Roommates and Calligraphy Practice

“Oh,” said Bridget Thorne, standing in Dove’s doorway. “I’ll go write my letters somewhere else.”
 
“Don’t worry about it,” Dove assured her sweetly. “My letter will only take a minute. You can use the desk once I’m done.”
 
The woman hesitated, then obliged. She settled into a patient posture and looked awkwardly around the room.
 
Grand Maestro Berig of the Lady of Merciful Hands, Dove penned, painfully slow, in big swooping calligraphy she was sure Bridget could see. She tapped the end of her quill to her chin, making a big show of pondering over her next words.
 
Bridget huffed a little and stomped back out the door.
 
Smiling to herself, Dove quickly scrawled out the rest of her letter. The thought of Berig parsing out the contrasting penmanship of her letter made her giggle.
 
I know you said you would let me know when the girl was ready, but we really need to speak with her as soon as possible. I hope it’s alright that I bring some Sterlings (plus this random woman named Bridget Thorne) to the orphanage in the morning. Please meet me there?
 
x
 
The ladybug in her hair flew down to the desk and transformed — uncannily quickly, like one might even second guess that a ladybug had been there in the first place — into the mourning dove that was Dove’s favorite form of his.
 
“Here, Bradley, my darling,” she said, rolling the parchment into a little scroll and tying it with some twine. “You know where to take this.”
 
The creature, this thing she had summoned out of the ether on that fateful night before the battle, looked up at her with a glint in its eye. She called him Brad, referred to him as a male, but she wasn’t even sure what he was. Did he have a gender? Was he a real animal, or just a bit of tangled up magic consolidated into a form she could understand? Whatever he was, he certainly came with his own personality, and she could feel his presence in her mind. She didn’t even need to speak with him for him to understand her. Weird fae magic was what she had concluded — an unexplainable gift from her Patron.
 
The mourning dove cocked his head at her, adorable cheeks just begging for a scratch. Dove rubbed one finger under his chin, avoiding the disconcerting gold intelligence in his eyes. Brad made an expression of pure pleasure, then jolted up, pecked her finger, and snatched the parchment from her hand. Dove’s hair whipped around as he flapped in tight circles around her head.
 
“Okay, okay,” she laughed, then crossed to the window. “Impatient little minx.”
 
Brad flew straight out the window Dove opened for him. The moonlight glinted off his white wings as he disappeared across the city towards Berig.
 
“Almost done!” she called out in case Bridget was waiting outside her door. She blew out the candle at the desk. Then she laid back on her bed, shoes and all, hands clasped behind her head.
 
This last week had been stressful, with the Sterling Estate all but expanding itself to fit everyone inside. The arrival of the Princess and her accompanying servants and guards had certainly been an upheaval, but things had begun to settle back into a routine. Life was almost feeling… normal? Ish?
 
Until this evening, that is. Such a bizarre evening. An unexpected visit from acolytes of Balan who were certainly up to no good? What could that be about? To her unending relief, Dominic had turned them down. Things were strained with her tall handsome friend (her own fault, she painfully reminded herself), but she still cared about him deeply, desperately needed him to be alive and healthy and completely himself. Untouched by possession or “divine” brainwashing. Dove remembered the panic like poison in her belly as she’d helplessly watched Dominic walk away from her to meet the acolytes. In the torture of waiting for him to return to dinner, she’d even found herself grateful that Bridget had accompanied him.
 
Not that Bridget was any real help, or anything. Sure, she could provide some common sense where it was needed, but she was still from the church. Who knew whose side she was really on? Nobody followed the Goddesses just because they were a good person. Well, other than Dominic, of course. Maybe a few kind acolytes who had helped them out in the past. A bishop or two. But probably not Bridget.
 
She wondered what Berig would think of the cleric. She and her old friend hadn’t really discussed religion yet, though she’d noticed a tattoo of Balan on his arm. So there was a good chance he’d be much more cordial to Bridget than Dove had been, which was probably a good thing. Thank goodness they weren’t taking the Princess with them to the orphanage, though — her upper-class-hating friend would absolutely pitch a fit if he had to entertain some other country’s royalty.
 
The thought of seeing Berig again in the morning brought a smile to Dove’s face. It was nice to finally have had some time to catch up with him. Nice to see an old friend who understood where she came from, how she grew up. His lopsided grin came to mind, the way it wrinkled up the whole top half of his face. His rough, warm hands as he held her up. How she’d wanted to lean in to him…
 
Nope, she thought. Shut it down. No more hurting people I care about.
 
Because she did care about him, but in a very normal, used-to-be-close-as-kids kind of way. Nothing more.
 
Light from the hall spilled in as the door opened. Bridget cast a quick annoyed glance at Dove in bed, then quietly undressed, neatly put her things away, and retired cozily under her blankets. Dove waited until the woman had begun breathing the slow, deep breaths of sleep to loudly kick her shoes off and toss them in the floor. She dressed down to her shift, leaving her clothing in an obnoxious pile in the floor, and snuggled herself under her covers.
 
It felt like Dove’s eyes had only just shut when she was awoken by screams.