By the time Hyraj came back from washing our plates, I found a peace. Well, I could breathe, so that was a good start. She stepped inside without a word, silently taking her seat. Elegant. I wondered if she’d studied that—how to walk. Sometimes, she didn’t make a sound, while other times it was like announcing her presence.

She had so much control over herself. Really, it was hard to believe we were the same age. Hard, but not impossible, the few times I’d glimpsed behind her mask enough to show me that it was just a mask.

Her family… I couldn’t imagine that kind of expectation. How much it must have shaped her. Was she better for it, or not, or just different? I didn’t know and I doubted she did either.

But tonight wasn’t about her, was it? I was distracting myself. Anything to avoid the pain of opening up. Only now I was so close did I realise, remember, that what I was worried about wasn’t that she’d hate me, but that she wouldn’t care. Because that was how this had always gone before.

Always someone more important to worry about, and I would feel better soon, it wasn’t so bad. Little words that didn’t sound bad, but chipped away at me. Like I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. That having these emotions was now a burden on them, so shouldn’t I keep them to myself next time?

Worse still, I knew that burden, looking after the little ones. I knew the burden, so I kept my burden to myself. I could carry it. I was strong. Strong enough. There wasn’t much I could do, but I could keep myself from being a burden.

Thoughts twisting and turning and squirming and—

“Louise?”

Silence, just the odd creak, even the drizzle too light to hear inside. After a deep breath in and out, I realised my hands were balled up tight, numb to the tingle of pain where my fingernails dug into my palm. I opened my hands, glad I hadn’t cut myself or anything. Little by little, I found the muscles I’d tensed and relaxed them, almost collapsing now there was nothing holding me up.

One spot I’d missed, Hyraj stepped over—I didn’t notice when she’d stood up—and wiped my cheeks with a handkerchief. Guessed I cried. Ah, I’d cried more since coming here than I had in years.

Hyraj surely worried enough by now, but I wasn’t ready to get into the tough part, so I started with something easier. “Do you… are there more people who… come here, not speak?” I asked, struggling for the words or how to phrase it, not the sort of stuff that came up in conversation or her book.

Her reply didn’t come quick, taking a moment to think. “That is it… would you like the little answer or large answer?” she asked.

“The large answer.”

She stepped back and took her seat again, but still faced me, a gentle smile on her face. There was no mask right now. This wasn’t her normal look with a slight tug at the corners’ of her mouth, but a smile, one that reached her eyes.

“Kroustoa and Crisoa, there is a similarity in their names that comes from the Jichin Canon. I am not much of an expert, that the sort of thing those in churches study, but both continents loosely mean ‘god’s land’.”

She didn’t explain it, but the word she used for “land” was “stoa”. Maybe “earth” was a better translation? It meant the literal ground beneath our feet and also something more general, hard to put it into words. For god, she used “krouen”. There were many gods, though, so this was the general name for them, not one in particular.

“It is a common debate about whether a land comes to be when a god is born, or if a god is born when a land comes to be. Whatever the truth, Kroustoa and Crisoyo are among the oldest—if not the oldest.

“Otherhand, this land of Hearsch is the youngest. Before it, Kroustoa and Criosoyo barely traded, the journey perilous to the point few succeeded. Still, there was a fortune to be made for those that did make it. That, though, is another story. When Hearsch rose, it was recorded that Krouen Alnaya offered sanctity to those adrift. Of course, that was in the Jichin Canon—”

She paused there, her nose twitching, then let out a long breath.

“You did not know of the Jichin Canon, did you?” she said—more to herself than me. Sure enough, she continued before I could answer. “Jichin, meaning council of words, and canon, meaning records.”

I hadn’t realised before, but it would have been quite the coincidence for canon to mean the same thing in her language. A coincidence enough it meant something kinda similar.

“It is… the first language, given to us when the first land rose up and our ancestors grew from among the plants to become like who we are today. Of course, as time goes on, we invent new words and change how we say old words, and our languages drift apart, some languages even invented completely anew as new lands appeared—or so we think.”

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Stopping there, she gave this world’s equivalent to a shrug.

“Enough of a detour. Alnaya offered sanctity in the Jichin Canon”—old language—“so it has been… debated what exactly that means. After all, the church is studying books written about books written about books, the oldest carvings long since weathered and broken. In particular, sanctity has a specific meaning among the church; however, to most others, it means much less.”

Her drifting gaze now returned to me, looking me in the eye, and she softly smiled.

“Whatever we think, it is a truth that people from distant lands have arrived on our shores. Some even had no recollection of where they came from. A thing funny… it is the case that many would treat such a stranger with more kindness than they would their neighbour. So, if not me, then someone else would have taken my place at your side,” she said, that last sentence coming out as a whisper.

I didn’t know what to say. Everything else had already given me so much to think about, then she said that and… what could I say? As my brain fried itself, her smile melted away and she turned back to the table.

“Happy you,” I said, sputtering out only those two words in my, like, panic. Swallowing my embarrassment, I said it more clearly. “I’m happy it was you.”

She said nothing, the side of her face not showing a smile, her gaze still on the table in front of her.

Pushing through my hazy mind, I felt like I couldn’t stop. Silence now would be too painful—for both of us. “Those people… do they ever talk of a place no people know?” I asked.

“I cannot say. All I do know is that some came from impossibly distant lands, that something brought them here.”

The silence began to fill the room and, nothing else coming to mind, I had to be ready. “Where I came from, I wasn’t happy.”

The dam broke.

Stumbling over my words, I let out all the feelings I’d kept to myself. The loneliness, the pain, the little control I had left used to keep from mentioning too much about my world, but that left me with nothing to keep the rest of my truths falling out. Some of them, even I didn’t know I knew.

“I was… so scared that… when I grew up… they would send me away,” I whispered, arms wrapped around myself as if to keep from falling apart. “I needed them to need me. I needed to… have a job there. If not, if not… I not know how I live. And when the accident, and I save Hatty, maybe… maybe I could save myself, but… didn’t.”

“Oh, Louise,” Hyraj whispered.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking up, and the tears fell. All the tears, my nose snotty, throat so tight I could barely breathe. “I don’t know.”

She stood up, only to hesitate. I didn’t know why. There was no room in my head or my heart to think right now. But I knew to open my arms, to look at her like the little ones always looked at me, knowing no one could resist. She was no different. One step, two, and she was in front of me, wrapping her arms around me.

I hugged her back, afraid to hurt her, but finally learned why kids squeezed as hard as they could. Like I needed to break myself before putting myself back together. So I tensed up, every muscle straining against itself, until I collapsed, broken, ready to be fixed. Well, to fix myself. I was so thankful she was here to listen, but I wasn’t going to expect more than that from her. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, letting her go.

She lingered for a second, then stepped back. Cringing, I saw the snotty mark I left on her shoulder, so terrible it was almost funny. I pulled out my handkerchief and went to wipe it, but she plucked it from my hand and did it herself.

Nothing else to do, I again said, “Sorry.”

She chuckled, her other hand covering her mouth. “There is no need to apologise. Rather, I am sorry to hear how your life has been. It has been so hard for you for so long.”

“Not really,” I said, voice a little hoarse after, well, everything. “I had a room to stay, food. No scared.”

Silence, I looked up at her and saw a face I hadn’t seen before. There were tears in her eyes.

“You were a child,” she whispered. “A child deserves a home, to be loved, and to have a childhood. You had none of those. So I will say it again: I am sorry it has been so hard for you for so long.”

“No, I…” But that was all I could say, every other word evaporating as I stared into her glistening eyes. She hadn’t cried when talking about what she’d gone through. Her hand shook, but that was all. Was my pain really more than that?

Was I really allowed to cry?

Before I knew it, I was crying again. “It was hard,” I whispered, barely a sound.

But she heard and she reached out, holding my hands. “It was,” she whispered back, squeezing tight.

I didn’t know how badly I needed that until she’d said it. That, for all my doubts, all the time I’d spent thinking it could be worse, hating myself for feeling ungrateful… she agreed. I wasn’t a horrible person. I was… a child who deserved better.

Really, I’d always known that, but believed it was selfish. Of course I’d think my life was terrible and I deserved better. Everyone was always envious. If I had a cheap phone or a laptop, I’d want a better one. If I had new clothes, I’d want nicer ones.

Where was the line between want and deserve? I’d been afraid to draw it myself, but now she had done it for me and it took such a weight off my shoulders. Some people had hard lives, bad things happened, and they didn’t deserve it.

But I deserved better.

Even though that couldn’t change the past; that, even if I had demanded better, it wouldn’t have changed anything back then… it changed me now. I… was broken, and that was fine. It wasn’t my fault I was broken. Knowing that, I believed I could fix myself. I wasn’t, like, genetically broken. I didn’t have to always be broken, that wasn’t who I naturally was.

I was just a normal girl with a terrible past and that was okay. After all, my future was mine, wasn’t it?

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“There is… no need for thanks because of giving you what you deserve,” she whispered back.

I squeezed her hands and let out a giggle. “That is it, you know what I deserve, so are you going to give me all of it?” I said, thinking myself so clever for that joke.

“If you so wish.”

It was still a whisper, but such a different whisper, sounding so rich instead of light. And her hands holding mine, her fingers slipped between mine, entwined, sending a tingle down my arms that became a shiver down my spine. And her eyes staring into mine, still watery, yet now looked so deep, pulling me in, begging me to fall—

I looked away, face hot and heart pounding. “What are you saying?”

“What are you hearing?” she said back, her playful voice tickling my ears.

I should have asked her to stop. I should have pulled away my hand. But, right now, it felt so comforting. It wasn’t the love I wanted, but it was still love—and I deserved love.

At least, that was what I told myself.