She ran up the little oak stairway, experiencing instant relief from the rain thanks to the porch. She shook the handle to the front door and banged on it. Sympha then went over to a window a proceeded to pry it open. The front door swung open, which she barely heard due to the rain. The barrel of a shotgun poked out then a man followed.

Sympha froze, then slowly approached the man, saying, "I need cover from the rain. I demand you let me in.”

The man swung the shotgun over his shoulder. He turned Sympha’s way and stared at her. No, he visually pierced her. Sympha gave him a stubborn face, but the man never saw it.

"I thought you were a bear—just some woman. You’re far, far away from civilization. I imagine that’s what you want, though.”

“Let me in,” Sympha repeated. She did not want the human experience of hypothermia.

“Are you going to kill me if I don’t?”

“I don’t intend to.”

"What's the magic word?"

"What?" Sympha asked, confused.

"Never mind. Come on in. Wipe your feet.” The man disappeared inside. Sympha stood there stupidly until she heard, “Hurry up. If you’re not coming, close the door at least.”

The man’s house was incredibly dark. Sympha could hardly see a thing. “Is there a reason for it to be so dark? Do you have dead bodies in here?"

“Nah, nothing like that. The switch is to your right. I just don’t have a need for light.”

After a flick of a switch, the whole house was lit up. It was cozy but lacking in décor. No photographs, no paintings, no knickknacks of the sort. Function over form.

The man approached her with a towel and some women's clothing. He had brown hair, a chiseled jaw, and a rugged body. He wore suspenders and a black cotton shirt. His lightless eyes were a cold blue. He reached out slowly and grabbed Sympha’s wrist.

She pulled away, furious. “Don’t touch me. I never said you could. I’ll leave then if you’re like that.”

"Cool your burning ears. Just getting your measurements.” He handed her the towel and ran his hand over the women’s clothing. While Sympha dried herself, he mumbled. “Too small, damn. You have larger hips than her."

"You can tell that by grabbing my wrist? Rude all around."

"Not at all. It's a compliment." He laughed roofward and disappeared through a door down the hallway. From the room, he yelled, "Bathrooms to the left if you need it. You can wait in the living room or the spare bedroom ‘till the rain stops. I’ll find you a better fit, quick.”

Sympha was eventually given a red dress. She wasn’t too pleased with the attire she had to wear, but it had to do until hers was dry. The storm only worsened, so she sank into a fluffy couch in the living room. The man had his head against the pounding window.

"If you want to stay dry, you'll have to be here for a while. Storm’s going to last for days, based off my bones. My cousin's bedroom is yours, long as you pull your weight in choirs. I keep it tidy, even though…." The man turned his head away from Sympha, keeping his ear in her direction. “Name’s Grant, Howzle Grant.”

After silence, Sympha lethargically responded, “Sympha. Just Sympha.”

"You're not the fastest talker, are you?" Howzle laughed.

"You talk far too quickly," Sympha replied with an unaware smirk.

"Well, Ms. Sympha," replied Howzle. He sat in his chair, drew a book from the back, plopped it open, and ran his fingers across the pages. "I understand what it's like to be running away from something. If you want to stay here for a few months to sort things out, I won't object. A time ago, it became increasingly lonely.”

"I'm not running away from anything. It's none of your business."

"I see,” He chuckled.

"I'm doing wonderful. Once the storm ends, I’ll cease impeding your dreary life.”

***

I’d been three months of sunshine, and the heat was getting to them. Howzle needed replacement tools, and Sympha was adamant about getting supplies, glass jars for jarring, seasoning for game meat, and other quality-of-life things that Howzle refused.

Howzle knew kind neighboring mountain men who gave him lifts into town. He and Sympha sat in the back of a carriage. When the horses tugged, it frighteningly shook the two. They joked they could fall out at any time.

“There’s a whole group of ducks in the pond to our left,” Sympha exclaimed. Having never seen one, she pointed, then felt silly and retracted her finger. “A mother duck and her ducklings.”

“Sounds cute. What color are they?”

“Green and blu—that’s not funny, Howzle.”

“Funny to me.” His white teeth gleamed as he laughed.

After an hour, they arrived in town. Howzle stepped down first, then offered assistance to Sympha, who accepted after a flash of hesitation. Howzle popped out a cane and tapped the earth as they traveled.

“While we’re out,” Sympha started, “I thought we make your home a bit more colorful. Put up art and such.”

“Mmm?”

“The insides are a bit dull.” With imagination wild, Sympha placed a finger on her cheek. “Maybe some some flowers, and some paintings, and that wind thing.”

“Those things are more for you than for me. But I'm glad to hear you are excited and giddy. Took a year, but that reclusive and sour woman has become sweet. After such a change, your decision to stay with a blind man in the woods may seem odd.”

“What's odd about it? I choose who I’m with and what I do.”

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“Mmhmm. You’re a powerful woman. Praise the Bell for that.”

You don’t know how on the nose you are, Sympha thought. “How about we grab some black wine?”

Sympha shifted her legs as a dog blasted past and fell forward. Howzle caught her by the waist, and they were face to face.

“I think you’ve had enough today. Ms. Sympha.”

Sympha surprised her boyfriend with a smooch and answered, “Two bottles.”

***

Mrs. Grant's brass ring would cause an itch on her finger whenever a storm approached. It reminded her about Howzle waving a shotgun about three years ago. It made her laugh sometimes when he explained, “You don’t need to see well with a shotgun.”

Yesterday, Howzle explained why he lived deep in the woods solitary. He and his cousin had moved out to these woods when they were both sixteen. Howzle’s cousin was terminally ill, and rather than spending her short life in a hospital, she made a home surrounded by nature. Howzle joined her as the forest noises were far more pleasant than the cities. His cousin passed two months before Sympha stumbled into his world.

With a turtle-themed cloth, Sympha wiped the window. She then went to the water barrel outside, filled a pail, and dumped it on the flowers on their windowsill. Howzle was repairing the bridge at the thin river outside their bedroom window. Sympha wondered how a blind man got around in the forest so smoothly. When she turned her back, he snuck up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck.

“All right, what do you want?”

“Who says I want something? Can't I just kiss my wife?”

Sympha turned around and looked into his eyes, which was pointless but meaningful to her. “What do you want, Howzle?”

“Well. I was thinking we go on a double date. I chatted up some guy back and town, and we thought it could be fun. We could go to a bar. A fancy restaurant. Anything you want.”

“Not interested,” Sympha snorted.

“Hun, you need to talk with other people other than me. Your social skills haven’t improved in a while, and I want to see you with some friends.”

Sympha sighed and replied, “If you’re adamant about it, I’ll give it a try.”

“Fantastic! We're going tonight.”

“Tonight!?”

***

Sympha’s love of humans skyrocketed over the next three years. She had many friends now. Witnessing the human's strengths and flaws brought her excitement and a flutter to her belly. These creatures deserved the chance to go to heaven; she believed that now.

When this was all over, she would return to her position as the word of the Burning Bell. But she wanted to hold onto this world as long as possible. She had the body of a human, but she was still a Chime.

Being a Chime brought a significant problem in her quiet life. She would look around her,

seeing friends popping out a child or two. It appeared awful and wonderful at once. Even though she had a human body, having a child with Howzle neared impossible. She had to come clean and break her hopeful husband’s heart.

Sympha awoke after hitting the bottom of her dreams and sat up. Howzle was fast asleep next to her, drooling. She slid from their bed discreetly and went to the porch to think.

She peered up at the massive chain high in the sky: an appendage belonging to her father.

“What’s the matter?” Howzle was at the front doorway. “Can't sleep?”

“Sorry if I woke you... I tried to be quiet.”

“I wake easy. What's on your mind, Sympha?”

“You may hate me, but I’ve been deceptive.” Sympha breathed deeply, holding herself back from tearing up. “I don't think I can bear your child. I’m not a human. I’m a Chime. I’m Maiden Sympha: the direct word of God.”

Howzle came over and comforted her. “I already knew that. I knew the first time you sat in my living room. I can’t see, but I can sense other attributes. Yours were that of my church’s Kindler. Then, with your name Sympha and at the same time Maiden Sympha’s absence, I figured it out.”

“Wh-Why didn't you tell me you knew?”

“You didn’t bring it up, so neither did I.” Howzle shooed a firefly out of his brown hair. “It was weird for me too. A being I literally worship was in my home. I figured we were in different worlds. Then we had that intimate night.”

“I was a bit drunk, yes.”

“I fell for the daughter of the Burning Bell. As a child, I would have thought that heresy. But now I question: why is there such a divide? We are all children of the Burning Bell. I’m just a blind man in the woods married to the most powerful Chime. And our world is the same.”

Sympha teared up, dampening his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I want to. I do.”

“I accepted long ago I may not have a child with you. It must be devastating to you, and I failed to notice. You still have a human body. May or may not, but nothing will change how I feel.”

Sympha threw her lips against Howzle's, returning to the world of dreams.

***

Howzle cradled his fresh son in his arms. The new father feared that his son might be estranged. A hybrid may bring much hardship to his boy’s life.

“You're sure he's all right? He looks fine? Which does he look like, human or Chime?” A stressed Howzle asked when the nurse left the room.

Sympha lay in her hospital bed. “Call down. Hasmed looks like a perfectly normal peach-skinned human. His eyes are golden, but so are his mother’s. You’ve gone overboard, as usual, with all this preparation.”

“Always be prepared. I'll die for this boy.” His dead eyes fell upon his wailing son, and his fingers tingled. “He-here. He wants his mother.”

“Just hold him, Howie. Calm down. I need a break anyway. Childbirth is unpleasant.” Sympha sank into her pillow.

***

“Howie,” Sympha called while entering the living room. Slid his fingers between the white pages of a book. “He's gone ethereal again. He's been foul all day today, then screams at me and runs off.”

“I've got it.”

Howzle stood, paced out the front, and entered the woods past the river. He weaved through the wood like it were his home and listened. After catching air of frustration, he reached a large stump and sat on it.

“Rough day?” Howzle asked the invisible Hasmed.

“There is no other sort of day,” Hasmed replied. His voice always sounded dreary, even when he was happy. It was made even worse as he was a teenager with the angst of a human. “The constant talk of the Burning Bell at my school. Mother wants me to practice divinity and clergy work. I want to be human like you.”

“Ah, I get it. Well, I don't get it. I try to understand your mother’s world, and unfortunately, you’re stuck in between. Your mother is preparing you for when I’m gone. That won’t happen for a while, though. Always rushing, your Mother. She needs to give you time to live your youth, but you need to listen as well.”

“What does she expect me to do?”

“What do you want to do? You have much freedom. You can turn invisible, for example. I need that sometimes.”

“Mom was pretty upset with you last week,” Hasmed smirked.

“Let's not bring that up again,” Howzle said quickly. “As much as you would disagree, you’re still a child. It’ll come to you, either gradually or all at once.”

“I don’t like the wait.”

“Nobody does. Anyways, your mother is upset, and you know what you need to do.” Howzle stood.

“I'd rather be dead now...”

***

Howzle passed away in his sleep at the age of eighty-one. Their neighbors and friends mourned the loss of a beloved man. As was a tradition during a funeral—a practice Sympha herself had created—Howzle was guided to the cremator via his wife and son.

The mother and son stood silently while a Chime took the stage as the funeral director and priest. He discussed the Burning Bell, heaven, fire, and life. Maiden Sympha's purpose and responsibility came rushing back to her.

With Hasmed under the guise of a Kindler, Maiden Sympha returned to O'Landra with a new pure love for humans. She took her role as Bearer and the direct word of God. Although Sympha now had an eternal love for humans, the other Chimes slowly descended into hate.

***

Sympha and Hasmed arrived at their old home in the woods. They tried to keep it in good shape for Howzle’s urn on his bookshelf. Sympha sat on the couch and popped open the black wine. She poured a glass and toasted her late husband.

The chain around Hasmed’s head slid off like a snake and repositioned itself around his wrist. He appeared like a man in his thirties. He had his mother’s eyes, but every other part was a replica of his father: rugged, chiseled jaw. However, Hasmed’s hair was space-black.

The two drank, laughed, and reminisced. They did this every year on Howzle’s birthday. They talked about each other’s flaws and strengths and debated whether the man in the urn really was blind. After an hour, Hasmed had to leave, but Sympha gave him pause before he did.

“Hasmed. I really wish you wouldn’t go behind my back,” she slurred.

He gave no response and divine-stepped away.