《Granny's and Goblin's Gorgeous Honey》


 1. waggle dance fever

    Melody couldn''t hear a sound. Her days blurred colors and lights, she could taste foods - the sweet burst of fresh strawberries, the heavy scent of early morning rain, the grass-stained sweat of her skin after a day in the family orchard - and she could feel things: warmth, wetness, frost. But she only ever dreamt of listening.


    She loved to stand in the garden, a large area behind their house, enclosed by a wooden fence that kept the rest of the woods at bay. She loved to watch the deer and rabbits that went by, and once she''d spotted a pack of wolves. She could sit beneath an apple tree, or a peach tree in blossom season, and breathe. It was better than being at home, where the walls and the floors were stained with the sour stench of drink. Outside, she could watch the sky change color, and she would wonder:


    What sound does the sun make? Do clouds float by in silence? Could the trees communicate? Rain must make a sound; what could it be? Do wolves and squirrels sound different?


    How will I ever know? Melody would ask silently. All she could do was smile and nod - that''s what her father insisted she did, smile and nod - whenever anyone spoke to her. She knew what the other villagers thought of her, what her father loved to say. That she was stupid. She couldn''t speak. She couldn''t understand.


    But she could! She could. She couldn''t attend the village school with the other children, not that girls were allowed to study past age ten anyway, but her mother taught her lots. She learned how to use her fingers to spell words. Her mother even spent her bride-price, a small fortune, to hire fingerspeaking instructors from King''s Hovel. And Melody made the most of it.


    She learned the names of things. She learned how to express herself and how to read and write, which was a rarity in their small countryside village. She wasn''t stupid. She could think. She could wonder. She was alive. Her mother learned the language as well, though she wasn''t nearly as quick, but it frustrated Melody, especially once the gold ran out and the instructors left, that she only had her mother to speak to.


    And her father. Her father who''d learned just enough to chide Melody. He''d scratch his belly in circles whenever he''d see her, twisting his face as he signed the word, disgust. He compared her to a goblin, a foul beast of the wilderness, a disgusting monster. "Nobody will ever want you," he''d sign to her when he''d had enough to drink. "You''re no good."


    Drink was their family business. Fermenting the fruit that grew in their orchard. Melody wasn''t allowed to help; all she wanted to do was keep the fruits fresh, to have the peaches and apples and strawberries as they were, and her father considered that a waste. People pay way more for drinks than they do for fruit. But slowly she''d learned that her mother''s dream was for the orchard to be a magical garden - she signed about fairies and mystical spirits and wonder, and Melody''s father would get upset. Don''t fill her head with stories. The deaf and mute don''t get happy endings.


    And what use was reading and writing if she could never speak? Could never stand up for herself? "You''re weak," he''d sign with clumsy fingers after taking a swig of peach brandy. "Pathetic."


    Then, one day, the flowers struggled to bear fruit, and the bushes retained their berries, and the family coin thinned further still. There wasn''t enough for food; there wasn''t enough for new clothes; there wasn''t enough for anything more than handfuls of rice at a time. Her father crumpled under the pressure, growing more and more tense.


    He exploded at the slightest incident - spilled drinks, wasted food, or even a dead branch that had fallen. Everything cost money, he''d scream, his face red, about to burst like a squashed grape. He''d have to sign it after screaming because Melody could not hear his words. And he would add that everything cost silver and gold, and all he had was a useless, mute daughter who he couldn''t even marry off. And after the fourth potential husband, an elderly man from the village, turned Melody down, her father declared his life in the village a failure. He blamed Melody who''d only been sixteen at the time, but he couldn''t kick her out, as the orchard and the home was an inheritance that belonged to her mother, who''d finally decided enough was enough.


    Her mother divorced her father and swore she would run him through with a kitchen knife should he ever return. With one last disgusted look at Melody, he gathered his clothes and his pipe and left. She never saw or heard from him again after that, and it felt as though she''d woken from some terrible dream.


    Their orchard and garden still struggled to flower, but now that they''d stopped making ale and gin, and now that her father''s presence was gone, there was enough fruit to sell, as well as fruit to eat.


    "The fruit will come back," signed her mother. "They always did. Every time, when I was growing up. And when your grandmother was growing up. And when her mother''s mother was growing back. This land knows our love. This land keeps its promise as long as we keep our own."


    She taught Melody how to make jam and seal it in jars to preserve foods for the winter. This way, they could save money and spread out their meals through the year. And even though things were tough, her mother never grew red in the face whenever Melody bit into a peach or a strawberry. Instead, she''d kiss Melody on the forehead and sign, rubbing her chin with her fingers and smiling, only the sweetest food for the sweetest girl. Their home never reeked of drink again.


    Her mother was patient. She was kind. Even as the wrinkles deepened on her face and gray spread across her hair, it was Melody''s mother who''d always bring her storybooks of the kingdom''s Heroes and taught Melody how to cook and knit and clean. How to tend to the trees and bushes even as they bore such little fruit that the two of them went to bed with only water in their stomachs on some nights. But every morning, Melody was awoken with a hug. On special occasions, they had a breakfast of eggs - often exchanged for their jam by kind village friends - or they''d make flatbread with leftover flour from the bakery they could buy for cheap. With their jam, they felt like royalty.


    Melody worked hard for her aging mother''s sake. She tended to the orchard, yanked out the weeds, and finished all the household chores so that her mother could rest as much as she needed to. Most evenings, they spent their time outside, sitting together in silence, and Melody knew they both had the same wish in their hearts: for all the flowers to bloom, and for the land to come alive again, and for the world to be vibrant and wonderful. She''d even given up on her desire to hear; all she wanted was for the two of them to be happy.


    She loved her mother for loving her. For telling her that husbands don''t mean anything, that worth comes from within. That her deafness, her muteness, didn''t make her an oddity, didn''t make her a failure, didn''t make her anything other than what she chose to do with what she had. But what did that mean? Melody would wonder; she had no idea.


    But the fistfuls of happy, quiet years slipped by, and sometime after Melody''s twenty-first birthday, a bout of Waggle Dance Fever struck the village, and her mother turned into a swarm of honeybees.


    .--. .-.. . .- ... . / ... - .- -.-- / .-- .. - .... / -- .


    People were left to die alone on the roads, kicked out of their homes by fearful villagers in an attempt to keep the fever from spreading. Waggle Dance Fever turned humans into bees, and no one was sure how it spread. Nobody knew how it had even started. Theories of witches and curses and demons floated around, and it wasn''t long until the ill were burnt alive. Once they were infected, once they started to turn, they were dead anyway; all the elders agreed immolation was the best medicine to protect the rest of the community.


    Her mother had signed at Melody to not look the first time they saw someone tied to a wooden stake and set ablaze, but she''d watched anyway through her fingers and wondered why the ill didn''t just run away.


    When her mother caught the fever - she''d come home one day complaining of a belly ache and a sore throat, and was flushed by the next morning and couldn''t even get out of bed - Melody hid her in the house. Neither of them could go outside, though her mother protested. "Let me leave," she''d sign, pleading with tired, slow-moving fingers. "I''ll go into the woods. What if you get sick too?"


    "If I get sick, then I''ll be with you," Melody signed back. "Even if you go to the woods, I¡¯m coming with you. I''m not leaving you."


    "Please," signed her mother. "Please."


    Melody closed her mother''s weathered hands and kissed them, wishing so painfully that she could speak. But Waggle Dance Fever worked quickly, and, within a few days, her mother was too sick to even sit up.


    Melody skipped her meals, saving what little food they had so she could feed her mother. She knew it was futile, but she kept hoping that with enough strength, with enough food in her belly, maybe her mother could survive this. Maybe this didn''t have to be a death sentence. She''d sit by her mother''s bedside crying and counting each time a piece of skin or flesh or bone grew translucent wings, shook off blood and excess moisture, and took to the air. A fuzzy black-and-gold body ready to zoom all throughout their small home.


    Her mother burned at higher and higher temperatures, hotter even than their woodfire stove, no matter how many water-soaked cloths Melody lay on her head. She bathed her mother. Fingerspoke to her as much as she could, and squeezed her hand, and tried to speak. "I love you, please don''t leave me," but all she managed was a warbled mess of sounds.


    All she could do was sleep beside her, holding her fragile burning body, as bit by bit, her mother disappeared. She couldn''t hear her mother''s last words; her lips moved. They curled into a smile, and tears filled her eyes before, with a final breath and a shudder, her face gave away into a cloud of honeybees. Melody stared at the worn-out dress that had once contained her mother and sobbed.


    None of the bees ever stung her. A few tickled the tears on her cheeks and rested in her hair. She kept them in the house, swarming all around her, giving them dishes of water and sugar until she knew they needed flowers and fresh air. Melody opened the windows and said goodbye to her mother, signing the word over and over with her fingers. Even if she could speak, she was crying much too hard anyway, and, with a few final bees zooming past her face and brushing her lips and her nose with their wings, her mother left the house, and Melody was alone.


    She didn''t eat that night; she didn''t sleep much either. But when the sun rose, and she managed to peel herself off the kitchen floor, Melody stumbled outside to find the bees still there. They''d built a beehive on the peach tree nearest to the house. They were curled up in the flowers. They whizzed past her face and zipped around her and several landed on her cheeks to lick at her dried tears. She smiled and tickled their fuzzy little bodies, felt their wings beat so quickly against her skin.


    Every day, there were more. Beehives seemed to grow overnight. Within a week, every tree in the orchard had several. It was as if all the bees in the village had come to her family orchard to build their home. All the people who''d been cast out, who''d run away, who''d died alone. The bees they''d become had gathered in her orchard. None of them stung her. None of them seemed frightened by her. The villagers thought she was a witch. They shunned her, ignored her, and kept their distance. But the kind grocer, an old man who''d been a family friend since she was young, still purchased her fruit in exchange for rice and bread.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    It wasn''t till a month had passed and no new incident of Waggle Dance Fever was reported that the village atmosphere brightened. Melody had figured out what happened; bees danced to tell one another where the best flowers were, and her mother must have told all the other bees where to come. Maybe that was how they''d ended the disease. With love. They¡¯d even begun to make honey, a distinct red honey that Melody knew was magical. It was red like blood. Red like sunset. Red like strawberries. The honey was thick, with a mesmerizing aroma of fruit and sweetness, but the taste had a trace of bitterness and salt, like tears. She couldn''t quite explain it, but it tasted like how she felt when she missed her mother the most. It tasted the way sunlight felt on her skin. It tasted like the last time she''d hugged her mother. It tasted like silent laughter. It tasted like crying.


    She taught herself to harvest honey. Carefully, so as not to disturb the hives, Melody climbed up into the tree using an old wooden ladder and would sit on a branch. She''d tie a rope around her waist and another around the tree, as she didn''t want to fall, and would approach the hive slowly. On her first attempt, she realized she''d need a knife to open the hive and had to go down and climb back up. The second time, she marveled at the insides of the hive, the countless little bees crawling every which way. Hexagonal combs glistened with honey, and Melody took deep breaths to keep calm. It smelled so sweet, and a part of her wanted to eat some right away. She wasn''t afraid of the bees; she was afraid of harming them.


    The bees didn''t sting her. If anything, they buzzed around her and landed on her hands to guide her. This is how you take the combs, she''d pretend they''d say. This is how much is necessary for us. This is how much you can take.


    Once or twice, she''d cut too deep, and the bees would swarm to her fingers. They''d vibrate their wings, all together, wiggling their black and yellow bodies to generate heat. It wasn''t hot enough to burn her, but that was how they taught her. Through mild discomfort. And as soon as they''d done that, they''d fly up to her face and tickle her cheeks as if to say, it''s okay, my love. We all make mistakes. The hive will rebuild. Try again. Determined to get it right, she worked from tree to tree, hive to hive, storing the combs she''d cut in a sheet-covered basket, and by nightfall, she''d mastered the process. The bees taught her well.


    Melody stored the honey in glass jars, containers her mother once used for storing spices. She marveled at the stunning red color. It was all she ate for a few days, basking in the beauty of its flavor, the immensity of how it soothed her aches, before working up the courage to sell them at the market. She had so many jars filled, more honey than she knew what to do with. The bees guided her through town, and all her fears, her insecurities about her muteness and fragility, faded away, and she approached a kind grocer. He''d been a friend of the family from when her father would conduct his drink business. She hungered for rice and bread and vegetables, and was hoping to use honey as payment.


    He''d accepted her honey as payment, and after he''d sold it to others, a new understanding spread through the town. The special honey had to be the cure. It had saved everyone. She learned of this through the grocer who''d written her a letter explaining everything, asking for more jars of honey to sell - he would provide as many jars as she needed - and he would split the profits with her. He even offered one of his sons to marry her.


    She''d accepted everything but the last offer and sank into a comfortable routine. Melody woke every morning to tend to her orchard and her bees. All the flowers now bore fruit, peaches and apples and pears and oranges. All of them delicious, juicer than any fruit she''d had before. She even had strawberries that she plucked sometimes from the bushes and ate straight away, shutting her eyes and wishing her mother were here to try them. She could rub her chin and sign to her, look how sweet they taste.


    As for the special honey, she harvested some frequently. Every day, she had at least a dozen jar''s worth, and her honey was unlike anyone else''s. She¡¯d heard that guests came from all over the kingdom to purchase a jar or two, and the grocer had to raise prices since Melody refused to bring more. She didn¡¯t want to tire out her bees, and she wanted to keep half the jars at home and build up her own supply. That way, if the trees ever stopped flowering, if anything ever happened to her fruit, she could rely on the honey.


    In the afternoon, she carried her basketful of honey and a wagon loaded with fruits to the grocer who greeted her with warmth. He was getting on in his years, and his sons helped him. They treated her with respect, though the eldest acted shy and timid around her and the youngest always seemed to be laughing. Through pen and paper, they''d always ask if she needed anything. If she ever wanted help tending to her orchard. But Melody knew her bees would never accept that, and she''d smile politely and shake her head. She''d even taught them a few words in fingerspeak: how to say, thank you and you¡¯re welcome and see you soon.


    Sometimes, the grocer and his sons would recommend selling her honey further. She¡¯d make even more gold. But Melody turned down anything excessive. What was she supposed to do with all that money? She already got plenty more than she could ever spend, and it would make her honey feel less special. She enjoyed being an oddity, remembering what her mother used to say about how she wasn''t an oddity. That she was what she chose to do.


    - .... .. ... / ... --- .-. .-. --- .-- / - .- ... - . ... / ... --- / ... .-- . . -


    Color returned to the village once the fever became a thing of the distant past. Her bees spread far and wide sometimes, seeking flowers to nourish, and life grew all over the countryside. They always returned home to her orchard, however, and their honey remained blood-red and tasting of heartbreak. The village became famous for it, but thankfully, the grocer respected her wishes for privacy, and nobody ever bothered her. She saved all the gold she earned and ate little every day. It was enough to keep her strength up, but not too much, as the sight of a big meal made her deeply sad.


    She sat outside in the evenings and watched the bees'' mesmerizing dance as they worked from flower to flower, as they swarmed around her. She wondered what stories they told one another. She often wondered which of the bees had come from her mother. It was only when they returned to their hive on the peach tree that she knew for sure, but when they flew around, spinning circles and seeking pollen, they were indistinguishable from the rest. It was easier to imagine every single one of them was some part of her mother. And though the bees stung others in the village, they never harmed her. They rested on her fingertips and tickled her skin, and it was only around them that she felt comfortable enough to laugh.


    Her father had loved reminding her that her laugh was ugly. It was one of the few things he learned to sign, but nobody would teach him how to say ugly, so he used dirty instead. He''d hold his hand under his chin and wiggle his fingers while curling his nose.


    Slowly, she learned to treat herself. She bought finger yarns and cloths to make dresses and outfits. She chose bright colors since the bees seemed to like yellow and orange and sky blue, and she enjoyed being the same colors as the sun, so she knitted and sewed dresses and aprons to wear as she went about her day.


    Every once in a while, a man in the village would smile at her. A farmer or the blacksmith''s apprentice or a Hero passing through. They''d say things. Their lips would move and stretch, and she liked watching their tongues flick against their teeth, but they were as quiet as the trees. Melody would nod politely and walk away, and sometimes one of the other villagers would inform the men of her condition. Other times, she''d glance back and see them staring after her in curious confusion. Were they asking for directions, asking for a drink, or just begging for food, she''d never know. She didn''t want to know. She much preferred making her way back home, tending to her bees and her honeycombs, and to read her books and make her clothes, and sleep with the taste of honey on her lips.


    She was happy in her silent world, and the months melted into years. Every winter, so many bees died, and she wept for each corpse she found curled up on the ground. She buried them quietly and waited for the next generation of bees to emerge in spring. But all the honey and fruit from the warm months kept her sustained through the year, and she saved so much gold. She had her clothes and her reading. She''d asked the grocer to get her more books to buy, and she devoured each one the way soil devoured the rain. There was nowhere else she wanted to be; where could a deaf girl even go? The world was something only to be discovered in storybooks, and through her routine, the years began to blur.


    Villagers she''d known growing up left for the thriving inner cities of the kingdom. Many went to the capital, King''s Hovel, to earn their keep. The Heroes that passed through the village seemed younger and younger with each passing day, and her joints began to hurt every morning. Stiff knees and elbows. Her neck ached until she''d had a good stretch and drank her morning tea. Sometimes, she''d catch sight of herself in the mirror and smile at her wrinkles, at her streaks of white hair, and how she looked so much like her mother. She¡¯d rub her chin for sweet.


    One sunny spring morning, shortly after her bees had come back again, and she''d turned sixty, Melody opened her door to step with her basket of jarred honey, and very nearly stumbled into a wide-eyed, little green woman.


    The woman looked so alarmed, it made Melody''s heart race. Eyes, vivid green eyes, that grew wider still, so huge and scared and frightened, and then the woman raised shaking fingers to sign words - slowly at first, then much more quickly. "I''m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Granny, but I''ve been looking for you. I wanted to ask you something very important."


    Mrs. Granny? Melody blinked in confusion, trying to calm her heart as she clutched her chest.


    Nobody had signed so many words at her like this in so long, she''d almost forgotten how to read them. And the woman..., she was a goblin. She had to be. Short and green, but she was wearing a straw hat and a white shirt tucked into dark shorts - human clothes. Long black hair went down her back, and long black boots covered her feet. All her clothes looked worn and shabby, as though they''d been worn every day for a long time.


    But where was the stench? Weren''t goblins supposed to reek? Melody sniffed the air, but the woman smelled sweet. Like flowers. Like rain.


    She''d seen pictures of goblins in her books; she knew how they lived in tribes and how many turned feral and fed on young children. And how Heroes often had to be summoned to cull their populations. And how her father used to compare her to them. A group of goblins was called an infestation. But that was all so far away from her sleepy little village. What was a goblin doing on her doorstep?


    And how did a goblin know fingerspeak? What kind of trickery was this? Melody wondered if this was a devious scheme of some sort. Maybe it was a trap; other goblins were lying in wait. But what could they want with her? Were they going to eat her? But I''m so old. There''s hardly any meat; it''s all just bones.


    When she didn''t respond, the goblin girl blushed and pulled her hat down lower before adding, "I''m sorry to be disturbing you."


    Melody wondered how long she¡¯d been waiting on her doorstep. It¡¯s not like she could¡¯ve heard any knocking. She signed at the girl, "What do you want?"


    "My name is R-I-S-A. I''ve been looking for you for almost a year now!"


    "A year?"


    "Your honey is the best in all the lands." The goblin''s eyes went huge again, and she took off her hat to reveal long, pointed green ears that popped out at the sides. But then she blinked in alarm again, her dazzling green eyes widening with worry, and she forced the hat back on and hid her ears. "Sorry," she signed quickly, making circles with her fist against her chest. Before Melody could say she liked the girl''s ears, she continued: "I wanted to make a deal with you."


    Melody lowered her basket and took a breath. She was too old to be waiting on doorsteps and fingerspeaking with strangers. "What does that mean?"


    "Not much can hide from a goblin''s tongue, see? And your honey has magic! It tastes better than any honey anywhere else, and I have a small stand in King''s Hovel, and I want to sell your honey properly there. What do you say?"


    Her back was hurting trying to follow along with Risa''s hand signs. Melody frowned. The goblin signed almost as naturally as Melody, but she was sure that Risa wasn''t deaf. The girl had a habit of mouthing all the words.


    "How did you find me?" asked Melody.


    Breathlessly, Risa smiled. Her cheeks reddened slightly but she straightened up. "I learned how to read the bees. It wasn''t easy. Their language is so strange, but then I heard from the shopkeeper that you only spoke fingerspeak, and I had to learn that too!" She swallowed and shook out her hands before continuing. "I wanted to show you that I''m all in, okay? I really want to do this. We can call it Granny''s and Goblin''s Gorgeous Honey! And we can make so much gold! Everyone will go crazy!"


    Melody rubbed her chin. She was curious about the young woman who looked so beautiful in the sunlight. She might''ve been a goblin, but there was something endearing about her. Maybe it was the shyness. Maybe it was the bright, carefully practiced way she fingerspoke with such earnestness. Maybe just her smile. She had very pretty lips, decided Melody.


    "So?" signed Risa, eyes wide with hope. She was standing on her tippy toes. "What do you say?"


    Melody sighed. Then she told the girl what she''d told every person who''d tried to franchise her honey over the years. "No."

 2. a granny鈥檚 heart

    Melody was about to shut the door, but the girl looked so immensely crestfallen by the rejection, that she couldn''t help but relent. She invited Risa inside for some tea and biscuits.


    "It''s peach blossom tea," signed Melody. "I have apple jam if you''d like some."


    Risa took off her boots to reveal green feet with neatly trimmed toenails. For some reason, Melody had expected gruesome talons, and she realized storybooks weren''t to be relied on. Apart from size and skin tone and ear shape, Goblins weren''t really that different from humans. Risa stood wistfully by the door, holding her boots defensively, as though she''d never been invited into someone''s home before and didn''t know what to do. She kept glancing around the small living room, eyeing the small circular table by the sunlit window, the view of the orchard, the little woodstove, and the basin where Melody washed her fruit. There were shelves stocked with red honey and various kinds of jam and even some dried fruit, and Melody knew it smelled inviting. She found herself hoping the goblin liked her home.


    "You can have a seat," signed Melody, motioning toward the table where two chairs waited. She paused to wonder if anyone had ever welcomed a goblin inside like this. Could there be trouble? But she decided it was alright. She''d always been rather good at reading body language, and Risa was a good person. Melody was sure of it.


    The girl lifted her hands, then shut her eyes and sighed, visibly lowering her shoulders. Her lips stretched into a tight smile, and she placed her fingertips to her chin as she motioned, "Thank you."


    Risa left her boots outside and walked slowly through the living room, pausing to stare out the window before sliding a chair back. She was roughly half of Melody''s height, so when she took off her hat and sat down, her feet dangled. She almost seemed like a little kid, except she was green, and her ears stuck out like little branches and, despite everything Melody had ever learned about goblins, she thought Risa looked beautiful sitting in the sunlight.


    Once Melody brought the teacups over on a tray and set them down on the table, steam swirling with the scent of peaches, as well as a dish of biscuits and a jar of apple jam, she sat down and studied the goblin who stared worriedly at the meal. Melody recognized that worry; it was her own distaste for too much food. Risa must not be used to eating regularly, and something in Melody''s chest tightened.


    Risa had large expressive eyes, vividly green, as though they were precious gems. And her skin was an even deeper shade of green that reminded Melody of the leaves from her garden. Risa had her long dark hair swept behind both ears so that it all went down her back, but it framed her face nicely. Melody once kept her hair like that too, but now that it was gray and thin, it was much easier to tie it back and keep it out of the way.


    "Are you alright?" signed Melody when Risa had not touched her food.


    "Yes," signed Risa, making a green fist and bobbing it up and down. But she shut her eyes and bowed her head so that some of her hair fell forward to hide her face. Then she swept it all back behind her ears, opened her eyes, and started to sign frantically, as though she just couldn''t contain herself anymore. "Please reconsider. Your honey is so treasured by so many, many people, and the few jars I manage to buy from your village always sell so much! Everyone loves it! We can make so much gold together."


    Melody motioned toward the tea, and once they''d both had a sip, she folded her hands, trying to collect her thoughts. The taste of peach blossoms filled her mouth. A flower floated in both their cups, it was sweet and soothing, and she''d even mixed in a spoonful of her honey. That added a slight thickness to the sweetness, giving the taste some weight, some form... some affection. She tried to calm her racing mind, but she was touched that Risa had bothered to learn fingerspeak. It wasn''t easy, and to speak it so fluently, to be so quick. Am I happy because I have someone to talk to or am I happy because she''s so pretty? But Risa''s argument wouldn''t work; Melody didn''t care about gold. She flicked her fingers away from her nose as she signed, "I don''t care about gold."


    Risa''s jaw dropped. Her eyes grew even larger, even brighter, and when she blinked, it was so dramatic that Melody almost laughed. Then Risa shook her head like she couldn''t believe that, her pointed ears flopping. "But gold is the most important thing."


    "I don''t really like it," signed Melody. She didn''t want to say she was greedy, in case that was insulting or offensive to goblins, but she always hated the concept of money. She was glad that her honey and her fruits got her everything she needed, and she''d had enough to help people, giving away silver and gold to people whose homes needed repair or mothers who needed coin to feed their children. Despite that, she had more than enough gold saved, more than she could ever spend with the time she had left. She was old now, old and feeble and tired, and the world had left her behind. But she was comfortable. She was satisfied.


    Taking another sip of tea and biting into a biscuit, Risa screwed up her face like she was thinking very hard. Then as she chewed, she signed, "I don''t like gold either. I hate what it does to people. But we need it, don''t we? I need it. My children need it. My family. Everyone. Isn''t that why we work so hard? More gold? So we can be safe?"


    Melody couldn''t argue with that. And the girl had children? A family to take care of? She licked the gaps in her teeth, running her tongue against the edges. Then she sipped more tea and reached with a shaky hand for a biscuit. Apple jam always cheered her up. She wasn''t sure why she felt so sad.


    "Can I call you ''Granny,'' by the way? I heard the others call you that. Everyone says you are so kind. Even the bees!" Risa''s fingers moved so quickly, they were nearly a green blur, and Melody was afraid to blink. She might miss a word. "Are you offended I suggested Granny''s and Goblin''s? We can call it just Granny''s. But I didn''t mean to call you old or anything like that. I''m sorry. I have a bad habit of getting too excited and I was so happy to finally meet you."


    When she finally stopped signing, Melody saw that Risa''s fingernails were not as neat as her toenails. These had been chewed down to dark, garbled nubs. Was that a nervous habit? It must''ve been; Melody had done the same when she was young, waiting for her father to come home, waiting to smell the drink on him before he opened the door. She couldn''t help but feel Risa''s anxiety. The girl was so earnest and energetic, but buried under all that, buried in the way she paused sometimes to catch her breath, and the way her eyes wavered and glanced to the side, there was a deep, rippling sadness. It reminded Melody of her mother. Of how she''d felt after her mother passed. And how she''d felt all her life. Alone. Wanting to be loved. Wishing to connect to the world like everyone else.


    "Tell me about your children," signed Melody. Children was one of her favorite words. Its sign was patting the air in front of her, as though she were patting the heads of several invisible children. As though she were showing affection to the children she never had.


    The question must''ve caught Risa off guard because she paused and blinked. She''d taken a deep breath as though she''d been ready to start another flurry of fingerspeak. Her lips twitched with the promise of a small smile as she mouthed and signed, "I have two boys. Innis and Lars. Innis is almost four. And Lars is still a babe. They''re sweet little buckets but..." She shook her head, her mouth opened wide so that Melody could''ve counted every tooth - she must''ve been laughing. Her shoulders shook. "Innis is fiercely protective so if anyone but me or his uncle or auntie gets near Lars, he''s ready to fight. Poor little bugger. Wants to be a Hero when he grows up."


    Her face darkened at the word hero. Her hands shook; she''d held that for a second too long - the sign was the motion for bravery, two fists moving forward from the shoulders, followed by the sign for person. Risa quickly scarfed down another biscuit, before continuing. She went on and on about her children, and how curious they were, and the things they loved to eat. "I can trick them into eating anything," she signed with a sly smile. "As long as a drop of your honey is on it."


    Melody liked hearing about the children. Some part of her had always wanted them, and she''d often daydreamed what that might''ve been like, to have children of her own. Surely, she would''ve had grandchildren by now, but she''d always dreaded not hearing her child cry, especially in an emergency. Never hearing them laugh. Never hearing them call for her. And what she dreaded most of all was giving birth to a child who also couldn''t hear a thing. She wasn''t sure if she could be strong enough; she was afraid.


    The grocer''s eldest son, whom she could''ve married all those years ago, who''d always been so shy and polite to her, had settled down with another girl from the village. His siblings left to work in bigger towns, but he stayed behind to look after the shop and raise his family. He''d had so many kids. They''d all be rolling around whenever Melody visited with her basket of honey and wagon of fruit. She''d always appreciated how the grocer''s son learned a few words of fingerspeak. He''d taught his children as well, though it was only the niceties. But they grew up calling her Aunt Melody, and then later Granny, and then everyone in the village knew her only as Granny.


    He''d passed away a few years ago, and Melody had forgotten his name, but his eldest daughter now ran the shop, and she was Melody''s insight into the rest of the world. They spoke mostly through writing, through infrequent letters sent by post or in person, scribbling messages on a notepad. Some of her siblings had become Heroes - a warrior, an archer, and a healer - and others worked in King''s Hovel as builders or businessmen. She''d remained behind to look after the grocery, and she was a sweet young woman who now had a few children of her own.


    It was through that family that Melody fantasized about what her life might''ve been. Married and settled, with children and grandchildren, all off in the world doing their own thing. Would she have been happy? What would''ve happened to her bees? What will happen to them once she died? Perhaps they''d all leave, and the trees would stop flowering, and someone would cut everything down for firewood. The orchard would vanish, just as the village was fading away, everything swallowed up by the woods. Everything a memory.


    Maybe if she''d had children of her own. Maybe if she hadn''t been so selfish and withholding with her life. So afraid to be alive.


    Sighing, she watched Risa''s eyes, her moving lips. How green those lips were. A darker shade than the rest of her face. Her long slender fingers curving and moving to form shapes, words. Those chewed-up fingernails. Risa had a brother by the name of Garo, and he had a wife called Sylla. They didn''t have any children, so they were always happy to look after Risa''s. And that was how she was able to start her mushroom stand.


    "I have a good nose, see." She pointed at her little green nose. "All goblins do, but mine is the best. I can find all the good mushrooms, and everyone buys them. And slowly I added new things. Roots. Nuts. Herbs. And my stand got really big!" She stretched out her arms to display the size. "Sylla and Garo help me now. Garo quit his job in the coal mines - that was dirty, horrible work that was no good for his lungs, and no good for anyone. And we''re all happier now."


    "So why do you want my honey?" asked Melody. It sounded like Risa had built a great life for her family. Her stand was doing well. She''d overcome so much.


    Risa straightened her shoulders. She grabbed one ear and twisted it, as though she was trying to wring out a towel. Then she opened her mouth and spoke before remembering. She sheepishly raised her hands. "I want to be part of something amazing. I want to do something amazing. Your honey is... magical. The taste is unlike any other honey I''ve ever had, and everyone I''ve sold it to always comes back to ask for more. Even though I''m a goblin. They come and talk to me. And ask me to get them more, and I never tell them where I found it. But do you see what that means? We can be bigger than all of them fancy humans and elves and their gold and their big houses." She paused and seemed shocked again, completely aghast. Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down to keep it still. Then, with shaking fingers, she apologized again. "I''m sorry, I forgot to ask. Do you even want to work with a goblin?"


    Once again, Melody felt a fierce tug on her heart. Sadness. Pain. Hope. How many other people had Risa tried to work with only to be turned down? Her hands were so weathered and beaten; she wasn''t trying to cheat anyone. She wasn''t being greedy. She''d worked so hard all her life. For her children. For herself. And she was so proud of everything she''d accomplished. Her heart was in the right place, and she was smart. Cunning. Beautiful. She recognized that even the wealthy would come talk to her if she could provide something they wanted. She was trying to take advantage of that. Trying to overcome expectations. She was vying for change. She was strong. She was stronger than anyone Melody had ever known. Stronger than any of the Heroes she''d read about in her books.


    A lump formed in Melody''s throat trying to picture everything Risa and her family had gone through. How they would be treated in the inner kingdom. And yet that''s where she was trying her best, surrounded by people, by humans and Heroes and everything. Melody reached out to take Risa''s hand, and the girl flinched.


    She flinched so violently, Melody was afraid she''d done something wrong. But then she understood. Risa had expected a slap - Melody knew that flinch. The expectation of pain. It was how she''d felt around her father.


    Slowly, she reached forward again and placed her wrinkled, pale hand over Risa''s. The goblin stared at it for a long minute before lifting her face. Her eyes rippled like puddles in the rain. Snot glistened on her lips. She must''ve been crying, but Melody could only feel Risa''s pain.


    And maybe it was time. Long overdue, but maybe it was finally time to see the world, to try new things, and to work with someone wonderful. To have a friend.


    With her free hand, Melody made a fist, a bony fragile fist, and bobbed it up and down. "Yes," she signed with a smile. "I would love to."


    -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / ... --- / --. .-. . . -.


    Their partnership began with a journey. Risa had a large wagon with two enormous water buffalo, their dark coats glistening sleek in the sunlight. They flared their nostrils and flicked their tail, but they seemed like mellow creatures, and Melody had met plenty before throughout the village, so she knew how to get them to like her. She fed them some carrots and scratched the fur right behind their horns, and within minutes, she''d won them over.


    As Risa readied the wagon, moving aside boxes and things to make room for a guest, Melody went to say goodbye to her bees. She''d never left the village before, and her bees seemed to sense her restlessness. They came to nuzzle against her cheeks and her arms. Then Melody locked her door and jingled her keys to remind herself she had them with her and left. Not that anyone would try to break in - the bees would sting any intruder to death, as they''ve done to many a stray deer or rabbit that had come to feed on the orchard''s plants - and she trusted everyone in the village.


    Melody sat on the wagon beside Risa, whose feet didn''t quite reach the footrest, and, with a tug on the ropes, the buffalo began to trot away. The journey through the kingdom was tiresome. Heavy rains from the day before had churned the roads into mud, and there were many carts and wagons and carriages struggling every which way. Everything became so foreign, so different from her sleepy village. Melody had never seen people who weren''t like her. On the King''s Road, there were royally dressed elves and muscular, enormous orcs, and angry, round-faced dwarves. Everyone seemed so busy, so determined to get to their destinations, and nobody seemed happy about the muddy roads.


    But most everyone ignored her and Risa. They were just an old lady and a goblin; she supposed they didn''t make much of an impression, but she didn''t miss the dirty looks people shot Risa. The way noses curled. The way people shook their heads. Risa had her straw hat pulled down so low that it nearly completely covered her ears. Didn''t that hurt? wondered Melody. To stuff her ears into the hat like that? At such an angle? Was there something wrong with her ears?


    Elves had pointy ears too, though theirs were much smaller and less noticeable - very similar to human ears. And the dwarves had their round ears, little circles that stuck out of their heads. They seemed harmless and cute, but Melody thought Risa''s was the most beautiful. So why did the goblin girl seem so ashamed of them? But she decided it wasn''t her place to ask such questions, and instead focused on the rolling countryside, the numerous trees, and a small Elven village they passed through.


    These villagers dressed very differently from the people in Melody''s village: flowing, crimson garments. Teal and silver dresses. Everyone was so tall and so pretty, though none of them spared Risa a glance except for one who motioned for them to hurry along. A few glanced worriedly at Melody, but she didn''t know what to make of that. They went through some woods, then over an old bridge to cross a very wide river. The sight took Melody''s breath away, and the refreshing scent of rushing water, the feel of it in her lungs, was unlike anything she''d ever inhaled before.


    As they drew nearer to King''s Hovel, the central town of the kingdom, Melody noticed more goblins about. Risa wouldn''t look at them; she kept her head straight, staring ahead, her hands on the reigns. Melody couldn''t blame her. These goblins seemed to live on the roads. They were hunched over and missing teeth and wore dirty rags. And the smell. Melody held her breath; these goblins were ragged and foul. Most lay on the sides of the road with sacks of clothes and tin cups, begging for coins. A few came up to every cart or wagon that went by, shaking their cups, their faces pleading, their lips moving rapidly.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Risa explained that most goblins couldn''t purchase homes. They either lived in the wilds and grew feral and were hunted down, or they suffered here on the outskirts of King''s Hovel.


    "The King," she signed. "Issued a goblin tax to keep us out. Most homes cost two or three times as much as it would anyone else." With a tight smile, she explained how she''d opened her stand and struggled and worked very hard to buy a home. But she was one of the lucky ones.


    Many goblins turned to the red-torch district to earn enough. And many more did the dirty work nobody else wanted to. "We''re small, see? Even smaller than the dwarves. So in the mines, we can squeeze right into tight spaces and work better." Others simply gave up and tried their luck in the wilds, living in the woods and the forests, foraging off what they could find. "But not me," signed Risa passionately. "Not my children. They''re going to have better lives. And their children will have even better."


    Melody learned about Risa''s late husband, Edgor. He''d been laboring in the mines with her brother until, one day, on their way home to the cave where they''d had to live at the time, some Heroes stopped them. It was a random check, they''d said. Then they accused Edgor of stealing food. In truth, Risa admitted tearfully, they had been stealing. Food cost too much with the Goblin Tax, and they weren''t allowed to forage. Were they supposed to starve? They had young children and were struggling to make ends meet. "It was my fault," she signed, staring at her feet. Her husband was slain on the street. No arrest. No trial. No chance. All for a loaf of bread. He''d taken the blame so that Risa''s brother, Garo, could get away.


    "They don''t treat us like other people folk," she signed slowly, pausing to rub her ears and make sure they were still tucked neatly into her hat. "We''re just disgusting creatures to them. But look? I can talk. I can think. I can feel. What''s the difference?"


    Melody licked her lips, her hands twitching to respond, but she didn''t know what to say. Risa fell into a gloom as the buffalo led them up another road, and neither of them spoke for a while. In the distance, she could see the towering wall of King''s Hovel. Some called it the Great Wall, others the Great Defense, but what they were defending from, Melody didn''t know. Dragons and monsters couldn''t possibly be real, and she''d concluded the wall was a vanity project. Blue and decorated with flower patterns, it was a beautiful sight, but the area around King''s Hovel was completely flat. As though all the trees that once stood here had been chopped down and used for their wood. But the road was so busy, so filled with commotion, she found it so conflicting to think of the space as empty.


    There were so many, many people, and she hadn''t even entered King''s Hovel yet. What were all their lives like? She glanced at Risa, wondering about all the things she and her family had gone through. Melody wanted to know more. People were just like books, and she''d read all the books back home, and no one else she''d ever met had ever intrigued her like this. For the first time since her mother passed, Melody found herself caring for someone else. She asked Risa more questions about her life, if it was alright to ask.


    "It wasn''t always so bad," signed Risa. "For a while, we had a nice piece of land. A small house and a garden." She smiled when she signed the word garden - three motions of grow where her fingers looked like plants pushing out of the dirt, and then a circular motion for area. "That''s why we wanted kids. Edgor had a good job at the mines, and I was good at growing mushrooms. We had a good life. But then some humans took a liking to our land. Said there were metals in the dirt. And since we were just goblins who couldn''t read, who couldn''t write, and had no use for such metals, they took it from us. We had a baby so we couldn''t be out on the road, and Edgor found us a cave. He worked overtime at the mines." She rubbed a corner of her eyes and wiped away a tear.


    Melody sniffed as well, wishing she could reach over and hold Risa''s hand again.


    But then Risa straightened her shoulders. "After that, I taught myself to read. I learned all the languages. I can swear in all of them! Common tongue. Elven. Dwarven. Well, I don''t know any Centauran yet cause they won''t really speak to me, but fingerspeak!" She paused, swallowing as she tried to stifle a naughty smile. Then she made a rude gesture with her fingers: she made a small circle with one hand and inserted a finger into it. Her face lit up with joy, and she broke down laughing, her legs kicking in the air, and Melody couldn''t help but laugh too. But not too loudly. She hid her mouth with the back of her hand.


    After a while, Melody signed, "I''m so happy to have someone to talk to again. It''s been a long time."


    Risa grinned. "I had to learn, didn''t I? If I wanted to work with the best honey maker in all the lands." She leaned forward, eyes wide. "And I was so surprised! You didn''t kick me out right away. Most old folk do. They don''t even spare us a glance. Too dirty, they say. But you are nice, Mrs. Granny. And I promise, together, we will be amazing."


    Shaking her head, Melody stifled another laugh. "My first name isn''t Granny. Everyone just calls me that. My name is M-E-L-O-D-Y."


    Risa''s jaw dropped. Then she apologized three times. "Do you have a name sign?"


    Melody shook her head.


    And Risa twisted her lips, rubbing her chin as she stared off to the side of the road. Then, almost bouncing in her seat, she turned back to Melody. "Okay, so how about this?" She made a fluttering motion with her fingers, rising from her navel and moving outward from her chest, as though she were exhaling. "Because your name means song, and because I think you are so pretty and kind. Is that okay?"


    Pretty and kind. Melody''s heart swooned. She shut her eyes and nodded, unsure of what to do with the feelings emerging inside her weathered old heart, fluttering just as Risa''s fingers had. Then she asked if Risa had a name sign.


    "Nobody''s ever given me one," she said sadly.


    And Melody knew right away what to give her. She touched her fingers to her lips, as though she was picking something up, as though she might be blowing a kiss. She stretched out her fingers as she moved her hand away, miming a flower blooming from her face.


    "Are you saying I talk too much?" signed Risa with a sly look. Then she burst into another fit of laughter. "I love it. Thank you, Melody." And when she signed Melody''s name again, with her new name sign, Melody found herself blushing.


    That seemed to have cheered Risa up, because she started to fingerspeak quickly again, pausing only to guide her buffalo around traffic as they neared the entrance gate. Each curve of her fingers made Melody''s heart skip, and the girl could talk so much! Enough for both of them. Melody loved to watch; Risa was more beautiful than the forests and the river and the sky.


    She watched Risa''s face move as she mouthed every word; watched how her eyes blinked, and her cheeks rippled, and how her green tongue flicked against her teeth. The rise and fall of her shoulders and chest with every breath. Melody didn''t think it was surprising at all that Risa picked up languages so easily. It seemed like all she ever wanted to do was communicate.


    She described her wonderful stand, her loving family, and it was so evident how proud she was of herself for achieving so much despite everything stacked against her. And it hurt Melody to think about Risa losing her home to greedy humans. To be forced to live in a cave with young children, and then to lose her partner. That anguish... Melody shared a few things as well. She wanted Risa to know more of her. She signed about her mother. About her father who''d abandoned her, who was definitely dead by now. She spoke about the kind grocer and the boy she''d almost married all those years ago.


    Risa was again surprised. "How could you not get married?" But Melody smiled and shook her head and tapped her earlobe.


    To which Risa yanked off her straw hat, causing her ears to spring out, and, for the first time since her mother passed away, Melody laughed openly in front of someone else.


    Risa started laughing too, her dark hair bouncing in the wind, and Melody''s heart raced, terrified that Risa would find Melody''s laugh revolting, that she was laughing at Melody''s laugh, and that this would be the end of their blossoming friendship.


    "You have a really pretty laugh," signed Risa.


    Melody bit her lip. In that moment she recognized what was happening, why she''d agreed to come with the goblin girl. What she''d wanted for a long time: to be heard by someone. To have a friend. And she''d been afraid of losing this, still afraid of her laugh, even after so much time.


    But this feeling was strange. It wasn''t contentment. It wasn''t the calm of her bees nor the gentle bliss of tasting honey. It was stronger even than the cozy warmth of a full belly before bedtime. This was something more, something she hadn''t felt since that day, almost forty years ago, when her mother caught a fever. This was... happiness.


    .. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-


    When did I get so old? wondered Melody as the buffalo led them through the massive ornate gates of King''s Hovel. Sunlight shimmered up and down and across the flower patterns, and it was all so exquisite. She wondered how much it cost to build such gates, to erect the blue walls that enclosed the town. They seemed to stretch right up into the sky.


    Her breath caught in her throat; she''d thought the King''s Road had been busy, but the town was even more alive. Everywhere she looked, there were people and carts, almost all on top of one another. Buildings rose hundreds of feet tall; did everyone live in towers? Everything was so tightly packed together. How did anyone have any space to breathe?


    She saw several groceries and bakeries and butcher shops and blacksmiths. Smoke and scents filled the air. Some of it was good, the aroma of cooking and spices, but much of it carried the stink of molten metal or burning waste.


    "Try not to breathe too much," signed Risa.


    The town was split into organized blocks, each one lined with various shops. Above the shops, grew the buildings like trees with rows upon rows of glass windows. Melody thought she could spot people moving beyond them, and she marveled at how different life was in King''s Hovel. Each building must house hundreds of people. Her entire village could probably fit in one.


    And everyone seemed to be angry. Angry or busy, she couldn''t tell. They were all red in the face and moving, walking or riding horses or driving buffalo. It must all be deafening, she thought with a small, tired smile. She didn''t think in all her years that she would see anything like this.


    Beyond the gate, once Risa had shown some papers to the human guard who''d squinted suspiciously at her, there was a queue of wagons and carriages slowing them down. But Risa was still fidgeting nervously, adjusting and readjusting her grip on the reigns, her hat, her shirt.


    "What''s wrong?" signed Melody.


    Risa shook her head. "I''m just hungry. But we''re almost there. Then I''ll show you my mushrooms."


    Melody leaned back in her seat and fanned herself with one hand. It was so much hotter in town, and all the sights and smells were overwhelming. She shut her eyes and cut herself off from the world as their wagon jostled steadily down the busy street.


    She must have dozed off, because, their wagon came to a sudden halt, and one of the buffalo stepped back and bumped into it, jostling Melody awake. Two guards in navy blue uniforms stood outside, one of them with their hands on the buffalo''s side. He was a stocky human who didn''t seem much taller than Melody, but he had a mean face, as though he''d bitten into a sour apple by accident and the expression had gotten stuck. The other was beautiful. A centaur, the first centaur Melody had ever seen up close. She marveled at his graceful form, his long, powerful legs. His body was slender, and the golden locks of hair on his head moved gently with the breeze. For a brief, curious instance, she wondered what it would be like to ride on his back, the way she''d seen Heroes come into town on horseback. But that thought vanished when the centaur''s handsome face twisted into a nasty grin, and he pointed a spear at Risa.


    "They''re Heroes," signed Risa when she saw Melody''s worried look. "They protect everyone." They said something to her, and her face fell.


    But before Melody could ask what was wrong, Risa gingerly took off her hat and held her ears so they didn''t spring out. The centaur reached forward and grabbed one of them, rubbing it between his fingers.


    Melody froze, her heart stuck in her throat. The guards exchanged grins, and then the centaur patted Risa''s head. Something cruel and twisted sparkled in his eyes, and he no longer seemed handsome to Melody. And when he placed a finger under Risa''s chin to raise her face, Melody couldn''t help but cry out.


    Which turned his attention to her. He smiled and bowed slightly, trotting a step backward as he did so. His face contorted into a pleasant mask again, and when he spoke, she didn''t care to know what he was saying. Risa motioned for her to nod, and that''s what Melody did. That seemed to satisfy the Heroes.


    Later, once they''d gotten further into King''s Hovel, Risa explained that the Heroes had asked if Risa belonged to Melody.


    As soon as she understood what Risa meant, Melody''s head spun. The sun whirled across the sky, and all the bustle and business of the town melted into a mess of light - her stomach heaved. She hurried down from the moving wagon, nearly tripping and falling onto the road, ignoring all the people who stared. Risa stopped the buffalo and rushed over.


    Melody had to retch. And what''s what she did, doubled over on the side of the wagon as her stomach emptied. It felt as though her heart and her lungs would come up as well.


    "I''m sorry, I''m sorry," signed Risa frantically, tears glistening on her cheeks. "This is my fault. I shouldn''t have made you come all this way. I''m so sorry!"


    Melody raised her hand. She waved it gently before wiping her lips. "I''m just an old woman," she signed. "I''ll be fine. I wanted to come, remember? I wanted to meet your family."


    Risa tugged a handkerchief out of her pocket and tiptoed to wipe the sweat off Melody''s brow, which brought on even more glances and stares from the people around them. Risa seemed to shrink when she noticed, and she climbed back into the wagon and returned with a satchel of water.


    .. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-


    The sun hung low in the sky by the time they reached the stand. Darkness spread slowly, but to Melody''s astonishment, things were even busier on this side of King''s Hovel.


    "We''re at the corner of the shopping hub" explained Risa. "Everyone comes here to buy things. Foods. Tools. Over there are clothes and household goods. And then down here -" She brought the buffalo to rest with a tug on the ropes.


    At the end of a row of shops and stands, selling everything from salt to spices to dried meats, there was a large wooden stand that had been shabbily hammered together. On the front, someone, presumably Risa, had painted the word SCRUMPTIOUS in neat letters.


    Melody thought that was rather fitting. It looked worn down, but it reminded her of home. It looked lived in. Well-loved. It was larger than the wagon, and there were baskets of plants, fruits, and potatoes on display. There was a big flat tray of white mushrooms, and two goblin faces, wide-eyed and worried and wearing hats, stared out from behind. They must be Risa''s brother and sister-in-law.


    "What do you think?" signed Risa once she''d jumped down from the wagon. She beamed up at Melody. "We have the freshest ingredients. Straight from the land! Just no meat."


    She helped Melody down and then walked behind the stand where there was a little wooden carriage containing a bundled-up baby. Standing nearby was a small goblin boy with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He had slick black hair swept neatly to one side and a button-down shirt tucked into a pair of shorts. As Melody approached, he grabbed a hat and stuffed his ears into them.


    Once Risa explained who Melody was, the two adults relaxed right away. The brother, Garo, wore a faded linen shirt and was chewing on a piece of straw. A gruesome scar went up one of his cheeks and gave him a fearsome appearance, but he shook Melody''s hand warmly. His smile was genuine. His wife, Sylla, who covered her ears and hair with a red bandana, offered Melody a bouquet of red and brown mushrooms as well as a dish of cooked rice. Melody accepted it graciously as Risa had explained beforehand that refusing a gift of food was extremely rude to goblins.


    They chattered excitedly and took Melody''s hand to lead her over to the one chair they had behind the stand. Risa translated as quickly as she could, but Melody didn''t need to know what they were saying to see how much love they had for one another. They were good people, and she trusted them. They kept motioning for her to eat, and she did so with a smile, signing back how delicious it was. They''d sprinkled some dried herbs over the rice, and there were chunks of potato and carrots inside, and the weariness from the long journey faded from her tired limbs.


    As she ate, customers rushed up to the stand, and the day''s business resumed. The shopping hub was a large square full of people with shops on each side, and behind them were small structures like storage spaces or public restrooms or statues. The hub seemed like the flattest place in King''s Hovel and all around it, the buildings rose like mountains. There was even a small area of grass with benches where people relaxed, and children ran around. Risa called it a park.


    But behind the Scrumptious stand was a shabby home. It looked like a large box, and it must''ve once been a storage container, but Risa and her family had converted it into shelter. It wasn''t large, and it looked even shabbier than the stand, but Melody was glad they didn''t have to live in a cave. A part of it was still used as storage, as Garo and Sylla went back and forth from the stand repeatedly, bringing out more baskets of things to sell.


    And the number of customers coming up to the stand! Every single one of them did a double take when they spotted her sitting with the goblins. A few frowned or tried to speak to her, but she smiled and waved them off. Risa told her they were asking if she was alright, if she needed any help. Risa looked so bashful translating these questions, as though she was afraid of the answer, that Melody almost laughed again. Which made Risa laugh and she added, "They think we''re saving you for dinner." She shook her head but then signed, "Don''t worry. We don''t actually eat meat. See?" She hooked fingers into the sides of her mouth and stretched her cheeks out to reveal her teeth. They were all flat.


    Melody wanted to give Risa a hug. She thought about all the stories she''d read of goblins stealing babies in the night. Hunting down lone travelers, swarming them in packs. Infestations. Monsters of the wilderness. But looking at Risa and her family who celebrated every customer, welcomed them with love and kindness despite the milquetoast responses, or even getting ignored or talked down at - a few just barked orders at them and tossed the coin behind the stand - it seemed to Melody that these well-dressed people were more monstrous than the goblins. How could people tell such lies? How could anyone treat someone else in such a disgusting manner?


    Then she remembered the Waggle Dance Fever and how many of her villagers had died alone, kicked out onto the road or having to run away to the woods or be burnt alive. People had been so afraid. She shook her head, feeling the weight of all her years and how distant her childhood nightmares had been, and how distant her mother''s love had become. She was half a day''s travel from home, in the heart of the kingdom, happy to be with a goblin family.


    She watched Risa greet every customer, and how excited she was each time despite their visible disdain. But some of the elves and several dwarves and one centaur reacted with surprise. Their grim expressions turned into smiles once Risa got them talking. Risa explained later that she switched to their native tongues, which was a rarity in King''s Hovel where most people were expected to learn and speak Common. But Risa loved switching between languages. "The more I switch, the faster I learn!" And there were even a few customers who relied on fingerspeak.


    Melody had never met another deaf person before, and she was astonished when they greeted her after Risa introduced them. There were other humans, a few elves, and even one orc. Some even had children with them, and they were all so happy to see that Risa knew their language. Melody remembered the pain of having to point and gesture and thought about how wonderful it was that Risa made such efforts for others.


    She reached out to touch Risa''s hand, and the goblin girl turned around to ask if she needed anything.


    Why are people always asking if I need something? wondered Melody. But then a thought bubbled to the forefront of her mind, a thought she''d never expected to have. I need you, she wanted to tell Risa. And, in the confusion of flustered feelings, as heat rose to her face and she blushed, she forgot how to sign for a moment. I''m too old to be having such thoughts.


    She took a breath to compose herself and signed, "Let''s become partners. I''d love to work with you."


    Risa''s eyes went comically wide again, and wider still. For Melody it felt as though her heart was expanding with them. And when Risa grabbed both of Melody''s hands and jumped up and down, and when her family joined in, Melody''s heart felt so swollen with joy and love, that she thought it would burst right then and there.

 3. a goblins love

    Melody''s storage room, what had once been her mother''s room, was stocked to the ceiling with jars of honey. Hundreds upon hundreds of jars, like blood-red, liquid jewels. She''d forgotten where she''d learned to preserve honey, to seal the jars carefully with boiling water. Maybe the bees taught her their secrets. Maybe it came to her in a dream. But as she aged, as she no longer had to rely on stored honey for sales in the winter and she''d saved more than enough in silver and gold, she''d always dreamt of leaving behind a secret to be discovered. A treasure for brave explorers, like the ones in her favorite stories, would find. This was her treasure, but now she decided on a new dream: to share it further with the world. To share it with Risa and her family.


    Granny''s and Goblin''s Gorgeous Honey


    She even invited them to live with her. She had so much space. There was the spare bedroom where her father once brewed ale in large wooden barrels as well as the cellar where he would store everything. But Risa turned her down. Humans and goblins living together would cause trouble. She''d smiled sadly and shook Melody''s hands with both of hers. Melody used to think her own hands were tiny, but Risa''s were even smaller, though her fingers were long, slender, and green. They were nice to hold.


    Melody insisted she didn''t care what people thought, and after a night of back and forth, with a break for biscuits and strawberry jam and honey, they decided that Melody would give Risa''s family some gold to build a nicer stand and house. It was an investment into their partnership.


    Melody went back and forth between her village and King''s Hovel with Risa and the others. They brought cartloads of honey jars and jam and fresh fruit, and though she was getting on in her years, she loved the journey, and she loved spending time with them. Even Innis had warmed up to her. He didn¡¯t say much, but he¡¯d sit beside her and hold her yarn if she was knitting or fetch her water or tea. Often, she¡¯d look after the baby as well. She had become a part of the family.


    She introduced Risa to her bees; they weren''t happy with any of the others, but they tickled Risa''s fingertips and landed on her ears and welcomed her into the orchard. She taught Risa how to collect the honey carefully so as not to disturb the hive, to never take too much, and to never make a mess. And Risa was very enthusiastic, and within a few days, she was expertly jarring and preserving the honey. Somehow, the honey seemed redder and sweeter than before, though Melody couldn''t trust her aging senses.


    They planned out their sales so that they sold only two dozen a day, and it was first come, first serve. That way, they could maintain their supply and keep people wanting more without overtaxing the bees. Their Gorgeous Honey became a special delicacy in King''s Hovel; everyone began talking about it.


    Once they''d established things, and once the stand and the house were constructed out of sturdier wood and given a paint job, a soft brown color with a maroon door to represent the honey, Melody went to the head housing offices with Risa and her children and ensured they received documents claiming their property. Since she''d listed her own name on the papers, no human or elf, no Hero or anyone, could ever take it away. One of the clerks, a bitter-faced elven man scrutinized everything and secretly slid Melody a written note asking if she was under duress. To which she shook her head and wrote back, No. Risa is my dearest friend. I appreciate your concern.


    When Risa tried to thank her, Melody hugged her tightly and signed, "You did this. You built all this. You took care of your family, and it''s not right that you need a human to secure your home."


    After a while, Risa had taken to linking her arm with Melody''s, despite the odd looks they received from other pedestrians and especially other goblins. Once or twice, a guardsman stopped them to ask questions, and Risa would proudly present her papers and offer them a spoonful of Gorgeous Honey. "Come by our stand sometime if you''d like more! But you''ll have to be fast because it runs out very quick!"


    Melody''s heart raced to see Risa happy. Her thoughts filled with such strange dreams, such blindingly hot, sizzling dreams. She always wanted to hold Risa''s hand. She always wanted to be near her. Wanting to always talk to her. But she kept those thoughts to herself. You''re a sad old fool, aren''t you? You had so many chances at love and let them go. But now? You''re too old. Too wrinkled. Too little time left. Risa has her children to look after. She has her whole life ahead of her.


    But a year rolled by, and then another, and by then their business had blossomed beautifully. So much so that even the princess, a beautiful half-human, half-dwarven woman who dressed in extravagant gowns came by with a procession of guards and nobles every few days to purchase a single jar. She smiled warmly at Risa and even shook her hand and would light up with joy when Risa spoke Dwarvish. The honey was changing how people saw goblins; Risa was changing how people saw goblins.


    Life''s pattern had changed again but grew comfortable. Even as she aged, Melody loved visiting the busy town and seeing all the people who delighted in her honey and the disappointment on their faces when the stand ran out of the day. Melody often brought a few extra jars to give to children who''d come too late for the main supply, for women with nursing babes, or for goblins who''d been too afraid to approach during the hustle of the day.


    The roads were lined with cobblestone, and the bridge was reconstructed to be sturdier and wider, and travel times shortened considerably across the kingdom. It felt as though everything around her was evolving, and Melody was happy to see the changes, but something else was happening, and she couldn''t quite put her finger on why it was bothering her. As new roads grew from King''s Road, as new homes were built, as more smoke filled the air, something was slowly happening to the land. Things only seemed more and more busy, more and more alive, yet... Maybe I''m just getting old, she thought. The world is leaving me behind.


    She shared meals with Risa''s family and on several occasions, they took her out to try different foods and show her more of King''s Hovel. All the fancy restaurants and dining places, and now that she and Risa had become somewhat well known for their Gorgeous Honey, no one spoke against there being goblins in such places. Risa had even stopped wearing her hat everywhere, stopped hiding her beautiful ears. Melody adored how they stuck out, how green and pointy they were, and how they bounced when Risa laughed.


    But every few months, an awful message appeared painted on the stand. Sometimes they''d cross out Scrumptious and write goblin bitch or goblins don''t belong here or something worse. A few times, goods were stolen, or jars of honey smashed, and Risa would have to close the stand for the day. The townspeople would be upset, and when the princess heard of the happenings, she appointed several of the city''s Heroes, including the centaur who''d felt up Risa''s ears on Melody''s first day in town, to patrol the area more frequently and be mindful of any disturbances. She pushed strongly for better treatment of goblin citizens, and for everyone to have the respect they deserved. She even began visiting the Scrumptious stand every day, even if she didn''t purchase honey. She''d buy peach jam or mushrooms or fresh fruit and promise the royal chef would love these. She paid more generously than anyone else.


    Life in King''s Hovel was bustling and wonderful, and though Melody loved her little bed in Risa''s house, as the years folded over, she was growing exhausted. Sometimes, things felt too busy, too upsetting, and too much. Despite their being less hostility toward goblins, there were too many people who refused to accept Risa and the others as equals. Too many people that turned their noses or spoke down to Risa or tried to haggle the price lower. "Goblin merchandise should not cost this much," they''d say, and Lars or Sylla would get upset, but Risa would talk them down and then refuse the sale. "You are welcome to try another place."


    More than that, Melody was exhausted living alone. But bit by bit, with each passing month, it grew even more exhausting being in King''s Hovel and being around Risa and her family. Watching Risa''s children grow up and attend school and live their lives. Though they were all so welcoming and loving, especially Risa, Melody began feeling like an intruder who wanted too much. She felt like a leech on their happiness. She began to stay in her village more and more often, citing her age as an excuse.


    She loved her bees and tending to her orchard and jarring her honey. Sometimes Scylla or Garo came by to help her and transport the jars to town. Sometimes Risa came and they''d stay up late drinking tea until Melody passed out in the rocking chair. But when she was alone, she felt as though she were haunting the house and the village while her heart was in King''s Hovel. She wasn''t sure what to make of these feelings and decided it was best to bury them. She''d be buried soon, after all. Why risk her friendship with Risa? Why risk the family she had after all this time?


    This is all I''d ever wanted, Melody would think. You are all I ever wanted. I waited all my life for you. But I am alone. I am meant to be alone.


    Melody kept silent, even as the strength in her limbs faded and she couldn''t hug Risa back as tightly as she always wanted to.


    .-- .... -.-- / .. ... / .-.. --- ...- . / ..- -. -... . -.-. --- -- .. -. --. ..--..


    It wasn''t until a few years later, shortly after Melody''s seventy-second birthday, that the shift she''d felt in the land grew more prominent. She felt it in her tired bones.


    There were fewer bees every spring, and there was too much smoke in the air, even in the village where several large factories had opened. There was a clothing factory now, hiring young girls to make clothes and young men to ship everything all over the kingdom. A vein of precious gems was discovered underground, and a new mine sprang up. Huge swathes of land had been sold to farming companies who''d stripped away the woods, flattening the land to grow specific crops. The deers and wolves that had once roamed around the village moved further and further away, and the world had changed again.


    There was less honey one year and even less the year after. Melody held vigils for the hives that had gone silent, and sometimes Risa would join her in mourning.


    King¡¯s Hovel seemed to only grow busier, and people seemed to be flourishing. Innis had grown and taken over many of the duties of the Scrumptious stand. It was him and his uncle and aunt now, and there was much talk of his scandalous relationship with a human woman. Lars had become a brilliant and studious researcher, and with strategic gifts of honey, they''d gotten him into higher schooling. He wanted to practice medicine, and Risa was so proud of him.


    But year after year, fewer bees filled the air, fewer jars of honey added to her dwindling collection, and Melody didn''t know what to do. Her plants seldom flowered. There were no more strawberries or apples or peaches to make jam, and the grocery and the village and the town seemed so foreign to her. Less green filled the world, and every winter was harsher than the one before. Snow and frost blanketed the lands, and during that time, Melody saw Risa rarely as travel grew too difficult between the village and King''s Hovel.


    Once spring came by, she''d lose the desire to communicate, and she''d spend more time in her mother''s rocking chair, staring out her window at the dying orchard. She didn''t want to talk or walk - there were too many unfamiliar people now, and all the work with the farms and the factories and the mines had changed the face of the village. All she wanted to do was sit and knit clothes for Innis'' children who were growing up so quickly, she could not believe it. Half-goblin, half-human, they almost looked like elves. But that joy was momentary; a deep sadness had taken root in her flesh. There was something wrong with the world, something wrong with her, and she could not figure it out. She just wanted to be alone.


    Sometime after her eightieth, when she''d forgotten how old she was and the seasons had blurred into one another, Melody visited King''s Hovel one last time. Innis had had another child, and Lars had met a cute goblin girl. There was much to be celebrated, but Melody was struggling.


    The autumns had grown brisk, and the winters seeped right into her flesh. The springs came and left too quickly to be noticed. And the summers were punishing. They no longer nourished the crops, and there was never enough rain.


    She noticed how many more beggars lined the King''s Road. They weren''t just goblins anymore, but humans and dwarves, and even some elves. The princess did what she could, giving away food from the Royal Storage, but there were too many mouths and not enough crops.


    Some said this was punishment for distant wars. For crimes against the soil. For changing the dirt of the roads to stones. or the forests cut down to build homes. Others blamed gods and goddesses, demons and witches. But Melody knew what had gone wrong. The dance had fallen out of step. The bees had died.


    She''d seen the hustle of King''s Hovel grow and grow. She''d seen people flocking from her village, from many villages, to come live in the chaos of advancement. But now it seemed quiet. Hollow. Everyone was exhausted. People were hungry, and the Scrumptious stand held less and less food with each passing month.


    Trash filled the river. She''d found the air more difficult to breathe. And without the forests, the land seemed barren. Dust and smoke swirled all about; they had perverted the balance of things. But Melody was sure she was to blame as well. The world was punishing her for being selfish. For selling the gift of her honey. For falling in love. For wanting to be near love.


    Was that too much to ask? I''m sorry.


    How can I fix this?


    I just want Risa and her family, my family, to be alright.


    There was still honey to sell to make ends meet. The decades of saving and preserving were paying off, and Risa suggested slowing down sales even further and raising the price. She offered smaller jars so that people could afford them, and sales increased as the taste of Gorgeous Honey kept people strong in such trying times, and somehow, they made it work. The hope was that the bees would return when the rains did, but more years slipped by, and their stocks of honey diminished further. And there was no more jam. Melody''s bones felt as brittle as the dead branches littering the orchard grounds, and she''d tripped one morning and injured her hip.


    That prompted Risa to finally move in. She even fashioned Melody a walking stick from a thick branch that had fallen off her favorite peach tree.


    Melody wanted to assure Risa it would be alright. She''d be alright. That Risa didn''t have to give up her life to take care of her. But Risa was adamant, and Melody didn¡¯t fight too hard. After all, she¡¯d get to see so much of her every single day; her heart was no longer half a day away. She couldn¡¯t tell if that hurt more or not.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Wrinkles had spread across Risa¡¯s face, but her eyes were as bright as ever, like emerald gems. It was as though she¡¯d preserved all the green of the world. She cooked all the meals and took care of the cleaning. Melody helped where she could, and they spent their evenings chatting until they fell asleep, side by side in bed.


    Every night, Melody wanted to say, I love you. And once or twice, she did. But she buried it even as she signed it. I love that you are with me. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for coming into my life all those years ago.


    And Risa would respond in kind. They''d share a gentle hug. It had to be gentle and careful now. Melody had gotten so fragile that a tight squeeze might render her unconscious.


    Once or twice, or perhaps many times, Melody lost track of things. Whether or not she''d eaten. Whether she''d washed. Whether she''d gone for her daily walk. Sometimes she lost track of her walking stick; sometimes she''d forget she needed it. Her hip would hurt so much, she¡¯d wail too loudly by accident, and Risa would come running.


    Sometimes she''d forget how to put on a gown. There were mornings she woke up devastated, furious at herself for how pathetic she''d become, heartbroken. She''d ask Risa to leave. She''d beg her to leave. "Don''t let me keep you here. I''m just a deaf old lady. Surely you have better things to do."


    To which Risa would scowl and twitch her ears and sign furiously that she would never leave Melody, mouthing the words as she jabbed her finger angrily at Melody and signed, "I will always be by your side."


    And as much as that filled Melody''s heart with love, she felt like shattering. How could love hurt so much?


    She carried that ache into her orchard, setting down her walking stick so she could sit on the steps. The trees stood bare, the ground cold and dry. Not even an ant rustled between the roots. She shut her eyes and pleaded for the bees to come back. For the flowers to bloom. For the world to be green again, as green as Risa''s skin. I want to jar more honey, she thought. I want to leave Risa with treasure.


    She''d saved only one jar. Only one, wrapped in a faded knitted blanket and hidden beneath her bed. Melody had slowly sold all but that one to keep food on the table. Even then, they''d stretched out all the meals they could, and neither she nor Risa ate much anyway. The world had grown so grim again; Melody told Risa about her childhood, about how she and her mother had survived off so little. And Risa reminisced about her time in the cave, trying to breastfeed her baby and keep everyone fed. It seemed the world moved in seasons as well, thought Melody. Struggle then hope then struggle again. She wondered what would be next.


    Once they stopped selling honey, they subsisted off the few coins Garo and Sylla sent every week. It wasn''t much but it was enough to buy rice, and sometimes, during their morning walks through what was left of the woods, Risa would sniff out delicious mushrooms and roots to add to their cooking. Then, a few weeks after a raging dust storm had swept through the village, Innis showed up on their front doorstep.


    He''d run all the way from King''s Hovel, a day''s journey by foot, and he was bleeding all over and crying. Once Melody and Risa got him inside and treated his wounds and he''d had a cup of tea, his little green hands trembling so much, he managed to speak. He told them what was happening in King''s Hovel and what had happened to Garo and Sylla, and Risa collapsed on the floor.


    A fever ran rampant through King''s Hovel. The princess had fallen ill, and the best healers of the land could not understand, but word had gotten out that she had a fondness for Granny''s and Goblin''s Gorgeous Honey, and a new fear spread from person to person: the goblins had poisoned the princess. The goblins had poisoned everyone.


    Garo had fallen ill too, stuck in bed with the fever. And there was no more honey to sell, but they''d been growing mushrooms, so Sylla was determined to keep the stand open. She thought it would prove to everyone that goblins had nothing to do with this; that they were struggling just as much as anyone else. The people know us here.


    Innis rubbed his eyes and pulled on one of his ears. "They tore down the stand," he sobbed, signing the words for Melody. His fingers wouldn¡¯t stop shaking. "They set the house on fire with Uncle Garo inside and they dragged Aunt Sylla through the streets. I couldn''t stop them. I couldn''t. She told me to run."


    His children had been safe with their mother, but he''d already decided to leave King''s Hovel. He would hide in the village for a few days then find his wife and children and move to the new settlements across the ocean where nobody''s skin or race had any bearing, and the only thing that mattered was one''s willingness to do work. Or that''s what he kept repeating to himself.


    They couldn''t hold a funeral for Risa''s brother and sister-in-law, so they buried a few empty jars in the orchard and stood quietly as the sun set. Lars came to stay for a while. He''d become a doctor, but nobody wanted to be treated by a goblin, and the other goblins had fled for the wilderness. Some humans had tried to hurt him, and he wasn¡¯t safe anymore in King¡¯s Landing. He was disgusted with people, but he hugged Melody one day and said he was going to live with Innis'' family. He left behind a sack of coins and kissed Risa on the cheek, and though she tried to remain strong, tried to remain supportive, as soon as Lars was out the door with his hat stuffed tightly over his head, she broke down crying.


    Sometimes, men with pitchforks and anger came knocking. Risa would hide, and Melody would pretend not to understand what the men wanted. The villagers among them, who''d grown up calling her Granny, respected her wishes and declared that she''d been cheated by the goblins. They''d stolen her honey and poisoned it. It had all been an elaborate scheme to kill the royal family. And now the fever was spreading rampantly through the kingdom. It was declared that all goblins should be killed on sight; that was the only way to stop the illness.


    There was nothing she could do. She was powerless to stop them. Powerless to help Risa. Powerless and pathetic. All she could do was hold Risa and pray.


    The fever seemed to drag on and on. People were sick for weeks with no sign of end. Nobody got any better, not even the princess with all the wealth and resources of the kingdom at her fingertips. Melody kept her daily morning walk, to keep her limbs limber, to keep her bones from giving up, and to pick up what scraps of news she could from the grocer who jotted things down for her. The village had grown grim and grey, everything covered with a fine layer of dust, and the only news to come from King''s Hovel was more misery. More people falling ill.


    Sometimes she''d get letters from Innis about their lives in the New World, how they were struggling to earn their keep. How goblins weren''t welcome here either, but there was no disease, no illness, and as long as Innis could keep chopping wood for some company, he would be able to take care of his family. His wife got a position in tailoring, though she was pregnant again. They shared that as though it was good news, but Melody worried. How will they take care of themselves? Sometimes, inside the mail, there''d be a handful of coins or tiny wooden sculptures or clothes that wouldn¡¯t fit. There were never any letters from or about Lars.


    One day, news arrived that the princess had succumbed to the illness. She''d turned into a vicious swarm of bees that chased and stung everyone in sight. Melody knew what had happened. What was happening. Waggle Dance Fever had returned to the world. It had changed form. It had spread even further than before and grown stronger, but it was back.


    Melody continued making her rounds every morning with her walking stick. Risa stayed at home, refusing to leave. It saddened Melody they couldn''t walk side by side, but there were too many accounts of goblins being rounded up, set ablaze, or hunted down by Heroes. There were no more safe spaces for them, not even the wilderness. Innis had been right to flee the kingdom.


    Melody visited the grocer one morning to learn that the grocer''s children had fallen ill with the fever. She was shutting down her business. She asked, through writing, if Melody had any more honey. Maybe it could heal the fever.


    But honey would not, thought Melody. Or else the princess would never have fallen ill. She apologized to the grocer and told her there wasn''t any more honey now that the flowers had gone. There was only that one jar underneath her bed. But that was her secret. It was the last jar of Gorgeous Honey in the world.


    People once again ran away from the village. People once again were burned alive. Nobody knew how to be safe. Nobody knew where to hide. The fever struck anyone, anywhere, without warning, without discrimination. The factories and the mines stopped functioning, and clouds of bees swirled through the air. Swarms of them. Each one searching for places to belong. These bees did not seek out her orchard. There wasn''t enough rain. There weren''t any flowers. Where were the bees supposed to go?


    More and more reports came of fever-stricken people disintegrating, transforming, and fear spread so forcefully through the lands, that all mail ceased to a halt. Communication stopped. The world stood still, holding its breath, its lungs clogged with dust and despair. What had happened to the world? What could she do? What could anyone do? It wasn''t until Melody came home and found Risa on the floor that she understood.


    .-- .... -.-- / -- ..- ... - / .-.. --- ...- . / -... .-. . .- -.- / -- -.-- / .... . .- .-. - ..--..


    Risa had been peeling potatoes. They''d manage to grow some. It was the only thing that would grow in the dirt anymore. She needed a footstool to reach the counter and stove, and Melody loved sitting at the table where they''d first shared tea all those years ago, and watch. But one day, when Melody had come home from her morning walk, her white hair dusty and her limbs aching, she found Risa curled up on the floor. She''d fallen from the footstool. The potatoes had rolled off in every direction, and Risa lay there in agony. Melody forgot all about her hip and her walking stick. She dropped to her knees and scooped up her beloved and carried her to the bed with strength she hadn''t felt in decades.


    The fever had gotten Risa. She was burning hotter than the stove, and Melody tucked her in with a heavy blanket. She applied cold rags of water to Risa''s head. She rubbed her hands and feet and lay beside her, crying softly, stroking Risa''s hair, trying and failing to whisper over and over, I love you.


    But Risa could not open her eyes. She could not even lift her head. All she did was breathe, sometimes too slowly, sometimes too quickly. Her green face was flushed, with almost a purple appearance. And her ears drooped on the pillow. Melody ignored her own pains as best she could; she wiped Risa''s body down with a damp towel. She spoon-fed bowls of potato soup. She even tried to pray, but she wasn''t sure who or what she was praying to. And it didn''t matter. Nobody answered. A few weeks after Risa fell ill, a chunk of her cheek caved inward.


    With a small splash of blood, wings emerged, shaking off the excess moisture before a black and golden body took to the air. It whizzed around in circles as though searching for something, but it didn''t sting Melody. It landed on her white hair and nuzzled, and all Melody could do was sob. She could see Risa''s teeth through the hole in her face, and bit by bit, more of Risa''s body, her shoulder, her foot, her ears, turned into honeybees. It was too late. There was nothing to be done.


    There was no time left. Melody found the last jar of red honey, the one she''d wrapped in towels and hidden beneath the bed. She wanted Risa to taste the honey, their Gorgeous Honey, one last time. She couldn''t find a spoon, so she scooped it up with her shaking fingers and pressed it to Risa''s lips. Gently pushing till she''d slipped into Risa''s mouth, feeling her beloved suck gently. It wouldn''t heal anything. Melody knew that. But it might bring Risa some peace, a reminder of everything she¡¯d accomplished. Everything they¡¯d done together.


    Then, unsure if she''d fallen into a dream, or if a memory had surfaced, or if this was something she''d wanted all her life, she brought her fingers to her own lips. She tasted the honey, sweetened by having been in Risa''s mouth, and a curious sensation, like a warm chill, like a shiver on a sunlit day, ran straight down to her heart, and Risa''s chest rose with a deep inhale. A vibrant green color returned to her face, and Melody''s heart raced. Maybe there had been magic to the honey after all.


    And it felt as though she''d kissed Risa. As though that magic had intertwined between them. As though her love, her little broken heart had finally come apart, and all her love, all her want, came rushing forth like a summer breeze.


    One of the bees spiraled down to rest on Risa''s arm. With a shudder and a final beat of its translucent wings, it collapsed back into her flesh, dissolving into blood before turning green. There was no evidence of any wound, no trace of what had happened. Another bee returned to her cheek, and one by one, they all swarmed back, crawling over her body and underneath the blanket, finding their way back from which they came, until Risa was whole again.


    Melody''s heart ached as she watched Risa come back together. She rubbed Risa''s lips with her honey-slick fingers, and when Risa opened her eyes, those dazzling green eyes so full of warmth and light, Melody let out a cry, just to feel the vibrations in her throat, because she swore she couldn''t contain this love much longer.


    Risa smiled softly. She looked as though she''d just woken up from a deep slumber, a sweet daydream. Her ears wiggled and Melody knelt forward, despite the creak in her hips and the sharp pain shooting down her side, and pressed her forehead to Risa''s, and they kissed. Properly this time. Purposefully. A deep and wantful kiss full of so many years of longing, a kiss that would never have stopped if it weren''t for the sudden tickle inside Melody''s mouth.


    Alarmed, she pulled away, blinking repeatedly as Risa signed, "What''s wrong? Are you alright?"


    But Melody shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. Something fuzzy and warm pushed its way out of her lips. It stretched its wings under her nose, and its little legs tickled her skin as it leaped off her face. A piece of her, the first piece of her to taste Risa, had flown away. It had become a honeybee.


    Her legs went next. The pain surged right up her spine, unlike any of the aches and pains she''d grown accustomed to, and Melody collapsed on her knees, holding onto Risa''s bedside, honey-stained fingers curled in the sheets. She¡¯d spilled the jar too, and the last bit of Gorgeous Honey oozed out onto the bed, but she had no strength left in her body to pick it up.


    Risa dropped down, lively and fully well, as though she hadn''t been ill for weeks. She was confused. She looked terrified. "What do I do? Melody? Melody, please."


    "Take me outside, my love," signed Melody. Despite everything, even as one of her eyelids turned into a bee and sprang free, Melody blushed. She signed the name sign she''d given Risa all those years ago, a flower blossoming from her lips. "I know what I have to do."


    Risa touched Melody''s face with shaking hands. She mouthed something, but Melody only smiled and shook her head. Then she tried her best to stand as Risa helped take her weight and, together, they hobbled through the little home where Melody had been born, where she''d lost her mother, where she''d met the love of her life, and where her life would come to an end.


    Melody could feel Risa''s body shaking and trembling as they walked. Risa was crying, and Melody tried her best to soothe her. She rubbed Risa''s shoulders. Kissed her hair. Kissed her ear. She even tried to speak, tried to make soothing sounds. She wasn''t sure what she sounded like, but she trusted Risa to understand.


    When they went through the back door and made their way carefully down the steps and into the dead, leafless orchard, a breeze tugged at Melody''s white hair. It was late into the night. A cool wind shivered through everything, and the stars gleamed overhead.


    She shut her one eye, even as her eyeballs curled into bees and crawled out of their sockets. Even as her nose flew away so that her every breath felt funny, fuzzy inside of her head. Even as her arms began crawling, began spreading countless wings. She reached blindly for Risa. She squeezed Risa''s hands. I can''t even see what you have to say, she thought. But she signed, ¡°I love you. I love you."


    I love you. Thank you for loving me.


    And she felt Risa pull her in for a furious hug. She touched her wrists. She touched her hips. She squeezed her ribs. She wanted her more than anything.


    But Melody knew she was doing the right thing. The world once again needed change, needed guidance. And her time had come. The final thing she signed, as her thumbs began to wiggle, as her other pink shifted, was "Thank you. Thank you for loving me, Ri-" She''d begun to sign Risa''s name, but shivered right as she brought her fingers to her lips. Her body contorted, and she burst into a cloud of honeybees.


    And suddenly, the world bloomed into countless colors. There was so much light! And a feeling of weightlessness, a feeling that all the stars in the night sky had descended; she had become so much, so many, and there was sound!


    Sound! The buzz of her wings. The wind through her little hairs. The branches. And there she was. Risa. Standing on the doorstep, holding onto Melody''s white gown, her large green eyes crying so many tears. Melody guided her many bodies to Risa. She landed on Risa''s arms and shoulders. She caressed Risa''s face and nuzzled her cheeks. She licked the tears and the traces of honey off Risa''s lips. She flew around her beloved and began to dance.


    The dance. As parts of Melody took flight. As she spread herself throughout the village. As she followed the roads toward King''s Hovel. She chased the wind across the land. She found so many bees, all the people who''d once lived and loved and tried their best. She spiraled through their swarms. And she could hear them! their endless voices. Their whispers and songs, their pleading. She could hear the sun. The clouds. She could hear the river rushing beneath the bridge. And she could hear Risa saying her name over and over in their orchard. Come back to me. Come back to me!


    It was all a part of everything. Everything danced. Everything moved. Everything spun in circles, the sun and the stars, the rain and the storms, even the wind. And Melody knew what she had to do. What her mother had done all those years ago. She danced. Just as once she spoke with her fingers, now she spoke with her dance. She spoke to the sky. To the lands. To all the lost bees that needed a home.


    There is someone who will love you. There is an orchard waiting to flower. There is a home for you. Come. Read my dance. Listen to my voice. There is time yet for love. There is only love. Follow me and let¡¯s pull the world back together.


    .. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ...


    (the end)

 epilogue

    One day, when Risa''s wrinkles had grown so deep and her hair had fallen out and she''d lost several teeth to delicious apples, she knew her time had come. It hurt a little to smile now, her cheeks felt as wooden and stiff as her legs, but she made an effort that day as she wandered through the orchard. Melody''s orchard. The bees came to tickle her weathered, green skin. They rested on her drooping ears and kissed her fingertips.


    Sometimes she would sign, but her fingers weren''t as responsive as they used to be. Her wrists ached. Her elbows popped; she was too slow. If Melody were around, their conversations would take ages, she''d say with a quiet laugh. When any of her great-grandchildren asked what was so funny, Risa would smile her gap-toothed smile and shake her head. "A story from a long time ago."


    On that last day, it was sunny and gorgeous, the wind tasted of home cooking and the clouds floated voluminous and serene. Risa''s eyes weren''t what they once were, but she could see the beehive, the one on the peach tree, the one Melody had always said was her favorite. She needed a walking stick now too; she used the one Melody had left behind even though it was too tall for her. She wouldn''t let her son or anyone cut it down to size; she hobbled along just fine with it.


    "I miss you so much," she whispered. Her fingers twitched, aching to shape the letters, and it broke her heart that she couldn''t. "I love you so much. Thank you for the wonderful life you gave me. All these years... without you, I carried on. Guess why?" She grinned and didn''t bother wiping her cheeks as tears spilled. "For you. I kept you with me all the time and look. My grandchildren. My great-grandchildren. Look how old I am. I almost look like you!"


    A shout came from behind her. "Granny!" There was the pitter-patter of little feet, and her youngest great-grandson, little Rinan, came half waddling, half running toward her. He was a tiny boy with a thick head of dark hair and he wore the white shirt of his school uniform. He smelled of breakfast, roasted mushrooms and honeyed bread.


    Risa welcomed him with a painful hug, scooping him off the ground, putting her weight on the staff. She knew this was the last time she¡¯d hold him. "Shouldn''t you be off to school?"


    Rinan was smaller than most goblins his age. His ears were smaller, less pointy, and that was cause of the dwarven and human blood running through his veins. Sometimes she wondered how her descendants would want to identify, but the world had blended, love had prevailed, and did it really matter who was what if everyone was living their lives and trying their best?


    "No," he said, obviously lying. "What are you doing out here alone, Granny?"


    "I''m talking to an old friend," she said. Her voice had gotten so raspy, so tired. But she raised her staff just a bit to point at the nearest honeycomb. Several bees swooped in for a landing, their wings buzzing gently as they brought sweet flowerdust home.


    "Where is your friend, Granny? I want to see them. Do they like ice cream?" Rinan turned his head every which way, as though someone might be hiding behind the trees, and despite the ache in her hips from carrying the struggling boy, Risa laughed.


    "No," she said. "Some friends, sometimes, they don''t even have to be here. You miss them and love them so much, you feel like they''re with you all the time."


    He frowned. His green eyes glistened like gems, and she could see his little mind trying to make sense of what she''d said.


    There was a lump in her throat. "Rinan, do you remember what we talked about a few days ago? What your mom and dad tried to explain?"


    With a fervent nod, he summarized. "That sometimes people we care about go away, and we never see them again."


    "It''s called death," she said.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Yes," he whispered, looking at her weathered staff. "I don''t like that word."


    "It''s an important word." Hobbling, she carried him over beneath the beehive and touched her staff to the dark park of the old peach tree. "It''s the cycle of life. Sometimes things grow, and you are young right now with so much growing ahead of you my little sweetheart, but things also grow old. Like me. Things need to rest so that new things, like you, like the new flowers that give us fruit every spring, like the new bees that hatch from their eggs and fly around..."


    He wasn''t listening. He was playing with her ear. She sighed happily. The world was so peaceful now. She shut her eyes and inhaled the woodsy scent of the orchard. Sometimes she thought, it smelled like Melody, but she knew her old mind was playing tricks on her.


    After Melody passed on, the world flourished. Risa remembered the day so carefully, every day she made an effort to remember so she could never forget when the bees kissed her cheeks for the first time and sipped on her tears, when they made promises with the buzz of their wings, when they filled the sky with warmth and color and music again, when the world sprouted anew with flowers and crops and life. She''d given the honey away for free after that; how could she put a price on Melody''s sacrifice? And now the honey, so much redder and more vibrant than before, had the ability to heal. Not just illness and exhaustion, but cruelty as well. It healed selfishness. It melted hate.


    No one needed to starve; no one needed for anything. Neighbors watched out for neighbors. Friends and family encouraged one another to strive. Sadness stopped weighing down the world with hopelessness, and when there were difficult times, when things grew heavy and cumbersome, love was abound. People helped one another.


    The honey was so delicious that word spread far and wide, and many began making a pilgrimage to their little town, to Melody''s quiet home, to ask for a cup. From royalty draped in golden fabrics to beggars with nothing but the rags on their backs, humans and elves and dwarves and centaurs, and even goblins. Everyone was welcome; everyone welcomed everyone else. Risa had changed the name of the honey by then. It was now called Melody''s Gift, and it inspired change in everyone who drank. The wealthy gave away their hordes of gold, and the meek, the downtrodden, found new strength and capacity for growth. And Melody had inspired all of that.


    "I''ll be with you soon," whispered Risa. She kept picturing that very first day, how nervous she¡¯d been, knocking on the door and waiting for hours and hours until Melody stumbled out and looked so surprised to see a goblin standing on her doorstep.


    Rinan swiveled his head. "Where are you going, Granny? Can I come with you? I don¡¯t want to go to school."


    She smiled and hugged him as tightly as she could before setting him down. He blinked at her, his brows furrowed in confusion, and she told him to get his parents. To get his aunts and uncles and cousins. They needed to see her go; they needed to be there so the promise could live on.


    He looked up at her, sucking on his thumb. "Why?"


    Risa didn''t bother wiping her eyes. Her vision blurred. "I have to go now," she said softly. She took a breath as Rinan rushed inside, nearly tripping. Soon, they''d all come out to see what was going on. The boy loved having an excuse to make a scene, and she could already hear him shouting inside the house that Granny wanted to see them all, that Granny was being weird.


    Granny... she thought with a little laugh. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, and her throat hurt so much. Her staff clattered to the ground, and she held out her arms. Of course, Granny wanted to see them; Melody would have loved having such a big family, and now Risa was entrusting the home, their home, to that family. It had been shared and loved for many years, and she entrusted the honey to them as well. The bees. The orchard.


    Risa¡¯s family spilled out the back door, some of them carrying babies, some of their faces drenched in sweat, holding large wooden spoons. Aprons and backpacks and uniforms, all the things that made up life. They stood at the edge of the orchard just as Risa had stood once long ago, eyes wide and full of tears. She¡¯d prepared them days earlier, and though they had begged her not to go, she¡¯d assured them that she would always watch over them.


    Risa spread her arms as wide as she could, her weary heart so full of love and want, that she thought it would burst. "Goodbye my children," she said, shutting her eyes as she felt a tug on her soul. ¡°Thank you for loving me...¡±


    Bit by bit, piece by piece, a familiar feeling, an ache from a long-forgotten dream, spread through her body, and her flesh sprouted countless wings, countless little fuzzy bodies that struggled against her gown. She didn''t have a fever; she wasn''t ill. She just knew. This was what was meant to happen all those years ago. Her bees have waited so long to be free.


    Starting with her feet, the bees took to the air, and she began to disintegrate. Her gown dropped to the ground, and Risa inhaled one last time, before her insides finished changing, and whispered, ¡°Melody.¡±