As Geronimo, Brynn’s loyal familiar, soared out the window with her latest story clutched in his talons, Roran quietly entered the room. The soft flutter of Geronimo’s wings faded as the familiar took off into the evening sky, shapeshifting into a raven to blend with the twilight.
“Are you finished with your story?” Roran asked, sitting at the edge of their shared bed. The small room they now lived in felt stifling, a far cry from the cozy apartment they once had. After Brynn had lost her last position at the university, they had been forced to move back in with her parents. Privacy, especially for Brynn’s writing, was hard to come by, and their bedroom had become both a sanctuary and a prison.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Brynn smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the edge of her desk, where ink-stained parchment was scattered.
“Still for therapy?” Roran’s voice carried a nervous edge. He worried she was retreating too far into her own thoughts, losing herself in stories rather than finding her footing again. It had been a long time since Brynn had attempted any serious work.
“Yes and no,” she said, her smile growing a little wider. “That one was for my journal, to help me process everything. But it’s also what led me to this moment.” She hesitated, her hand absentmindedly fiddling with a bottle of ink. “And thank you, Roran. For being so patient with me all this time. I know it’s been hard, waiting for me to—well, get my act together.”
Roran’s brow furrowed. “Yes,” he admitted, “it has been hard. But what are you talking about, Brynn? I’m not sure what you mean. Are you thinking of submitting your work to a paper like I suggested?”
Brynn shook her head, her fingers tightening around the ink bottle. “Not yet, although I’m keeping an eye out for papers that might want to publish fun fables.” She paused, fidgeting. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I truly want to do.”
Roran leaned in, sensing her anxiety. “What is it?”
“I want to be a bard,” Brynn said quickly, her words tumbling out in a nervous rush. The silence that followed felt suffocating, as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Brynn had never been one for public speaking, let alone the performative nature of being a bard. Anyone would have doubted her, given her struggles with social anxiety.
But Roran merely nodded. “Okay. What do you need from me to help make that happen?”
Brynn blinked, surprised by his immediate support. She rushed forward, throwing her arms around him, nearly knocking him over in her eagerness. “You didn’t even ask why!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his chest. “You didn’t try to talk me out of it or tell me it’s impossible. That means everything to me.”
Roran chuckled softly, stroking her hair. “Why would I? If this is what you want, then I believe you can make it happen. I know you, Brynn. You wouldn’t have said it unless you were serious. Besides, if there’s a way for you to become a bard and tell your stories, then I have no doubt you’ll find it.”
Tears welled in Brynn’s eyes, a mixture of joy and relief. Roran had always been her rock, but hearing his words now gave her a sense of validation she hadn’t realized she needed.
“Well,” she said, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. I could really use your help.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I want to tell stories, but not just any stories. I want to focus on fables.”
Roran nodded, understanding. He knew that was where her heart had always been, though he had often wondered how she’d ever gain the confidence to pursue it.
“I’ve been working through ideas with my therapist,” Brynn continued, “and we think that if I’m clear about my tales being fables, there’s no reason why I can’t start writing them now. But I need a plan. It might not generate money right away, but hear me out.” She looked at him, waiting for his confirmation before continuing.
Roran nodded for her to proceed.
“First, I’ll need to choose a pen name,” Brynn explained. “I don’t want to use my real name—just in case things don’t work out, or it negatively impacts future jobs. I also want people to immediately recognize the name as one linked to fables.”
She took a breath and continued. “Then, I was thinking of spreading my stories in small circles at first. Since I know some magic, I can easily create copies. Geronimo could help too—he can shapeshift, so I thought he could transform into a friendly creature, like a dog or a songbird, and deliver the stories. People would be more likely to accept them that way.”
Roran raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, clearly intrigued by her plan.
“Once people start to notice, I’ll release new stories weekly. Those who want to receive them could pay a small fee to have Geronimo deliver the tales directly. I know it won’t make much money at first, but if I keep at it, I might gain some recognition. Maybe even a bit of income. In the meantime, I can find a job to support us while still keeping time to focus on my writing.”
She hesitated, her voice faltering. “I know it’s not as lucrative as my previous jobs. But they… they made me so miserable. I don’t think I can go back. Maybe one day, but not now. I’d rather work part-time jobs and write than return to a life that made me feel so hollow.”
Roran was silent for a moment, considering her words. “And you know that it will take us much longer to save for a place of our own? Are you prepared for that?”
Brynn nodded firmly. “I am. I know staying with my parents isn’t ideal, but I’d rather be happy and take longer to save than be miserable just to buy a house sooner.”
Roran exhaled, nodding. “It’s certainly a shift from what we planned, but if it’s what makes you happy, then I’ll support you.”
Brynn’s smile widened, relief flooding through her. “Thank you, Rory. I really believe this will be good for me.”
Roran gazed into her eyes, his own expression softening. “If it’s good for you, then it’s good for me. It’s good for us.”
Bryn hugged Roran again, tears flowing from her eyes. When they finally separated, Roran’s head was in problem solving mode.
“Although we’re going to have to come up with some of those coping skills to make living here work,” Roran said as he lay back on their bed. “It’s much different than our apartment in town.”
Brynn cringed. Their living situation was always the source of their worst arguments.
“But you’ll still consider letting me chase my storytelling dreams?” Brynn asked, her voice hopeful.
Roran looked at her, confused. “Of course I will. I said I would, didn’t I? I promised I’d support you once you could work again, and I meant it.” He scratched his head. “Although I’m a bit confused about how you’re planning to become a bard who only tells stories on paper.”
Brynn gave a small shrug. “Well, it’s a work in progress. I’m open to ideas if you’ve got any.”
Roran grinned. “I’m the King of Ideas, aren’t I? I think we can make it work—just give me a few days to come up with some solutions.”
Brynn laughed, encouraged by his enthusiasm.
“And what about a job? Got any ideas?” Roran asked.
“Well,” Brynn started slowly, “I figured I’ll need some time to build up a collection of stories, so I was thinking about a job with shorter hours. Millie’s Antiquities might work for that.”
“An antique mall?” Roran wrinkled his nose. “Not what I would’ve expected from you.”
“I talked to Mrs. Millie the other day,” Brynn explained. “She said she could offer me a day or two a week to help customers find what they need. And since I’ve got that location spell, I’m pretty useful there. It’s more for the pay and to prove to myself that I can hold down a job. I’m working on getting my confidence back, you know? Starting small. I don’t have the same ambition I used to, so I might even go back to working for an alchemist or herbalist. Just preparing medicines or selling them. I don’t really care anymore, as long as I’m getting paid.”
“Ha! How long have I been telling you that?” Roran teased.
“Too long,” Brynn admitted. “But it’s easier not to care about smaller jobs where people are only concerned with prices or potion deadlines, compared to when I worked in the lab. There, I was responsible for injuries… even deaths.”
Roran nodded solemnly. “That’s a big difference, for sure. But I’m just happy to hear you talking like this. And I’m really excited about your stories.”
Brynn blushed, suddenly shy. “Well, I haven’t actually written any down yet…”
“Hey, no pressure,” Roran replied quickly, knowing that Brynn needed to work on her confidence, too. “You don’t even have to share them with me if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know I’m here for you. If helping with the stories isn’t where my support lies, I’ll find another way.”
Brynn hugged him tightly. “You’re the best husband ever. Did you know that?”
“Aye,” he said with a smile. “But only because my wonderful wife keeps reminding me.”
The rest of the night was spent talking about Brynn’s new hopes and outlook on life. Slowly but surely, things were looking up.
B.R. Quinn 