Marmalade's Love Potion

“Hm? Oh! Yes…” Steph grinned sheepishly as he realised what Penelope was looking at. “You dropped your handkerchief that day we met, in the Upper Village gardens… I meant to return it when I picked it up, but I forgot about it in the chaos. I found it in my pocket when I returned home and thought it might be… an auspicious touch…” Steph trailed off, looking shy.

Penelope smiled up at him. Then, struck by sudden realisation, she looked down at the skirt of her gown, billowing around her in airy folds as they spun across the stone.

A memory surfaced of a violet crystal ball, and a vision of two figures dancing in a hazy whirl, one dressed in a gown the exact match of the dress she now wore. Penelope threw her head back, cackling in helpless laughter.

As they spun to the music and the ceaseless roar of falling water, Penelope told Steph of her vision in Whistleweather’s shop, of the Fate token and its wily, poetic magic, of her choice to change the design of her gown in protest of Fate.

“And yet…” Penelope finished, wiping beads of moisture from the corners of her eyes as she continued to giggle, her chest aching. “This night unfolded exactly as I foresaw it… though not at all how I expected.”

Steph touched his brow to hers as he drew her closer. “Fate seems spectacularly cruel. How many choices are our own?” He spoke this last part almost silently, as though to himself.

Penelope had no answer regardless. Was her vision simply the culmination of choices she would come to make? A glimpse into a future brought about by her own intent and agency of will? Or was she impelled by a greater force, making choices consistent with the whims of Fate?

Would she have made different choices had she Seen nothing at all? Or would she simply have been walking a fixed road she could not perceive?

She felt another flare of anger at her family, braiding the lives of others into a tapestry of their own design. Yet how much power did they truly have to change its course, if the future was indeed immutable? Was choice at war with Fate? Or was Fate the servant of choice..?

Penelope, in that moment, was tremendously glad she had been spared from her family’s legacy; she had no doubt that joining her mother and sister as a Starwood Seer would inevitably fray her mind. She shuddered, shying away from that thought.

They spun in contemplative silence for another song before Steph remarked, “You asked Ivy to tell everyone you work on commission..?”

Penelope hummed through a sleepy smile as they twirled. “Yes, I intend to return to the cottage tonight… The Faewood is my home, and I intend to continue living there, at least for the time being.” Penelope glanced at Steph, who nodded in understanding. “I hope the Sisters will stay with me… although I haven’t yet spoken with them…”

“From what I’ve seen, after tonight, I believe you will have to pry them from your side with a chisel.”

Penelope grinned, her chest warming with hope. “You’ve spoken with them? I’ve been trying to find them all night…”

Steph nodded. “While you were with your family. They were anxious to hear the outcome of that conversation, to say the least.”

Penelope nodded, frowning. “I don’t expect I will ever receive material support from the Starwoods again, and so… I… we will need means to make ends meet. When Ivy needed a gown, it seemed such a good opportunity. I’ve always made dresses, scarves, gloves—” Penelope flicked the square of cloth in Steph’s pocket—“handkerchiefs… We sell most of it all at market, along with Sister Heely’s concoctions and Sister Rosin’s carvings. Except for the occasional ballgown for the Sisters’ friends… More gown commissions would bring in a better income than what we sell at markets.”

Penelope cocked her head in thought, smiling as she considered the luxurious materials she might work with on gowns for grand events.

“Well, Princess,” Steph broke into her musings. “I hope you don’t believe I will ever leave you wanting for anything that is in my power to give.”

Steph grinned as Penelope flushed and sputtered.

“I don’t expect— I can take care of…”

“Oh, I know you can take care of yourself,” Steph smirked. “But I want to take care of you now, too. I never want you to ever feel you are lacking for anything you might want or need. I will support you in any way I can.”

Penelope smiled up in shy gratitude, feeling hopeful, if overwhelmed, by his declarations.

“That is more generous than I dreamed,” Penelope murmured. “Although… dresscraft is also something I enjoy, and I thought… perhaps, in time… the things I make could become a way to share what the Faewood consents to impart. A way to share the magic of the forest, without destroying it…”

Steph’s eyes brightened as he smiled in understanding. “Then please allow me to do my part to spread the word.”

“What do you mean?” Penelope laughed.

“Well,” Steph hedged as he spun Penelope in a wide twirl, causing her to gasp when she caught sight of the Sisters watching from a short distance away. “I suspect I have kept you to myself for long enough this evening.” Steph spun Penelope back towards him and he wrapped his arms around her from behind as she leaned back against his chest, swaying in place to the final notes of a song.

“Do you have more of that delicious perfume you are wearing?” Steph asked, breath tickling the side of her neck as he breathed in the scent of her skin.

“O-of course,” Penelope stammered as her skin tingled.

“Well, I’d like some for myself, if I may.”

Penelope stepped back, withdrawing her purse from the small pocket of Ivy’s gown. She handed Steph her case of perfume, which he dabbed liberally along his neck and the pulse of his wrists.

“What are you doing?” Penelope laughed, bemused, as the Sisters slowly approached. Penelope grinned at them over Steph’s shoulder, returning her attention to him as he spoke with sweeping gestures.

“I, Princess of Faewood—”

Penelope grinned wider at the moniker.

“—I am going to dance with everyone who will consent to take my arm. And when they ask what scent I’m wearing—and they shall—I will lean in, just so, and ask them if they can keep a secret. You see, I know of an artisanal House, extremely exclusive, very expensive, who works with only the rarest of the rare ingredients…”

Penelope was giggling now as the Sisters stepped to their side. Steph smiled broadly at the Sisters, brushing kisses across their knuckles in greeting before continuing.

“And when they comment on my floral pocket square, which they shall, I will confide in them that the very same House specialises in the finest of dresscraft, capable of spinning up gowns and garments of incomparable beauty. Although, it is very difficult to attain a commission, of course, this House is extremely selective…”

Penelope had thrown her head back and was snorting with laughter, her curls spilling in clouds across her bare shoulders. Steph watched her with a giddy smile.

“By the end of this night, Princess, you shall be the worst kept secret in all of Edenwood Valley.”

Steph closed the distance, placing a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek before stepping back and brushing his lips across her gloved hand.

“Before I take my leave, shall I escort you to a carriage..?” Steph glanced between Penelope and the Sisters as they exchanged looks. “I’ll give you a moment.” Steph retreated a short distance to give them privacy.

“Duckling..?” Sister Heely asked, voice wavering. “It’s entirely up to you. Whatever you wish… Wherever you…”

Penelope nodded, swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat. “I… I want to go home. With you. Back to the cottage in the Faewood.”

The Sisters rushed forward to embrace her as Sister Rosin broke down sobbing.

“We didn’t know… We didn’t know… what you would choose after—after speaking with them.”

“I want to go home with you,” Penelope repeated in a whisper. “You’re my family.”

The three women stood in a huddle, clutching each other in a teary embrace before stepping apart.

“Then let’s go home,” Sister Heely said with a fierce nod.

Steph smiled when Penelope caught his eye. He lead them through the halls towards the front steps, where he beckoned for an attendant to fetch a carriage.

As Penelope was wrapping her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, a four-horse carriage wheeled around the crescent court, accompanied by another armoured entourage.

Steph waved away the footmen, instead ushering Penelope and the Sisters into the cushioned confines himself. He pressed playful kisses to each of the Sisters’ cheeks as they stepped into the cabin. Sister Rosin cupped his face between her hands and pressed a sloppy kiss in return to his brow, while Sister Heely scoffed in mock exasperation that had Steph grinning from ear to ear.

Penelope watched in amusement, wondering at the conversation they must have shared for Steph to have so soundly regained the Sisters’ endearment.

“Wait,” Penelope said, as she settled into her seat and Steph made to close the carriage door. “When… when might I see you again?” Penelope asked, feeling suddenly bashful.

“As soon, and as often, as you wish, Princess.” He leaned in to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Just send me a star on the wind.”

With a lopsided grin that left Penelope’s heart racing, Steph closed the door and signalled to the carriage driver. Penelope waved as the carriage wheeled away down the gravelled drive.

Beyond the gatehouse, the city lamps were bright and the streets filled with ongoing revelry. The women watched the spectacle in tired silence, clutching each others’ hands as they clipped down the hill, winding through the cobbled lanes until they reached the Village gates. Soon they were racing down the Faewood Ring Road once again.

The Sisters both cast curious glances at Penelope’s gown, and yet held their questions, as though breaking the quiet would snap some new and fragile spell weaving between them.

The forest was dark but for the occasional flare of mysterious light that vanished in the blink of an eye.

“House of Faewood…” Penelope whispered as she watched the trees blur beyond the window, feeling something warm settle in her chest.

“What’s that, love?” Sister Rosin asked, staring at Penelope as if she were a treasured apparition who might, too, disappear in the dark.

“Oh… just something Steph said, he called me Princess of Faewood… I like that.”

“House of Faewood,” Sister Heely repeated, rolling the words across her tongue. “I like it, too.” The women grinned at each other, weary and heart-worn, yet elated to have at last reunited after a tumultuous evening none of them would soon forget.

As they stepped out into the frozen, midnight air by the gate of their front garden, the carriage wheeling away into the night behind them, Penelope breathed in the scent of pine and winter flowers as if for the first time.

They dragged their aching feet across the threshold of the door, setting candles and crystals aglow in their wake.

Penelope hung up her cloak by the door, kicked off her shoes, and shucked off her dress with a heaving sigh. Shrugging into a warm robe, she stepped across the sitting room to light the fire.

When golden flames were dancing merrily in the grate, she stood and stretched, feeling the tension of the day at long last beginning to seep away.

“So… Tea, then?” Sister Heely asked, shimmying out of her own gown and draping it neatly over the back of an armchair.

Penelope glanced over at the two women who had raised her, who had cared for her since her earliest childhood, who had protected and sheltered and nurtured her at every turn, and burst into tears.

They rushed to embrace her and the three women, dressed in robes and undergowns, with aching toes and bruised hearts, sank to sit on the couch, holding each other through the storm.

Penelope tried to apologise, to express her gratitude and her guilt at their years’ long burden, though her words were barely coherent through shuddering sobs.

The Sisters understood her regardless.

“You are ours,” Sister Rosin whispered, voice hoarse as she clutched tight, as though afraid Penelope might dissipate like mist if she let go.

Sister Heely nodded, her silver hair brushing against Penelope’s cheek. “You are our family. Our daughter.”

Penelope nodded in desperate agreement, feeling an uncertainty she had carried all her life, like a time-worn river stone, fall away. It left behind a new space that rapidly filled with breathtaking love and an unshakeable sense of home.

They each spoke soothing reassurances, over and again, as they wept together for all they had endured, all they had lost, and all they had gained, as family.

The fire burned to embers as their eyelids grew heavy, and they fell into slumber nestled together.