A stream of memories flows through Aurora. She wades through the waters, sifting through the loose sediment to collect the parts of herself she’s still missing. Impressions of her father, her sisters, etiquette lessons. Everything is here, buried in the wet sand, waiting for the return of their rightful owner.

There are other fragments too, pieces that don't fit into her puzzle. She kneels in the water, puts her whole body into pulling one up, but it remains rooted in place. Warm blood pours from her hand and mixes with the cold stream.

Justice.

The pieces she does collect have had their edges worn down. She reassembles herself as best as she can.

She lays in a forest of fur, staring up at a ceiling as large as the sky itself. She recognises this as the shape of her room, but the scale is enormous. The chair, the dresser, everything looms over her, one accident away from tipping over and crushing her the way a boot crushes a bug. She searches, but nowhere is safe. She’s an ant trapped in a ballroom for giants.

What would Mr. Nick say if he were here?

She imagines the pastor barging into the room and stomping her. Or maybe capturing her, and putting her on display to use as a cautionary tale for straying from the path.

That’s not helping, brain!

There’s nowhere to run. She curls into a ball.

“Ughhh, Whyyy would you put me here!? Couldn’t you have heroically sacrificed yourself somewhere a little safer!?”

There is no response. She flops onto her back in a huff. Her eyes lock onto the mirror that hangs from the door.

“I guess I am a little curious.”

She wades through the fur rug, the itchy hairs tickling her shins and knees. She lets out a high pitched “Eep!” when the rug ends and her bare foot touches the cold stone floor.

I hate this. I hate this I hate this I hate this.

She runs on tiptoes all the way to the front of the mirror.

Oh, I love this.

She twists and turns, mesmerized by the way the white dress flows with each movement. She spins as fast as she can, flaring the dress into a disk around her waist, until she’s too dizzy to stand. She leans her back against the mirror. Something warm and waxy pushes up against her bare leg.

“Sweet Sol!”

She leaps away.

Was that… my wings? By the Earth and Moon, they’re beautiful.

She studies her reflection with more detail. Her face is a mix of her two sisters, but still with the blue eyes and blonde hair that were spliced into Howard’s genome before he was born. Two sets of translucent wings jut out from behind her, blue on the very top tips and purple on the very bottom. They blend into a faded green as they meet in the middle.

She slowly, very cautiously, reaches behind her to feel where the wings connect. A mass of skin and boney plates bulge from the small of her back. She gags.

I don’t want to think about it. I’m not going to think about it. I’m going to enjoy my cute new wings, with my cute new face, and this really cute dress.

She shoves it down, but it itches in the back of her mind, constantly reminding her that her body is wrong. Her wings fidget nervously, and she can feel the mass of plates shifting, pushing and pulling her wings like levers.

At least the pointy ears are cute. The rail system connects to the north, right? I think I know how to get out of here.

She skips to a nearby air vent, reveling in the feeling of air on her legs. She unscrews the vent cover and drags it as far as her little arms can pull. As she looks down the deep dark hole, the first problem with her plan becomes apparent.

How far can I fall before I break all of my bones?

Her wings twist.

Oh! If I jump, my new fairy instincts will kick in and I’ll fly down safely.

She jumps into the darkness, hitting and sliding down alternating slanted plastic as the vent keeps bending at 45 degree angles.

“Ow! Oww! Moon and Stars will this thing END!?”

She hits the bottom and breaks through the plastic vent cover. The cover clatters onto the heat radiator beneath her, and she lays on top of it, dazed.

A spot on her arm feels like ice. She screams when she notices it touching the metal radiator. She leaps from the melting vent cover. Her wings snap open, and she half glides down. She stumbles onto the ground running, stopping in the corner of the boiler room beneath a table. No one else is in the room.

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“By the Moon and Sky, it burns.” she whispers. “It really, really burns.”

Clutching her arm, she runs down empty hallways until she arrives at the tram station. The palace tram connects directly to the depot, which is itself connected to the train station. If she can just make it to the north, she'll be safe. Maybe she could even write letters to Arabella, if she would believe that she is who she says she is.

Where even is everyone? It feels wrong for the palace to be so empty.

The tram is a single carpeted room on wheels, filled with empty plastic shelves. The walls are mostly glass, but a small metal trim loops around the vehicle, which she presses herself against to hide. She blows on the burn to cool it until the echoing of running footsteps makes her hold her breath. The footsteps grow louder until a cloaked figure dives into the tram and hides beside her against the trim.

Aurora stares at the stowaway, waiting for her to look up and notice her. If the devilish vagabond wanted to kill her, there would be nothing she could do to stop it.

The cloaked person remains pressed against the trim, curled into a ball. She can’t see their face, but she hears a soft… crying? It’s so stupid, so foolish, but it breaks her heart. And the more she studies the cloak, the more certain she is that she recognises it as her own. She puts her hand on the figure's knee.

“Are you okay?” Aurora asks.

The figure looks up. The hood parts enough for Aurora to see their face.

“Holy Sol! Arabelle!”

Arabella swats Aurora into the air. They both scream.

“Owww.” Aurora clutches the burn on her arm.

“I’m so sorry! I thought you were a bug! Are you okay?” Arabella asks.

Aurora is stuck on her back, her wings preventing her from rolling over. Eventually, she remembers that she can sit up, shuddering as she rolls her weight over the wing bulge.

“I’m okay, I think. How are you? I mean, are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Well, It’s complicated.” Arabella pushes a hair back into her cloak, and wipes her face on the sleeve. “But it’s over now, thank Sol. Can I ask what you are? I’ve never seen a magic creature in person before.”

“I’m, uh. Oh boy.” Her hands are clammy. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. She squeaks and blushes.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to say. I did kinda scramble your eggs.”

“No! It’s not that. I just, I really missed you, and I want to be honest with you, but I’m afraid that if I say the wrong thing then you’ll never believe me and I’ll lose you forever.”

“Huh?” Arabella leans closer. “Wait, no way.”

“I’m-”

“Mom?”

“-Howard. Wait, what?”

“What!?”

Arabella picks up Aurora like a doll. Her voice drops.

“You don’t look like a Howard. Are you trying to trick me, little creature?”

Her grip tightens. Her thumb presses into Aurora's chest, and she struggles to breath even shallow breaths.

“You told me. I’d never. lose you!”

“The night you killed yourself.” Her grip loosens. “But that can't be. How?”

Aurora gasps for air. Her arm throbs.

“Why? Why did you do that to me? I was ready to leave the Kingdom with you!” Her voice cracks, and she shakes Aurora to punctuate her words. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have to deal with father alone? I thought I had lost you for good!”

“I didn’t kill myself! A creature that looked like this,” she gestures to herself, “offered to change my body for me. I didn't know that she was going to kill me, or that it was going to take so long. I thought it would be over by next morning, and that we could leave together.”

“You didn’t kill yourself?” Her voice breaks.

“No. I never meant to leave you.”

A buzzer sounds, and the empty tram begins rolling.

“Well, I guess we’re running away together after all.” Aurora says. “Wait, why were you sneaking away down here?”

“Nuh-uh, you first. Why were you sneaking away without coming to see me first?”

“I didn't think you'd believe me.” Aurora mumbles.

“I didn't think you'd believe me.” Arabella mocks. “Jerk. You're lucky I missed you.”

Arabella hugs Aurora, pressing her against her chest with one hand.

“My hair!”

Aurora wiggles her arms out and tries desperately to brush Arabella's tears out of her hair.

“You're supposed to say ‘I missed you too, little sister.’ Or am I the big sister now?”

“You are literally so gross! Why is your neck wet?!”

Arabella laughs.

The tram rolls in silence through the covered tunnel. Aurora lounges on Arabella's hand, which has been folded at the palm knuckles to create a sort of recliner chair. Aurora's hair dangles over the tips of the fingers to dry.

“So, I am the big sister now, right?” Arabella asks.

“If you have to ask for permission, then no, you are not.”

“Even though I'm bigger than you. And older.”

“Being the older sibling is something that is assigned at birth, and therefore immutable.”

“In that case, I have decided that you're my little sister now.”

Aurora's wings buzz.

“What was that?”

“N-Nothing!” Aurora looks away, blushing.

“Hmm. Little sister. Little sister. Sweet Sol, that's adorable!”

“Shut up!” Aurora turns her back on Arabella.

“But your widdle wings buzz whenever I call you my widdle sister. Aww, don't be like that! Widdle sister~” Arabella starts singing. “My widdle baby H-hmm. I should give you a new name.”

“I already have one. ‘Aurora.’”

“The dancing lights of Earth? That’s a very pretty name. Oh, and it totally fits the pattern with the rest of the family's daughters!”

Aurora’s wings buzz.

“You're adorable. But anyway, there's an unspoken rule among our family that all the women's names must start and end with ‘a’. Everyone I've talked to denies it, but it's obviously true. Tell me I'm wrong.”

“You’re wrong. Asmoday ends in ‘y’.”

“Say her name again, slowly.”

“As-moe-d’oh. That still doesn't mean anything.”

“I think you were going to say ‘As-moe-day’.”

“I think you were going to say ‘As-moe-day’.” Aurora mocks.

“Did you know that humans have the perfect arms for throwing small objects really hard?” She bounces Aurora on her hand, as if she were measuring the weight of a ball. “Maybe we should start a little sister space program. How would you like to be an astronaut when you grow up?”

“Woah! I’m ready! Send me to the rings!” Aurora yells, hanging onto Arabella's fingers as tightly as she can. She lands on her burnt spot and sucks in air through her teeth.

“Is your arm okay?” Arabella stops dribbling her sister.

“Yeah,” Aurora holds the arm up, “I just burnt it a little bit on the radiator.”

“The one in the boiler room? How?”

“I kinda landed on it on my way down.”

“What?! Where else were you burned?! Show me your feet.”

“I’m fine! I landed on the vent cover.”

“Show me. Your feet.”

Aurora lifts her feet up. Arabella inspects them.

“Good. Where else did you get hurt?”

“You’re kind of scaring me right now.”

“Don't be a baby. There’s a med kit on the wall. Don’t go anywhere.” She sets Aurora down on one of the top shelves. The shelves are a grid of hard plastic, with gaps easily large enough for Aurora to fall through. As she looks down, the ground reaches towards her, and the room begins spinning. One little slip, and she'll fall further than she's ever fallen before. She closes her eyes but she can feel the shelves shaking, swaying like seaweed on the ocean floor, threatening to drown her. The plastic digs into her hands.

“This will sting.” Arabella smears an excessive amount of ointment on Aurora’s arm, then works it in with a finger. Aurora winces, but keeps her grip on the shelving. Arabella wipes and wraps the arm with a small strip of gauze.

“I’m going to wrap your feet too, just in case. We should find some footwear for you to wear so that you don’t step on anything sharp.” Arabella smirks. “Something better than slippers, maybe.”

“If we're done, can you put me down now?”

Arabella's voice is lost in the sound of blood rushing through Aurora’s head.

“Aurora, did you hear me? We're here.”

The tram stops rolling.