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Mirabelle had never known what it was like to experience romantic love.
Sure, she'd guessed at what it might be like. She'd read about it in her books. She knew all the signs of it – the blushing, the pounding hearts, the stammered confessions, the sweaty palms. And she'd tried, many times, to feel it herself.
But no matter how many pretty people she looked at, how many romance novels she read or papers she stared at, she could never muster up those feelings.
She knew that romance was expected of her. All her peers were doing it. She was supposed to find a partner, have a bonding ceremony, settle down. To love was to be Changed! Mirabelle was a Housemaiden of Change, so she had to Change. She had to love someone.
But deep down, some small part of her whispered that it was stupid. That she didn't need a partner to be happy. That she could be just as happy with her friends.
She turned her head to look at Siffrin. They sat beside her on the grass, admiring the view of the field they'd hiked to. His hair blew gently in the breeze, his chin propped on their knees, pulled up to their chest.
When she looked at Siffrin, she didn't feel her heart pound in her chest. She didn't feel the blood rushing to her face, or her palms growing sweaty. Sure, she could acknowledge that Siffrin was pretty, but she didn't feel that way about them.
But she enjoyed spending time with them. He was funny, always coming up with new jokes and puns. He was skilled with his chisel, and always patient, willing to go over things with her to help her calm down when she felt anxious. She considered Siffrin one of her best friends. Why was that inferior to love?
"Mirabelle, are you doing okay?"
"Yeah, sorry. I just got a bit lost in thought, I guess. Are you ready to head back?"
They nodded and stood, brushing grass off their pants, and Mirabelle felt nothing.
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Mirabelle sat beside Isabeau, the latter sprawled out on a beanbag. She was perched in a chair, knees drawn close as she pretended to read the novel in front of her face while sneaking glances at Isabeau.
Isabeau was nice-looking, sure. He put effort into his appearance, and she could admit that he was handsome. But no matter how hard she stared, she couldn't muster up any heart-pounding or swooning. He was just…Isabeau. Her friend. Her friend, who read books with her, and offered to teach her to sew, and never made her feel stupid for feeling anxious or afraid.
Maybe she just wasn't into masculine people. Maybe that was it. Maybe she preferred feminine people, instead. Or maybe she hadn't been able to feel anything, because they were her friends. Yes, that was it. She'd been going about this all wrong. She should find someone she didn't know!
Yes. That was it. Once she found someone, she'd be happy – she ignored the memories that flashed through her mind, of papers and Siffrin and a red handprint against pale flesh.
"Isabeau, what did you think of that last chapter?"
"It was great! I wonder what they're planning with the queen…"
As he continued on about the story, she nodded along, and tried to ignore that traitorous voice that whispered isn't this enough?
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Isabeau and Siffrin were off the list, then. M'dame Odile was far too old for her, and Bonnie was a child, so all of her friends were crossed off or not on the list of "people to look at and see if I feel anything romantic about".
That just meant that she had to take matters into her own hands! That was fine! She could do that. People found dates all the time.
Two days later, she found herself sitting at a cafe table across from a woman who, by all standards, was attractive. She was tall with long, dark hair and dark eyes, a pleasant smile on her face. She wore a darkless sweater and round glasses. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee.
Mirabelle had tried her best to dress up. She'd put on her fanciest dress, even attempted makeup (though quickly abandoned it after nearly taking out her eye with some mascara) and spent hours in front of the mirror agonizing over her hair. That meant she liked this woman, right? In books, the characters always took hours getting ready for dates because they were anxious to impress the people they liked.
"So, Mirabelle," the woman – Valerie, that was her name, Valerie – said. "What do you like to do for fun?"
"Um…I like reading."
"Oh, really? So do I! What's your favorite book?"
Mirabelle gripped her cup of tea tighter. "I really like the Cursing of Chateau Castle series. It's definitely my all-time favorite. Um, what about you?"
"Oh, I don't think I've heard of that one! That sounds good. My favorite would definitely have to be the Duke of the Necklace series."
"Oh, that's a classic!" Mirabelle felt herself relaxing more. This was good! She was doing this! She was relaxing! This was natural, and soon enough she'd develop feelings for Valerie, and everything would be fine! Her problem was just that she'd been looking in the wrong places for romantic partners, that was all.
"Haha, yeah! So, Mirabelle, what are you looking for in a relationship?"
And just like that, Mirabelle felt a pit of dread open up in her stomach.
"Um…I guess someone to spend time with, and to…love?"
Valerie gave her a small, pitying, smile, and she felt her fear crawling up her throat. "Well, I think that's a great thing to have in a relationship, but that's sort of the basics, you know? I meant more, uh…like, what sort of partner do you prefer? Are you looking for something serious?"
"Yes! Um, someone who's nice? And smart? I like smart people. And someone who likes to read." Those were normal qualities in a partner, right?
"Well, I'm not a genius, but I think I fit those pretty well!"
"Yeah…" Mirabelle felt cold. This was all wrong. This wasn't how this was supposed to go, she wasn't supposed to be feeling like this, she was supposed to be falling for her, and yet–
"I'm going to go to the restroom."
She stood and pushed in her chair, hurrying away from Valerie who sat, confused.
The stall door clicked shut behind her, and she sucked in a raggedy gasp of air.
This was fine. It didn't matter that she felt wrong doing this. This was what she was supposed to do.
There was a knock at the stall door.
"Mirabelle?" Valerie's voice. "Are you okay in there?"
"Yeah, I'm feeling…I think I'm sick. I'm going to go home. Don't wait for me."
"...Okay. Feel better soon!"
Mirabelle heard her footsteps recede and the bathroom door swing shut. She relaxed slightly.
Okay. So that was a horrible, utter failure. That was fine!
Maybe you don't need romance, that voice inside her head whispered again. Don't you remember what he said?
Siffrin's words once again flashed through her head. You'll always be alone.
Maybe they were wrong.
Maybe romance wasn't for her. Maybe she didn't need romance – maybe she would never have romance. After all, this date had proved that, hadn't it? Even when she tried and tried, she would never experience that pounding heart, the flushed face and slick palms that signaled love.
And maybe that was okay.
Siffrin had been wrong, though. She wouldn't be alone. She had Bonnie, and Isabeau, and Siffrin, and M'dame Odile. Her friends, who had always been by her side, who cared for her, fought for her, who were always there for her. Who loved her.
Wasn't that love just as important? Why did it have to be romantic, to matter? Why was romantic love better, purer, more important than platonic love?
Maybe she would never have a storybook romance. Maybe she would never have a bonding ceremony or kiss someone or date them.
But as she swung open the stall door, stepping forth with new clarity, she knew that she was fine with that.