A standalone short story
By Cassie Swindon
February 24, 2025
One by one, I pluck the curved shells out of my windblown hair. With a simple silent spell, I could glamor away the knots and tangles resulting from my deep-sea dive but isn’t beauty supposed to be authentic? Between my spot in the sand and the dawn’s awakening sun, doves soar gracefully in the vast open air that doesn’t belong to me. Only the ocean answers my call.
I barely have time to dry off before my phone vibrates in the annoying pattern that haunts my nightmares. If I check the message, it will only be another client begging to be matched with their soul mate, their one true love, the partner meant to gift them with endless joy and desire. They’ll want to be transformed like a butterfly for a chance at powerful romance. What humans don’t want to know is – it’s all a sham.
Love can’t be found in another person. It’s hopeless.
Behind me, water splashes, followed by a chirp. I turn to wave goodbye to my dolphin friends and watch until their silver fins disappear below the surface. I twist my toes in the sand, wishing to swim within the cold depths like that pod instead of trudging into the lighthouse for another day of torture. Unfortunately, even a goddess born of foam needs to pay a mortgage.
The gentle breeze blows the sign labeled Waves of Change near the entrance. Back and forth, back and forth, it squeaks slowly. At this early hour, I doubt any guests will have checked in for their weekend retreat full of promised relaxation at our spa. Regardless, I clench my molars and soldier on towards the gates of my hell, where the lighthouse stands alone against the sky – point sharp as a dagger piercing the clouds.
“Ro?!” Jora’s lovely sing-song voice slices into my heart, probably from the window where the soap and bath salt shop sends the scent of lavender in my direction. “Aphrodite! I know you can hear me!”
Unwilling to glance up, I focus on counting and slowing my breath. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two three.
“Ro? You look like a damaged sparrow.”
I almost shout a thousand curse words in my crush’s direction. No, my ex-crush. As of last night.
If we didn’t work at the lighthouse together, I’d never have to see Jora’s gorgeous smile again. Maybe I can create an anti-glamor to cast a hideous spell over her blue eyes and brown wavy hair that my hands have longed to get lost in.
Seagulls squawk in chaos just as I slip inside Waves of Change– perhaps for the last time. I could quit today and ask Hermes where I should move to next. But that’d mean dealing with selling my beachfront cottage on the dunes. What a hassle. I’d finally decided what color to paint the front door– navy– to match the sea. Jora had even decorated the door with pink roses, barely visible and exquisitely intricate. Now every time I enter, I’ll be reminded of how she shattered my heart to pieces by bringing a date last night.
Inside the lighthouse, the delicious scent of apples throws me into the memory of meeting Jora at the state fair, before I ever believed one person could cause me so much pain. Her skin radiated with the shimmering moonlight, begging me to press my lips to her collarbones.
The soft bells of the front door cause me to whip around to face a new customer. His scar, etched from his chin to his forehead, gives me an easy assumption of why he is visiting. His gaze scans the list of services, including deep tissue massage, manicures, facials, meditative classes, and more. I can’t help but follow his eyes to scan the rest of the circular room that I used to consider my second home. One section has a floor to ceiling mirror, scaling the entire height of the five-story lighthouse. It makes the round space look both larger and brighter.
The rest of the stone wall is covered in hooks holding hanging plants or framed artwork of popular tourist spot. Last spring, Jora forced me to visit every garden within a hundred mile radius. What a bitch. An endearing, sweet, kind, and intoxicating heart-breaking bitch.
“Uh, hey. Do you know who works here?” The man asks, eyes dropping to my still-dripping swimsuit as I create a puddle on the floor.
“That’d be me,” I say, stepping behind the counter to pin my employee badge to my bikini top.
His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “Right, uh…” he stammers while rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m not usually like this. But, fuck, you’re stunning. I mean, I bet you’ve heard that a lot and are sick of it… sorry, anyways, I heard someone named Ro can cast glamours. I brought quartz.”
He holds out his hand to display dozens of my favorite crystals, the ones that send a fluttering through my stomach like the thought of scrumptious chocolate and strawberries and wine. I’m not an addict or anything, but if there was one tangible item on this mortal earth I’d collect, it’d be those damn crystals.
I gape and scoot closer. “Where’d you find so many?”
His eyes drop to my cleavage, which I’m unfortunately accustomed to. When I’m about to send him away, he points to my name badge. “Wait. YOU are Ro. Please. There’s this guy. He’s perfect for me but he doesn’t find me attractive. Ever since the accident,” he pauses, gesturing to his face, “I haven’t been with anyone. And it’s killing me bit by bit. Please help me. How long does a glamour last for? Can I pay for more than one?”
Famished at the sight of the crystals, I almost agree but back away behind the counter. “No, if your guy doesn’t see your value and beauty, scars and all, he’s not the one for you.”
“Please. I’ve tried everything else. The doctors can’t fix anymore. No cream has helped. You’re my last option.”
“Trust me. You’re better off dealing with your emotions,” I mumble, half-heartedly.
“Are you kidding?” He slaps the quartz down on the counter. “What do you expect me to do?”
I shrug and start opening packages of new merchandise: candles and gratitude journals. Handing one over, I tell him, “Here, write what you’re thankful for every day for a year, then come back to me. If you want this guy and the journal is full, I’ll give you the glamour.
He swipes it from my grasp and stomps out the door. “Thanks a fuckin’ lot,” he barks as the bell chimes once more.
Alone again, I hang my head. No amount of beauty products or glamour will ever be enough if he doesn’t believe he’s already beautiful. Once upon a time I had a life coach certificate and the goal of boosting the self-confidence of my clients. After many failed attempts of trying to force self-compassion and acceptance, I realized that no teacher or coach can instill these mentalities in any mortal. They must find it on their own time.
But enough of the daily aspiration shit.
“That was a short visit. Did you send him away without a love potion?” Jora’s high voice echoes within the spiral stairway. “Or was he a lost tourist?”
When I turn, it’s as if my entire world spins in slow motion. First her perfect, petite ankles catch my eye with each click-clack down the metal stairs on her stilettos. Since I’m five foot-ten, I’ve never been interested in abusing my feet for beauty. Yet, I can’t complain about the pink ribbons attached to her shoes that wrap up her shins until they end in a nice bow. The pitter patter of my heart turns to rapid drumbeats when her thighs come into view, just below the swooshing fabric of her dress. Of course she’s wearing my favorite color, baby pink.
At one point, I had thought Jora had reciprocal feelings when her wardrobe changed to pastel pink after I confessed my obsession with the color. However, that was five months ago and none of her behavior had changed towards me. Sure, she still flirts, but Jora banters with every living being. She’d probably flirt with a nymph if given the chance.
I stifle a gasp when she finally reaches the bottom stair. The V-neck of her strappy dress should win fashion awards. I’m so screwed. How am I supposed to simply forget about her and move on? Not once have I been this severely magnetized to someone’s aura.
Obviously, her dress isn’t even the best part. Her sapphire blue eyes shine more brilliantly than the sun. Which can’t compete with her poetry-inspiring smile. Why me? A damned goddess isn’t supposed to have to deal with such agonizing matters like lust and passion. What’s even worse is no immortal should be subjected to the excruciating intensity of “love.”
That’s it. That’s exactly what I need. To find a way to fall out of love.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jora asks, her head tilting as she approaches the counter. “Do I have a booger in my nose?”
“Um, have a lot of guests on the list for this weekend?”
“You’re in a shit mood,” she says, her hip bumping me. “What’s wrong?”
I move towards the laptop that our manager glued to the counter so no one would borrow it. “Did any of the guests accidentally signed up for both the six o’clock spa and my sunset yoga class?”
“I’ll look in a sec. Why are you ignoring my question?”
She follows me around the store like a puppy while I finish prepping. From the note on the counter, it’s obvious that the cleaning service already changed the linens in the tiny rooms on the second floor. We purposefully only have twin sized bed accommodations. Sometimes a girl needs space to roll around and tug at her blankets without being worried it’ll impact her partner.
“Based off their reservation, our guests seem to be a trio of sisters,” I say while pretending not to notice Jora’s watchful glare.
Her hand falls on my forearm, sending a zap of electricity buzzing through my veins. I roll her touch off and keep moving.
“Ro. Wait.”
“What! What do you need?” I snap.
“Look at me.”
This time the tremor in her voice breaks my resolve. I twist around, a bit too violently and see a dozen Jora’s in the mirror, all shooting me pleading looks of concern. I can’t tolerate her pity. She probably brought her date home last night and did Zeus-knows-what until the stars faded from the sky. How is she expecting me to breathe … to think … to focus on anything with the thought of another person touching her, kissing her?
“There’s a lot to do. The playlist needs to be fixed, and I haven’t finished putting together the guests’ self-care bags.” I pause. “I’m just … super busy.”
“Busy like Hades in winter?” There’s a little playfulness in her tone this time, testing me.
A little tension eases from my shoulders at her use of our inside joke. I hate that she knows the easiest way to calm me down. It only makes me want her more, to know she sees me for who I am, what I like, each of my little quirks. It’s maddening. Jora is unmistakenly maddening.
What am I supposed to do? I need someone who gives good advice. My sister wrote a book of wise proverbs a few centuries ago. Not once have I visited her library, but now, at my weakest moment, I’m more desperate than ever for help.
“I need to talk to Thena. If any guests come early, can you handle the check-ins by yourself?”
“Ro … tell me why you’re upset first.”
“Be back in a few,” I say, more like a hiss, in a way that she doesn’t deserve.
Out the front door again, I step into the crisp morning air. Sunshine beams against my skin so warmth floods my blood. It doesn’t feel right. With such a gaping hole in my chest, I should be surrounded by frigid icicles.
My cell rings in the tone saved specifically for Athena. Of course, she’d know exactly when I need her. I answer before it goes to voicemail. Her wrath at being ignored is not a mistake I’d risk again.
“Yeah?” I answer the call, keeping my camera turned towards the ocean.
At least she’d have a great view of the orange and peach colors streaked against the horizon like brushstrokes on canvas.
“You need advice.” She says, matter-of-fact.
I walk further from the lighthouse to make sure Jora can’t hear me through any open windows.
“Hhhm, must be important if you’re this hesitant.” Thena says. “Ask me.”
“How … um … I need a spell or potion to fall out of love. ASAP.”
A long beat passes. So much silence stretches out that I swear the waves shift closer in anticipation of her response. Then a sudden laugh bursts from the other end.
“Nice one!” Thena cackles. “Fuck, I’m writing that down. The goddess of love wants to…” She gasps for air like she’s bent over from the waist down, unable to control herself.
“Not. A. Joke.”
Another delay makes me check the phone to confirm we’re still connected.
“Oh my Hera, you’re serious?” Thena’s voice sobers in an instant. “Okay, okay. I got ya, sis. If I remember correctly, which I always do … I think on page 548 of the Mythos Tome, edition 4, you need to sacrifice what you most love about yourself in order to fall out of love with another.” Her gulp is audible through the line. “Is she one of us or a mortal?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, kind of. Because if she’s a mortal you can just wait her out. Another fifty years isn’t too bad in the grand scheme of things, ya know. I don’t advise you to sacrifice what you value most. That’s basically giving up your core identity.” Thena barely sucks in a breath while she rattles off her opinion faster than she can throw a spear. “What would you even sacrifice? Your beauty? No, no, that’s not what you value most.”
“I know what it is.” My palms turn clammy, and my chest tightens again. “How do I make the sacrifice?”
“You sure you want to do this?” Thena rasps. “There’s no going back. Shit, I shouldn’t have told you. How about this … I’ll come visit. Give me a couple hours to finish this battle and I’ll make my way across the Atlantic in a jiffy. Won’t be a prob, k?”
“Tell me or I won’t invite you to any of my birthday parties. Until the end of time.”
Thena practically growls. “Fine! I blame our father for this.”
“Don’t we all?” I kick at the sand and force myself not to look behind me.
“Okay. You need to stand in a sacred place of meaning first.”
I gaze out at the vast ocean, a knowing in my gut. One bare foot at a time, I drag myself into the refreshing cold. “Now what?”
“Crap on a stick. You’re doing this NOW?!” A loud crack then a guttural scream shouts from her end of the call. “Don’t mind him. He deserved that fatal blow. So, you’ll press both hands against your heart, visualize the part of your soul you value most, the piece that makes you complete.”
With my eyes closed, I envision a glowing pink ball of light that represents passion– the pure devotion that gives me a reason to wake up each morning. But I hit a wall in my attempt to yank it free from the rest of my soul. How am I supposed to relinquish my affection for the little things like the curl of a wave in the morning light, the velvety touch of a rose against my fingertips, the way a myrtle looks in full bloom?
What would be worse? Living without those small moments or suffering while in love with a human who will never view me the same way?
“Ro?” A soft voice whispers from behind.
I don’t have to turn to know who it belongs to. Every part of Jora has been etched into my memory, from her road rage to her refusal to pet cats to the way her thick lips look doubly red after sucking on a lollipop.
My phone dings so I know Thena has hung up on me. Apparently, it’s my fate to endure pain until I can forget Jora or until her dying day– which I will personally guarantee will be a long time from now.
A defeated sigh escapes me.
“Did I do something wrong?” Jora asks.
Slowly, I turn and hate myself for her red rimmed eyes, proof I’m the one who caused her pain.
“No. I …”
She rushes into the shallows, kicking water at my shins. Quickly, Jora takes my hands in hers and gently squeezes my fingers.
“I’m sorry. Whatever I may have said last night at the shop, I take it back. Was it because I stole your idea of a sparrow tattoo? I only got it to remind me of you. Now, every time I look in the mirror, I’ll see you under my collarbone. I’ll carry you with me wherever I go. After you leave–”
“What?” I ask, heart racing. “After I leave?”
“Yeah, last night. When I introduced you to my cousin, you said you have plans to move away from Wilmington soon and–”
“Your cousin?!”
“Yeah … I’d hate myself if you left without having the chance to tell you the truth.” Her lips part and her eyes widen. Both pupils become blown, all black and darkened. “Ro, I know everyone hits on you, but maybe if you’d consider it…”
Her cheeks flush pink, my favorite color.
I lean in, unable to hold back, my entire body alit with an aching desire to have her now. I press my lips to hers, completely soft and plump, more luscious than a siren’s. Jora claims the key to my heart. She’s my meaning of time, the reason why I couldn’t ever give up the part of myself I love most.
Feeling bold, I wrap my hands around her waist. Pull her in. She tastes of apple juice and summer, or new beginnings and the type of love that can stop time. A little moan slips out of her mouth, or maybe mine.
When our gaze meets again, the shimmering dusty blue of all the magic of eternity is compacted in her cerulean eyes. Maybe love isn’t a sham. Maybe I can survive this detrimentally petrifying vulnerability.
It only took me a few hundred years to figure it out.
“I like you … way too much,” I say, and rest my forehead against hers. “And always will.”
“Phew, that’s good because I thought you’d hate me when I tell you there’s a booger in your nose. No, not that side.”
“Shut up and let me kiss you again.”