Elric was here.
There’s an envelope on the doorstep, and it says “Euphemia” in beautiful, dark script.
Effie’s waiting on the staircase for me when I come inside. Before she can sign or ask me anything about why I was out in the cold, I flash the envelope and a smile, and we race up to our room.
It’s her thing, so we drop onto her bed to read it, even though she hates when anyone gets too close to her sheets. Which she shakes out and changes obsessively so as to rid the bed of her dry skin flakes (some of which are totally imagined, btw). Which means her bed is always made, unlike mine, so I get comfortable, leaning up against the wall and offering the envelope.
“You wanna do the honors?” she asks me with a smirk.
“Don’t be stupid,” I tell her. “You know I do.”
I take my time opening the envelope, and not just because I’m being careful with the thick material that I’m guessing is meant to be reminiscent of medieval parchment; it’s because of what a difference a sister makes. A few minutes ago, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself (with reason, I might add), and now I’m genuinely at peace. Effie didn’t do anything but let me be part of her Elric and Euphemia story for a moment, but it’s just … her. The fact that she’s here. She makes it better.
“What does my beloved say?” she’s asking, leaning forward and making me lean back to keep her from reading over the top of the pages.
“It’s not a letter,” I say, skimming quickly, and flipping through the few pages to make sure. “It’s fan fiction. Handwritten.” I gape at her. “So cute.”
“So cute!”
“Is it one of the stories from the Hidden Tales?” I ask, still skimming, and referring to the online forum where the Ren faire fans elaborate on the stories and characters they love, or else write themselves in. Hidden Tales, like Hidden Scales, get it? You get it.
“I don’t know because you’re not reading!”
“Okay, okay!” I yank them out of the way so Effie can’t steal the pages from me. “I’m reading.” But I give her a moment to get situated first. She settles on her side, propping herself up on an elbow, and taking a deep breath before nodding for me to go on.
“Euphemia had been away for so long this time. Her glittering tailfins hadn’t crested in more months than Elric had ever been without her, and now his chest felt heavy. His steps, too, so that he lumbered to and from the forge, his eyes cloudy with distraction despite the brilliant fire.
“He looked for her at the water’s edge, and quieted the worry within that this time she would not return.”
I glance up at Effie, whose eyes are closed for a moment, a small smile at the corner of her mouth.
“He thought he saw her once, but it was the moon reflecting on the water, and not the shimmer of her brilliant scales. Not the glisten of ocean froth against the dark beauty of her skin, not the light multiplying in the perfect orb of her midnight eyes.”
That part makes both our eyebrows raise, Effie opening her eyes and exchanging acknowledging sounds with me. It’s sad that it matters so much, but it’s unusual for the fan fiction to thoroughly describe Euphemia or any beauty not directly connected to her tail. The fans can go on and on about Elric and his charm and his hair and his eyes, but somehow they never get around to waxing ad nauseum about Euphemia’s physical beauty. She’s a mermaid, that’s the part they love. Some stories even go as far as whitewashing her, cursing her with some disease that made her skin pale, and Elric professing that he loved her all the more. Once, her spirit was taken from her body and placed in the form of another Ren character. She’s Elric’s OTP, so they can’t outright get rid of Euphemia—but occasionally they get creative.
Effie usually shrugs and skips to a different story on the forums, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from saying anything. We know why it happens; no need to belabor it with lengthy discussions.
“Fandom routinely sucks for us,” Effie sometimes reminds me with a snort. But this isn’t some TV-show ship, where we don’t know the Black woman being slammed because she has the gall to be attached to the hero; this is Effie’s story. She deserves to be adored. At the very least to be wished well.
I don’t know him like that, but I love Elric for this.
“He never left the shore anymore, though his father sent young ones to collect him, to remind him of the forge, and his duty. But if Euphemia did not return, he sent word back to his father, then neither would he. Neither could he.
“And then one morning, she found him lying in the sand, the morning tide dragging him a little ways and then nudging him back as though he’d been shipwrecked and washed ashore.
“Euphemia pressed his hair from his eyes, and when he opened them, the sunlight danced behind her and made her face a shadow. He only heard her gentle voice speak his name, and the sound of the waves was quieted. The wind was stilled.
“Euphemia the Mer had returned from the water, and Elric was righted.”
The pages droop toward my lap before Effie and I sigh in unison, bursting into laughter a moment later.
“I mean, it was aight,” she says when we’re calm again, then she nonchalantly fiddles with her eyelashes as though searching for a wayward one.
“I loved it.” I reorder the pages and hold them a second before handing them to her.
“Me, too.” She breathes deep again. “Two weeks till curtains up.”
“Are you nervous? About being promoted?”
“Mm-mm.” Effie isn’t reading the story again, I can tell by how her eyes move over the page. She’s thinking about something; finally she tells me what. “No, I’m ready. I’ll be right there with the Hidden Scales, where I’ve always wanted to be.”
The Hidden Scales are synonymous with Effie’s mom, Minerva, at this point.
“Your mom would be so happy for you,” I say, and now she looks up at me. At first there’s no expression to read, and then her trademark smirk.
“I know. She would.”
I don’t know if that means she wants to talk more or less, so I vacate her bed just in case it’s the latter, pretending I need to stretch. I’m back at my own bed before she says any more.
“This year feels different, Tav.”
“How do you mean?” I sit with one leg underneath me, I guess because it doesn’t look like I’m trying to get too comfortable. I don’t know. I just don’t want to put her off whatever it is she has to say.
I mean, I get it. I can see how much has changed with her just in the past few months. All of her symptoms have escalated pretty noticeably, but I thought she felt better in the water, and she’s been swimming more than ever. Anyway, I can’t imagine she’d let her skin stuff sour the best part of her year, so I really need her to tell me what’s wrong.
But she doesn’t say anything. Then, what I think is going to be another smirk crumbles all of a sudden, and I’m too taken aback to know how to respond until she starts to sign.
“I miss her.”
I don’t wait for more, I explode off my bed and meet her in the middle of my room, throwing my arms around her.
“Eff,” I whisper into her twists.