A legacy is built not with what you leave behind, but with what you inspire in others.
I took a long drag from my cigarette, letting the bitter smoke fill my lungs for what felt like an eternity before releasing it with a slow exhale. I twisted the fae ring on my finger and ground the cigarette out on the bench.
Just as I expected, Jo appeared soon after. She paused, her brow furrowed as if she had been certain I'd be on the bench hidden in the bushes. She sighed, heavy and long, before sitting down beside me. Without a word, she waited, her hands rubbing together occasionally as if to chase away a chill.
I felt the warmth radiating from her body against my skin, and even though I knew that if she reached out her hand, I would inevitably be touched, I didn't move away. Even though I didn't want to talk to her, for a moment it just felt good to be close to her body.
It took her nearly half an hour to take out her phone and start typing. I didn't need to look closely to know she was writing to me. I could almost hear her fingers tapping out each word. I resisted the urge to sigh. I knew Jo wouldn't leave this little corner of the world if I didn't show up, even if it meant staying here long after our classes had ended.
I stood, moving silently behind a bush twisting the fae ring between my fingers. I made sure to stomp my feet on the ground as I approached, the noise enough to signal my arrival. As one who had just arrived, I grumpily plopped down on the bench beside her.
Jo didn't say a word. She simply draped her arm around me. It was clear she knew what had happened to Alex, or at least the version of events Alice had given her—the one about the drunk driver.
"It'll be all right," she murmured after a moment.
"I know," I replied, my voice flat.
She nodded but didn't let go. I didn't push her away, not really. Instead, I let myself enjoy the warmth of her touch, the rare comfort it brought and lit the half-smoked cigarette again.
"Have you ever thought about what you'd do if you could just be invisible for a day?" I asked, leaning back on the bench.
Jo glanced at me, a curious smile playing on her lips. "Invisible, like... poof, no one can see me?"
"Yeah," I nodded, "Just for a day."
She tapped her fingers on her knee, thinking. "I guess I'd sneak into all those places you're not supposed to go," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Like a concert backstage or maybe the top floor of some fancy hotel."
"Sounds like you've planned this out," I teased, raising an eyebrow.
Jo laughed softly. "A girl can dream, right? What about you?"
I shrugged, taking a moment to consider. "Probably just sit alone."
Jo raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You get a whole day to be invisible, and you'd just sit alone?"
"Yeah," I said, exhaling slowly. "Sometimes, it's nice to just... exist without anyone around. No expectations, no noise."
She tilted her head, studying me. "I guess that makes sense. A little peace and quiet."
"Exactly," I nodded. "It's not about doing something grand. Just being."
Jo smiled softly. "I get that. But if I had a whole day, I'd probably do something a little more exciting."
"Figures," I smirked. "You'd be the one sneaking into places you shouldn't be."
"Hey, life's too short to play it safe," she grinned.
I leaned back, a thought forming as I watched Jo's grin. "You know what? Let's go."
Jo blinked, startled. "Go? Where?"
"Anywhere," I replied, my tone firm yet casual. "Where do you want to go most?"
She stared at me, processing my sudden shift. "Are you serious?"
Jo's eyes flickered with excitement and hesitation as she considered my question. "Well… I've always wanted to see the old opera house downtown. They say it's haunted, and no one's allowed in."
I smiled, slipping the fae ring on my finger, the cool metal grounding me. "Then let's go."
Her brows knit together in confusion. "But how? It's locked up, and there are always guards."
I stood, extending my hand to her. "We'll figure it out. Maybe we'll get lucky."
Reluctantly, she took my hand, her curiosity piqued. "Lucky, huh?"
As we started walking, Jo slowed her steps, her excitement fading into uncertainty. "Shay, are you sure about this? Skipping school to go urban exploring… I mean, we could get into serious trouble."
I paused, turning to face her. "Jo, when's the last time you did something just for the thrill of it? Something that made your heart race?"
She bit her lip, eyes darting away. "I don't know… I guess it's been a while."
"Exactly," I said, leaning in slightly. "This is one of those moments you'll remember. A little adventure won't hurt, and we'll be back before anyone notices."
Jo hesitated, but the flicker of excitement was still there. "You're sure we won't get caught?"
I grinned. "Trust me, we'll be fine."
With a reluctant smile, she nodded. "Okay, but only this once."
"Deal."
We made our way to the bus stop, blending in with the usual city bustle. As we boarded the bus, Jo glanced around nervously but stayed close. The ride downtown was filled with the hum of conversations and the rhythmic sway of the vehicle, a subtle anticipation building between us.
When we reached the stop near the old opera house, Jo stepped off first, her gaze fixed on the imposing structure ahead. The building loomed, its grandeur faded but still commanding attention. She swallowed hard, casting a glance my way.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked again, her voice quieter now.
"Positive," I said, leading her toward the gates. "We've got luck on our side, remember?"
I offered her my hand casually, a small, reassuring gesture. Jo hesitated for a heartbeat before slipping her fingers into mine, her touch warm and soft.
As we walked, I felt the familiar warmth of the ring's magic coursing through me. I focused on it, feeling the subtle shift as it extended to Jo. The air around us shimmered slightly, bending light just enough to make us nearly invisible. Jo didn't notice the change, her gaze fixed ahead.
When we reached the towering gates of the opera house, Jo hesitated. "This is crazy," she whispered, peering around nervously.
I squeezed her hand gently. "Come on, just follow me."
With a deep breath, she nodded, her grip tightening. I led her past the gates, weaving effortlessly past the guards who seemed oblivious to our presence. Jo's heart pounded in her chest, the thrill of sneaking into the forbidden location making her giddy.
"Relax," I said with a small smile, scanning the side of the building. I led her around to a quieter, shadowed alley. There, I found a window low enough to climb through. Without hesitation, I then broke it with a swift movement.
Jo's eyes widened. "Shay, what are you doing?"
"Making an entrance," I replied smoothly, pulling my sleeve over my hand to protect it as I swept away the shards of broken glass. The faint sound of tinkling glass echoed in the narrow space.
Jo squeaked, her anxiety palpable. "This is breaking and entering!"
"Technically," I admitted, stepping through the window frame and landing inside with a soft thud. "But it's not like anyone's using it right now. Come on." I turned back to her, holding out my hands. "I'll catch you."
Jo stood frozen for a moment, the conflict clear on her face. But with a deep breath, she leaned forward and grasped my hands. I guided her through the window, steadying her as she landed softly beside me.
"See?" I grinned, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Piece of cake."
She huffed, clearly still on edge, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "You're insane," she muttered, though there was a spark of excitement in her eyes now.
Inside, the grand, shadowed halls of the opera house stretched before us, bathed in sunshine filtering through cracked windows. Jo gazed around, awestruck by the forgotten beauty of the place.
"How did we…" she began, then shook her head. "We must be really lucky."
I chuckled softly, steering her deeper into the building. "Told you."
We explored the silent corridors, our steps echoing softly in the vast emptiness. Jo ran her fingers along the ornate carvings and faded murals, her awe growing with each discovery.
"This is incredible," she whispered, her voice reverent. "It's like stepping back in time."
As we approached the stage, Jo's eyes sparkled. "I can't believe we're actually here."
"Believe it," I said, releasing her hand. The magic flickered briefly as she glanced back at me, a question in her eyes.
I watched her for a moment before leaning casually against a nearby column. "You ever think about what it'd be like if those creatures were real?" I asked, my tone light but curious.
Jo turned to look at me, puzzled. "What creatures?"
I nodded toward the carvings she'd been examining. "Those." The ancient figures depicted strange beings—half-human, half-something else. Winged creatures, shadowy forms, and beings with otherworldly eyes.
She tilted her head, studying the carvings more intently. "Like... supernatural creatures?"
"Yeah." I shrugged. "If they existed, what do you think would happen?"
Jo paused, her hand still on the carving. "A miracle," she answered softly.
Her response caught me off guard. She didn't fully grasp the weight of my question, but she had answered with a calm certainty that made my chest tighten. Her smile was gentle, like she was trying to soothe something deep within me.
I raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement creeping into my voice. "A miracle? You'd think it a miracle if monsters existed?"
Jo tilted her head, mock-offended, though her hand remained in mine. "You asked the question, I answered. Besides, why this strange question all of a sudden?"
"Why?"
"Hm?" she turned back to me.
"Why do you think that?"
Jo didn't need to ponder the answer. Her grin was immediate, warm. "Don't you think the world would be a more exciting and colorful place that way?"
I immediately realized she was talking about her favourite novels again.
I smirked, skeptical. "Just a reminder—vampires in all those books are man-eating monsters."
Her enthusiasm didn't waver. "I'm sure there would be good and evil among them, just like with humans." She glanced back at the carvings, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "The world isn't as black and white as the books make it out to be, Shay."
For a moment, I just stared at her, lost in the thought that if more humans were like Jo, maybe monsters and humans could coexist peacefully.
"Where did that question even come from?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"Er," I said thoughtfully, casting my gaze to the intricate carvings around us. "I just remembered a story my grandfather used to tell me when I was a kid. It was about a fae king."
Jo's eyes lit up with curiosity. "A fae king?"
"Yeah," I nodded, my voice taking on a nostalgic tone. "He ruled over a hidden world filled with creatures like these." I gestured to the carvings, watching as Jo's imagination took flight.
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned closer to the carvings. She ran her fingers over the delicate, weathered stone, tracing the shapes of creatures that seemed to come to life under her touch. I watched her, caught in a moment that felt both surreal and grounding, like time had slowed and we were no longer just two people in an abandoned opera house.
"Tell me more about this fae king," she said, her voice soft but eager.
I hesitated, unsure whether to share the story. But the ease with which she'd embraced my wild question, made me want to. I took a breath, feeling the weight of the words before they left my lips.
"He was a king who loved his people deeply," I began, my voice quiet, "but he was also deeply flawed. He wanted to protect them, to make them happy, but he didn't always know how. In the end, he lost everything."
Jo's eyes met mine. She was patient, waiting for me to continue.
"Even his life," I continued, my voice softer now. "He gave it up, thinking it would be enough to make everything right."
Jo stayed quiet, letting me speak. The soft hum of the opera house seemed to echo my words, making the moment feel heavier than it had before.
"Do you think it was worth it?" she asked after a long pause, her voice low but steady.
I took a deep breath, my gaze lingering on the worn carvings on the walls, trying to make sense of the story I had been carrying with me for so long. "I don't know," I muttered, the weight of the question pulling at something deep inside. "It feels like maybe it wasn't. But… I don't think he regretted it. Not really."
Jo tilted her head, her brow furrowing in thought. "Well, if he didn't regret it, then maybe it was worth it. I mean, who's to say what makes a life worth living? If he found meaning in that sacrifice, maybe it was the only thing he could do." Her words were gentle, but they had an unexpected clarity to them as if she had already understood something I had only just begun to process.
I stayed quiet for a moment, considering her words. There was something comforting in her perspective—maybe because she wasn't burdened by the same weight, the same unshakable guilt that followed me around.
"Yeah, maybe you're right," I finally said, exhaling a long breath. "Maybe it was worth it for him."
Jo gave a soft, reassuring smile before glancing back at the faded carvings, her fingers tracing the edge of one as though it held the answers to all the questions we'd been asking. "So, what happened after he died? The fae king, I mean. Was there anyone left to carry on what he started?"
The question hit me harder than I expected. What happened after? It was a part of the story I hadn't fully allowed myself to think about. I stared at the carvings, feeling their ancient presence pressing in around us, the air in the opera house somehow heavier than before.
"Maybe, even if things fell apart, his legacy didn't die with him. Maybe the choices he made still matter, even if the world didn't turn out the way he wanted."
Maybe it was true. Maybe there was something lasting in the decisions we made, even when the consequences were beyond our control.
"I'd like to think that too," I said softly, my voice quieter than I intended.
Jo nodded, still watching the carvings as if she could see the past in them. "I think he did what he could. And that's what matters."
The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. I looked at Jo.
"Thanks," I muttered, more to myself than to her.
Her smile was the only response I needed.