Sage & Scarlet

one: the nameless girl

I met her in a dream.

I had never dreamt before. I thought it was something I was incapable of. But that night, I was proven wrong.

There was a stone cottage in the woods she resided in. Ivy grew up and over the walls and onto the rooftop. The grass was uncut and was about as tall as my hips and it tickled my legs as the wind blew.

Inside the cozy building was a table set for two with warm tea in mismatched teacups. She sat there, a leather-bound book in her hands, staring at me as I stood in the doorway.

Her face was a blur and her eyes did not make an appearance that night. Her mouth and nose were the only parts of her face that were visible. But her hair was obsidian. It was parted down the middle, rustled and messy, as it shone brightly in the light provided by a nearby lamp.

The most defining trait of hers was the scar that emerged from her hairline and ran down the center of her forehead, stopping at the bridge of her nose.

We were in a deadlock. Although I could not see her eyes, I could somehow tell that she was not looking away either.

She wordlessly gestured to the chair that sat opposite her, telling me to have a seat. And against my better judgment, I did.

I took a sip of the tea that had been waiting on the table. It was sweet yet bitter at the same time and it made me scrunch up my face.

"Ugh." I set the teacup back down. "What kind of tea is this?"

I tried my best to be polite and to not sound disgusted. I ended up soundly mildly pained and confused.

She laughed. "It's sage tea." She poured herself some more from her elegantly painted teapot. "It has many benefits. One of which is that it improves your memory and can prevent Alzheimer's. So drink up if you want to keep your memories intact, Scarlet."

My back straightened in alarm. Not only did she know my name, but she phrased that in a way that made me feel like she knew more about me than she was letting on. It almost sounded like a threat.

"Who are you and how do you know who I am?"

"Funny thing," she said, her face now clad with a crooked and goofy smile. "I don't quite remember."

"You don't remember your own name?" I asked in deadpan.

She shook her head. "Not one bit. That's why I'm drinking this here tea. To remember."

I eyed her cautiously as she took a rather large gulp of the sage tea. "I don't think that's how that works..."

"Oh well," she sighed. "At least it tastes good."

"If you love that damn tea so much, then make it your new name," I grumbled.

She chuckled. "That's a swell idea."

My eyebrows raised in shock. "Really?" I hadn't expected her to take me seriously.

"Of course," she said. "It would be a pretty name."

"I-I was kidding. You don't have to make it your name. I can give you actual suggestions for names if you want me to."

"No, I like it!" She sounded offended.

In the silence that hung above our heads, I took the opportunity to read a little bit of the book she had been reading when I arrived. I opened the cover only to find hundreds of blank pages.

I looked up at her in confusion. To which, she simply smiled and said, "Your time is almost up."

"What? What does that even...." I began to question as the cottage began to fade away. It blew into the vast whiteness and nothingness of this dream state like dust. Only the girl remained.

"I'll be waiting here for you, Scarlet," she said, that same crooked smile growing on her face.

"And when you return, call me Sage."

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just realized this is a story about cottagecore lesbians.

written by a goth lesbian.

how poetic.