It was the first Tuesday of the month of April when a glass bear slammed into the chain link fence.

At that point, Landon’s family was pretty used to it, so it was only Landon who ran out of the house as they were tucking into dinner. He sprinted through the woods, bashing low-hanging branches and skimming the tender petals of wildflowers. He made a wild leap over a tinkling brook, and as he windmilled his arms desperately to a stop, he saw it.

The bear.

Cracks of broken glass popped in Landon’s ears as the bear fractured in a silent howl. Its right foreleg had broken off into a jagged stump. Multiple cracks zigzagged through its flank, the cool twilight air mixing with its hollowed innards. All around glittered shards of glass—an ear here, a claw there—so Landon had to step gingerly towards it.

“Hey there,” he said slowly, soothing. Landon drew his sleeve over his hand to sweep a place to sit, ignoring the pearls of blood trailing off his fingers. Still, the bear was gorgeous, alight with wistful blues and mourning yellows and reds as molten as the furnace of its birth. Landon sat down and closed his eyes as the bear settled in its last moments. 

He heard Meissa crushing through the grass towards him right as the bear shuddered, the last of its color dissipating into thin motes of light, indistinguishable from the firebugs darting through the darkened air. Meissa touched Landon’s shoulder gently and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lan, but let’s go. It’s late.”

He lifted his head and rose unsteadily to his feet. Meissa wrapped an arm around his shoulders, half-hugging half-herding him out of the woods. Landon asked in a low voice, “Why do they always break?”

Meissa jostled him lightly and teased, “Because they’re made of glass, silly!” Landon gave her a look, but a small smile crossed his lips. In a more serious tone, Meissa said, “Nothing is permanent, Landon. If everything was, you and I would be out of a job!” 

The lights of the house peeked just around the trees as Landon muttered, “You. Not me. I’m just an apprentice. If I had more experience…”

“Hey.” Meissa spun him so he was staring her in the face. “Don’t say that. You’re just as good, if not better, than me. And you know how strong the infusings are—the bear just behaved like an actual bear.”

Landon looked away, tears in his eyes. Meissa smiled brightly and said, “Lan! I thought you were going to make a standard bear! How’d you find the infusions again?”

He half-grinned. “You’re terrible at hiding things, Meissa.”

She laughed and pushed him towards the house. “Go on. Your mother is waiting.” 

A thought occurred to Landon as he was on the porch. He called, “Meissa? I’ve only seen infusings for animals. Are there ones for humans?”

Meissa jumped. She was standing right outside the circle of light glowing from the house so Landon couldn’t make out her expression as she answered, “No, Landon.”

 

The next morning, Landon’s mother pressed a warm bag into his hands while he was leaving for the workshop. “Don’t cause your cousin anymore trouble,” she scolded. “She already had to clean up after you last night. And stop infusing things without permission! What’s wrong with regular glass animals?”

He scoffed. “Standards are just hopping paperweights. What’s the fun?”

His mother shook her head in amusement. “Go on.” Then she paused and said seriously, “You know what time of year it is. Treat Meissa well.”

Landon’s mood became even more somber as he looked at the drawing of a dark-haired boy hanging on the wall. Kal, Meissa’s son, had passed away many years prior, and Landon only vaguely remembered him. “Of course.”

At the workshop, Meissa immediately intercepted him and grabbed the bag. “Ooh, for me?” She pulled out a bagel sandwich. Landon reluctantly ceded it to her.

“Thief,” he grumbled as he walked to his station. “How old are you again?”

Meissa quieted for a second and Landon realized what he said. “I mean—”

She waved him off, her sorrowful expression flickering back to brightness. “Don’t worry, Landon. I’m fine! Are you okay after yesterday?” She waited until he nodded before continuing, “How about we do something different today?”  

“Like what?” Landon asked as he followed her into the back. Usually Meissa only let him handle the standards, the only change in pace being when he sneakily infused his creations. 

“I just got a new commission,” Meissa said. “I need to alter one of our existing infusions for my idea to work. The only problem is—”she looked Landon squarely in the face and he felt a tinge of nervousness—“..is that I need a blood sample from you.”

Landon gaped at her. “My blood? Why?”

Meissa sighed. “It’s a rather particular request and I’ve already tried mine to no avail. I didn’t want to ask you, but the client is impatient. You are absolutely able to refuse and if you do, I won’t ask you again,” she assured him.

He hesitated, a little squeamish. But then he recalled Meissa’s sad face and his desire to learn more about glass-making. And besides, Landon couldn’t count the number of times he’d been cut by a shard, so this time would just be on purpose.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” 

Meissa lit up, though she tried to contain it. “Really?”

“Yeah. Now do it quick before I take it back,” he joked.

 

Over the next few days, Meissa and Landon got into the routine of collecting some of his blood in the morning then splitting off to work on their individual projects. Meissa would shut herself off into her personal workspace, the one room that Landon wasn’t allowed in. He mostly occupied himself with the regular commissions, running around from the furnaces to the huge glass cabinet where the special additions were kept. Outside of work, Landon poked around to try and find the infusions while his mother roped him into household chores and homeschooling. As the commissions piled up without Meissa’s help, Landon found himself working more and more each day.

It was dinner when his mother confronted the both of them. “You two are running yourselves ragged,” she said straight-up over a casserole. “Look at yourselves! You two could have a contest over whose dark circles are largest.”

Landon hadn’t realized but it was true he had been slowing. He mixed up his powders, cracked the glass multiple times, and just that day had found himself listing towards the fires. “Yeah, I’ve been feeling it lately.”

Meissa looked at him guiltily. “Sorry Lan, it’s my fault for being so preoccupied with this project. I promise I’ll be done soon.” A fervent tone colored her last sentence.

Landon’s mother narrowed her eyes at Meissa. “What project? I thought you were helping Landon. Have you been leaving him alone?”

 Landon rushed in. “No no, Meissa’s there and I can handle it. This commission is just really important.” At least he assumed it was because Meissa hadn’t elaborated since the first day. Everyday though, Landon caught glimpses of glass parts when Meissa opened and closed her door, and it seemed to be coming together, though it was unlike anything Landon had ever made.

Meissa threw Landon a grateful glance but his mother persisted. “Meissa, are you sure you can’t put your project on hold for now? At least for a few days.”

“No, I can’t!” Meissa exclaimed. Landon and his mother stared at her outburst. She blushed. “Sorry, I’m just really close.”

When his mother opened her mouth to argue, Landon stood up abruptly. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for the meal!” At that angle, the kitchen light swung directly in his eyes and black spots swam in his vision as he swayed.

“Alright, rest well,” his mother said, worried.

Landon made for the stairs, a high-pitch whining in his ears and an ache throbbing in his head. Suddenly, he felt his heart skip a beat. He managed to make it up one step before he pitched forward, lost to the void before he even hit the ground.

 

He woke up later in his bed with no recollection of how he got there. The evening light striped his room, throwing everything in sharp contrast. He tried to swallow and the sound echoed in the silence. Something felt wrong about that. With a thrill, Landon scrambled a hand to his chest; the faintness and erraticness of his heartbeat was alarming. Before he could think much of it, his mother burst through the door.

“Landon!” she exclaimed and hugged him close. Confused, Landon patted her back. 

“What time is it?” he asked. “When did I fall asleep?” 

His mother pressed him closer. “You passed out yesterday night. I think you overworked yourself so I’m making Meissa give you a break. How do you feel?”

Landon hesitated. “I… don’t know.”

“I called the doctor. They’ll be here tomorrow. Downsides of living in the middle of nowhere,” she said humorlessly. “Oh right.” His mother drew back. “Meissa visited you earlier and she dropped this. It has your name on it.” She handed Landon a thin folded paper. “Don't worry, I didn’t look at it. I’ll go and bring you some porridge—you must be hungry.”

Bemused, Landon took it and flipped it open as the door closed. It didn’t seem like a letter and Landon was confused at first, with phrases like “adjust concentration” and “mold to his proportions” all in Meissa’s handwriting, until suddenly he gave a gasp and his vision turned and everything clicked too, too perfectly. Landon immediately leapt out of his bed, stumbling on unwieldy legs to the door, surprising his mother.

“Where’s Meissa,” he said breathlessly.

“In the workshop, of course—wait, Landon, what are you doing—come back here!”

Landon sprinted toward the workshop, paper clutched in one hand, blood throbbing in the other. How could he have not seen it earlier? His dazed moments, Meissa’s shut workspace, the time of the year… He gasped as pain tore through his legs as his bare feet slapped and his heart frantically raced down the road to its end.

Landon threw open the doors and went straight to Meissa’s door. He knew she was in there and he banged on the door until she opened, a look of surprise on her face. “Landon—” she exclaimed but Landon pushed past her to see her worktable, to see what she had been creating, to see what his mind had been trying to deny while his heart screamed the truth.

The first thing he saw were the hands. They lay palm-up, fingers curving up towards arms, towards a torso, which stretched down towards legs and up into a neck elongating into a head and a face, one that Landon knew. One that Landon saw everyday, framed, on the wall.

A horrified sound escaped Landon as he beheld Kal, Meissa’s dead son remade into glass and blood. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to keep it a secret, but I didn’t know what you would do if you knew,” Meissa said in a small voice from behind him.

“How,” he breathed. “Why?”

Tears sparkled in Meissa’s eyes as she tried to get Landon to look at her, but he was fixated on Kal. “You gave me the idea that night with the bear. I had to try it, I just missed him so much and I just wanted to bring him back because my Kal shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have died and—” her voice broke as she descended into full on sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Landon.” She tried to hug Landon but Landon pushed her off.

“So that’s why you wanted my blood,” he said, dazed. “You needed to make a human infusion. Not just any human, but a young boy. You lied to me. Everything you said—” His voice splintered as he screamed, rushing towards the table, a hot white blanketing his thoughts.

Strong arms tackled him from behind—Meissa—as Landon strained for the glass boy, tears streaming down his cheeks. Through his smeared vision, he could see the swirling colors: passionate reds and fresh greens and bruised purples. “You can’t hurt him,” Meissa kept on repeating in a choked voice as Landon twisted in her arms.

“‘Him’? Kal’s dead!” Landon yelled, roughly breaking free from her hold. Before his brain could convince his body it was a bad idea, Landon brought his hand down on the glass and it shattered around it, cutting his flesh to shreds. Meissa screamed, a sound so terrible and ringing that Landon stopped for the split second Meissa needed to pull the upper torso of the glass Kal towards her.

Already, the color was leeching off the crushed bottom half, the fractured pieces drawing a division between Landon, wild with pain and fear, and Meissa, tear-streaked and gasping. “Stop Landon!” she howled. “I know Kal’s dead, I know this infusion won’t be anything close to him, I know what I did was wrong, but I can’t let go—” she dissolved again, wrapped around the glass tightly and not feeling the gashes in her arms.

The stabs in Landon’s hand helped him refocus his thoughts and he gathered himself, leaning against the table. “Meissa, do you know what you’re doing to me?” Landon asked calmly. “What will happen to me when you finish infusing?”

There was a beat of silence as Meissa and Landon stared at each other. The unbroken torso and head cradled against Meissa’s chest still glinted with vibrant color, with life, Landon’s life. Finally, realization dawned on Meissa’s face. “That’s why infusions need blood. And that’s why you’ve been so unwell. Oh, Landon, I’m so sorry.” Her face was screwed up in misery and Landon could only stare blankly.

“You need to destroy it,” was all he said. 

“I—” Meissa stopped, chest heaving. She looked at her dead son’s painstakingly carved face, features set in calm repose amidst the glass shards and blood droplets. Meissa’s face hardened and for a second, Landon thought she would refuse, but she shuddered, gently laid the glass boy down, and stepped away.

“Goodbye, Kal,” Meissa whispered

Landon carefully picked his way towards the boy—a finger here, a foot there—and he knelt and gently, oh so gently, pressed down, and the glass fractured and the colors dissipated and they all broke.

 

The next time Landon saw Meissa was when she left for the city, to leave the memories and seek help. His mother had found the two of them soon after and though neither told her the full story, she pieced it together. Landon and Meissa had apologized to each other, but Landon knew there were cracks, fresh and jagged. From his bedroom window, he raised a bandaged hand in farewell while she gave him a half-smile. Landon could feel one growing in return and a hopeful feeling rose in his chest. 

Nothing was permanent, and this was no different.