Mated by Twilight (True Match)

Chapter 39

Leah

Was this what happiness felt like?

That thought came to her randomly, softly, as she sat in the audience of the stage room, watching as the stage was being calibrated. The mechanics were working on the anti-grav machine today, so there was no rehearsal. Corvidair was overseeing the navigation plans of the Twilight Star to their next station. The guys were talking to their parents, coordinating meeting up with the Star when it got there so they could meet her properly. Skara had her own call back home, the cleaning crew was working hard, but she didn’t have to be with them since she was now a member of the cast. They insisted she stop helping, saying she already had a job and shouldn’t keep doing more.

That left Leah, for the first time since she’d been here, alone. The guys had promised to be back soon, and she knew, if she wanted, she could have company. But she had taken the chance to sit in the empty auditorium, eating one of the snacks the guys kept stocked in their room – yes, they were bugs, but dang it they were tasty, and she had been craving them.

The moment of peace and silence, watching the mechanics work and call out to each other, thinking about nothing in particular, had brought forth the question.

Initially, the first time she had the thought, it had been soft and unfocused, the kind of thought that would normally just breeze through her head, barely be recognized, then move on to be forgotten by the time the day ended.

But then she realized what she’d just thought, and it came back, slamming into her like an anvil dropped out of the sky. And she felt just as stupid and stunned as those old cartoons sitting there, sugar crystallized bug halfway to her mouth that was hanging open, staring at nothing as the question ran rampant through her head again and again.

Was this what happiness felt like?

This quiet contentment resting in her chest wasn’t a powerful, tidal wave of emotion. This wasn’t the high of delirious laughter or the burning passion of anger. It was such a simple, unassuming kind of emotion. Like a cat purring to itself, curled up in a warm ball on the couch. There was nothing flashy or vibrant about it.

But there it sat, easy and unbothered. Claiming a space within her that she’d never really appreciated before. And it was like having it there dulled everything else. She wasn’t worried about her singing ability or the fact that they wanted her to pick the next play to put on. The fact that she was eating sugar bugs didn't bother her at all. There were things to be concerned about, sure, but it didn't feel like the weight of them might overwhelm her.

She just felt… content.

And there was so much power in the lack of overpowering demand in that feeling. It was strong in the way concrete was strong – unassuming, unimpressive at first glance, but unassailable and sturdy. It was incredible to acknowledge and luxuriate in.

But then she realized the implications of it.

Had she never really been happy before?

Was this the first time in her life she could say that she was genuinely just happy ?

That was… sobering.

Leah was in a place now that she could acknowledge that the way she had grown up wasn’t right. The way her parents had raised her, the way she’d been told to marry a much older man at eighteen, to give up everything she loved, wasn’t right. But that was more of a secondary acknowledgement. Something she knew to be true because other people told her. Because she’d reached a point where she’d been asked to give up something she absolutely didn't want to lose – even after they’d already, essentially, robbed her of it anyway.

But had her childhood really been so unhappy?

All that time looking after her older brothers and younger siblings. The years spent doing church events and being careful never to be alone with boys. The seemingly endless lectures and sermons about all the ways she needed to do better, be better, but never take pride in herself or what she did. That hadn’t seemed so terrible while she lived through it.

But she’d also never felt this easy joy before. She’d never been able to just sit down and enjoy the moment as it was – simple and uncomplicated. There had always been some chore to do, some task to finish, someone that was making her feel guilty for not doing anything.

She was happy.

And Leah didn't think she’d ever really been happy before.

Lowering her sugary snack, she sat with that knowledge for a long moment. Recontextualizing her entire life based around that new realization. Struggling with it, in a way. Because she’d smiled and laughed before, of course, but she’d never felt like this. And this wasn’t some grand, wonderful emotion that was taking her over like the peak of jubilation and excitement. No, this was just quiet, calm, normal, everyday contentment, and she’d never known that before.

Soft. Wonderful. Beautiful. Like the dimming sky at sunset, burning with power but so completely ordinary that you saw it all the time.

“Leah! There you are!” Corvidair’s voice boomed, echoing through the auditorium. She blinked, focusing back on her surroundings as the troupe leader bounded towards her through the aisles. He had a grin on his furry face, all four arms swinging as he approached. He took the row in front of her and came down, stopping to stand on his knees on the seat, grinning down at her.

“Got you,” he said triumphantly. “We really need to start planning what play we’re doing next. A human based play staring a human is going to be big . So, what play do you want to put on? You’ve had plenty of time to decide, and I won’t hear that you don’t think you can pick. We all take turns, and it’s yours. Tell me your vision.”

Leah blinked at him. She was still reeling from her new understanding of her own life. It took a moment to gather herself enough to even consider his question. And by the time she did, Corvidair was already speaking again.

“It can be anything. Although, maybe not a comedy? We just did that, and I like to make sure we have some variety in our performances. How about a romance? You’ve got your own mates as your costars. You really can’t manufacture on stage chemistry like that.”

A romance? That was tempting. But human romances were all monogamous. There really wasn’t a story she could think of that had two male leads that weren’t rivals. And the idea of picking one of her mates, even just as part of a play, seemed wrong.

But the only thing she could really think of were fairy tales. Some of their plays were fairy tales, just adapted to the zero-g stage. Corvidair had already promised that he would write the play. Even if she picked a well-known play from Earth, it would still need translating into Standard, then adapted, so there would be writing regardless of what she chose. But Corvidair was used to that. It was his job in the troupe – writing and directing. He could work around whatever choice she made.

Not that Leah knew many plays. She had never been allowed to consume outside media growing up, and the few things she did hear about, she wasn’t allowed to explore or enjoy. But the troupe had adapted fairy tales before. That should be an easy choice.

If all the ones she was thinking of weren’t romantic and didn't involve her picking one of her mates to play her leading man – which she would not do. Maybe one day she’d play in a romantic role with one of them because of a play someone else picked, but she certainly wasn’t going to do it herself.

What did that leave her?

Jack and the Beanstalk.

Hansel and Grettel.

Little Red Riding hood.

Those were all that came to mind, and without some major revisions, she wasn’t sure how to make any of them a full-length play.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Corvidair interjected. “It can be anything. I can make any story good. Don’t doubt it for a moment. So? What kind of story do you want to tell?”

She wanted something happy. Something to broadcast this feeling she was enjoying now. Knowing that something this simple was powerful and wonderful. Something that wasn’t connected to the religion she was still grappling with – though that did significantly limit her options since that was all the media she was allowed growing up.

Except…

“There was one story I liked when I was little,” she finally said slowly. “I saw the movie in school once. My parents would never have let me see it on my own. There was magic in it, and they thought that was bad. But I really liked the story, and I thought it was cute.”

“Well?” Corvidair smiled. “Don’t leave me in suspense, you little tease. What was it?”

“Thumbelina,” she smiled at her hand. “A story about a girl born in a flower that was so small, she could fit in the palm of your hand. It was about the adventures she went on and the trials of coming of age. She has to deal with a toad and a beetle and… It’s too silly, isn’t it?”

“Nonsense!” Corvidair boomed, opening all four of his arms. “I love it. Come, you will follow me. You will tell me the story, and I’ll see if I can buy a patch to connect to the Earth subnet to see if you can find it on there. You will have to translate for me, but it will be a start.”

“Oh, there’s a prince in it,” Leah stood and jogged after him. “But there’s just one. Er, is there any way we can, erm…”

“Re-write it for two?” Corvidair grinned at her. “You bet we can, little one. I think that will be a wonderful little change.”

It was a silly change, a selfish one, but Leah couldn’t stop herself from grinning in satisfaction as she followed Corvidair.