Pretender

<Well?>
 
Muse pauses on their way through the house. Betua sits in the middle of the hall, her tail curled around her feet. Light spills over her shoulders from the kitchen beyond, sketching a black silhouette lit only by the flat green disks of her eyes. She barely sits as high as Muse's shin, but her presence feels large enough to fill the entire hall.
 
<Are you ready to say it yet?>
 
Muse tilts their head and says nothing. Betua's fur bristles. <Don't give me that look. You can be stubborn with your mother bear all you want, but it won't work on me. You were my cub first.>
 
~ Do you wander through this life
Like a child without a care?
Do you fear the things you love?
Do you seek the things you fear? ~
 
Their gaze drops to the floor. They feel a soft brush like fur or feathers against their mind, taking the sting off the words. The sensation is as familiar as the sound of their own footsteps. It is a sensation that followed them long before Betua ever deigned to show herself in a physical form. It was the first whisper of the forest's song, the first touch of familiarity and warmth, the first sense of belonging Muse had felt since they'd set foot beyond their family’s walls. Even after decades, that whisper still felt exactly the same.
 
<You're still the same, too.> Betua's voice is muted. <That's the problem.>
 
~ When the world comes crashing down
Do you just smile and say… ~
 
Muse turns away from the kitchen. Betua's claws click along the hardwood floor as she follows them out into the sitting room. The sound of voices wafting in from the conservatory gives them pause. Nita, Josiah, and Erasmus are still talking. If Muse leaves that way, they will surely be noticed. The greenhouse likely isn't safe, either. They turn to the front door--and Betua is already seated in the foyer, her eyes gleaming in the dimmed light.
 
<Try again.>
 
A soft hiss builds in Muse's throat. The eyes drilling into them are not unkind, but they are immobile, as if carved from jade. And nothing hides from those eyes. Not when they have lived within Muse's mind longer than they have lived without.
 
~ I am the Great Pretender
Willing to dream forever
 
Oh, I'll just float away and let the waves
Keep pulling me in
I'll just hang out here and watch the world
Pass over my head
 
Because I still believe in
All of the things you said
Oh, all of the things you said ~
 
They trudge back toward the kitchen, the hiss still building in their throat. The slow click of claws across the floor makes their skull itch. They want to shred every piece of clothing they own. Want to dash out into the woods and bury themself in a thicket until morning. But if Nita were to return and see the food unattended, left to burn in the oven…well. Muse does not have another good excuse for missing a meal, let alone ruining one.
 
They stare at the cleaned fish that remain on the counter. The work is mostly done. All they need to do now is fillet them and get them cooked. But even that feels like an insurmountable task under the weight of the eyes resting heavy on the backs of their shoulders.
 
<Do you want to know the real reason you can't fly yet, my stubborn cub?>
 
~ Well, are you searching for the truth
But all you come across is lies?
Did someone sabotage your route,
left all the answers in disguise? ~
 
Muse's shoulders tense. They pick up their knife and return to the fish with single-minded intensity. Fillet them, skin them, debone them. The fillets go straight into a baking dish. Salt and pepper to season, with a rich mustard cream over the top and a sprinkling of dill to bake into the sauce. It will be light and flavorful, not so heavy that it might curdle the stomach. Maybe there are enough vegetables in the pantry to roast for a side as well, so that their new guest has something they can enjoy, too.
 
And all the while, Betua's weight grows heavier and heavier in their mind. But the answer is obvious. Why is there any need to ask?
 
~ When the world comes crashing down
Do you just smile and say… ~
 
Muse steps around Betua and moves to the pantry. There are too many things to focus on. They will need to chop vegetables. They will probably taste fine roasted in the rest of the mustard sauce. They will need to begin planning more efficiently, to make sure there are dishes without meat available for every meal. If the house keeps growing, louder and brighter and full of more life, they might need to help their golem friend replace their arms after all. Maybe teach Josiah to cook as well. Maybe Erasmus knows a thing or two about preparing food, and can give them some insight on what he likes. And of course Nita is always happy to help when needed, and…
 
They gather what they need from the pantry and begin to chop. Retrieve a second baking dish. Betua always seems to want their attention when they are busy.
 
Betua snorts. <Busy. You were about to run naked into the thicket again and leave all this behind. What are you going to do this evening when you aren’t busy any more and I still won’t let you run away?>
 
~ I am the Great Pretender
Willing to dream forever
 
Oh, I'll just float away and let the waves
Keep pulling me in
I'll just hang out here and watch the world
Pass over my head
 
Because I still believe in
All of the things you said ~
 
An image springs unbidden to Muse’s mind, so strong it nearly knocks them off their feet. It is spring, and the world is beginning to bloom. They are crouched in a hollow, distress humming through their body. Near the edge of the stream lies a young buck. Its leg is bloodied and torn. They have seen this before, hundreds and thousands of times before--it is the way of the world. But it isn’t any easier to watch, even for it being the truth.
 
<You dream so deeply.> Betua's voice in the present is gentle but unrelenting. <You watch, and you wonder, and you wish with every single ounce of your soul. But hope doesn't hunt for you.>
 
A brush against of the inside of their mind, like feathers, like fur. In the memory, in the past, it urges them forward. The buck starts and shies away from them, but they are slow, cautious, gentle. They lay their hand on the buck’s side, and…what? Do what? It has never worked before. They have tried, hundreds and thousands of times, and it has never worked. They aren’t even entirely sure what they are trying. All they know is that it burns against the inside of their chest like a wildfire, sparking brighter every second, straining to get free.
 
They almost scream when sparks of gold light explode from their hands. They scramble away from the buck as it leaps to its feet, bleating a blend of terror and rage. It bounds away down the stream and around the bend. Only once it is gone does Muse realize there is no further blood on the bank--that while the deer’s fur is still matted with red, the wound itself has closed.
 
<And what is different now, from then?> comes Betua’s calm, implacable voice. <What has changed?>
 
~ Why do I try?
Oh, why do I try?
Yeah, why do I try? ~
 
Muse shakes their head, almost imperceptibly. The only thing that has changed is them. They are older now, by dozens of winters. If it wasn’t meant to be then, when the magic first came to them, why would it be possible now? And if it isn't possible, why waste any more time wanting it?
 
<You can’t even admit that you’re jealous.> There is both a huff and a laugh. <You love your Nita and your Marzanna, but you envy them. If it turns out your Josiah and your Erasmus can do the same, you’ll envy them, too. Do I have to teach you all of your feelings, or will you eventually just let yourself feel them?>
 
~ I am the Great Pretender
Willing to dream forever
I said I am the Great, I am the Great
I am the Great Pretender
 
But oh, I'll just float away and let the waves
Keep pulling me in
I'll just hang out here and watch the world
Pass over my head
 
Because I still believe in
All of the things you said ~
 
The knife hits the cutting board with a little more force than necessary. Muse stares at the half-chopped carrot, perfectly still. If they take much more time, the others will begin to grow worried. They will come and check, and if they notice the tension in their limbs, if they see the way they shift back and forth, as if their own metal burns, too warm, too close…
 
They snatch the knife up and drive it point-down into the cutting board. It hits with a heavy, satisfying thud, burying itself half an inch into the wood, and for a moment, the wave of perverse pride feels a little like they imagine flying must.
 
It is followed almost immediately by a wave of guilt. They struggle with the knife for a moment, a faint whine rising in their throat. The hairline fracture down the center of the cutting board widens a little more with every new attempt, but while the blade shifts back and forth, it does not budge.
 
<So you remember how to be angry, after all.>
 
The whine slides down into a low hiss. Muse pushes the cutting board and knife both into the sink and turns to glower at Betua. The red fox sits unperturbed in the entryway to the kitchen, her green eyes as unreadable as ever.
 
<It's a start. Keep at it, stubborn little cub. Maybe you'll remember how to want things again, too. You'll never be able to fly until you let yourself. The only thing stopping you is you.>
 
~ I say, I am the Great Pretender
Yeah, you know that I am the Great Pretender
Yeah, you know what I'm saying is I still believe in
All of the things you said
 
Oh, all of the things you said. ~