OVERLOOKED ㅤkotlc

007. Our Savior Or Our Undoing

"Where are we going?" I finally say, as she leads me up the stairs. There's a couple of rooms up here, and—wait, no, she's probably taking me to—

Rosaleen glances at me, her eyes saying, Really? You can't figure it out? "You'll see," she says instead, a tease in her voice.

She opens a door, and I know my guess is right.

—her bedroom.

It's not that big.

That's the first thing that comes to mind.

Unlike the living room, it's pulling traces of the galaxy inside. Holograms of the Milky Way drift above our heads, and I can't stop myself from staring.

It's beautiful.

I reach up, and my hand skims wisps of nebula. Then I realize how dumb I look, touching holograms, but Rosaleen doesn't pay any mind.

There's a standard bed, too, and a clean white desk. There's pages of text—poetry, I think?—taped onto the wall. But other than that, it's not very personali—

Wait, no. I was wrong. When I look closer, there are handmade bookmarks peeking from books, scrapbooks threatening to burst, lit candles with specific scents.

I clear my throat. "Nice room."

She smiles. "Thanks."

A thick book's on her desk, and I realize it's The Heart of the Matter. "You're an Empath?" I say.

She looks surprised I noticed, and honestly, I am, too. It's like being around her both electrifies and stops my senses; I notice every little detail, but only specific ones, like what book's on her desk or the way she looks away.

I wonder if I'm going mad.

"I am," she finally says, and her lips quirk into a wry grin. "A useless ability, huh?"

"No!" I shake my head. "It's really interesting—and it's definitely not useless. One of the Councillors is an Empath, so..."

She shrugs. "Maybe. I'm better off without it, though. Now every little thing is so much, and I have to actual think about what I'm feeling." Rosaleen makes a face, and it looks light, but there's a bitterness in it. "We definitely do not stan thinking."

I soften. "We really don't."

There's a pause between us. "You can sit, if you want. I mean—unless you want to awkwardly stand in the middle of the room."

"Oh—sure." There's three seats available: her bed (but I'm probably not sitting there), a swivel chair, and a beanbag.

I sit in the beanbag, and she sits on the chair, and for a moment, there's silence. I look up at the Milky Way, and I'm looking at it for a good minute or so when she says, "You're going to strain your neck."

I startle. "What?"

"If you look up like that, you're going to strain your neck," she repeats. Not as confident as before—her words falter, and she looks embarrassed—but still certain.

"Oh."

"You should lay down, if you want to look at the stars."

I look at her, then look away, my cheeks hot. Is she telling me to... lay down on the floor? As she sits and watches? Should I just... change the subject—

Rosaleen gets up. "We can both do it, though, so it's not awkward." She takes the blanket from her bed and lets it float down onto the floor. "I-If you even want to."

"S-Sure." Rosaleen flicks the lights off, and the Milky Way burns alive with color, painting the room with its majesty.

My breath escapes me, and I can't help but look at Rosaleen. She must be used to this, after all. But—she still looks awestruck, as if it's her first time seeing this.

We both lie down onto the blanket (it's white, but the light from above turns it into a pale violet) and look at the illusion for a moment. Sometimes I peek at her, and I can see the galaxy reflected in her eyes.

"See that planet?" Rosaleen suddenly says, catching me off-guard. She points at a planet with a ring. Saturn, was it? I'm not completely sure.

"Mhm."

"My mom used to tell me and my..." She falters. "She used to tell me stories about the Milky Way. She used to say Saturn's the prince, and his ring is his circlet."

Oh. I try to imagine that—a crown of ice and shattered moons.

"And that planet"—she points at Jupiter—"is the king."

"How about the queen?"

"She died." There's emotion in Rosaleen's voice as she says this, but I don't think she's sad over the planet's death. "But, like a supernova, her death was beautiful. All these stars and nebulas—all that's left of her..." Rosaleen takes in a breath and leaves it at that.

It's all beautiful.

I stay quiet, and there's a silence, and then she continues. "And Pluto—he used to be big, even bigger than Jupiter. But he gave pieces of himself to the darker parts of space."

I'm not exactly sure what that means. He got turned to blackholes? To asteroids? Parts of him broke? Either way, I can tell there's something bittersweet about it.

"And Uranus and Neptune—they're magical." Her voice turns lighter. "They're sisters, and they have the power of water and ice. They're cold and cruel, but they heal.

"Mercury, Mars, and Venus are burning hot. Like—Uranus and Neptune's parallel. They're brothers, and they're hot and warm and welcoming, and they're life, but. They destroy, burn, and murder."

Rosaleen's voice has a certain life to it. She wears her heart on her sleeve when she tells stories. "It's like—they want to help, but when they try, they just destroy."

I get chills, and I think I can maybe get used to this feeling. "And Earth?"

"The lost prince. Our savior or our undoing." She lets out a breathless laugh. "Just like any intelligent species." A pause, as she searches for the right explanation, but I can piece together what she's saying, so we lapse into thoughtful silence.

The air's melancholy for a moment, and my gaze lingers on the hologram of Earth: cerulean and emerald, with fog swirling at its seams.

"I liked the story," I finally say. "It was—nice." Nice? That sounds so—shallow.

"Yeah?" I can hear the amusement in her voice.

I smile. "Yeah."