She chuckled. “No, not really. My mother also spoke of demons sometimes. She called them the little voices in her head.” Mystique caressed his leg before continuing. “For a while, I had them too. They’re not nice. The words they speak are harsh. We become our own worst enemies. You have to stop listening to them.”
“How?” Reine asked. “How do you silence them?”
“That’s the hard part. You need to find something that makes you strong again, something that makes you want to fight them. As long as you continue feeling miserable and worthless, you won’t be able to get rid of them.”
“What was it for you? What did you fight for?”
“My mother’s death and seeing myself in the mirror was the tipping point for me. I was destroyed. I wanted to go back to the hill and imagine fairies and magic, not despair,” she said, painting the images in the air with her hand. “I fought for myself, because I deserved it.”
“You’re a strong woman, Mystique.”
She laughed and shifted in the water. Her hair fell over her face so Reine couldn’t see if she was blushing, but he imagined she was.
“Come on. Let’s get out of this water. It’s turned cold,” he said.
After helping her out of the tub, he grabbed a large blue towel and wrapped it around her. He pulled her close and began to rub her back, hoping to warm her up. Mystique giggled.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Thank you for listening to me.”
Reine dipped his head and kissed her. She was like a balm to his pain. Her taste, sweet like pie, washed away the sour memory of his loss. Her warmth caused his heart to beat faster, infusing him with the strength he needed to go on.
