Fang was eleven when she realized she liked girls. Mana was the chief's daughter, light-haired and willowy. She always came by twice a week to help out at the orphanage, and she had taught Fang how to multiply and divide. Fang hated numbers with a passion, but she always looked forward to math classes. Remedial sessions were her favourite, because Mana would sit next to her and together they'd work through the problems one by one. Fang was devastated when Mana got engaged and stopped teaching.

Vanille was six when she figured out she liked Fang. She'd stumbled and fallen and none of the other children at the orphanage paid her crying any heed, until a tall girl with messy black hair and a bright smile helped dry her tears. Hi there, she'd said. Are you hurt? My name's Fang, what's yours? That day, curled tight on Fang's warm back as the older girl carried her to the nurse, Vanille decided she wanted to be her friend forever.

Fang was fourteen when she first kissed a girl. A growth spurt and years under the village spearmaster had done her well. She was tall and lean, with a killer smirk and devil-may-care attitude that left half the boys and a third of the girls pining away. She trounced the boys, romanced the girls, and left a trail of broken noses and broken hearts. Parents would have warned their daughters away from Fang, if she hadn't been so good at charming the old folks, too.

When Vanille was eight, she dreamt that her and Fang had gotten married. When she told Fang, Fang laughed and swept her up and spun her around, and said certainly she'd marry Vanille, coz they were best friends forever. Then matron banged the bell and announced that the ice cream was ready, and the two children forgot all about it.

When Fang was sixteen, she stayed up all night worried sick that Vanille hadn't come back from her hunt. She stood at the gate of the village, prayed to god and kept watch on the horizon. When Vanille's bedraggled but grinning form showed up at the top of the hill, tugging a bloody bearskin, Fang ran the fastest she'd ever. Stop, stop, you'll mess up your clothes, Vanille protested, but Fang whooped in relief and swept her up and spun her around, and repeated over and over, You did it! You did it!

Vanille was fifteen the first time a boy confessed to her. She tilted her head, smiled, and said no thank you politely. Vanille turned down the next three the same way. After that, nobody tried anymore, because invariably Vanille's (very scary) best friend would be looming somewhere in the background with a glare hot enough to fry a behemoth.

Fang was seventeen when the boys started hitting on Vanille. She had no reason at all to be jealous, of course. Really. It wasn't as if she would be upset if Vanille started dating. In fact, there was nothing to worry about anyway, because earlier that year Vanille had whispered to her, under the cover of blankets in the same bed, no less, that she had no idea what the fuss was about boys, and that personally she thought girls were much softer, nicer and smelled better. So take that! Hah! Fang thought, as she viciously pounded yet another practice dummy into pulp.

When Vanille turned sixteen, she got tired of waiting, so she did her utmost best to drop hints. After five months of making goo-goo eyes, spontaneously hugging, curling around Fang while they slept, and basically camping out at Fang's place to make dinner five days a week, Fang finally screwed up the courage to kiss her. About time!, thought Vanille, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as Fang leaned in with all the speed of a glacier. Then Fang's lips touched hers, and she decided that yes, the five months was worth it.

Fang kissed Vanille when she was eighteen, and now they live together, loving, squabbling and teasing like a decade-long married couple. Even now, Fang thinks that she made the first move, but we all know, of course, that it was Vanille who had chosen Fang, all along.