At noon, Amaya's room smells of chemicals.
Sitting inside a makeshift lab, Kaya poured a drop and—
Gurgle.
A vial among others in a holding tray shifted into a golden hue, glowing bright.
"Didn't know you knew about these things," Amaya congratulated, adjusting her glasses.
"Well, I know a lot of things. I've always liked these kinds of practices," Kaya snickered.
"No, and I mean it. This liquid is described to be a miracle," Amaya added.
"Ahh, anybody could do that. But say, Amaya, what brought you such interest in being a chemist? You know more than even most doctors nowadays," Kaya said, sitting back in a chair.
Amaya rubbed her eyes. "That's a question I haven't heard in a while. A personal one at that."
Kaya leaned in closer. Her eyes remained dark.
Amaya aligned the vials. "I'd say about ten years ago. Or cycles, if you're pretentious. After that whole explosion in Zi Jin Cheng, it caused an outrage."
She sighed. "Not only an outrage from the damage, or the power outage . . . but because of a toxin that was released from it."
Laughing weakly, she continued, "And the people close to me. I would say the ocean bit them, but that doesn't apply here . . ." She looked down.
"Oh—no. Amaya, I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," Kaya frowned, giving a quick stare at the golden vial.
"No, no, don't be. It forced me to commit to something. I grew up not being the best kid, so I didn't commit to many things. If I'm being honest, I'd be worse off if it didn't happen," Amaya said, reaching for something.
She reached into a bag, pulling out a bottle of liquor and chugging it after she spoke. Red drops seeped into her coat.
Her face blushed after she gulped. "I never knew I could drink as much booze as I could after that day, Kaya."
"You really shouldn't drink so much, Amaya," Kaya muttered softly.
"I really shouldn't have done a lot of the things I've done, Kaya dear. But hey! I'm here, so what does it even matter?"
"Why do you hate yourself so much? It seems like you carry heavy burdens," Kaya asked.
"I don't hate myself. I hate my old self. Who couldn't hate a kid who burdened themselves by being a delinquent? I used to have a group where we'd steal, vandalize, and anything else you can think of. That old me, she keeps haunting the new me," Amaya slurred.
She cleared her throat. "And then it all came crashing down, and I had to face it. It's not like I wanted to be this, but I did it until I loved it. You wouldn't see that stupid kid doing anything like that."
Amaya laughed lightly, the liquor in the bottle swishing like waves, already halfway through.
"But you were just a kid. You still could've changed regardless," Kaya said, de-escalating.
"People don't change out of the blue, Kaya dear. They change when they have to, when life has screwed them enough. Not sure if you'd understand—you seem like you grew up normally . . ." Amaya rasped harshly, shaking her head and gripping the bottle tight.
. . .
"Do you really think so?" Kaya asked calmly.
Amaya raised an eyebrow, looking at her.
Kaya added, "How did people treat you, Amaya?"
"I was treated like trash. Trash that was ignored, and spent time with other trash," she answered.
". . . Yet if I was also trash, why was I used like gold?" Kaya asked.
"I'm not getting it," Amaya said flatly.
Kaya leaned forward, her eyes turning a near-golden amber. "How do you think I attained these eyes?"
Amaya clicked her tongue. "I'm not sure. Maybe you were just born with them, right?"
"I'm sorry. Let me rephrase the question. How many lies do you think it took until my eyes could do this?" she asked.
Staying silent, Amaya listened.
Continuing, Kaya said, "My eyes would be like this for so long that they began to bleed. It hurt being lied to, and it hurt using them."
She paused. ". . . And every day, I wonder—why was I given this Kolxayne? Even when I think somebody has good intentions, I get proven wrong. All I can do is walk away and cry red tears."
Kaya stood up and sat on the bed behind the experiments. Amaya quickly got up, adjusted her coat, and sat next to her.
"Oh, Kaya dear. But maybe it was a good thing. Maybe that pain prevented you from an even greater one," she said, wrapping an arm around her.
Kaya sniffled. "It pains me heavily. Even the way I achieved it is still a blur to me. And I'm not the only one who's been burdened with an ability like this. But even when I think I can connect with them, they label me untrustworthy—just like everyone else in their life, and in my life."
Amaya hugged her tighter. "Who hurt you?"
"Everyone I could read. Their sole intention was just to take advantage of me, because I'm a young, naive girl in their eyes. And in my eyes, all I wanted was somebody that wouldn't hurt me—but it seems that's unrealistic."
Kaya paused. "I avoided reading my own family, because I wouldn't want to risk worsening the pain I felt."
". . . Would you ever want to know what they think?" Amaya asked.
"No. Because then they'll stay the same like they always do. In my eyes, they're still the people that made me into who I am."
Amaya sighed, pressing her head against hers. "Do you ever think there will be somebody you'll trust?"
Kaya took a deep breath. "I hope so. I can't understand him, but I understand that we feel the same pain. He feels the same way I do about liars, yet I feel like one when I couldn't tell him the truth."
"Could it be that the truth you refuse to see in your family is the same type of truth you hide from him?" Amaya asked gently.
She added, "And how can you know that the truth you see is the real truth?"
Kaya exhaled. "That's why I'm drawn to him." A tear fell down her face.
Amaya noticed, wiping it away. "I'm sorry for starting this conversation. I shouldn't have gotten us so emotional."
"No, it's okay. It was bound to happen. At least we know a bit of the truth about us now, huh?" Kaya said, laughing lightly.
She stood up quickly from the bed, patting Amaya on the shoulder.
"C'mon, Amaya. We've got work to do, right?" Kaya asked, smiling.
Amaya laughed. "There's always work to do."