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It’s impossible to ignore Poppy O’Hair when no one can stop talking about her. A student of Ever After High without a destiny? Who’s not a Charming with the near guarantee to have the Beast’s curse visit him? A child of Rapunzel cheated out of her happily ever after by three seconds? Forced to work for minimum wage and tips in the Tower Hair Salon (even if she does own it, and even enjoys her work)? A daughter of royalty should at least be treated as such, even without a legacy to uphold.
A nasty thought tickles. Well, if her sister ever goes Rebel, at least they have a spare.
Duchess leans against her locker as Blondie points her MirrorPad in Poppy O’Hair’s direction, trying and failing not to slouch.
Of course, Poppy turns out to be nothing like she expected.
There’s a certain security in her utter lack of a destiny. She’s a perfect candidate for a... something , maybe not a friend, friend’s too strong a word. But she has no happy ending that Duchess can steal, which means she doesn’t have to go through the exhausting process of pretending and lying and scheming and sabotage. It’d be a waste of her time; she can’t even use Poppy as leverage against her own sister because she just doesn’t... want to.
It must have been so hard for Holly to carry the weight of a destiny where her sister was left all alone. Duchess would still stab her in the back twice over if it meant she could live happily ever after with a formerly blinded prince, even with the kids, but she’s still capable of feeling empathy for what must have been a frustrating family life. Maybe Rapunzel was the sort of princess who pointed at Poppy and whispered to Holly, You can always be replaced.
Or maybe she’s projecting.
Projecting, Duchess confirms to herself as she sees Poppy fling her arms around her sister’s neck and grin at her with all the love and tenderness a good childhood promised. It makes her burn with envy, but she’s a little relieved too.
She can’t stop watching . It’s not like she’s going out of her way to spy on Poppy, or anything--she’s not a creep and a loser like Sparrow, after all--but she definitely knows that she’s been hovering. She’d be more inclined to stop if Poppy wasn’t looking back at her.
(Duchess can feel that blue-green stare on her all the time. It’s flattering and infuriating. She’s never been the single-minded focus of anyone with a heart as good as Poppy O’Hair’s; with a shock, she realizes that she doesn’t mind it at all.)
They only share one class together--Muse-ic--and Poppy contributes her voice to it where Duchess cannot. It’s another sting of envy as she sits back in her seat and watches Poppy stand in her corner of the room, arranging her sheet music.
“I, uh…” Poppy scratches the nap of her neck. “Sorry if this isn’t that great. I still don’t really get scales yet, at least with vocals?”
The only thing stopping her from making throwing a caustic barb Poppy’s way is the fact that Duchess can’t sing either, and that she has to get her hair worked on later that week. Poppy hums a little, taps her foot, and Duchess watches as she chooses to get over her fear an instant before she sings.
Poppy’s voice is husky; alto, maybe even contralto. The song’s words (something about seeing lights?) don’t register so much as the song and her voice in itself. It digs its way in her ears and crawls to grab at her heart and Duchess is staring before she can stop herself. It feels like there is something in her chest, something with wings and softness. There is envy, of course, but mainly appreciation. Leave it to a daughter of Rapunzel to have a good voice, even if it’s not the traditional, royal soprano.
Poppy’s voice echoes inside of her long after she goes to sleep, and that combined with the phantom feeling of her eyes on her skin leave Duchess with little choice than to confront her at the lockers.
The whole secret thing reminds her too sharply of Ashlynn and Hunter, even though Poppy is neither Royal or Rebel, but she just doesn’t want to share. If they went public then there would be questions and Blondie and everyone would want to know how and why and this and that and she would much rather spend time with Poppy than deal with the rest of the world. It feels nice to have someone all for her own, who gives her all of their attention and all she has to do is...give them all of hers.
Well, not all of her attention. She still has to grab that happily ever after, after all. Duchess is just very selective, now; she doesn’t want to be bound by some prince. She just wants an open ending, where she lives and she’s not a swan and maybe Poppy can show up after it’s all over, and they can just pick up where they left off.
(It’s not that Duchess doesn’t see the point in being a Rebel; it’s just she loves her story too much to ever think about becoming one herself. It’s only the ending that makes her terrified beyond words. That’s all.)
Poppy comes down to her lake often, and after they finish up their homework she watches her dance. There is no critique that follows, because Poppy doesn’t know a thing about ballet, but that lets Duchess be sloppy and free in her dancing for once. She can dance just to express the things she can’t say with her words. She rarely has music with her, so she dances with Poppy’s song in her heart.
There is such little time left.
Poppy doesn’t respond to her texts one night. She texts, can we talk? Then, Pick up your phone, O’Hair. And then, fear gripping her, Please answer me?? It’s nothing bad. I want to tell ppl about us.
After an hour goes by without response to that one, Duchess throws open her window and flies to Poppy’s room. Nearly tears her feathers out when she see’s Poppy collapsed onto the bed, sobbing.
Did I hurt you so? Crescendo, the lake glimmering beneath. Maybe it isn’t the prince that does the killing, this time. There is a version where she leaves her darling to drown all alone…
Open the window, please, please!
Poppy opens the window, among other things. An hour later they lay, twisted together like the vines on Briar’s dresses. It’s too warm to stay pressed together, but Duchess clutches her close anyway. Poppy’s head is just beneath her nose, matted with sweat and tousled from her fingers.
Duchess realizes that she is going to die. Or at least remain as a swan for the rest of her life. The thought of spending even a second away from this, from Poppy giggling--congested and dry eyed--into her bare shoulder makes her heart feel like it will simply burst.
Poppy insists on being the big spoon, despite their difference in height. Duchess closes her eyes.
She lied, before. She wishes Poppy had been the next Rapunzel. Then maybe Duchess could have stolen her way into Poppy’s happy ending.
Duchess goes to the lake the night of graduation. She can hear the music from Briar’s after party all the way down here; one last hurrah. Everyone will be there, except for Duchess, who must be on the water when the sun rises. The lake holds no comfort for her now.
Noise from the shore. Duchess prays that it’s not Poppy coming to see her. That for once Poppy will be selfish, and cruel.
When she turns at Poppy’s call, she wishes she could cry as easily as Poppy is now. She wishes...she wishes for so many, many things. But she has a destiny to follow, and Poppy does not. They were never going to last, really, which makes Duchess wonder why she listened to that instinct that told her to wait, to trust, to stop trying to claw out her own ending.
If she didn’t know any better, she might think that Poppy somehow wrote herself into her story. But that’s just silly.
Duchess holds out her hand, and asks Poppy to dance.
She flies endlessly the first year, trying to forget that awful, shell shocked expression Poppy wore as dawn broke.
The second, she spies Rapunzel’s tower during a morning flight. Thinks she sees someone leaning out of the window, crying out her name. Holly O’Hair was never her biggest fan, but they were cordial to each other after everything came out, even friendly whenever Poppy was there to act as a buffer.
For a moment, Duchess wants to fly to the tower. To Rapunzel’s tower, and see why Holly is so adamant in getting her attention. Maybe, if she could just--borrow some paint, parchment, and time, she could scrawl a message. Ask about Poppy.
In the end, Duchess flies to the lake, and never visits Rapunzel’s tower.
Year three. Duchess realizes that there is no prince who will come blindly hunting her or her swan maiden cousins. There is no black swan. There is no sorcerer.
It’s enough to have her laughing mad. It was all rigged from the very beginning.
In the fourth year, Duchess doesn’t expect to see Poppy at her lake. She doesn’t expect Poppy to talk about love, and vows, and she doesn’t expect to see Blondie and her cameras, and she doesn’t expect the happily ever after she chased to welcome her with open arms and a blue-green gaze that haunts her dreams.
Poppy doesn’t exactly have a place, but Apple White--newly crowned queen of Ever After, and fiancée of her story’s villainess--lets them crash while things are up in the air. The handout of charity burns Duchess, but she accepts the kindness and swallows her pride. Grandmother promised her a little cottage by a lake that swallows the moonlight long, long ago, but that’s only if Poppy and Holly can stand to live apart.
Maybe they will, or maybe they won’t. It doesn’t matter right now; right now, Poppy is the little spoon and Duchess is still waiting for her feathers to burst free, for this all to have been a dream.
“Do you want to know a secret?” Poppy whispers against her neck.
Duchess hums in answer, petting her hair. It’s shorter than it was in highschool, but she likes the look.
“I was supposed to be the next Rapunzel.” Poppy laughs like she hasn’t just dropped the most ironic bombshell of all time. “I’m actually older than Holly.”
“I…” Duchess opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, to laugh so hard that it hurts. “...So you know all about cheating destiny, don’t you?” If her voice wavers with tears, Poppy doesn’t point it out and only laughs back, snuggling and letting Duchess hold her tighter.
“If I had the choice--to throw it away from the beginning, just so I could end up here--” Poppy’s voice cracks after a moment, and Duchess nestles closer. “--I’d do it. Again and again.”
So would I, Duchess thinks.
So would I.