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When Agott lived her days at her family home, she couldn’t remember what were the specific things that could make her cry.
She didn’t like the feeling of crying—the one that started with the tightening, painful feeling constricting the back of her throat, like an invisible hand had wrapped itself around her windpipe and was threatening to stop her from breathing and choke her. And then it was followed by the burning behind her eyes, the unstoppable, uncontrollable welling of tears merely seconds away from spilling onto her cheeks, held back only by her lashes. It always ended with the shame, the pain in her chest, the final realization that she had done it, failed to hold her emotions back and ended up crying.
And so, with the despise and shame that came with the act, Agott did not cry much as a younger child. She did not cry when her favorite pen broke and she had to commission for a new one. She did not cry when she was scolded—not that a star student like her would get scolded much too often. She did not cry when she the loneliness of spending her days by herself in the vast space of her family home hit her all too suddenly on an otherwise lovely and warm summer afternoon. She did not even cry when her mother declared her expulsion from the Arklaum Family education, effectively forcing her to pick a new atelier and master to study under if she still wanted to pursue magic.
Agott simply had forgotten the reasons a person could shed tears. Agott had forgotten what was it like to cry.
If there was one thing she did remember about crying, however, it was how to hold it back.
She remembered the counting she would do in her head to help calm herself down, sometimes only up to five, other times, when her emotions were particularly profound, up to ten, or even fifteen. She remembered the instinctive act of raising her gaze as high as the muscles holding the orbs or her eyes would let her, preventing the tears from spilling through her thick lashes. She remembered the deep breaths she would take, and how her chest would feel just the littlest bit lighter with every deep sigh she let out, and yet never fully relieved of its the deep tension binding it.
She did not remember the feeling of warm, thick, streams of tears down her cheeks. She did not remember the feeling of air refusing to enter her lungs, as she gasped and panted, and yet not feeling the oxygen fill her chest. She did not remember the feeling of her eyes burning, and her cheeks being wet. She did not remember the feeling of her nose becoming stuffy after a particularly long cry, or the feeling of her head losing its weight, making her feel like she’s floating. And she no longer remembered the shame that came with the spilling tears.
Agott had learned—forced herself—to forget how it felt, perhaps years ago.
“But that’s so sad!” she heard someone complain from next to her, bringing her back to the present day. “The boy didn’t do anything wrong!”
Agott nodded in agreement, although only silently, still somewhat lost in her train of thought.
It was a new habit in the atelier, which, like many others, appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
One day, while they were accompanying Master Qifrey to grab a book from his quarters, Richeh had asked him if all the books in his shelf were about magic. Agott rolled her eyes at the time. It was obvious that magic techniques weren’t all he read about, he must read about the techniques of teaching and communication too, if he wanted to deliver teaching materials effectively. Tetia had called Master Qifrey boring then, squatting to see the dustier, older, more untouched part of the shelf better, only half-interested, as if already knowing she was not going to find anything fun in there.
But it was Coco who had found it, the thin, yellowing, picture book tucked away between two— although not by much—thicker books. It almost surprised Agott how acute her vision was, and it would have truly taken Agott by surprise, if Coco had not previously told her of how much she had loved picture books when she was little.
She pulled the book out of the shelf, between the two other books it was wedged between. The shelf let out a puff of dust as soon as she did, which made Richeh cover her nose and mouth and made Agott take a few steps back, afraid that it’ll trigger her allergies. Tetia, nosy as she always was, almost bumped her head against Coco’s as she excitedly knelt closer to see what Coco had found, completely careless of how brittle and old and dusty the book was. Agott watched in horror as Coco swipe her fingers against the dust-covered front cover to reveal the beautifully illustrated cover page, decorated with gold tinsel and bound in green.
Master Qifrey, now balancing a few books on his arm, looked down at the book on Coco’s lap. He told them it was an old collection of folk tales that he had received as a gift from his own master when he was much younger. Agott watched him smile in affection regardless of saying that he never had a care for old tales as an apprentice, thinking that they were “nothing but bedtime stories told to make young children behave”, but they were more than welcome to borrow the book if they wanted.
“Magic, after all, came a long way back, and folklore, at its core, is deeply rooted in history too,” he had said that afternoon.
It started with one story at first—Coco’s pick, a particularly magical tale of a man who built a thousand temples for his lover in a single night. The folktale reeked of magical exaggeration even if it was historical, and Agott had only listened because they picked her and Coco’s workroom, of all places, to host that one reading session.
Despite saying that he didn’t have much care for folklore, Master Qifrey was surprisingly not a horrible storyteller at all. He acted out the dialogues and changed his voice for the different characters to Coco and Tetia’s amusement. He held the book in his hand and propped it against his front so they could all see the beautiful pictures and detailed illustration as he read the stories to them. Richeh was almost always nodding off every time they had these reading session and Agott could no longer count the amount of times the youngest apprentice was jolted awake whenever Master Qifrey raised his voice to emphasize surprise or drama.
And Agott, despite never being interested in folklore and bedtime stories, found herself slowly being more curious of which tale they picked night after night. She would choose the farthest, loneliest, often coldest but most comfortable position to her, wrapped in her own nightcoat and a blanket for good measure, while having a pillow tucked under her arm. She would partake in the tea Master Olly would have brewed and the snacks he would have prepared for the six of them prior to the reading sessions and listened attentively alongside the three—well, two and a half, since Richeh is always half asleep—girls.
There was a constant voice in the back of her head telling her that she was too old for children’s bedtime stories, but like many other times as of recent, she decided to ignore it and sit around to listen along anyway.
Tonight, Agott saw Master Qifrey flip his hand through the previous pages of the book as he accommodated for Tetia and Coco’s complaints after having read the story of choice to the four of them.
“Well, the folklore is meant to educate children of how powerful words can be,” their professor offered a different understanding to his students. He shut the storybook closed and settled into a more comfortable position, leaning his back against the armchair. “The fisherman was told by his fish wife to never, ever, tell his son that he is half-fish, and yet, he did, and it caused a big storm to rage the lands and flood the village, forming a lake.”
He seemed to not pay much attention when Richeh reached forward and grabbed the book from his hands, practically snatching it out of his grip with the sheer force she put into her movements. Her eyebrows were furrowed, like she was utterly unsatisfied of how the story ended, unbelieving of the conclusion, and demanded to see the final pages for herself.
There was a brief silence in the sitting room, accompanied only by the crackling fireplace, as Agott—and perhaps her peers too—processed the story they had just been told.
And then she could suddenly see the tips of Coco’s bright hair catch the light of the fireplace’s embers as she gently pushed herself up to a sitting position, deciding, “I don’t really like this one, Master Qifrey.”
“Yeah, who chose this?” Tetia looked offended, now sitting up too to find someone she could blame. “Was it you, Richeh?”
The long-haired apprentice shook her head, barely lifting her gaze from the book now spread on the rug, which she was still all too invested in. “Richeh picked the girl who was birthed by a cucumber.”
“And I picked the sisters who found jewelry in the pumpkins!” Tetia complained loudly.
Agott could see Richeh’s unsatisfied face twist in an even bigger disappointment as she skipped to the final pages of the book, finding that Master Qifrey’s conclusive words were the exact same one written in the pages of the book now open in her hands. He had not made up the devastating legend, as he was simply reading the words off of a children’s storybook.
She could see Tetia turn to Coco. “Which one did you pick?”
“The one about the golden snail and the old woman,” Coco answered quickly, although, sounding a little sheepish. “I—I liked how beautiful the pictures were.”
She could almost see it, the way the gears turned and clicked and slot themselves into place inside of not just Tetia’s head, but also Coco’s and Richeh’s. They were figuring out who picked the story for tonight.
“Girls,” she heard Master Qifrey say, bringing their attention back to him with the amount of gentleness he always had in his voice. “It was actually Agott who picked tonight’s story.”
It felt like time had slowed, the way the three girls turned their heads in her direction, even Richeh who was no longer interested in figuring out if that was the real ending, or if Master Qifrey had made it all up. A sudden panic filled her chest, like they were going to start pointing their fingers at her, blaming her for her mistake. Agott felt like a little child again, guilty for a crime that she didn’t even commit. She felt small, and even smaller under the blanket and nightcoat that perhaps had been a mistake to bring out of her room in the first place.
An apology was just lingering on the tip of her tongue, threatening to be blurted out, if it wasn’t for Coco’s sudden question.
She could see Coco tilt her head, her hair and the scar on her cheek illuminated by the fireplace’s glow. “Agott, are you okay? You’re crying.”
The panic changed into something else, something else familiar—fear and shame. The same one that came with wet cheeks and constricted airways and burning eyes.
“What?” she could hear herself say, as if the voice came from somewhere far away and not her own vocal cords with how small they were. The words no and no way and absolutely not and how could I be were quickly next in line to come out of her lips, but they fell short the moment her fingers felt her own cheeks and came out soaked.
“Aw, Agott,” she heard Tetia say from the direction of the carpet.
But she couldn’t hear Tetia from all the way over there, having been sucked into her own thoughts. How could see be crying? How could I be crying? And over some stupid folklore about a man who yelled at his son and cursed a flood upon a whole village? The disassociation between understanding that folklore were just bedtime stories told to children to make them behave and crying over one made Agott’s head spin. She was utterly, completely, and wholeheartedly ashamed.
She tried to wipe the tears from her wet cheeks with her hands, as if to hide the evidence, but not before Tetia swiftly crawled over and offered Agott a handkerchief. Still in her own thoughts, she heard her say gently, “Here you go, Agott. Wipe your tears with this.”
Coco was not far behind. She came closer and sat opposite to Tetia on Agott’s left as she took the piece of fabric from Tetia’s hands. She tried not to laugh at how it was so Tetia to own a handkerchief embroidered with lace trimmings, but let one particularly weak chuckle out anyway, for an entirely different reason.
She looked at her two friends exasperatedly. “This is so stupid.”
“No, it’s not!” Tetia said.
Coco opened her mouth to say something, but not before Richeh said, “It kind of is,” from the direction of the carpet.
“Richeh!” Agott could hear Tetia scold.
Agott let out another chuckle, wiping the tears pooling on her lower lids with Tetia’s too pink handkerchief. “It’s okay. It is,” she said. “Look at you, you guys aren’t crying.”
“Well, sometimes these kind of stories just touch people’s hearts and they cry, okay?” Tetia pressed, her voice suddenly rising a few degrees. “And it doesn’t make them weak, and it’s not stupid, Agott. It’s not stupid at all.”
Coco rubbed her warm hand against Agott’s back, “I cry over stupid things all the time too,” she said sheepishly, an adorable chuckle at the end of her words.
“So do I!” Tetia said, before lowering her voice. “We know how brave and smart you are, Agott. We’re not going to suddenly think you’re weak just because of you crying over a bedtime story.”
Agott swallowed the lump in her throat upon hearing Tetia’s words. The backs of her eyes suddenly burned, the telltale sign that she was going to cry again. Why, though? She asked herself over and over again. Master Qifrey was done telling the folktale and the book was no longer even in his hands.
Coco’s hand brought her back to the present, the urge to cry suddenly disappearing. “It’s okay, Agott. The story was really sad anyway,” she said, shrugging. Agott could see the way her eyes suddenly lit up like the sky on a summer night when a thought crossed her mind and she said, “I know! Let’s just pick another.”
“Oh! I bet that one about the jewelry in the pumpkin ends happily!” Tetia offered.
“Yeah,” Coco agreed, nodding. “Come on. Let’s ask Master Qifrey to read another one.”
“Actually, girls.”
The three of them—four, now that he managed to catch Richeh’s attention too—turned their heads towards an already half-standing Master Qifrey.
He looked a little guilty for saying his next words, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t know how to form his sentences.
“Perhaps it’s time for bed? We’ve spent enough past your bedtime with this one story already,” he said. “You girls need rest. Your lessons will proceed tomorrow morning.”
“Oh no…” she heard Coco say, her voice faltering.
“Oh, come on, Master Qifrey, really?” Tetia whined. “Not even one? For Agott?”
That made the girl fondly roll her eyes. “Don’t use me as an excuse, Tetia.”
Richeh pushed herself to a sitting position. “Just one more, Master Qifrey. Richeh promises not to fall asleep this time.”
Agott knew that her promise was nothing but empty words with how heavy Richeh’s eyelids looked, but gave Master Qifrey a pleading look anyway.
She could see the way their professor’s facial expressions turned into a frown. “I don’t know, girls…” he said, trailing off his words.
“Would it really hurt to read one more?”
Like some kind of savior, as if appearing out of thin air—which he could probably have done without any of them noticing with all the prior commotion—Master Olly very suddenly voiced his own argument. He walked from the direction of the kitchen with a cup in his hand, mismatched like the ones scattered around the carpet containing the concoction of herbal tea he had made earlier tonight for everyone, as if none of the cups came as a set. He put down his cup gently next to Coco’s and grabbed a cushion, laying on his stomach.
He looked at Master Qifrey expectantly. “Well, come on! I’m waiting,” he said, before turning to the three girls still huddled together in Agott’s corner. “Which one do you girls want?”
“The pumpkin!” Tetia practically screamed.
“Alright!” he said, calling the shots himself. “Give Qifrey the book, Richeh. He’ll read the story for all of us, won’t he?”
Agott could barely see the passing of the book from Richeh’s hands to Master Qifrey’s unwilling ones as she was being dragged—blanket and nightcoat and cushion and all—by Coco and Tetia to their previous sitting position, now much closer to Richeh and Master Olly and, of course, Master Qifrey, the storyteller himself. She even nearly knocked over Richeh’s still half-full cup from how rowdy the other two girls were, quickly moving it out of the way so she doesn’t topple it by accident.
In the midst of all the racket, Agott also managed to miss one other thing: the glare and exasperated frown Master Qifrey shot in Master Olly’s direction, before finally relenting and settling back against the armchair, opening the page to the folklore of Tetia’s choice, as if he knew where they lied by heart. But she did catch the thin, barely-there, fond look Master Olly gave tonight’s storyteller as he settled against his own cushion to tune in.
Master Qifrey let out a sigh. “Promise me this is the last one we read before bed?” he asked the audience around him.
A round of “We promise”s could be heard—including one from a particularly deep and gruff voice to Agott’s left—from around the room. And with that, Master Qifrey turned the book so that they could all see the pictures on the opening page: a garlic and a shallot with its colors faded slightly with time.
Agott could hear how Master Qifrey asked if everyone was ready, like he always did before he started his stories. She even heard him open the tale with its usual “Once Upon a Time…” just like the other previous stories.
But this time, she was not sitting alone in her own corner with her own blankets and cushions. She sat next to Coco, and with her hand interlaced with Tetia’s under her blanket, feeling Richeh lean against her side and already knowing she was going to doze off again.
Agott didn’t know the ending to this story Tetia had chosen. She did not know if it was a tragedy like the one before, or if it ended happily with the sisters becoming rich from selling the jewelry they acquired from the pumpkin.
But Agott was sure of one thing: if the tale did end tragically, she was no longer afraid of shedding her tears.
And maybe, slowly, with time, she was going to forget how it felt to hold back her tears and start to remember again what it was like to cry freely.