Begin Again | ongoing

twelve

The sunroom does exactly what it says on the tin – it catches the bright April sun, floor to ceiling windows amplifying the heat and holding it in , the bright light catching on the dust motes that float with no intention. It radiates calm, filled with leafy plants along the low ledge that runs the perimeter of the room, and the one windowless wall, where the sunroom has been built onto the back of the house, is an homage to the sun itself. And everything with which it shares the sky. The place looks like Delilah's future: old queer women and their love for the galaxy, all the unknowable secrets of the universe.

Celeste is sitting in a wingback armchair facing the surprisingly long garden that unrolls down to the river that wends its way from the mountains to the sea. It's hard to believe they're in the centre of town in this slice of heaven. The real world feels a million miles away. Celeste turns around and Sunny feels as though she's in the presence of a queen, so strong is the woman's regal aura. Even sitting, she is tall and straight-backed with silver hair wrapped in an elegant chignon, a shimmery shawl around her shoulders. Her features are sharp and precise – thin brows and narrow lips and a Grecian nose; grey eyes that could freeze mercury – and Sunny is rooted to the spot, like she needs to be invited to step any further.

"Hello," Celeste says before turning to Astrid to ask, in a guarded tone, "Who is this, darling?"

"This is Sunny. She has questions about the well," Astrid says, setting the tray down on the table beside Celeste's chair. There are several places to sit in the bright room, each one mismatched but equally comfortable. Astrid picks a wide, warm orange armchair surrounded by greenery, the fronds of a fern tickling her cheek when she sits.

Celeste's expression does a complete one eighty. The cool frostiness melts away, a little colour injected into her cheeks when she smiles. "Ah. I see. I must say, I was expecting you a lot sooner. What has it been, three days?"

"Apparently it's been fourteen months," Sunny says. Celeste waves a hand.

"Time is a fickle pixie. Three days, fourteen months, it's all the same."

"I don't understand."

"Sit, my dear." Celeste nods at the chair closest to her. It looks old and precarious so Sunny lowers herself into it cautiously, only for it to feel as warm and soothing as a hug from her mother. "You say it's been fourteen months – fourteen months since what, exactly?"

"Since I made a wish and accidentally threw a bunch of money in your well. I thought it was a few days ago but according to everyone I know, it's been over a year."

"And how long has it been since you found yourself in the wrong time?"

"Friday. So, yeah, three days."

Celeste wears a satisfied smile. She nods once. "So you see? Three days; fourteen months. It's the same."

Sunny's not sure she understands but Celeste's confidence is reassuring. "I take it this means you know that you've got a magic well, then?"

"Magic is a little reductive, don't you think?"

"I don't really know what the fuck to think," Sunny snaps, quite without meaning to, and flushes red. Something feels so wrong about swearing in front of a pair of silver-haired women whose lives quite likely began before the first world war ended. She digs her nails into her palms and says, "Sorry."

"That is far from the worst we've heard, I can assure you." Celeste's eyes are laughing. "That well can be quite the cunt."

A shocked laugh bursts out of Sunny.

"You think such language is only for the young?" There's a twitch to Celeste's lips. "We were all young once." Unfolding her legs, she tucks a stray hair back into her updo and sits forward, letting the shawl slip from her shoulders. She's wearing black slacks and a thin, wide-necked white jumper that hangs off her shoulders, showing off the pendant around her neck.