Archive of Our Own

The townspeople left the square, disappearing into their houses and turning in for the night. It was a faster transition than other years. Usually, a person or two would stick around for a few minutes after, sometimes even asking The Storyteller a question or commenting to him on some topic. Not this year; they all left quite quickly. It could have been some mysterious force that drove them all away, it could have been pure luck, it could have been any number of things that caused them to leave. The reason behind their quick departure mattered not to Will, only that now they were gone.

And now the two of them were alone.

He began to talk with Constance as he went about removing some of the more ridiculous parts of his Storyteller costume. The elaborate golden mask that was incredibly uncomfortable, the hooded waistcoat with feathers at his fingertips, which restricted his arm movements. He placed them to the side and rolled up the sleeves of his regular shirt. Already, he felt at least slightly better.

At one point, he’d loved it. He’d loved the whole charade, the costume, telling the story, all of it. He knew that was true, but he couldn’t remember when that love and enjoyment faded. He still looked forward to that time of year, because it came with a chance Constance might return, but he no longer cared for the tradition itself. It clearly hadn’t worked so far, why would it work in future years? The town wasn’t doing enough; they had to change tactics, try something else to bring her back—

But Will was too afraid of screwing up.

He didn’t know how Abraham made Constance, or Will himself, for that matter. He didn’t think Abraham knew either, which made it all the harder to bring her back.

Besides, he still held out a little bit of hope. There was still a chance she could come back, and each year she didn’t, it would increase the chances of it happening the next year, right? Right?

He let out a small breath as he sat himself down at the edge of Constance’s short pedestal. If that was true, it really should be any year now. But alas, not—

Something made a noise from behind him. A quiet creaking noise. Slow movement. He didn’t move. He couldn’t, because what if he’d imagined it? What if it wasn’t…

He stood up and turned around. His heart seemed to sink when everything looked exactly the same as before. He truly had just imagined the sound. Ah, well. He’d need to get out of there soon enough anyway. Now he was already standing.

Then the noise happened again.

And the next time he looked at Constance, she had moved. It was slight, but it was there. He stood, watching her, hoping and praying with as much might as he had, that she would move again.

The creaking noises continued, until they were almost constant, as was her small movements. She was moving, but she didn’t seem to be ‘awake’ yet. Just… robotic.

He didn’t like seeing her that way, mindless, but he didn’t like seeing her as a statue, either. He just wanted her back, the way she’d been before all the drama.

Soon, her movements became larger, and she started to wake. Quickly, as she woke, she began to lose her balance. Will ran forward, repositioning himself with every movement of hers so that he’d be underneath her.

She fell off the short pedestal and into his arms. He tried to help her stand as she shook her head and blinked her eyes, trying to adjust to her surroundings. She seemed steady enough after only a few moments, but Will didn’t let go. He couldn’t; he was too afraid of losing her again. Once she was somewhat steady, she looked towards him, blinking a few times again, her eyes coming into focus more and more with each blink.

Realization dawned on her face.

“Will?”

The first word she spoke.

Oh, how he’d missed it. How he’d missed her.

“What’s going on?”

But now that she was back, he’d have to explain all that she’d missed.

He’d known that if—when she returned, he’d have to explain to her what had happened. He’d known it all along, but he’d never thought just how he should go about it.

Which was why, when he attempted to explain, the worlds all came out jumbled and incomprehensible. Or, at least, that was one reason why. The other…

She was back, and he couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t physically capable of shedding tears, but he felt like he was close to it anyway.

“Well I, I, and you, and Ma and the townspeople, and Abraham, he, he…”

Will knew how he sounded, and he knew how strangely he was talking. He strung together more sentences of words that made no sense when put together. He was trying, he really was trying, but he couldn’t make any of it work.

“Shhhh,” said Constance, still clearly lost, but she didn’t seem to care in that moment. She pulled Will close into her, wrapping her arms around him, still trying to calm and quiet him.

Will let himself get lost in her touch, revel in her. One of his arms wrapped tightly around her body, squeezing her as tight as he could manage without accidently hurting her, the other hand around the back of her head, his fingers entwined in her hair, somehow still soft after decades of being motionless. He buried his face into her shoulder, and was finally able to feel whole.

All those years, all that time alone, wondering and doubting and yet still believing, it was worth it. Every second that passed between years, every time he—along with the rest of the town—held his breath, and hoped that she would return, every ache and pain he’d felt, it was worth it. It was all worth it, to be able to hold her, and have her hold him in return.

And with that, he finally smiled. A real smile, not part of a façade he’d put up for the townspeople, not a half smile or a hopeful one. A real, genuine, happy smile.

She was back, and she was real, and she loved him just as she had before.

He could stay in her arms forever. Safe, whole, home.