Invisible Strings II

Chapter 9: Almost

Morning came quietly.

Not the kind that burst through windows or demanded attention. Just a slow loosening of the dark, the storm finally exhausted, snow piled high and peaceful outside the cabin.

Hannah hadn't slept much.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the power had come back on.

The lights flickered alive all at once, harsh and too bright, and Isadora jolted on the couch with a sharp inhale, half awake and disoriented. Hannah had been on her feet immediately, crossing the room in socked steps and flipping switches back down.

"It's okay," she'd said softly. "Go back to sleep. I've got it."

Isadora had frowned, heavy-lidded. "You don't-"

"I know," Hannah had interrupted gently, already moving. "Just... go back to sleep."

The heaters clicked on one by one, filling the cottage with a low, comforting hum. Warmth spread outward, reclaiming the rooms the fire never quite reached. The cabin settled again, like it had been holding its breath.

Isadora drifted back to sleep. Hannah didn't.

She'd sat by the window instead, wrapped in blankets, watching the storm finally give up its fight. Snow fell softer then, straight down like it was tired too. Tired like she was. Her head still felt... wrong. Not aching, not spinning... just crowded.

Every time she closed her eyes, something flickered. Not memories. Afterimages.

Ink bleeding through paper. Keys under her fingers. Isadora's laugh, not a sound, just the shape of it.

By the time morning light crept thin and blue across the floorboards, Hannah was already awake.

She moved quietly.

The cottage felt different now. Warmer, brighter, less like a place held together by necessity. The world hadn't ended in the night. Whatever had started inside her hadn't either.

Hannah paused in the doorway, glancing back at the couch.

Isadora was still asleep, hair mussed, one arm flung awkwardly over the blankets. She looked younger like this. Less guarded. Hannah lingered on the sight longer than she meant to.

Something twisted in her chest. Not panic. Resolve. Familiarity.

Hannah moved softly around the kitchen, the quiet broken only by the low gurgle of the coffee maker and the click of mugs against the counter. The smell filled the cottage, rich and grounding, cutting through the last of the night like a promise that things were continuing whether she felt ready or not.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She didn't turn right away.

Isadora appeared in the doorway, hair tousled like sleep had never quite let go of her, one hand braced against the frame as she stretched the stiffness from her shoulders. Her face was slack with waking, unguarded in a way Hannah hadn't seen yet. Not really.

"You're up early," Isadora murmured.

Hannah glanced over her shoulder. "I was just making us coffee."

She turned fully then... and stopped. Isadora, in the morning light, was... beautiful. Not in a loud way. Not dramatic. Just real. And the strangest part was that the thought didn't shock her.

There was a flicker of surprise, yes, but beneath it sat something steady and familiar, like a hand resting exactly where it always had.

Of course she is.