wake you up?" Marcy asks, her unanswered question all but forgotten as she stands up and holds her hand out for Anne.
Maybe she was too fast in getting up (too enthusiastic, as always) because Anne simply blinks at her for a few seconds, eyeing up Marcy's hand before looking down to her own. "A dance?"
"Yes," Marcy nods, her hand wavering as worry starts to seep through the cracks of weak confidence, "this is a ball after all, we might as well take part."
"You didn't strike me as much of a dancer," Anne laughs, taking Marcy's hand and pulling herself up with a quiet huff. "Though to be fair, I don't think I've seen you around before," she says, tugging Marcy closer. So close she can feel Anne’s warmth mingling with her own.
“Oh,” she flushes and focuses her eyes on the curtain in front of them. "I'm not usually invited to these. I’m only here because my friend didn't want to come alone," she says as she pushes the heavy velvet curtain away.
Anne gasps and squeezes Marcy's bicep. "Who's your friend?" she asks and when Marcy turns to look at her, she’s scanning the crowd with an excited gleam in her eyes.
Marcy hums and, for the second time that evening, scans the many spinning heads of blonde to try and catch her best friend's eye. She does much faster this time (which comes as a slight surprise) and smiles as Sasha sends her a small wave as she's dipped by a different boy. "That one," she points right to Sasha, "the one in the pink and white dress.”
“Oh,” Anne squints, leaning forwards. “But there are three girls with white and pink dresses in the place you are pointing.”
Marcy giggles and waves at Sasha again. “She's the one waving at us,” she says as Sasha waves back, a bigger grin on her face this time as the boy she was dancing with bends down to press a kiss to her knuckles.
“You came here with her?” Anne asks after a moment, a strange tone taking over her voice. Marcy turns to her, brows furrowing as she tries to understand the sudden change in Anne’s demeanour.
“Yes,” she nods slowly, taking half a step back. “Why?” Marcy knew that Sasha wasn’t for everyone, she was loud, obnoxious at times, and oh so annoying, yet Marcy wouldn’t have it any other way.
Anne’s eyes flit between Sasha and Marcy as though she is watching a rather interesting game of tennis. “Well, it’s nothing really,” she says eventually, all hints of that ever so slightly angry tone gone from her voice as she smiles at Marcy. “I'm just surprised, that's all. I didn’t think Sasha Waybright had friends that weren’t richer than her.”
Marcy knows Anne doesn’t mean it in a hurtful way, but her heart still sinks at the words.
It had been something she was always trying to come to terms with. Why did Sasha choose me? Every day since they had met all those years ago, Marcy had known that she wasn’t Sasha’s usual choice for a friend. She was poorer than Sasha, sat in empty corners of her house, covered her ears when the outside world grew to loud and could never wear the beautiful gowns Sasha wore because they hurt when she put them on, but through it all, every ounce of strangeness that made every other girl in their town turn away from her, Sasha stayed.
With her bright smile and gentle hands, Sasha stayed by her side each time she hid from dinner parties at Sasha’s house or from the annual fair. She would stay and hold her so tightly it distracted Marcy from the feeling of fire under her skin. Marcy didn’t understand why she did this, why Sasha put so much of her time aside for her, but she would be lying if she said she wanted it to stop.
For the last thirteen years of her life, Sasha’s been there through thick and thin, teaching her the ways of a world Marcy wouldn’t have known if not for her. Some small, childish part of her believed it was love, that Sasha loved her so much she stayed even when Marcy would lock herself away to write her stories and not speak to her unless it was through notes passed under her door. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard to believe if she didn’t know Sasha.
Love is stupid, Marcy had stopped counting how many times Sasha had said those words with a frown on her face. It’s stupid and total nonsense, she says each time a rumour spreads through their small town of another not-so-secret rendezvous behind the church. Marcy nods along each time, feeling her heart shrink as her hope that Sasha loves her slowly withers away.
If it isn’t love, she wonders more often than not, what is it? Is it her need to feel better, more important than someone? Is it because Sasha’s parents think she ought to know that there are people worse off than her? Or is it simply just Sasha wanting a friend that doesn’t go to her fancy balls so she can let loose once in a while? Whatever the answer, Marcy tries not to think too hard about it as Anne and her watch Sasha spin around with yet another boy.
“You don’t like her,” Marcy states after a minute of mildly awkward silence.
Anne snorts (truly snorts out of her nose like a boy, in a way that would have given Sasha’s mother a heart attack) and shakes her head. “I suppose I don't think too highly of her,” she sighs and turns to give Marcy a small, lopsided smile. “We tend to not get along well when we are together.”
“Oh,” Marcy nods in understanding. “Many people think that, it seems.”
“Yes, well she certainly has a short temper that happens to put many off,” Anne whispers into her ear, as though sharing a dark secret. “But she doesn’t seem like that around you, Miss Wu.” Marcy flushes as Anne talks and turns to glance at Sasha (she chooses to ignore that Sasha is looking right at her, a gentle smile on her face). “I say this as a simple stranger, but it appears she’s taken to you.”
“No,” Marcy shakes her head and blinks at Anne. “Sasha isn’t taken to me, we are friends when she needs a friend and that is all.”
“Right,” Anne draws the word out, raising a brow as she does, a smile on her face. For a moment she looks as though she’s about to follow up with something that would cause Marcy to flush a bright red, but she’s fortunately cut off by another song starting up.
“Well, Miss Wu,” she giggles and holds out her hand. “I do believe you owe me a dance.”
It's Marcy’s turn to stare at Anne’s hand. She stands and she blinks at Anne’s hand whilst she grips her own green skirts tightly. “H-here?” she stammers and looking around at all the girls in bright, new dresses made for this very night, a sudden wave of embarrassment hits her. “I don’t-”
Anne must catch onto her hesitance because she shakes her head softly and takes Marcy’s hand. “Not if you don’t want to,” is all she says as she begins to guide Marcy out of the building.
The sound of music follows them and before Marcy knows it, they’re standing on the small patio surrounding the house, hand in hand as they laugh into the quiet evening air.
It’s much cooler where they now stand. A gentle breeze ruffles Marcy’s skirt and wraps it around her legs, she fears that if she were to start dancing she would trip.
"No! I do!" she responds finally, glancing over the dark fields that spread beyond the manor and readjusts the green fabric. "I do want to dance! I'm just not very good at it," she chuckles, though it holds more embarrassment than she would care to admit.
"Let me teach you then," Anne says without a moment of hesitation. A gloved hand comes into Marcy's vision and before she can really think about what she's doing, she reaches out to take it.
They move slowly at first, merely swaying in time to the muffled music. Anne’s hand is unwavering, even as they begin to step away from their spot on the deck, even as they take up a dance - one that seems unnerving when watching from a distance, but is really quite simple when put into action - Anne’s hand stays firmly with Marcy, anchoring her to the moment.
“Would you look at this, Miss Wu,” Anne whispers as they spin past a window, the figures inside blurring as Marcy feels her cheeks grow warm. “It seems that you do know what you’re doing.”
Marcy looks down at her feet, noticing for the first time how they are moving in sync with Anne’s, so confidently it was as though she had known the dance the whole time.
“That's what having a good teacher does, I suppose,” she laughs breathlessly.
“You flatter me, Marcy, you truly do,” Anne says, her deep, brown eyes boring into Marcy’s when she finally gathers the courage to look up. It takes her breath away, the way that Anne is looking directly at her. She feels exposed, as though Anne is seeing into her very soul and can see every sinful thought that has ever entered her mind.
It’s not an unwelcome feeling.
As they dance the night away, hand in hand, faces barely an inch apart, Marcy thinks (not for the first time in her life) that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t mind a life like this: holding hands with another girl, dancing over a dark deck, listening to music that’s muffled by walls and voices, no worries in her mind, just the girl in front of her and the steps of a made up dance.
It's strange, feeling the butterflies in her stomach and the warmth running through her very veins for someone else, someone new , someone so different to Sasha; but it also feels so similar, the love flowing through every single atom, her heart pounding to a song of its own. It's strange and it’s love.
Love, like Marcy reads about each night. A love so special that Marcy doesn’t think even the poets could describe it. It’s scary, but not new. How could it be when Marcy’s been in love with Sasha Waybright since they met behind the church all those years ago?
This is ridiculous, she tells herself as her heart races at another one of Anne’s smiles, you can’t just fall for someone you’ve just met, it never ends well.
She knows she should pull away, push this night to the back of her mind and never think about it again. But when Anne’s eyes glitter in the light from the ballroom and the music swells in her ears, Marcy can’t bring herself to. Her resolve melts with each second, and she curses herself for not being able to let Anne down.
By the time the music stops and the deck falls silent, Marcy can’t pull her eyes away from Anne. They come to a standstill, but Anne doesn’t drop Marcy’s hand, instead holding it to her chest.
“That was brilliant,” she whispers, almost afraid to break the silence.
Marcy pants and her cheeks hurt from smiling. “It was more than that, Anne.” Confidence surges within her and she takes a step closer, closing the gap between them. “It was magic, pure magic, and I want to feel this every day.”
“Me too,” Anne nods, desperation taking over her face. She’s bathed in the warm light of the ballroom, almost glowing as she stands there, hand tightening its hold. “I never want this night to end,” she gasps, eyes scanning Marcy’s face.
“Anne…” Marcy can’t say what she wants to, has never been able to. But her hands come up to cup Anne’s cheeks and she’s not thinking about anything but Anne. Anne’s hands. Anne’s freckles. Anne’s eyes. “I-”
She’s cut off by Anne’s lips against hers. For a moment, it’s as though the world stops spinning. Everything else fades away and it’s just them , sharing warmth and their hearts in sync as they hold each other. Anne’s hand is in her hair and Marcy feels fireworks in her stomach.
When they pull apart, Marcy can’t stop the grin spreading across her face. “Goodness…”
Anne laughs, a loud, belly laugh that rattles through Marcy. “That was magical, Marcy.”
“Yes,” she nods, a giddy laugh bubbling out of her. “I suppose it was.”
“Would you,” Anne tilts her head, smiling. “Would you like to do that again?”
Marcy hardly lets her finish before she’s leaning up on the tips of her toes to kiss Anne again.
It’s a far too familiar scream that eventually brings Marcy back to the real world, to the ball and the people beyond the window. She pulls away from Anne, turning to peer into the window as the scream echoes around the empty fields.
It doesn’t take Marcy long to spot Sasha, surrounded by several boys and a few of her friends, clutching her ankle with a horrid pout on her face. She can’t help but smile at her expression, one that hasn't changed since childhood.
“Oh,” she sighs, turning to Anne with a frown of her own. “It’s just Sasha.”
“What has she done this time?” Anne asks, coming to stand next to Marcy, their arms brushing against each other as she squints through the window.
“Hurt her ankle I presume,” Marcy says, turning to face the room once again.
As soon as she does, Sasha’s eyes find her, lighting up for a moment before narrowing when she sees Anne next to her. Marcy doesn’t bother hiding her eye roll as she spins on her heel.
“Come on then.”
She doesn't wait for an answer as she takes Anne’s hand and pulls her back towards the door and Sasha.
Marcy finds Sasha exactly where she last saw her: sat on the floor with a small group fussing around her. Pushing her way through, Marcy crouches next to her, a teasing smile on her face.
“What did you do this time, Sash?” she asks, and although her tone is teasing, her hands are gentle as they reach out to rest on Sasha’s leg.
Sasha flushes, turning away. “I didn’t do anything,” she says sternly. “That fool dropped me,” she points to one of the boys standing close by.
The boy in question winces, stepping forward and opening his mouth as though to say something, but appears to change his mind and falls back into place.
Something brushes against Marcy’s back and then Anne’s voice sounds from above her. “It’s always something with you, isn’t it?”
Marcy knows they don’t like each other, vaguely remembers Sasha complaining about an ‘Anne’ not too long ago and recalls Anne’s words earlier in the night. But even she can’t ignore the hidden softness in Anne’s voice.
Sasha glares up at her, but Marcy can swear she spots a light blush appear. “What are you doing here, Boonchuy?”
“I was going to offer you a carriage,” Anne says dismissively. “Since I don’t recall yours staying. But,” she shrugs, puffing out her cheeks in a way that Marcy knows will annoy Sasha. “If you would rather walk home then that doesn’t affect me.”
“We’ll walk,” Sasha claims, already pushing herself up – using Marcy as an anchor whilst she does.
“No,” Marcy states, following suit and taking Sasha’s hand (whether to hold her up or stop her from leaving, she isn’t sure) once she’s standing facing Anne. “We’ll take your offer Anne,” she smiles and Anne grins back, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“Anything for you, Miss Wu,” Anne nods, turning on her heel. “Follow me!” she calls over her shoulder as she leaves the main ballroom.
Sasha groans, mumbling under her breath as she hobbles along, clinging to Marcy as they go. “I don't understand what you see in her, Mars.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marcy counters, turning her face away to hide the blush rising in her cheeks.
An hour and a quiet carriage ride later, Marcy finds herself standing at the door to Sasha’s house. Sasha’s already inside, her dramatic whines echoing through the near empty halls and Marcy knows she should be there, just like Sasha has been there for Marcy, but she has forever and a day to be with Sasha; this might be the last time she ever sees Anne and she wants to make the most of goodbye.
Anne stands in front of her, glancing over Marcy’s shoulder into the house and to Sasha’s figure on the large chair.
“This has been fun, hasn’t it?” she asks, turning her glittering eyes to Marcy. “I would like to do this again, I think.”
Marcy nods, a small smile growing on her lips. “Me too.”
They stand in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of the night washing over them: crickets chirping and the plants Sasha’s mother tends to sway in the gentle breeze. Marcy glances up at the sky, and the sprawl of the universe above them.
“You never answered my question,” she whispers, stepping over the threshold and onto the small porch.
Anne hums, following Marcy’s eyes to the sky above them. “Well then ask me now.”
“Do you know about the stars, Anne?” She doesn’t take her eyes off the wide expanse as she gestures at Anne’s skirt. “They’re all over your skirt, the constellations.”
“I don’t know much, I will admit. It was my father’s idea, the stars.”
“They’re beautifully embroidered,” Marcy smiles. “Accurate too. Your parents put a lot of effort into it.”
“Worked day and night for almost a week,” Anne nods. “Father has many maps of the sky, so they copied one onto the dress,” she runs her fingers over a small scattering of yellow stars.
Marcy steps ever closer, a hand brushing the blue fabric. “I can teach you about them, if you would like,” she says, warmth blossoming in her cheeks when Anne turns to her.
“I would love that.” Anne says softly. The smooth silk of her gloves as she takes Marcy’s hands finally pulls her eyes away from the never-ending sky above them.
“It’s only fair,” Marcy smiles. “You taught me to dance, so I’ll teach you about the stars in return.”
Anne squeezes Marcy’s hands. “I can't wait,” she grins, a giggle following her words. Something ignites in Marcy’s soul at the statement, something new and exciting. Something that makes her want to scream and run around in the most unladylike manner. Something that feels so right .
Instead of doing that though, Marcy lets the feeling run through her veins as she lets out a breath. “Gosh there’s so much I can tell you, Anne!” The words rush out of her body, and once she starts talking she doesn’t think she can stop. That is, until Anne presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of Marcy’s lips, causing her to freeze.
“Don’t tell me now, Marcy,” Anne murmurs against her cheek. “I want to make an outing of it.”
Mind running so fast, Marcy almost misses the second peck before Anne pulls away and steps back. “Al-Alright,” she gulps, nodding numbly as she watches the girl in front of her turn away.
“I’ll see you soon, Miss Wu,” Anne says with a grin as she starts to retreat down the steps.
Her arm begins to hurt as she waves at Anne, willing her not to forget this night, not to forget her . “I’ll hold you to that!” she calls as Anne’s speed picks up.
Before Marcy knows it Anne’s running across the grass, her skirt clenched tightly in one hand and her other waving vigorously to Marcy until she hauls herself into her carriage.
“Goodbye!” she shouts, leaning out of the small window, dark curls flying into her face as her carriage departs. “Thank you for the lovely evening!”
Marcy rushes to the edge of the porch, her arm still held above her head, even as Anne vanishes into the darkness. “Bye!” she cries, and their voices echo together through the dark moor.
“So, you and Anne huh?”
Sasha’s voice shoots through Marcy’s spine and she spins around to face her, hands gripping the wood of the porch fence. Sasha leans against the doorframe, her hair hanging limply around her shoulders and arms crossed as she stands there, brow raised.
“Oh- I- We-” Marcy fumbles, scrambling for excuses in her suddenly empty mind. Sasha watches for a few seconds with pursed lips before she pushes off the doorframe and limps over to where Marcy is standing.
“I’m not upset, Mars,” Sasha smiles and leans into Marcy’s side. “I’m more surprised than anything.”
“Surprised?”
“In all my years of knowing Anne, never have I seen her take to someone so fast.” She pokes Marcy’s side with a pointed nail. “You must tell me your secrets.”
Still scrambling for any semblance of her normal self, Marcy turns to Sasha and frowns. “I don’t know what I did, honest.”
Huffing out a laugh, Sasha winds her arm around Marcy’s waist and pulls her close. “Are you going to see each other again?” she asks quietly.
Marcy nods, her face warming again at the thought. “Yes. I’m going to tell her about the stars.”
“She’ll like that, Mars. You tell wonderful stories about the stars.” At her words, Marcy feels her heart skip a beat and that same warmth filling every inch of her being. “I’m sorry I told you not to talk about them.”
“It’s alright, Sasha,” she shrugs and loops their arms together, taking Sasha’s cold hand as she does. “I hope I didn’t ruin your night.”
“No,” she shakes her head and her hair tickles Marcy’s neck. “No, you never would and I should never have thought that.” Then, almost imperceptibly, she mumbles: “I wish I had a chance to dance with you, too.”
For the hundredth time, Marcy feels everything inside her shut down at the statement. “Oh,” she says stupidly, turning to bury her face in Sasha’s hair.
“‘Oh’ Indeed,” Sasha mumbles.
They stay like that for a while, huddled together under the awning and looking out into the moonlight night. Marcy has more than a few questions to ask, but she keeps them to herself for the time being, not wanting to burst their ever so comforting bubble, where it’s just the two of them like it always has been.
Sasha is the first to pull away, slowly lifting her head off Marcy’s shoulder. “You must write her a letter first thing tomorrow, I’ll find her address for you and we can find the nicest paper in town-”
Marcy stops listening to Sasha’s rambles as she’s dragged into the warm house. The only thoughts running through her head being about Anne and Sasha and how she managed to fall for both of them at the same time.