Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s beautiful, the way the sunlight dances through the leaves. It’s a big reason as to why Jemilla still enjoys coming to the apple orchard right at the edge of town. The woods surrounding the rest of their small village are much too tall and much too tightly packed. She made her way out there exactly once on a bright summer day, but it got completely dark after just a few minutes of walking so she went back to the village and never looked back.

But the orchard? The orchard is beautiful – and peaceful as well. The trees are just the right height and just the right distance from each other, and the sweet smell of the apples that have fallen to the ground but not yet started to rot is comforting. She likes being here. No. She loves it.

No one else goes in the apple orchard, at least not this close to the Harvest. It’s the most busy time of the year for their tiny town and she’s sure it’s the same for other small towns all around the world, should there be any. No one’s actually left town and returned to tell the tale, so she can’t know for sure; still, the woods are so big and so endless, she can’t imagine they’re the only ones.

Everyone in town participates in the preparations, because they all care about the Harvest. Well, almost everyone. Zazzalil sits in an apple tree and unenthusiastically bites into whatever apple she’s holding at the time. Her and Jemilla are on apple orchard duty every year, which means Jemilla is on apple orchard duty every year.

“Move,” she tells Zazzalil who reluctantly jumps down from her spot in the tree and finds another one to climb into. It’s one Jemilla’s already decorated and she appreciates it, because it means she won’t have to tell Zazzalil to move again in the future.

Jemilla continues hanging up decorations, this time in the tree Zazzalil was just in. She doesn’t finish before she hears a loud sigh from Zazzalil’s direction. When the other girl doesn’t say anything, Jemilla turns around to face her, her eyebrow slightly raised as she waits for whatever anecdote Zazzalil has this time. “It’s stupid.”

Leaning back against the closest tree, Jemilla furrows her brows. “You think a lot of things are stupid. What is it this time?”

The small scarecrow figurine she hung in the tree not too long ago hits against a branch with a small thud and Jemilla watches as Zazzalil’s eyes dart towards it. Then she picks it off and before Jemilla has time to open her mouth to complain about how one thing is not participating in decorating the place, but another is actively taking down decorations after she’s already put them up, Zazzalil speaks: “This! The decorations.”

“They’re not just decorations, you know that. They’re tradition.”

She can practically hear Zazzalil roll her eyes from where she’s standing. “Okay, not the decorations then,” and while Zazzalil is saying that, Jemilla isn’t entirely sure she believes it. The decorations are stupid (according to Zazzalil, at least), she’s made that clear many, many time. “I mean this in the kindest way possible when I say thing, but… you’re stupid. Not in general. Just for wasting your time helping out with this every year.”

It kind of stings. She knows Zazzalil doesn’t mean for it to hurt, but that doesn’t stop it from doing so anyway. “I’m not wasting my time, I’m doing my jo–”

“They still might take you. You know that, right? Helping out, doing your best, fulfilling your duties… it makes no difference.”

The silence sinks over them, only interrupted by the occasional low growl from somewhere deep in the forest, but that’s silence too at this point. “I… don’t have time for your nihilistic bullshit, Zazz.”

Her girlfriend shrugs and jumps down from the tree. “Whatever. I’m gonna go help pick some apples. Because I’m nice.” She presses a kiss to Jemilla’s cheek and then she’s off.

Jemilla holds her hand to her cheek and takes a moment to shake that dreadful feeling this conversation left her with off her mind. She needs to be decorating. The Harvest is right around the corner and they still have a long way to go. She loves Zazzalil, she does, but for now she’s going to try to ignore her. She’s also going to ignore that little voice in the back of her head that reminds her how Emberly was chosen last year and how she still hasn’t returned.

Chapter Text

The wind isn’t the only thing that’s howling. Jemilla has lived here all her life, she knows the village in and out (and while she might not know the woods, she knows the sounds it makes). And the wind isn’t the only thing that’s howling. She’s sure of that.

It’s out there. Whatever it is, it’s out there. Howling, growling, moving through the trees and not caring if it knocks them over. Or maybe that’s just the sounds the creature’s body makes when it moves. She doesn’t know which is more terrifying.

Something about all these things doesn’t make sense to her. If she’s lived here all her life – which she has – how come she’s still terrified? She knows she’s safe in the village, they all are.

She only knows what illness is because her mother read a book about it out loud. And Jemilla’s mom only knows what illness is because her mom read her a book about it out loud. No one’s been sick and the only people who have died are the ones who have died of old age.

And those who have tried to run.

Why is the world so unfair? Why can’t she just get to sleep peacefully through the night she’s known for so long? It’ll be over soon, at least. Just a few more weeks until the Harvest. The sounds usually stop after the Harvest.

She doesn’t get it, doesn’t get Zazzalil. She loves her with all her heart, but Zazzalil always says that it’s the village that’s scary. Jemilla knows better. She knows the village and she doesn’t fear what she knows. The woods are the unknown. The woods are what’s scary.

There’s a knock on her window. When she turns and sees it’s Zazzalil’s face out there, she’s not surprised. Not one bit. Only Zazzalil knocks on her window late at night and she wouldn’t change that for one bit.

She tiptoes across the floor and opens the window just slightly. “Zazzalil,” she whispers. “What are you doing here? Do you have any ideas how late it is?”

“Of course I do,” Zazzalil says with the confidence of someone who doesn’t then proceed to stick her face through the window and then turn her face and body to get a better look at Jemilla’s wall clock. “It’s two twenty five at night.”

Jemilla rolls her eyes, endearingly of course. “You’re avoiding my first question.”

There’s a smile on Zazzalil, a mischievous one. Instead of answering right away, she pulls Jemilla’s face a little closer and plants a kiss on her lips. Who is Jemilla to stop her? “You look lovely tonight.”

“Zazzalil, please.” The darkness does a good job of covering up her blush, but she isn’t sure her tone quite sells it. She sighs and gives in. “So do you. But really, why are you here?”

“Can’t a gal just want to see her beautiful, incredible, kind and loving, among other things, girlfriend at two twenty fi– well, six in the morning?” She asks. Jemilla doesn’t answer, so eventually Zazzalil tells the truth. “Fine. I’m taking you somewhere.”

“At two twenty six in the morning? And you’re sure it can’t wait for just a few more hours?”

Zazzalil nods. “I mean, you’re awake anyway. And besides, it’s uh… it’s not something that’s capable of waiting. At least I don’t have any power to make it do so. You know, this is becoming a really convoluted set up for what I’m trying to say. It’s Keeri. Keeri wants to say goodbye.”

The darkness might cover her blush, but there’s no way Zazzalil doesn’t see her jaw drop. “She’s leaving? She’s making a run for it? Are you– alright,” she cuts herself off, pauses for a while to just stand there and nod. “Alright. Just, uh. Can you wait for a minute? I need to get dressed.”

Not long after, the girlfriends have made their way to the edge of the forest. Grant is there and so is Keeri, obviously, but other than that it’s just Jemilla and Zazzalil.

Jemilla almost questions it out loud, but then remembers that Ducker is even more of a goody two-shoes than she is and would absolutely snitch, that Tiblyn isn’t much better and that SB and Schwoopsie probably wouldn’t be able to keep quiet enough for whatever this is.

It’s Jemilla’s first time witnessing someone leave and it’s absolutely terrifying making peace with the fact that you very likely will never see your friend again while standing on the edge of a hungry forest, filled with places to get lost or killed.

Grant says his goodbyes first, then heads home. He’s not ready to see what happens. Then it’s just Jemilla, Zazzalil and Keeri.

Keeri kisses both of their foreheads and wishes them good luck. They do the same thing for her. Then she runs.

It’s a weird feeling, watching someone you care about run towards what’s almost certainly death and not being able to do anything about it. She grabs Zazzalil’s hand and holds on tightly. “Is it really a good idea to run?” Jemilla asks.

Zazzalil shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably not. But isn’t it nicer to go out on your own terms than face the horrors of the unknown?”

Jemilla doesn’t have a good answer.

Chapter Text

Going back to sleep after Keeri’s journey into the unknown is not a very pleasant experience and Jemilla finds it quite difficult to find peace. She tosses and turns, and she hopes that something will send her into the slumber she so desperately craves sooner rather than later.

Tomorrow is the day the Harvest Candidates are chosen. It’s also the last day they have to finish preparations for the event. For once, Jemilla doesn’t find herself feeling stressed about having to plan for it. Rather, she finds herself terrified. What if she is chosen? Or worse, what if Zazzalil is chosen? She doesn’t think she can handle that.

What finally gets her to give up the whole naturally falling asleep in the comfort of her own bed is the scream. Keeri’s scream. She’s heard it many times, but only out of joy or shock. This is not joy or shock. It’s horror. And it stops abruptly.

It’s not good. Something is out there and whatever it is, it’s gotten to Keeri.

This time, Jemilla’s the one crawling out of her window to go see Zazzalil. She waits, of course, because she can’t possibly be the only one in the village who’s heard the screaming and to be caught out after curfew is that last thing she wants. She stays far away from windows until she makes it to Zazzalil.

A light tap is all it takes for her girlfriend to come to her rescue. The window is opened and Zazzalil stays quiet until Jemilla’s made her way all the way through the window, until it’s been closed again, until they’re safe.

“So you heard it too, I assume?” She asks while taking Jemilla’s hand and leading her to bed.

Jemilla nods. “Yeah, it’s uh… it was kind of hard to miss.” She laughs nervously, although nothing about the situation is funny. There’s just nothing else left for her to do or feel. “How are you holding up?”

Zazzalil smiles sadly. She wraps her arms around Jemilla and presses a feather light kiss to the back of her head. “Keeri was my best friend, you know? Outside of you, of course. And after… after the scream… I seriously doubt saying ‘was’ is wrong. I can’t wrap my head around how she could possibly still be alive.”

“It’s fucked up that things have to be this way.”

“Yeah. God, I wish so badly we could change things. I don’t want to look on blindly like Ducker and y–” She cuts herself off. “Sorry. That was really insensitive of me and–”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Jemilla cuts in. “You’re right. I have been spending an awful long time looking on blindly, just letting these things happen.”

“Are you going to continue that?”

“I…” Jemilla stays silent for a long time. “... don’t know.”

The morning light barely illuminate Zazzalil’s room when her parents swing open the door in the morning. “Up, up, up, Zazzi Little. Tonight is the night and I hear you still haven’t finished the orchard. Have you picked out a dress yet?” Her mom asks. “Oh, and good morning Jemilla dear. Why didn’t you say hi yesterday?”

Jemilla smiles sleepily up at her parents in law. “Oh, sorry about that. I thought you’d already gone to bed.”

“No worries,” Zazalil’s dad says. “Since you two have only just gotten up, I don’t assume you’ve heard the news, have you?”

“Ugh.” Finally, Zazzalil emerges from under the covers. “Good morning. What news are you talking about now?”

“Oh, nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, dear.” From what Zazzalil has told her (and from what Jemilla’s observed during her time in Zazzalil’s house), her mom isn’t too big on confrontations or acknowledging problems; especially not adult problems.

Her dad doesn’t have the same problem. “They found another body.” He’s an oversharer. It can be a bit harsh sometimes.

Jemilla raises an eyebrow, trying her best to look surprised. “Oh?”

While she’s sure everyone in town heard the scream, she knows better than to acknowledge it. She acknowledged things when she was younger, but she pretty quickly learned that acknowledgement only leads to trouble. Her parents liked to acknowledge things. There’s a reason she lives with Molag.

“Yeah.” Zazzalil’s dad wasn’t just an oversharer. He was also not afraid to share his opinions, no matter how cold they come across. “They really need to stop running.”

The look Zazzalil and Jemilla share is not one of comfort. It’s one of fear and terror.

Chapter Text

Leaving Zazzalil’s house is all but a pleasant experience. Jemilla kisses her girlfriend goodbye, of course, and then she makes her way back towards her place.

On any other day of the year, Jemilla isn’t as busy, especially when it comes to things that theoretically matter so little. But the Harvest is a big event and she knows that the not-yet adults of the towns are the ones being celebrated. It’s them who has to look their best and, well, the adults like to remind them of the fact.

Living with Molag also means that she has to be extra careful with what she does. With Molag being the head of the town, it’s never a good look to not be dressed up properly for when the Harvest Candidates are chosen. It is tradition and Molag obviously cares about it, so Jemilla does as well. She has to.

And it’s not like she minds the act of getting dressed up. The dress she’s picked out is really, truly beautiful and she loves the shell necklace she gets to wear. Shells are very rare; Jemilla hears they come from the ocean and as far as she’s concerned, they don’t live close to any ocean. No one goes out of town, so where are they from? It’s a question she wants answered, but not one she dares ask. Asking questions is asking for trouble and Jemilla hates trouble.

She looks into the mirror she keeps in her room and the dress is just as beautiful on her as it is hanging on her closet door. Then she goes to pick up her shell necklace.

On the table, she finds a note from Molag. It tells her to stay safe and to not sneak out again, and it makes her feel safe. She isn’t angry with her for running off in the middle of the night and that’s the best possible reaction. It also says she left a little something for her hair tonight. And sure enough, on the table lays a small tiara with a small chain of even more shells. It leaves a smile on her lips.

Maybe the Harvest isn’t as bad as Zazzalil makes it sound.

Picking it up, Jemilla makes her way into the kitchen. Molag is humming to herself while making food. “Oh hey, J-mills. Good to see you.”

Jemilla laughs awkwardly. “Yeah. Good to see you too. Sorry for sneaking out.”

“No worries. I assume you just ran to see that girlfriend of yours,” she says as she starts carrying two plates to the table. Jemilla nods to confirm that that was in fact what she did. “I made us lunch. And may I just say, you look beautiful in that dress. I know you would.”

“Thank you.” The food looks delicious and she’s starting to feel a lot better about the day. It’s a nice feeling. “Oh! Also thank you for the hair piece. If you have time, do you think you could do my hair before tonight?”

Molag smiles widely. “I would love to.”

With her hair in a beautiful updo, all thanks to Molag, and a smile resting on her face, Jemilla steps back into the apple orchard. Tables have been set up since her last visit, one empty with three seats for the Harvest candidates.

The whole town is here; the local band is playing and the sound is muffled by multiple conversations, but that’s how it is every year and Jemilla loves it.

Jemilla goes to stand with Zazzalil, because despite it being a celebration for the entire town, there’s no one she’d rather be with. Zazzalil’s outfit is pretty, Jemilla can’t deny that, and she does look good in it, but she doesn’t look better than any other day. There’s a bitterness and an unease to her expression that Jemilla can’t deny. She much prefers the happy, smiling and comfortable Zazzalil, but she understands the worries so she takes her hand.

They take each others’ hand and share a quick kiss before Molag goes to hold her speech. It’s the same one as every year; the harvest is good as always, the town is happy as always, everything is good as always. There’s not much new to it. There never is.

But once the talk of the Harvest Candidates comes up, Jemilla tunes back into the speech. The big bowl of names is carried out and as every year, Molag randomly picks out three papers.

“The first Harvest Candidate is…” She looks around at the crowd, adding unnecessary suspense to the already tense situation (at least it feels tense because Zazzalil is clenching her hand tightly). “Grant!”

Jemilla catches Grant’s eyes from across the orchard. She sees his face drop and she swears she sees him wiping away a tear. Losing Emberly (who always loved him, who called him Grunt and who made him happy) last year to the Harvest and now getting chosen for it as well? She can’t imagine what that must be like.

“Next up is Ducker. Give it up for Ducker!”

Ducker’s family cheers. They know this is all he’s ever wanted. Everyone knows that. She sees Ducker cry as well, but the smile on his face indicates and the fact that she’s known him all her life makes it easy to identify them as tears of happiness.

“Now, the final candidate of the year is…our very own Jemilla!”

The next thing Jemilla remembers is waking up in her bed at the sound of someone tapping on her window. Zazzalil again, of course.

She goes to open up the window. “Hey babe.”

“Hey Harvest Queen.”

Jemilla chuckles sadly. “Not yet. They don’t pick which one of us gets to be royalty before the morning, remember?”

It doesn’t surprise her to see Zazzalil roll her eyes. “So… are you ready to make a run for it yet?” Jemilla shakes her head and Zazzalil smiles sadly before pulling her down for a kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Jemilla says. And she really is. She wishes she could just run away, just let go of tradition. But she’s been chosen and that’s just what life is.

“It’s okay, but…” Zazzalil trails off and after a while, takes a deep breath.

She doesn’t start talking again, so Jemilla has to ask: “But what?”

“But I guess this is goodbye then,” she says. Then she bolts for the forest.

Chapter Text

What are you supposed to do when your girlfriend kisses you goodbye and makes a run for it, into what is – most likely – certain death?

Jemilla doesn’t have the answers and she’s sure her response isn’t the right one, but what else is she supposed to do? She jumps out the window and runs as fast as she can, trying her best to catch up. Her feet are bare and the October night air is cold, but Zazzalil’s already in the woods and there’s no time to turn back.

Compared to the soft grass in the village, the forest is an uncomfortable place to run. It’s certainly not the worst part of the forest, but Jemilla doesn’t want to think about the worst part so she focuses on the pain in her feet.

She eventually catches up, but she’s pretty sure it’s because Zazzalil has noticed her and not because she’s fast enough to just do that. She wants to tell her that they should go back, but that’s no longer an option because the noises she hears at night are no longer distant. They are all around her and they are getting closer.

Something is out there. No. Something is out here. Among the darkness of the forest with trees so impossibly tall and crowns so impossibly thick that no light penetrates them. Among those trees. With them. And it’s closing in.

But they keep running because that’s all they can do. Maybe they’ll reach the edge of the forest before whatever is out here catches up to them. Maybe they can make it. Maybe they’ll become just another two bodies, adding to the count.

It’s impossible how long they keep running. An hour? A month? A minute? Three days? Forever?

No. Not forever. Because Jemilla’s feet hurt, her legs hurt, her entire body aches and longs for a rest, longs to give up. And so it does. She falls to the ground and watches as Zazzalil keeps running. Not for long, though. She eventually realizes that Jemilla isn’t running with her, so she turns back.

“I can see the light,” she tells her. “It’s not much further. We have to keep going. We have to make it.”

Jemilla laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, one that’s not even close to resembling happiness. It’s one of sorrow and pain. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” Zazzalil says as she attempts to get her off.

“I can’t,” she repeats. Her body isn’t letting her. Her feet are bleeding and while she can see the light, she knows she can’t make it. The sounds of whatever is chasing them is getting louder, almost too impossible to hear anything through. “But you can. There are better ways to die than here with me. Run.”

Zazzalil shakes her head. “I’m not fucking leaving you here alone. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As much as Jemilla wants Zazzalil to save her own life, to go to the edge of the forest, to survive, she also knows that Zazzalil is too stubborn. And if this is their final moments, she’s not going to fight. She refuses. Instead she holds onto her girlfriend and kisses her as the sounds of the forest drowns out everything else.