Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 13.4

As a final consolation, Page asked Dara to do it when everyone had gone home the next day. That was why he now stood behind her a few feet away, his arms crossed and mouth set in a thin line. His eyes were nailed into Dara's back, noting the way her hair covered most of her lithe frame and her dress never got dirty despite sitting inside a room that hasn't seen the bitter end of a brush in who knew how long.

The wool threads lay in unspooled glory before her, and she spread her arms towards them. She didn't need time to prepare, that much was certain. A sharp and deep breath rang from her, and her entire body started glowing with an ethereal light. It was the same soft glow Page had seen her emit whenever she unleashes her magic in weaving the threads. This time, it was different.

When she opened her mouth, it wasn't a song. It was just a silent shriek. Before him, a huge void opened up with a mighty roar. If this was a TV show, he would have balked at the animation or production quality. Seeing it beyond the screen and being hit with the fact that this was real sent real fear deep into his gut. His feet faltered for a fraction of a second, but with a stern shake of his head, he stood his ground. Dara has it covered. She was a damn silk maiden, whatever that meant.

He watched as Dara's tapered fingers started weaving threads. The wool threads floated from the ground and whizzed towards thinner and shinier strands crawling out from the eye of the void. Weaving. She was weaving something from Earth with things from Wyrona. This was...

The passage of time was told through Dara's glow ebbing like dimming spotlights after a performance. The wool threads reached the final stretch, the void roaring in protest as it was forced to accept the new magic thrust upon it. Dara told him to never interfere with the process as it could take him with it. His fists clenched against his arms. No way he'd let the silk maiden die like this.

With every bit of his courage, he surged forward, hand stretched out towards her. Just as the last sliver of light dimmed from her silver hair, the tip of his index finger brushed the limp strands. Like a daguerreotype flashing before his eyes, a bright beam clicked into his mind, shutting everything down. Darkness ate away at his very being, as if he was thrown into the yawning void.

It wasn't even a full minute when light flooded back into his consciousness. His eyes flew open, and he bolted upright, almost colliding with a shadow looming over him. Dara moved away in time, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Are you alright?" she asked, concern dripping from her tone. Her eyes were wide with inexplicable horror. "Why did you do that?"

Page knitted his eyebrows, looking around him. The void was gone, including the recent delivery of wool threads he brought. "Do what?" he asked dumbly.

"Touch me," she answered. "Why did you touch me and get your life source all over the weaving between worlds?"

He blinked. "You're still here," he breathed, the realization settling in. "How come you're still here?"

"When our life forces connected, you gave a part of you into the weaving," Dara replied with a sigh. "It lessened the energy exacted from me. I am only weakened. Not killed."

"And Wyrona?" Page prodded.

She folded her hands over each other on her lap. "It's fine, as far as I can tell," she said. "I contacted my family while you were sleeping.

Page raised his hands to his face. They were normal. Felt normal. He didn't lose an appendage or sacrifice an eye. He remained just Page. "So, what will happen now?" he asked. It took everything in him to not add, to us.

Dara edged towards the box and drew the last spool of undyed thread. She unraveled it with her fingers and started weaving. "You might want to get your recorder for this," she said. "Because I will sing about an important story."

"What's it about?" Page obliged, patting his pockets for his phone. Dara couldn't wrap her head around the word smartphone, so she settled on calling it the recorder. He drew closer to Dara despite the slight pain in his neck. Must have been from when he fell backwards when he lost consciousness. Or something.

Dara started singing, sending him fumbling for the app and the record button. Her magic swirled around her in lively wisps, embedding itself into the threads until it resembled a scarf. When she was done, she faced Page and beckoned him to come closer. And closer.

With a graceful motion, she wrapped the scarf around his neck, sending heat rushing to his cheeks. What...

As soon as he touched the weaving, his senses were transported back in time through Dara's perspective. The scarf was her story, alright. It was the story of how she found someone who loved her and someone whom she might love back.

When he dropped out of the trance, he found Dara smiling at him. He smiled back. "Thank you, Dara," he said. "For more than the scarf."

"Thank you, Page," Dara said. "For everything."

Before Page could say anything more, she moved her face closer to his until their lips touched. It was a great ending to this story, but it might have just been an even greater beginning.