True Opera

She left Minas' apartment feeling refreshed. He had not only let her wash herself in his cauldron but insisted on lending her some of his clothes and even a pair of shoes he had laying around. Those were way too large for her, so her scuffling steps reverberated loudly in the alleys she had to worm her way out of the city through. She really hoped they were empty tonight. Regardless, it was still a thousand times better than going barefoot and risking a step in some glass shards. Her limp had also finally healed, so there was nothing impeding on her enjoyment of her walk.

These nightly city walks had been a treasured tradition of hers for many years. Before her disfiguration, they had been a secret indulgence, a way to pretend for a moment that none of her earthly obligations had any bearing on her, that she was something mysterious and otherworldly. Now, they were one of her few remaining tethers to a sense of belonging in the human world. She looked up at the lit windows as she walked past, tried to make out the furnishings of the rooms, always excited when her eyes fell upon a person she could ascribe thoughts, feelings and a story to- a person into whose life she could insert herself, even if just for the duration of a few steps.

The one Uatchita was looking at now sat at a desk facing the window. She thankfully hadn't noticed her. What was she writing? A letter to a lover, Uatchita decided. A letter to a lover at the bottom of the sea. But the girl in the window didn't know that yet. He hadn't departed long ago. The letter was supposed to be waiting for him at his destination harbour. The girl must imagine him somewhere on the open ocean, proud-chested, staring into the sun and smiling, 

smiling: wearing that smile that she won't be able to forget for a whole year after his reply doesn't arrive until even this fades and she cannot say for certain if her by-then-born-boy wears it the same way or any different and this will make her unbearably sad and the child will notice her sadness but won't know how to comfort her and will carry the guilt with him long after her death...

What a sad fate. Uatchita was humming quietly.

She imagined herself opening that door behind the girl and walking into the room, laying her arms around the unwitting widow-to-be and comforting her, telling her that everything would be ok...  Suddenly, the entire lovely image crashed: The door actually opened. A figure appeared in the doorframe. Its features were hidden by the shadows, but it must have called out to the girl, because she turned around and even from behind, Uatchita could tell that she was smiling. The figure in the door made a gesture and the lights went out. Uatchita managed to avert her eyes just quickly enough to avoid seeing herself in the glass-

-and instead, found the face of the girl from the forest.

She was standing at the end of the alley, wearing the same robes as three days ago. Her skin looked lifeless in the moonlight. She was surrounded by three young men with knifes. No sound was coming from their direction. For a while, the way they were all hovering around each other seemed like a dance to Uatchita. A soundless dance of glints and glances...

Then, the girl screamed.

It was midnight.

Uatchita had picked up a broken bottle on her way. It was already imbedded in one of the cowards' chests. Somehow, they hadn't heard her coming. She took the knife out of his hand. He didn't resist; he was too busy staring down at his chest in disbelief. If he hadn't wanted to check who or what had done this to him, he would have missed the knife approaching his face. Before it could connect, though, it was flung from Uatchita's hand- another one of the assailants had chucked a rock at it. The coward with the bleeding chest took his chance and scampered away. She bent down, picked up the knife and turned around.

Now she was the one dancing. The second coward and her were drawing circles around each other, never breaking eye contact. Every action led to its proper reaction, every forward-lunge by the one was met with a falling-back by the other. It was impossible to tell how long they were stuck like this. The magic circle they had entered bent time around them until Uatchita broke its rules, dodged to the side instead of retreating and rammed her knife into the second coward's hip. The coward tensed up, raised his face to the moon, tried to make a sound- nothing came out. He dropped to the ground, twitching.

Before Uatchita could collect her wits, something crashed into the wall beside her- the third coward. He tried to get up, but a heavy wind arose and pushed him back down. Uatchita turned around and saw that the girl's hand was raised. Her cloud-grey irises were swirling wildly, but her gaze was focused. 

"Quick! I can't hold him back much longer!"

Uatchita slowly walked over to the coward leaning against the wall. A rabbit pressed against the end of its hole stared at the fox digging its way in. Uatchita raised her blade to his throat, then hesitated. She spun the knife around and knocked the hilt over his head. The third coward went limp.

She immediately felt like collapsing. Her entire body was heaving with shivers. She dropped the knife and distantly observed her blood-covered arms and thought about the cactus fruits she used to eat as a kid. She floated over to the girl. As she drew near, the moonlight fell onto her face and pulled her into clear vision.

"Y-you're that fly-girl from the other day! I... I don't understand why you're here, but..."

The girl bowed at nearly a right angle, her hands clasped over her legs.

"Thank you so much for your help!! I would have been a goner without you..."

She was upright again, looking at Uatchita with uncertainty in her eyes, nervously fidgeting with her hands.

Uatchita reached into her pocket, pulled out the broach and presented it to the girl. The girl took it from her hands.

"This is... Oh, my goodness! D-did I drop this!? Thanks!"

Just as she was about to bow again, something within Uatchita came undone and she took off running, blindly hauled herself through the alleys, out of the city, over the cold nightly sand dunes, never once stopping or looking behind her until she had reached 

her dungeon.