Laurel sports a mild frown as her eyes drift around her room. It's pretty much bare, and the flat gray paint faintly echoes her prison cell... Today's her day off. Maybe she should get some decorations for the place, since she's going to live here for the time being..

  Would that be too presumptuous? Maybe, right? It's not like she'll be here for long.

  She creeps toward the kitchen, and finds Willow in nothing but a long t-shirt as she lazily drops some bread in the toaster. God damn, does she have some legs...

  "Morning," Willow says through a yawn, pouring a cup of tea as her kettle starts whistling.

  Laurel fights the instinct to put her hands on the wall, and instead steps over and sits at the table, keeping herself collected. "Good morning, Wisp."

  "Wisp?" she asks while opening the dishwasher, frowning, and immediately closing it.

  "Yeah, like... Will-o-the-wisp. Willow. Wisp." Her face starts to redden. That was bad, wasn't it?

  Willow takes a long sip of tea, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

  "What? It's a hard name to think of a nickname for. Meanwhile, you can just call me Lore or something."

  "Nah. I already have a great nickname for you."

  "What might that be?"

  Willow's smile turned devious, her eyes sharp and thin. "Yanny."

  Laurel turns pale, and exaggerates her disgust. "Oh god, that's awful. Please don't. I haven't thought about that in years."

  "Then I'll just skip nicknames altogether, Yanny."

  "I hate that. Like, I hate that."

  Willow giggles and brings her into a short hug. "You're a good friend, Laurel. I'm really glad you're staying here."

  Laurel rests her chin on Willow's shoulder. "I'm glad you don't mind me lingering around... hey, do you mind if I decorate the room?"

  "Yes, I do, because we are gonna decorate it together. No talking me out of it."

  Laurel looks her friend over a few times. "I'd love that, but... Willow, are you doing okay? You're a lot more bubbly than you have been."

  "I dunno. I'm happy lately, and that sleep sigil you've been using has been a huge help. I've dealt with insomnia forever, but once I'm asleep, I stay asleep. Lucky me, I have the magic prodigy at my disposal. If only you knew a 'fix the dishwasher' spell."

  Laurel slowly starts to smirk.

  "No. No fucking way."

  "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Let me try something..."

  Laurel immediately gets to work on drawing a spell.

  Willow begins making breakfast for her as thanks, though she's constantly distracted by watching Laurel fully in her element. Vale is entrancing when she's working. All of her focus put fully towards a single task, so much knowledge and using it to help...

  The circle glows blue, and Laurel touches one hand to the dishwasher and the other to the circle, eyes closed and her brow furrowed. "Okay..." With a hand still on the spell circle, she opens the dishwasher door, and smiles. "Oh, this is easy enough." She fiddles with a small sensor by the door, and ends the spell.

  "No. You're messing with me."

  "Sensor for detecting if the door was closed was being blocked by some grime."

  "...and you could tell that from your spell?" Willow accepted that Laurel was skilled in a couple fields and had knowledge of others, like the relatively simple one used to isolate the recording a few days ago. This is a whole different level: a complicated, intricate spell that has circuitry and logic gate symbols interwoven into the circle itself. It's a complex subfield, and she just whipped it out like it was nothing.

  "Yeah... Are you upset that I never asked permission to use the spell? I just... did it. You're not going-"

  "Of course I'm not. You just saved me from having to do the dishes by hand like an animal. So, what are you thinking for your room? Live laugh love signs and a vision board?"

  With a conflicted sigh, Laurel looks out of the kitchen window. "I don't actually know, besides a different coat of paint. Something bright, I think."

  "That sounds great. Eat first, though."

  Laurel doesn't need to be told twice.

  "Who names these paint colors?" Willow asks, looking through the vivid selection of paints at the home improvement store, her voice faintly echoing from the high ceiling.

  Laurel half-smiles at Willow's voice, but isn't really listening. There are so many options here, it's embarrassingly easy for her to be overwhelmed. She hadn't made a single conscious decision in her entire time at Magimax, and now, she's stuck picking between hundreds of options.

  Willow picks up a paint swatch that displays a few shades of green, and clears her throat before speaking in a haughty voice. "Wishful Green, Shanghai Jade, Garden Swing, Enchanted Meadow..." She stops using the voice, and stands by her side. "You okay, Laurel?"

  "Huh? Yeah. Sorry, I'm taking a while. Lot of choices." She picks up a swatch unconsciously, revealing a flurry of pink shades. Not really her preference, but it's an absolute change of pace.

  Willow looks over her shoulder. "Summer Crush, Sweetheart, Love at First Sight... Jesus, they're really hamming it up."

  "Yeah... oh." Laurel takes another cardboard swatch, and smiles. Not what she was expecting to decide on, but it leapt out at her. The color of a blouse she used to wear. "Yep. This one."

  Willow narrows her eyes at the display. 'Unfading Dusk.' It's a dull purplish pink, technically light but somehow still a little gloomy.

  "It's pretty," Willow says, blatantly lying.

  "I like it. I... Yeah. I'm tired of everything being blacks and grays. A little color sounds nice."

  "Emphasis on the 'little', huh?"

  Laurel cracks a smile. "If I get this, are you going to make fun of it for the rest of my stay?"

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Of course not. Just until we're out of the store."

  "That's fair," Laurel says with a giggle, bringing the swatch over to the paint desk. She proudly offers it to the employee, who doesn't react to her selection. It takes Laurel a few seconds to realize he's far too focused on her.

  "Good morning," Laurel offers, but the employee shuts down the attempt at conversation with a blank expression.

  "You look familiar," he says, eyes locked onto her.

  Laurel shrugs, and points to the dully colored swatch. "How many buckets do we need for a room about-"

  "I definitely know you. Maybe a celebri- Holy shit... you're... you're Chad Vale!" His eyes grow wide, his face twisting in a skewed grimace.

  She feels a painful chill flow through her blood, and fights to remain composed. "Oh, uhh, no... My name is Laurel. Who's-"

  "What the fuck?! What the fuck! You should be in prison, you Satan-worshipping piece of shit!" he shouts, backing away.

  A few shoppers turn their heads to the scene, as Laurel glances around nervously. "N-no, I'm-"

  "Hey, asshole," Willow says, stepping forward and getting into his face. "What the fuck did you just call my girlfriend?"

  "What? Your girlfriend?! That's-"

  "Think it over." Willow produces her wallet, revealing her military ID. "You really wanna get into a fight? 'Cuz if you call my girlfriend 'Chadville' or whatever the hell again, I'm going to kick your ass."

  The man glances back and forth between Willow and Laurel for a moment, before his eyes fall. "...shit, sorry, she just looks a lot like-"

  "Don't care. Just get us the fucking paint, asshole."

  "R-right away, ma'am." He scurries away to get the buckets, but a half-dozen people are still watching. Shit.

  Willow takes Laurel's hand, and pulls her face to her shoulder, gently stroking her hair, acting as though she's soothing her.

  Laurel, meanwhile, now has her face firmly planted into Willow's shoulder and chest as the paint desk attendant starts readying what they need.

  Willow smells like freshly cut apples.

  Laurel only regains her senses when they're back in the car, where Willow lets out a sigh. "Sorry about that. I panicked, I didn't know what to do."

  "...you saved me."

  "It's nothing. I'd... like to forget about it."

  Laurel nods, and from the passenger seat, can see how bright red Willow's face has turned.

  Better not mention it. That must have been a tough act for her to do.

  Strangely, Laurel doesn't feel even slightly bothered. In fact, she feels better than she has in a very long time.

  Willow hefts a bucket of paint and the associated supplies to her apartment, Laurel following close behind. The occultist is still clearly lost in thought due to the home improvement store incident, and might need a distraction. What to say... "Hey, Yanny, can you get the door?"

  "Don't start that again," Laurel grumbles, pulling Willow's apartment key from her pocket and unlocking the door.

  "What? I said 'Laurel, can you get the door.' That's all."

  Laurel doesn't respond as they walk inside, instead opening the door to her room and kicking a wooden doorstop into place. "Okay, I'll get started. Wish me luck."

  "Your spell stuff is in the same drawer it always is."

  "...huh? I don't have a spell that paints walls."

  "You made a spell that diagnoses dishwasher malfunctions, you can make a spell for anything."

  "Honestly, it'd be faster just to paint it. It's the kind of thing I'd need to take measurements of the room for. Besides, I've never painted something before, so... that'll be fun."

  "You're joking."

  "What? No, not in the least. Good thing I don't have too much stuff to move." Laurel disappears inside her room, returning as she drags a wooden dresser out inch by inch.

  Willow shakes her head, and grabs the other end, helping her move it to the living room. "Looks like we're painting your room today."

  "We?"

  "I told you, we're decorating. Painting is part of decorating."

  Willow watches as Laurel hums in response, diving back into her room to start dragging out the bed next. Laurel seems unbothered by the incident at the home improvement store. Willow hopes the exertion will hide her recurring blush. Surely, Laurel isn't using some kind of magic charm on her, right? The occultist has a huge range of disciplines, but... she wouldn't. Right?

  There's one way to be sure. Willow closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Counter-Magic started training mental resistance from day one. Picture yourself as you were before you met, distract yourself with something else you love, logically think of as many flaws as you can with the suspected bewitcher, decide if you would willingly choose to follow them, and create a case on why you shouldn't trust them. She obeys the steps to the letter, followed by immediately helping Willow move her bed.

  Well, that didn't work.

  It's unlikely Laurel has enthralled her, but there are other ways to check. First and foremost, Willow flicks Laurel in the back of the head. Nope, she's still able to cause harm to the suspected master.

  Laurel rubs the back of her head, already sweaty from the lifting, but smiling with a tilted head as she turns to Willow. "Ow."

  "That's what you get for not asking me to help in the first place, noodle-arms."

  "I'll take noodle-arms over Yanny," Laurel says, contentedly placing down a layer of paper over the carpet by the wall. "Could you grab me the tape?"

  Hmm... Okay, one more test. "No."

  Laurel giggles. "Jeez, alright, I'll get it myself. Wait... are you checking to see if I enthralled you?"

  "What? No, not at all, I just didn't know where you put the tape."

  Laure grabs the roll of painter's tape from the pile of supplies, spinning it around her finger. "You absolutely were. That's kind of flattering, honestly, but I've never been able to bewitch someone beyond short-term stuff."

  "Have you tried before?"

  "Once. It worked perfectly, but I only maintained it for a minute. I did convince the guy to let me pet his dog, though."

  "That's what you used it for?"

  "Well, I wasn't going to make him do anything particularly out of character. I wasn't nearly as careful with my occult knowledge as I should have been, but I never wanted to actually harm anyone. Also, it was a very cute dog."

  Laurel finishes covering the carpet with a canvas tarp, while Willow gets started on priming the walls with sandpaper. As Willow sands, Laurel paints, the two working in tandem.

  "So, Willow..." Laurel says. "Why didn't you say 'sister' or 'friend' or something? You went right to girlfriend."

  Willow pushes her hair back. "Like I said, I panicked. Don't read into it."

  "And then you were blushing in the car. And now you started doing bewitchment checks..."

  "Seriously, don't read into it. I'm not depraved enough to try anything with the person under my care, even if I did want to. Which I don't."

  Laurel nods. "Good. It would be a horrible idea, anyway. I'm either going back to prison or mysteriously drowning in the lake after this is over, remember."

  "No you aren't. Don't say shit like that."

  "Come on, I've accepted it. You should too," she says, her eyes failing to match her smiling mouth.

  Willow stops priming, and passively rubs her thumb against the rough sandpaper. "If you believe that, why are you bothering to hide what you know from Garza? Aren't you going to prison anyway?"

  Laurel doesn't answer, continuing to paint in long, measured strokes.

  "Why spend what time you have decorating a room?"

  Still, Laurel stays silent, her brush moving a little faster now.

  "And why are you saving money?" Willow says, an edge piercing through her calm tone. "You're squirreling it away. What's the point?"

  "I have my reasons."

  "Do you?"

  Laurel's brush stops moving, and she gently places it back into the paint tray. "...don't laugh. Promise you won't."

  "I promise, Laurel."

  Laurel's eyes stay fixed to the ground. "I've... I've always wanted to run a little magic shop. You know, stuff like beast hunting tools, enchanted items, spell supplies, all that. It's been a fantasy of mine for as long as I've been practicing magic. I know it will never happen now, but the fantasy makes me happy. Just sitting at the counter, answering questions, making just enough of a profit to stay in business... It's comforting, okay? Putting money away helps me pretend. I already have it in my will that it'll go to a charity when I die, so no harm done."

  A few tears fall from Laurel's face, which she wipes away on her sleeve before wordlessly going back to painting.

  Willow returns to sanding, as the sounds of brushes and sandpaper fill the dour silence. Her sullen quiet is too much for Willow to take. That's her fantasy? Something so... pedestrian? She figured the occultist would have more grandiose plans.

  But no. Laurel is clearly in tears, having bared her soul. The last thing Willow wants to do is say something rude. "What are you gonna name it?" she asks.

  "Through The Vale," she immediately answers.

  "That's a cute name. I bet it'll be cozy."

  "It will. It's going to be one of those weird shops with way too much stuff inside way too small of a space, and it'll smell like old books and something familiar but impossible to place. Customers will have to ask me where everything is, since it'll be a mess that only I know how to navigate."

  "You'll have a lot of customers?"

  Laurel starts to smile again, and more tears start to fall. "Mostly window shoppers, but I'll have regulars. I'll order special stuff for any non-humans that live nearby, and sell it at cost, too. You know, weird food they can't get anywhere else, extra large or small clothing, normal things."

  "And what would you do if I came into the store?"

  "Probably ask you to..." Laurel stops mid-sentence, clearing her throat. "Anyway, that's my little fantasy. Thanks for playing along. Makes things seem... less hopeless. If only for a little while."

  The two of them are mostly silent as they continue, only breaking for lunch. By the time the sun starts to fall beyond the horizon, the room is complete. It just needs to dry overnight.

  Laurel and Willow stand back, and look over their work with satisfied smiles.

  Willow still hates the color, but Laurel's expression made the job worth doing.