Chapter Text
“They’re, uh...”
Laura stared at the vast onyx-colored wings that outstretched from Shanoa’s well-muscled back, threatening to knock over her displayed jewelry with their vast wingspan.
Volaticus, that was the Glyph the woman had offered to show her.
“They’re what, Laura?” Shanoa asked, with a flick of her long, sleek feathers.
“Well, I didn’t expect them to be so pretty.”
It was true; the black feathers had a strange lavender glow to them, graceful in their efficient shape; all ravens and amethysts.
“I never really thought about how my wings look, honestly. They’re... practical. A tool.” The witch shrugged. “Good for getting to higher places, that’s all.”
“How often do you need to...?” Laura thought about reaching out to touch the delicate black feathers, but decided against it. You really never knew the repercussions of magic, after all, and Shanoa had often described her abilities as destructive in nature...
“Not much, I admit. I only really needed to use them once.”
“Bet it’s wonderful to fly. I’d even say I’m a bit jealous.” A playful grin crept to Laura’s lips. “What’s it like?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t used Volaticus since before... Since before I regained my feelings. It just felt like another step towards the throne room, really.” The noticeable stumble in her words betrayed something more vulnerable than she was letting on.
"Well, why not? They look gorgeous, I must say. Everyone who's called you an angel was dead on."
“I try not to use my Glyphs often, actually. They’re only weapons, nothing more. Using them for fun is... Well, it feels like using a broadsword as a letter opener.”
“I don’t think your familiars would take well to that notion.” Laura muttered.
“They’re not living creatures, not in the way Tofu is, at least. They’re embodiments of my will, just magic given a shape. They all are- all my Glyphs. Melio Falcis, for example, isn’t something I create. It was just my intention to complete my mission given form.”
How euphemistic.
“It’s not separate from my body, but an extension of it. Assets for combat.” Shanoa raised a hand to her right shoulder, rubbing the engraved flesh contemplatively.
“And yet you showed me Volaticus.”
“I thought you might like it, that’s all.” Laura spotted her subtle sheepish smile, and her heart leapt at the notion. She makes it sound like she wanted to impress me. "I do, and I’m glad you did."
“Still, it’s not anything like what you’ve made for me. I wish I could create things, like you do. You’re an artist. I do sketch sometimes, but that’s not the same.” Though Laura would love to beam at the praise, she thought her lover might be selling herself a bit short. “You can create swords, sickles, hammers, all sorts of things with just your hands. I’d say that’s fairly impressive.”
“I don’t make them. They’re just parts of me. It’s hard to understand, unless you’ve used them yourself.”
“I think you should try flying again.” Laura reached for her hand.
“For fun?” Shanoa balked. “You sound like Serge, always asking me for some hide-and-seek.”
“It’d do you good to have some for once. Even now you're still so serious! And besides... You don’t exactly refuse him, do you?”
Shanoa huffed, but didn’t deny the fact. Instead, she softly batted at Laura’s head with her wing. “See? That was fun. It was very fun, actually.”
“Ha! I always knew you were a silly goose at heart.” Laura said with a hint of triumph.
“A goose!” Shanoa laughed. “Because they have wings.”
“Yes, uh... That was the joke.” Laura replied, and immediately regretted it as she saw Shanoa’s grin falter a bit. “Nevermind. Don’t worry about it.” The jeweler shook her head. “Moving on... Since you were readily willing to oh-so-brutally attack me with your wings, I assume they’re alright to touch.”
“What? Oh, yes. You can touch me.”
That was also a bit euphemistic.
Shanoa’s recent attempts to reciprocate Laura’s flirtations were an interesting new development, something that had come with her regained emotions and the new intimacy between the two women. Laura had hardly thought of the usually-serious sorceress as someone inclined towards flirting before. It always seemed to catch her off guard when she did, and she felt the color rushing to her cheeks now.
“Let’s save that for later, sweetheart.” Her emerald eyes glimmered with barely-concealed mirth as she reached a delicate hand for her ebon-black wing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shanoa said, with a coy mischief of her own. She knew perfectly well, of course.
But, er, yes. The wings. That was the point of all this, Laura reminded herself.
The feeling of her quills was extremely odd- or more appropriately, the lack of feeling. Laura was clearly touching something, and there was something in her hand, but the texture was... nothing. Her wings were there, but they were not there.
That was magic, fleeting, ephemeral. Not quite true and not quite false.
Shanoa seemed to be enjoying it at least, shifting in place where she stood to press herself closer to Laura’s faint touch with all the enthusiasm of a dove being preened by its mate. Finally, she said, “Flying, huh... I think I might take you up on your idea.”
It was, fittingly, the perfect day for flight. The breeze was enough to propel beating wings through the air without being too wild or unrelenting, and the weather was pleasant as usual. The atmosphere that mid-morning was peaceful: most inhabitants of Wygol were inside, focusing on their work or eating a comfortably late breakfast; Monica was a noted exception, sitting on the balcony while absorbed in the task of sewing something or other, enjoying the golden sunbeams poking precariously through the clouds. She had begun collecting materials on her own more readily, especially now that the monster infestation had been banished from the lush countryside. Her confidence had been growing exponentially, though Laura supposed that was true of most of Wygol. Shanoa’s strange presence in their lives had steered them all to a newer sense of fulfillment.
A story above, Shanoa stood atop the overgrown ivy archway in the center of town, wings held aloft, and she took flight with the powerful flap of her Volaticus. She spiraled into the air, as though effortlessly, and glided down slowly to where Laura was leaning against the wall, stumbling a bit and struggling to regain balance when she did. She swore in frustration under her breath, returning hurriedly to her usual poised posture.
“Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do this in high heels.” Laura remarked with a chuckle.
“I killed Dracula in heels,” Shanoa scoffed, though clearly her feathers had been metaphorically and literally ruffled by the clumsy landing. “This is nothing.” She shook out her wings, shedding a few disheveled feathers.
“I’ll keep that in mind when you crash-land.”
“I’m just out of practice! I haven't flown with Volaticus in months.” Shanoa’s protest was contrasted with the amused smile on her face, and Laura couldn’t help but grin as well.
“Practice, then. I’ll watch with utmost diligence.” The jeweler replied. She would, of course. Shanoa was a vision of beauty and strength. Who could even dare pull their eyes away from such a goddess?
“I’m sure you will.” There was a shimmer in the sapphires that were her eyes, reflecting a genuine happiness. In the months following her return, Shanoa had taken to life in the village like a cat took to a comfortable lap, and these frequent moments of joy were always a delight anew. She smiled for the sake of it. “...Imagine how surprised Monica will be when she sees me.”
“You’ll frighten her half to death,” the jeweler warned.
“Albus always liked to do that. Scare me, I mean.” Her eyes were clouded with a bittersweet sentimentality. “I always hated it back then, but I can’t help but remember it fondly. It was fun, and that’s the point, isn’t it?”
“You are having fun, then.” A hint of smugness flavored her tone, and she held herself back from an I told you so.
“Perhaps.” Shanoa replied, alighting into the air again with slow flaps of Volaticus. “The breeze is just lovely in my feathers.” As though to emphasize her point, she did a loop in the air, then managed a shaky perch on the railing near where Monica was sewing, and true to Laura’s prediction, it startled the tailor horribly. With a sharp and larkish laugh, the witch leapt into the air one more time. She glided down into Laura’s open arms with an air of triumph.
It was like a gleeful dance, the way she flew.
The rest of the morning continued in a manner similarly carefree, as the sun rose to noon. Shanoa recalled Volaticus, the wings fading from her shoulder-blades, and leaned next to where Laura had stood and watched her repeated flights.
“It feels odd to recontextualize my Glyphs, like this. After everything, all I wanted was for the secret art to die with me,” the witch said, after a brief silence. “I was so angry.”
“...And yet you showed me Volaticus.” Laura kept coming back to that fact, circling it, pondering it. “And you said it yourself, you had fun.”
“I’ve reevaluated a bit, thanks to you. You... help me see the beauty in things.”
“There’s a lot of it for me to see, I promise,” she said impishly, and gave her a kiss on the cheek, something quick but full of affection.
“Are you flirting again?” Shanoa replied in mock-accusation.
“Could be,” Laura grinned. “If you’d like it that way.”
"...Yes, actually." Shanoa laughed full-heartedly, and after a short pause, declared with certainty, “Let’s go get lunch. I’m famished.”
“Good timing. I heard Jacob’s said he’s cooking pot roast- the old family recipe, with the creamy garlic sauce- and I'd rather not try Aeon’s latest experiment.”
“A date, then?”
“Well, obviously.”