Content Warnings: reference to transphobia
I waited in the interrogation room I’d been put in for the day, practicing magic to pass the time. I glanced out the barred window at the bright sunny day, the heat from outside drifting in and making the room almost unbearably stuffy. Just below the window, where the bars were bolted in, a tiny green thread hung.
It would be easy. Unravel the wall and run – just one little tug on that green thread would be all it took. Except I wanted – needed – to know how I had gotten myself into this mess.
Days upon days of interviews and the only thing I knew for sure was that the Strokes didn’t trust me. It probably didn’t help how quiet I’d been in answering their questions, but it was the only way I could think of to continue hiding my condition. I stared down at the spoon I had tied into existence. Leslie didn’t trust me. And I had no clue what I’d done to make them feel that way.
I unraveled the spoon, the strings snapping back into their natural state just as the door slammed shut. A woman in a white dress with embroidered flowers along the hem stood in front of me, her long brown hair cascading down to her waist. She smiled softly at me, not saying a word.
I looked back at her in confusion until I realized that I’d seen that face before.
“Six- ” I began.
“I go by Simone now,” she said as she settled into the seat across from me. “And I hear your name is Dax.”
I sat in stunned silence for a moment. It was strange, seeing her like this, but I’d known her back in the System – where she had to hide who she was because the System had insisted Simone was male. “You… look like yourself,” I finally managed to say.
Simone smiled. “Thank you.”
I leaned forward onto the table, glancing uncertainly at the door. “Do you know why I’m here?” I whispered.
She sighed, reaching across the table to grip my hand. “Yes, Dax,” she said slowly. “I know exactly why you’re here and I know you didn’t mean what you said.”
“What did I say?”
Simone grimaced, squeezing my hand. “You need to tell the truth, Dax. You need to tell them about your condition.”
“No!” I cried, jerking my hand out of hers.
“Dax,” she scolded, “you need to tell them. It’s the only way for you to get out of this. Trust me.”
I scoffed. “The last time I told someone about that, the person I loved most disappeared from my life.”
Simone banged on the table. “Me getting kicked out had nothing to do with that and you know it! Itesklmdfsjnfhejifmsldkfjhsjiormefng. Imskejhtosemkfehted to defy her.”
I remained silent, staring down at the table.
“Look,” she said with a sigh, “I’m sorry for how things turned out, but… You’re not going to know why you’re here until you’re completely honest with the Strokes.”
Simone stood up from her chair. She reached a hand across the table, lifting up my chin. “My biggest regret was always leaving you behind. I’m glad I could see you again.” She kissed my forehead.
“Tell them,” she repeated before walking away.
The door shut once more. I glanced at the green thread hanging below the window. That was one option; it was the easiest option.
I huffed, looking down at the table. “Tell the truth,” I muttered. To tell people willingly about my condition, not just as a slip, but actually telling them: that was absolutely terrifying. But if that was the only way to find out why I’d made Leslie so angry, why I was suddenly considered a threat to Illagu, then… there really was no choice, was there?
To be continued…