Cycles of Entropy

Day 1

I had started to understand why it was referred to as Luna's gift. It hurt, having it taken away. To feel myself die over and over again. To feel the fear, and the pain, and the gut-wrenching realization of what's happened to you just to wake up a moment later in a dingy bed. Knowing I had been killed... no, murdered, and I might have to face the person who did it again. It wasn't like Hadley. It hadn't been Camilla's kind friend who had killed me. It was... whatever his body had become. That couple, however, had chosen to...

It hurt. Waking up. Trying to shift my mind from the shock and all-consuming dread to the calm of the first morning. It was painful in a way I can't adequately describe with physical sensation. It was like broken glass. Thousands of tiny shards, each just under the surface of my skin, and all be pulled free at once. To do this, especially multiple times, was chipping away at me. There is a feeling everyone understands. The feeling of leaving the night. Walking into a well-lit home after a walk in the dark. A walk full of frightening little sounds. Footsteps whose owner you can't find and wind that sounds like whispers.

When you make it home into the bright warmth and lock the door, you should feel safe. The hair on the back of your neck should settle. Things should feel okay. Every time I died during the loop, I was denied this feeling. The dread only grew heavier and the knowledge of my death only hurt more. It put the danger in front of me rather than behind me. It is a cruel thing, to take safety and make it feel unsafe. Most people deserve, if nothing else in this world, a place where they can feel safe. Or a person they can feel safe with. They deserve not just to reach safety but to feel its embrace.

This was perhaps one reason I so often prioritized Junia and Millie. The thought of them, in their own home, their own safe place, and struggling to survive. Unable to even mourn their mother's death because, with it, came hunger and filth and desperation. I just couldn't let them live in that. They weren't like me. They hadn't, themselves, taken that feeling from anyone else. They needed to be protected, and something deep inside me longed to protect them. This was perhaps why, although my entire body ached with a phantom fever, I didn't waste the morning. I didn't have to count before I rose from bed and tied my hair in its usual messy bun.

Seeing that boy's body, struggling against its restraints, and remembering Junia and Millie on the final day... Something about it pushed me out the door. There was no question this time, about where I should go. The guilt remained when I arrived at the girl's house, but it lacked the sting of doubt. It did increase as time passed and, too afraid to confront the couple again, I chose to stay with Harrison and the children. But the burden of the memory they left me with outweighed the burden of the guilt. At least for that loop. Perhaps it was because I was so familiar with the feeling of failure, but not with confronting my own death.

In any case, I found myself telling this sort of makeshift family about my sister. About Camilla.

"I find that hard to believe," Harrison challenged with a concerned look on his face. "Magic or no magic, completely undying crops, all year long? If Flora mages could do that, there wouldn't be a starving child in the... country..." he trailed off, glancing awkwardly at Junia as she finally ate her own porridge, satisfied that her sister was full. The children were a grim reminder of the reality behind the claim. But his point stood. Spells required aura, and conventional wisdom said that even magically created plants needed nutrients and the right conditions to grow and produce fruit. Or at least a continuous aura from their creator.

Harrison's skepticism made sense in a way. He may not have understood the reason behind it, but he understood that farms all over the country still required nonmagical labor and different foods were seasonal. At the same time, it didn't make any sense at all. Camilla had left a garden in Beddenmor that did exactly what I was describing. It had been there for years and was still producing fruit. It should have been more than believable, but here he was, acting like he had never heard of anything like it. Even Junia was giving me a skeptical side-eye.

"It's true," I insisted, more life in my voice than I realized I still had. It wasn't like when I told Livia about the loop. It was Camilla he was calling into question. I didn't feel embarrassed, I felt irritated. At least for a moment, until shame swallowed it. Because I was no better than him. I had spent years believing Camilla had lied about her new spell. Believing she faked it somehow. Even while people ate from the crops she created, long after she had been driven from the city she had provided for. "She left fruit trees of the same type..." I trailed off as something occurred to me. It was like a missing word on the tip of my tongue.

Why hadn't I believed her? Why had I spent years, even with the literal fruit of her labor in my hands, calling her a liar? Those familiar eyes glared at me and the world began to blur. For a moment, I felt that wrongness like my body didn't belong to me. I clenched my eyes shut as the world continued to spin. "Miss Mars? Are you feeling sick?" Junia's voice pierced the haze and I shook my head, then looked around. I couldn't remember what I had been thinking about. I just... spiraled without warning.

"I'm, alright, thanks, Junia," I said and she gave me a matter-of-fact nod before returning to her sister.

"You can call me Junie, if you want," the young girl said casually while examining a hole in Millie's sock. It was really sweet of her, and something about the timing made it feel surreal. She hadn't made that offer during the last two loops. It wasn't until I sat with them and started talking about Camilla that she said anything like that. Still, it didn't feel right. Some part of me told me not to let her get too close, so I just smiled weakly.

"Thank you, that is very sweet," I replied and she nodded.

"Well in any case," Harrison said, "Your sister sounds like a wonderful person. I can see why you came looking for her."

"She is. More than I can describe. She was like Aethon himself. With her walked the day. Everyone was more alive just for being around her. She was also brilliant. Not just as a mage, but in every way. She was quick-witted, and kind. Hard-working, and she loved people with..." I paused, trying to think of a way to describe her, "she was a genius at loving people. If that makes sense. Never once did she make someone feel consoled. You know how when some people comfort you, you can tell they don't really get it, or don't really care? Camilla never felt like that. It didn't matter if you were in mourning for a loved one or you just ruined your favorite dress. When you talked to my sister, it felt like it mattered. You always felt important."

"I wish I could have met her. Maybe someday I will. If we can get out of this city alive... If you can help end the Quiet as you say, I'd happily help you find her," Harrison answered. I allowed a hopeless smile as I looked at him.

"If she were here now, she'd know exactly what to do. This would all be over already. I don't know how, but she would fix it. You got the wrong sister, I'm afraid," I replied. It was all I could say. Talking about my sister made me feel warm in a way. Like sharing a favorite book with a close friend. But it also made me feel empty. Like a kettle pouring tea, I was left cold and reminded that without her, I was hollow. Harrison looked like he had something to say; I could see the concern wrinkling his brow. But he couldn't find the words. He took a drink of tea and looked out the window instead.

Looking for a way to continue the conversation without addressing my last sentence, he said the words I had been fearing ever since I brought my sister up. The question I knew he would ask eventually, but hoped he wouldn't. "So, why did she leave home, anyway?" I bit my lip and looked away. Water formed in the corners of my eyes and I had to choke back my initial response. I let the moment drag on for too long and I could feel the regret descend on him as he realized his mistake. Before he backed out I spoke up. I didn't have the stomach to tell him the whole story, but he deserved to know who he was working with.

"Because," I finally sighed, "Some people are just so, so small. Some people are petty, and weak, and are too ready to embrace easy lies instead of troubling truths. Because, for all she had cared, and loved, and smiled, her family still failed to love her." I had tears running down my cheeks at this point, but I kept talking. "She left because she didn't have a choice. Because she had been abandoned, and ridiculed and..." I took a deep breath, choking back a sob, "And because even after all that, she still loved me. She left for my sake." I was quietly crying by the time I finished speaking, and poor Harrison had no idea what to say.

I hadn't told him enough to really respond; I was still too much of a coward. But Junia put her hand on my arm as I cried. "You seem pretty nice to me, Miss Mars," she said. I looked up at her through blurred eyes. "I'm sure your sister thinks so too!" Her eyes were as red as mine and I realized I was breaking down in front of a child who just lost her mother. I wanted to stop but the realization of how, even then, I was completely self-absorbed, only made me cry more. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

"Thank you, Junie," I answered. "You are just like her. I'm sure you would know." She awkwardly wrapped her small arms halfway around me and I kissed her head before letting her go.

"Are you... alright?" Harrison asked and I bit my lip again.

"Yes. I'm sorry, we just met and..."

"No, no, it's alright. It's... hard out there right now. You probably won't be the last person that, uh, boils over in the coming days. It's alright," he awkwardly reassured. I closed my eyes and chuckled. Not an actually happy chuckle, just... it was a moment that would allow no other response. It was also a moment that couldn't last. As I looked away and out the window, I realized I had run out of time. I had another appointment, so to speak. So I wiped my eyes on my dirty sleeves and stood.

"Thanks for your help, Harrison. And thanks for trusting me, Junie," I said. Then I turned to leave. Somehow, my feet felt lighter than they had in an impossibly long time.