Gray Hearts by Raspberry | Content warnings
The fire crackles, illuminating Autumn in waves of light. Her hair is cropped short, like soot-colored wisps around her face. She’s in a dark green dress that splits at the thigh, rust orange ruffles hiding her crossed legs underneath the fabric. Though she’s next to the fire, she’s wearing a vest that looks like soft fur.
“How do you take your tea?” she asks, as if anything about this moment is natural.
I feel my feet shuffle forward as she extends an arm to pour a fresh cup of black tea into a cup. She nods towards the chair across from her and waits until I’m seated in the plush velvet cushions before handing me the saucer.
“Three sugars is really unhealthy,” she notes with a raised brow. “But I’m sure you’ve heard that enough times already.”
I should ask about her knowing how I take my tea, but this isn’t even in the top three list of weird things that’s happened since I arrived. I bite my lip and then open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Autumn doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice, as she sets a few cakes and sandwiches on a small plate and hands it to me.
“You haven’t eaten in a while, have you?” she asks, and I try to read her tone.
It doesn’t sound maternal, like with Prin, but it isn’t quite melodic and tempting like Yeoreum. She speaks the way I expect a teacher reading from a dictionary to sound, matter-of-fact and emotionless.
“I hate you.” The words slip out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying.
Her fingers slip, and the plate tilts. I don’t even try to catch it as it falls to the ground, scattering shards of porcelain and crumbs across the wooden floor.
“Well, then,” she says, her voice still even and unfazed. “That’s a strong opinion for one you’ve just met.”
“Why did you do that to me?” I ask.
The teacup shakes in the saucer, but I don’t even care.
“I’m sick of your stupid games,” I continue. “You and your sisters. Why are you doing this to me? To Quinn? Is playing with us really that entertaining to you? Do you have nothing better to do?”
The teacup falls, its shards joining the remains of the plate on the floor. I realize I’m on my feet again, trembling head to toe in front of Autumn, from fear or anger or something in between.
Autumn looks up at me, blinking slowly. Her expression is unchanged. I probably look like a screaming toddler to someone like her.
“If you keep breaking my things, it’ll be hard to eat or drink here,” she says. “Please try not to break this next cup.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Oh yes, I noticed already,” she replies dryly. “You don’t want anything except answers, right? Or are you content with just screaming at me and running off to Winter?”
“Can… can I do that?”
I’m used to having to outsmart, bargain with, and then plead before finding my way out. There’s no way it’s this easy.
“The door is just behind me,” Autumn answers. “It leads outside, where you’ll find the path just ahead. As long as you remember to stay on it, you’ll be in Winter before you know it.”
This is a trap. I know it’s a trap because so far nothing has been this simple. There’s probably another fake Quinn behind the door, ready to tell me she’s dead or I’m stuck or—or—
I feel myself sink into the chair once more, and Autumn hands me another filled teacup.
“You’re wondering why you aren’t racing off,” she guesses. “Or why I haven’t tried to trap you like my sisters tried.” She sighs. “I may be a mind reader, but you’ll have to voice your questions if you want them answered. I can’t make everything that easy for you.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the tea as it shivers in my grip. Her eyes haven’t left mine, and I can’t tell if it’s wishful thinking or if her gaze has softened a bit.
“Why those rooms?” My voice comes out in a barely audible whisper.
“They weren’t real,” she replies, taking a sip of her own tea.
“I know.”
“But they might have been,” she continues. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re smart enough to have figured that out already. Think about it, dear.”
“The first door,” I say slowly, focusing on the tea instead of her piercing gaze. “Quinn and I were living together. We were… both out and happy…”
“The future you always wanted,” Autumn supplies, and I feel my head nodding along. “But that’s not real, is it? Your friend wanted to travel the world and expand her boundaries. You wanted to create a home and have a sanctuary to retreat to. Those two can’t align that easily.”
“I know.” I sigh. “One of us would have had to give up our dream… I… I wanted Quinn to give up hers.”
I feel my eyes sting. Saying it aloud only reminds me what a terrible friend I’ve been.
“The second room,” I start but my voice sounds shaky. I clear my throat and start again. “The second room… I’m all alone. Quinn is gone.” I sniffle. “She’s gone forever. And I knew, I knew how depressed she had been lately. I did nothing to help her.”
“Do you know how she died?” Autumn asks softly.
I nod, feeling my vision water.
“And you think it had something to do with you?”
“How could it not? The signs were all there, and I didn’t help her! If anything, I made things worse for her! I—I’m the reason she’s trapped here in the first place!” I feel the tears spill over my cheeks. “Is that what you were trying to show me? That I’m an awful person and terrible friend and everything is my fault so I can’t have a happy ending?”
I feel the teacup slip from my hand again, but Autumn reaches out and steadies my wrist. I glance up at her. Her eyes are glistening in the light of the fire.
“I want you to think about what you’ve said,” she tells me sternly, but her tone is offset by the softness of her eyes. “In the first room, you blame yourself because Quinn gave up her dream for yours. In the second, you blame yourself because of what you did or could have done for her. But, in both rooms, you forgot one thing.” She pauses, and I wonder if I’m supposed to know the answer.
“I forgot… that it wasn’t real?”
“You forgot about Quinn,” she replies, holding a hand up as I open my mouth to argue. “You forget that Quinn, your Quinn, is a living, breathing person with thoughts and actions that are entirely her own. You may influence her choices, but you do not make them for her.”
“But I—”
“You feel responsible for her because she has been your friend for as long as you can remember and has taken care of you for just as long. You recognize that you have made mistakes in the past when it comes to your friendship, just as she has too.” Autumn gives a flicker of a smile. “But her future is not the result of you and your actions. Understanding that your best friend is her own person is a hard thing to understand, especially when you are so young.”
“I’m eighteen.” I don’t know why that’s the part I choose to respond to, especially since I low-key agree with her.
“I stand by my statement,” she replies. “You are both growing into yourselves and feeling the growing pains of a childhood friendship that hasn’t been keeping up with the changes of your lives. Do you understand me?”
“I… I don’t know.” I sigh, and I’m pretty sure Autumn is about to stamp my forehead with a giant red F and send me to another room to learn my lesson.
I know she’s trying to say how things aren’t my fault. Maybe the doors I walked into were the best and worst case scenarios that could have happened.
Though, neither would have been the best case for Quinn. She would have given up her dream for me and moved in. How would that have been a happy ending for her?
“In both rooms,” I say slowly. “She’s done something because of me.”
Autumn nods, like I’m going down the right path.
“And that’s ignoring every other part of her?” I guess. “Thinking of her future and her actions as something I can control, instead of her actions and her future… her life.” I take a tentative sip of tea, feeling the warm spread across my body. “When we were in high school, we used to make sure we chose the same electives. It didn’t matter that she hated art or that I thought journalism was boring. We just needed our schedules to match up so we could stay together. But real life doesn’t work that way. Taking journalism instead of graphic design isn’t the same as staying in Texas instead of traveling the world. Having her go to the movies with me isn’t the same as having her do what I want her to do with her life.”
“It’s a hard thing to learn,” Autumn says. “And an even harder thing to remember. My sisters have probably helped you already, in their own twisted way.”
“Prin helped me realize that loving someone means letting them go sometimes,” I reply. “Because loved ones are never truly gone, even when we’re apart. And Yeoreum… there are many kinds of love, and I shouldn’t be hiding myself from loved ones. I should trust that she’ll accept me.” I look up at her. “And I guess you’re trying to tell me that I don’t control Quinn?”
“Quinn is her own person with her own agency,” Autumn agrees. “And that will be important to remember when you meet Winter. But that isn’t the lesson to be learned.”
“Then what is it? Growing up is hard, and friendships change? No offense, but I think I’ve already kinda realized that.”
“I don’t think I’ve taught you anything,” Autumn replies, taking a sip of tea. “It has all been you.”
“But the doors—”
“Glimpses into your own mind, your own fears and anxieties.”
“Those came from me? But you… I mean…” I hesitate, furrowing my brow.
“I brought those anxieties to light so that we could look at them together,” she says. “You find that monsters lurking in the shadows are not nearly as frightening when you shine a light on them.”
“So then, you weren’t trying to scare me and trap me?”
Autumn laughs at this, sounding younger and more carefree than her stoic demeanor.
“No, dear,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “My sisters may like to keep others, but I am an expert at letting things go and understanding the nature of fleeting moments. No, I am simply here to ensure you had a hand to hold while you searched the corners of your mind. And had something to eat before you meet my sister.” She waves her hand towards the door. “I wasn’t lying about the door or the path, but you should really eat something before you go.”
She takes a long look at me and sighs, casting her eyes to the ceiling and mouthing what looks like “Yeoreum.”“I’ll get you something warmer to wear too,” she says with a sigh. “Heaven forbid you were sent here with anything practical.”
JAAM Writing 