Chapter Text
Mai crashed to the ground with a heaving breath. She bent over her knees and pressed her hands into the wood of the stage. Even when leaning all her weight onto them, her hands never ached; unfortunate, for the pain would’ve been grounding.
Mai’s mind was rushing here and there, everywhere, trying to comprehend her last memories, trying to understand what happened. She’d been kept in a dingy, cold cell all night, was told nobody else would get hurt if she cooperated, and when dawn broke was led out toward the center of town through a large, angry, shouting crowd, was led up the stairs of a stage, was placed in the center, felt something tighten around her neck–
Gentle, cold hands laid against her shoulders, shocking Mai from her memory, and a hushed voice said, “Breathe if you must, dear… It is over now.”
Mai gasped for breath so hard she thought her chest should’ve been hurting by now, but it wasn’t. She whipped her head up to see who was in front of her and startled.
“Y-You’re–!”
“Shhh,” Queen Angelina Warner soothed. “Please, calm your mind.”
“But you’re–you’re dead, how are you–?”
Queen Angelina gained a quietly heartbroken expression, and Mai’s words died on her tongue. Her brain was trying desperately to rationalize how she could be speaking with the long-since-lost queen of Warnerstock without thinking the unthinkable, without processing her last minute of existence, because it was just too painful to even think about, let alone face–
“No,” Mai gasped, shaking her head. “No, that’s not–that can’t be right, I’m not–please, please tell me I’m not–”
She sobbed, a harsh, rough noise that should’ve hurt her throat, and covered her mouth.
Queen Angelina leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Mai.
“Let it out, sweetie,” she murmured. “It is done.”
Mai melted into the embrace and wailed into the queen’s shoulder. She clutched tightly at her robes and mourned the life she’s lost, the things she’s left behind, the people she’s abandoned.
All the while, hanging just behind her, Mai’s body swayed in the wind.
“So… ghosts,” Mai summed up later, empty and exhausted, when the shock wore away and she was forced to accept her circumstances.
Queen Angelina chuckled. “Ghosts.”
“There’s worse things,” Mai sighed. “At least this way I can keep an eye on my home. Even if I… can’t do anything.”
“It’s a blessing and a curse,” the queen agreed. She looked wistful and sad. “I can continue watching over my home and my…. But, as you said, I cannot do anything to help them. It’s a special kind of torture.”
Mai shifted uncomfortably–she didn’t quite know how to interact with the queen. Had they been alive, Mai would’ve been bowing in respect and speaking formally. Now….
“I’m… sorry, Your Majesty. It must’ve been hard all these years,” Mai said.
Queen Angelina waved her off. “Bah, call me Angelina. We’re all equal when we’re dead.”
Mai winced, her hand coming up to her neck subconsciously. “I–I suppose….”
The qu–Angelina hummed and turned back to watch the town.
The two of them were far away from the city center now and were seated atop a building’s roof. Mai recognized it as the bakery and had mentioned as such when they arrived. In response, Angelina had giggled and said she enjoyed the smell of the fresh baked goods. It calmed her, she said.
Mai awkwardly patted her thighs, now covered in what looked like a regular outfit she’d worn when she was alive. (Angelina had taught her a ghost’s form could look however they wanted it too, so she wouldn’t be stuck in the nightclothes she’d been wearing when…). She tried to ignore how different it felt, almost like how one would imagine clouds feeling–soft and wispy, but not all there. “So, uh… do you greet new arrivals every week?”
“I try to,” Angelina said. “It can be scary, waking up after taking your last breath. Disorienting. I may be dead, but I owe it to my people to help them come to terms with their new… after-life, as it were.”
“Do they all come back?” Mai asked.
“No.” Angelina shook her head. “I’m no expert, by any means, but I’ve found that the ones who wake up again are usually the ones with strong ties to their past life and who were taken too soon. You could call it… having unfinished business to attend to.”
She laughed, then, and it struck Mai right in her heart. For a sound supposedly expressing joy, she’s never heard anything so sad.
“It’s why my William isn’t here,” Angelina said. “He was taken too soon, but… he’d made peace with it. He wished he could be around longer, for our… but by the time he laid dying in his bed, he’d been ready.”
“And…” Mai began. “And you?”
Angelina hummed again, and Mai saw her grip the skirt of her dress tightly.
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Angelina answered. “After all, you’re here for the same reason, are you not?”
Yakko.
Mai winced and looked away. She didn’t want to say anything, because how exactly was she supposed to broach that topic? Angelina’s son had begun to see Mai as a mother, and now Mai knew she knew that. It was Mai’s worst nightmare come to life.
“You do not have to be ashamed,” Angelina went on.
Mai risked a glance back and saw that her once-queen had a sorrowful smile on her face. A tear dripped down her cheek.
“It is… hard seeing him without being able to assure him his mother is still there, watching over him,” Angelina began. “He’s suffered so much, him and his siblings both, all because his parents failed to heed the warning signs. We should’ve known better than to think King Salazar would be content in his own territory, but–well, as they say, hindsight is 20/20.”
She laughed again, but once more, Mai couldn’t see the humor.
“But there was a bright side at least,” Angelina continued. Her smile became genuine and she turned to meet Mai’s eye. “You.”
“M-Me?” Mai stammered.
“Of course, you,” Angelina chuckled. “You’ve helped him so much these past years. You don’t know how much it means to me that he had someone in his corner. You were so good to him.”
Angelina reached out and grabbed Mai’s hands. Her touch was cold, but not anymore than Mai’s was.
“Thank you, Mai,” Angelina said, genuine and glad, “for being there for him when I could not.”
“I–I,” Mai choked out, feeling close to tears. “I thought you’d be–I dunno, mad at me, or feel like I was overstepping, or–”
Angelina laughed. “How could I be mad at the one who made my son so happy?”
Mai burst into tears.
She ducked her head down as she sobbed with relief and grief. Angelina guided her into a hug again and gently rubbed her back, gently shushing her. Despite the chill both of them emanated, Mai felt warmer than she had in hours.
The two of them sat there for a while longer, mostly in quiet companionship. Eventually, however, they were interrupted.
“Oh no,” Angelina whispered, focusing on something behind Mai.
“What is it?” she asked as she turned to look.
She noticed it immediately. A ways away surrounding the roof of one of the buildings was what looked like… static, almost. It was dark and angry, tendrils lashing out, and if Mai listened closely, she thought she could hear screaming.
“What the hell is that?!” she exclaimed.
“A ghost,” Angelina explained somberly. “One that’s consumed with anger or sorrow. It happens from time to time. Uselessness tends to get to people in times of tragedy.”
“I-Is there anything we can do?” Mai asked.
“Perhaps,” Angelina said. “But I will try to handle that. You go back to your home. Go see Yakko.”
“You don’t want help?”
“I appreciate it,” she began, “but, with no offense intended, I have been doing this much longer than you. Get used to your after-life, go see our son. See if you can’t figure out how to hug him for me, hm? I’ll be back shortly.”
Angelina chuckled, as if she hadn’t completely thrown Mai for a loop, then departed.
Mai stared after her, flabbergasted.
She’d said, our son. Our.
The acceptance really shouldn’t have warmed her so, but she couldn’t help it. She always wondered if she was overstepping when she became close with children whose parents were taken from them, if she was allowed to give them that parental warmth that they so desired. Hearing such easy acceptance from her boy’s true mother was like a weight off of her chest.
Mai huffed a little, smiling, and started for home. As she did, the warmth curdled as she thought about what she’d find there.
She had been putting off returning for hours now, but she doubted it would be getting better any time soon. Mai knew how much she was loved. She knew what her death would do to them.
It was late afternoon. The downpour was finally lighting up–she could already see sunshine peeking through the clouds.
Mai passed through the doors into Aunt May’s Children’s Orphanage.
She glanced around at the subdued faces of her kids and tried not to feel guilty.
She went to each one and tried to give them a comforting pat on the head or a hug, but each time, she simply phased through them. Regardless, she didn’t know what else she could do, so she made her rounds anyway. She went through the list of children in her head, recalling each by name, until she reached the last kid in the room and realized her boy wasn’t among them. Neither was Gracie or Auntie.
Curious, she made her way further into the building, checking the kitchen and matrons’ bedroom, before going up the stairs.
She paused when she saw Gracie hovering just outside the children’s bedroom, tense and shaking, looking mildly damp. She looked near tears, and in her hands were a few pieces of paper.
Mai attempted to place a hand on Gracie’s shoulder, but again, she just passed through it.
With a sigh, Mai made her way into the large bedroom, figuring that Auntie and Yakko must be inside.
She startled a little as Auntie nearly ran into–well, as she would’ve run into her, had Mai been corporeal. Mai relaxed a little as Auntie exited the room, looking like she was barely holding it together.
A horrible feeling was growing in the pit of Mai’s stomach, and she turned back to fully face the room. As she expected, there was only one occupant: the boy she’d been seeking.
She made her way over slowly, tears beginning to prick her eyes. She couldn’t help wondering why Yakko was all alone up here, why he wasn’t downstairs with his friends. There was no way Auntie or Gracie would’ve actually told him what happened to her, would they?
Which was worse, she wondered: telling him she was dead and gone or telling him she left without any plans of returning?
Both were cruel, she decided.
She was halfway to him when Yakko burst into tears.
He buried his face into the thing in his hands, wailing so loud she could hear it from across the room. With no hesitation, Mai rushed over to her boy and desperately tried to wrap him up in her arms. She cursed and swore as she passed through him over and over again. Her own tears broke through.
“Shh, shh, hey, it’s okay, Yakko, it’s gonna be okay,” Mai babbled. Her hands hovered over him, shaking and useless.
For the first time in years, Mai had absolutely no idea what to do.
“It’s okay!” She tried to grab his shoulders, to make him look at her, and growled as she failed once more. “I didn’t leave, I’m here, please look at me, I’m right–”
“Momma!” he wailed. “Momma, please come back, please, I–”
“I’m right here!” Mai sobbed. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m–!”
She choked on her words, unable to get them past the lump in her throat. She covered her mouth with her hands and stumbled back from her son. He continued to cry into the thing he held, and finally she recognized it–the overalls she’d changed into pants, so he could continue wearing his favorite outfit. She realized it was the last thing she’d ever be able to give him.
Mai closed her eyes as a fresh wave of tears overtook her.
“I’m sorry, Yakko,” she cried into her hands, crumpling in on herself. “I’m so sorry. I–I just wanted to help. I was just trying to help. Please forgive me. Please, please, forgive me.”
He didn’t respond. He simply cried into her gift and begged for the person right beside him.
It was going to be a long night.
“How do you deal?” Mai asked whenever Angelina returned, looking weary and sad.
Mai was sitting on the edge of Yakko’s bed, watching him sleep, with a far-off look in her eye. A few hours prior, she had watched as, after he’d calmed down, Yakko shoved the gift she’d left him deep into his bedside trunk, like he couldn’t bear to look at it. And she’d realized everything she’d left behind for her loved ones would forever be tainted by her stupid, little mistake.
You could forgive her for wanting hope.
Angelina silently brushed her hand through Yakko’s fringe, leaving it undisturbed. She gazed fondly at him, her eyes creased with sorrow.
“I don’t,” Angelina responded, to Mai’s disappointment. “How can I?”
And. Well.
Mai didn’t have an answer.
Mai will admit it. She was bored.
There wasn’t much to do when you were dead. Her days were filled with watching over Yakko and her friends, the latter of which were pretending they were okay and the former of which didn’t move from his bed until absolutely necessary. And honestly, watching her friends hold back tears at all hours of the day or being unable to comfort her boy when his grief hit him again was starting to weigh her down.
One morning, exactly one week after she died, Mai made herself leave the orphanage. She just put one foot in front of the other and walked around the city. She avoided the city center and wandered, allowing herself to just take in what she saw. Sometimes she ran into other ghosts; some she recognized, some she didn’t. (She didn’t quite know how to interact with them, so she often ended up waving politely and fleeing before they could start a conversation. She hoped they understood her awkwardness.) Once, she ran into a cat who followed her every move with slit eyes, as if sensing her presence. (When she asked Angelina later, she was told animals had some kind of sixth sense that allowed them to know the undead were there. They couldn't physically see ghosts, but they knew they were there.)
She people-watched and relaxed, and she could almost make herself forget she was dead. Then a person would walk through her, disrupting her form, and she’d remember all over again.
It was strange, feeling alone when she was surrounded by bustling people.
Eventually she ended up in a familiar line of buildings. She paused when she did, wondering quietly to herself if she wanted to go down this road already. She’d been avoiding coming back because she wasn’t sure what she expected to find, if she expected anything at all. She didn’t want to leave feeling disappointed or… heartbroken.
Mai clenched her fists and took a step forward, then another, and another. Soon, she was in front of the building that had once been her home over a decade ago.
She took in a deep breath she didn’t need and stepped inside.
The textile shop was only occupied by a young woman who looked bored and slightly uncomfortable where she sat at the checkout desk. Mai bit down the urge to greet her and walked further into the building, down the hallway towards the stairwell, and up the stairs. She hesitated before the door to the apartment before forcing herself to phase inside.
The apartment was dark and quiet. The only light came from the uncovered windows. Mai slowly walked further inside, walking past the kitchen, the bathroom, the closet before coming upon the family room. She stopped in the doorway.
Her mother sat on the couch off to the left, bent over her knees with her face in her hands. Around her were balled up tissues, loose sheets of crinkled paper, and blankets. Without even seeing her face, Mai could tell she was a wreck–her hair was tangled and unkempt, her pajamas were wrinkled and askew, her breathing was ragged and wet. Her mother was clearly in the throes of grief.
Mai was not proud of what she felt seeing this image. She should feel remorse or guilt, because her mistake was causing her mother pain. And maybe she did feel that, a little bit, but the emotion that welled up in the forefront of her chest was just relief.
She didn’t know what she would see when she came back to this house, to her family. She wanted to believe her parents loved her because parents were supposed to love their children, even if they didn’t agree with your life’s work or didn’t understand your politics. Usually she’d been able to keep herself believing that, but with all the horribleness this week, her doubts had crept back into her mind.
Seeing her mother so distraught over what had to be her death was enough to brush those thoughts aside.
Mai shuddered as someone walked through her and into the family room. As her form solidified, she recognized her father.
He knelt beside her mother and spoke gently to her, setting a hand between her shoulder blades. “Lunch is ready, love.”
“I don’t deserve to eat.”
“That’s not true. Come on–up, up.” Her father guided her mother to her feet and started leading her out of the family room.
Mai stepped out of the way, reeling a little from the vitriol her mother had spewed at herself. Her mother was a stubborn woman, set in her ways and willing to let everybody know it. She was confident and strong-willed. Hearing her be so self-deprecating was throwing Mai for a loop.
She followed her parents into the kitchen, where her father was helping her mother into a chair. She lingered in the doorway while he sat down a bowl of soup in front of her and began encouraging her to just take a few bites, c’mon love, just a little.
This, too, was disorienting. Mai’s father was a stoic, prideful man. She never once remembered him being gentle towards herself or her mother for any reason.
She couldn’t really believe her death had impacted them so much.
Her mother managed a few spoonfuls of soup before she sat back and stared off into the far distance. Her father sighed and stopped pestering her about it. They sat in silence for a long time.
Then, her father said, “You couldn’t have known.”
Her mother scoffed. "As if that makes a difference."
“It does,” he insisted.
Confused, Mai walked further into the kitchen and stopped behind the chair that used to be hers. She absentmindedly gripped the back of it.
“I’m done having this conversation with you,” her mother said.
“No. I’m tired of seeing you like this, like you personally were the one who gave the order.”
“I might as well have!” her mother argued. “‘I’m leaving,’ she says, ‘I’m taking a boy with me,’ she says, ‘I won’t be able to come back for a long time because he’s not allowed to leave,’ she says, and does that raise any alarms? Not the ones that matter!” Mai gripped the top of her chair as her mother spoke, tensing as she realized what she was saying. “So what do I do? Oh, just walk that letter down to the constable, of course, not wanting my daughter to turn criminal for those stupid brats she insists on taking care of! And what do they do, huh? Tell me, love, what do they do with our daughter?”
Her mother glared at her father, who glared right back with his fist clenched and his lips pursed. Had Mai been alive, her grip on her chair would’ve been painful.
“... They take her,” her father ground out, “and they hang her.”
Mai made a sound, something between a squeak and a sob. She covered her mouth with her hand as if they could’ve actually heard her.
Her neck ached.
Her mother’s eyes glistened and she pursed her lips, nodding.
“Yep,” she said, voice shaking. “They hang her. They hang my little girl because I told on her. Because I thought they'd just make her stop since she hadn't done anything yet. I didn’t stop to think about why some kid wouldn’t be allowed to leave the city, just assumed it was some brat about to be shipped off to some shitty parents and she wanted to play hero.” She laughed harshly. “But no! It was that godforsaken prince! The one that’s still alive, for some reason! And because he’s under the king’s protection, they murder my baby girl.”
Her mother sobbed and covered her mouth. Had Mai not been overwhelmed by this discovery, she would’ve noted how similar the two of them looked.
“You didn’t know,” her father tried again.
“Don’t,” her mother hissed. “Don’t give me that bullshit. Our daughter was saying goodbye to us and I killed her for it. All because of that–that god damn kid.”
Mai couldn’t be here anymore.
She turned on her heel and ran, down the stairs, through the shop, and out the door. She stumbled into the bustling crowd, panting for breath she didn’t need and crying tears nobody saw. She sped down the street, choking down sobs and wiping at her cheeks. She was trying to glue herself back together, but she'd just learned her mother was the reason she was dead and she felt two steps away from shattering completely.
Mai whined and forced the idea out of her mind.
Just get home, just get home, just get home , she repeated in her head, trying to override the horrible thoughts.
She practically fell through the door into the main room of the orphanage. Her eyes scanned around for the one person who could see her, and when she couldn’t find her, she rushed her way upstairs.
Angelina was sitting on the edge of Yakko’s bed, attempting to brush her hair through his fringe. Like always, it wasn’t working. She startled when Mai stumbled into the room, panting and sobbing, probably looking like a wreck.
“Oh–Mai, dear, what happened?” she asked, concern furrowing her brow.
Mai took a moment to try to calm down and gather her thoughts, and as she did, she grew embarrassed. She’d been freaking out over finding out how she’d died, but Angelina had known who’d killed herself the whole time and she wasn’t freaking out. She was as put together as always, looking and acting for all the world like nothing could phase her. And Mai’s death had been so avoidable, too; it was almost embarrassing. There was no reason to be so upset.
Besides, they weren't exactly friends. They just happened to be mothers of the same child when they were alive, one being a lowly orphanage caretaker and the other being the late queen of Warnerstock. They were barely acquaintances.
“N-Nothing,” Mai breathed, sniffling. She straightened herself out, trying to right her hair and her clothes. “It’s–It’s stupid, it’s nothing, I–sorry, you were having a moment with–I’ll just go–”
“Mai,” Angelina gently called, still looking worried. She held her hands out to Mai, gesturing for her to come closer, and Mai obeyed. When she was close enough, Angelina grabbed Mai’s hands and whispered, “Want to know another fact about ghosts? Their physical form is dictated by their emotional state. Often, when a ghost becomes distressed, their body will reflect the state in which they… died.”
“Oh,” said Mai, realizing.
“Do you know what I saw when you walked in?” Angelina asked.
Mai could guess–tattered blue nightgown, wild hair, tear-stained face… and a dark bruise wrapped around her neck.
“What happened, Mai?”
“I–I,” she stammered. Angelina led her away from Yakko’s bed and sat her down on the edge of an adjacent, empty one. With a whimper, she said, “I know who killed me.”
“Oh, Mai.” Angelina pulled her into a hug that she returned fervently. She buried her face in Angelina’s shoulder, shuddering and crying.
“It was–It was my mom, she–I wrote her a letter and she turned it into the police, and then they–they–!”
“Shhh,” Angelina murmured, brushing her hand through Mai’s hair.
“How could she?” Mai pleaded. “How–How could she think that was okay?”
“I don’t know.” Angelina held her tighter. The pressure and the scratching on her scalp helped calm Mai down. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right. You deserved better.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Mai admitted. “I don’t know how I can continue to see them knowing they’re the reason I’m….”
“You don’t have to,” Angelina cut in firmly, kindly.
“But–But they’re my parents, I love them, I should go see them and check in on them and–”
“Mai,” Angelina whispered, shutting her right up. She pulled away slightly so she could meet Mai’s eye. “If you aren’t comfortable seeing your parents, then you don’t need to see them. They wouldn’t know the difference.”
“But….”
“Your mother betrayed you. Even if she didn’t mean to,” Angelina said. “She shouldn’t have given your letter to the police if it had contained something incriminating. It is okay if you never want to see her or your father again. It’s okay.”
Mai’s face crumpled again and she choked out a sob. She buried her face back in Angelina’s shoulder and accepted her comfort as she rubbed Mai's back and brushed her hair.
This was the first time anyone had ever told her it was okay to not want to see her parents. Admittedly, she didn’t tell many people about that guilty little wish–even her friends at the orphanage didn’t know. Every time she’d told someone that before, they’d always acted surprised. They’re your parents! they’d exclaim. You should see them more–unless they hurt you?
And Mai would say, no, they didn’t hurt me, because they didn’t. Not physically. Not any more emotionally than any other parent hurt their child. They were unsupportive and stubborn and made Mai want to pull her hair out, but she loved them. She just also never wanted to see them, because it made her either want to cry or throw something at a wall.
… That probably wasn’t healthy.
Mai calmed down a little a few minutes later. Angelina had begun humming a quiet tune, something Mai vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite name. It was soothing, and paired with her hand scritching at the back of her head, it was almost enough to lull her to sleep.
“Can ghosts sleep?” Mai murmured.
“Yes,” Angelina said. “We don’t need to, so we don’t feel tired in the way we would when we were alive, but yes, you can turn your brain off for a while.”
“... Can… Can you…” Mai was embarrassed to ask. She was a grown adult, she shouldn’t need or want someone to keep her company while she rested. Plus she had only known Angelina a short while; was it weird to ask her to watch over Mai while she slept?
“Of course,” Angelina answered her unsaid question. “Rest, dear. I’ll be here if you need me.”
“... Thank you.”
Angelina hummed and slowly lowered Mai down across the bed. “Sleep. It’ll all be better in the morning.”
Mai didn’t believe that, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. She simply closed her eyes and allowed herself to slip from consciousness, away from the hurt and pain of her after-life.