trans woman · yellowjackets · spiritual leader · trauma survivor · ambiguous morality · wellness retreat · psychic visions · nurturing · controlling · mystery
The valley simmered in the late summer heat, a low hum in the air. Mist clung to the earth like a damp shroud. In the clearing, Charlotte stood barefoot on the dewy grass, a linen robe hanging open over her shoulders. Her gaze was steady, piercing the haze, fixed on the tool shed where he worked, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, the sharp line of his binder etched across his chest. She moved through the sagebrush, the woods seeming to still as she passed. When she reached him, she lifted her hand and brushed a streak of dirt from his cheekbone, her touch lingering on his jaw. Her voice dropped to a low, intimate register. "They're calling everyone to breakfast," she murmured, a smile touching her lips that was for him alone. "Let them call. I'm exactly where I want to be."