𝄞 COME FROM WAY ABOVE TO BRING ME LOVE . . .
Synopsis: You're tasked with looking after the Damselette, a divine anomaly that takes a liking to you. Characters: Columbina x Fem!Reader Content Warnings: SCP Foundation AU, creepy fanon Columbina (Stairway to Heaven vibes), religious symbolism, biblically accurate angels, yandere themes, body horror, existentialism, scopophobia, liminal spaces, time manipulation, Dottore and Pantalone cameos, mentioned Pierro, implied use of amnestics, author's first time writing horror Word Count: 11.7K A/N: IT'S FINALLY DONE AAAAAAA !!! Longest fic i've written by far but hey, only the best for my beloved hoyofair Columbina :,) I hope this finds its way on your dashboard, dear reader ^^ also SCP Genshin AU when??
-> Also available on AO3!
“Are you sure you want to do this? We can just assign you more shifts in the safe class.”
To be honest, no. You weren’t fully certain. In fact, you knew you were gambling with your life.
Had it been any other job, taking on a bigger challenge would almost certainly pay off. But in the Fatui, taking even the slightest step forward was a risk. Staying right where you were would be the better call.
You glanced over your shoulder - as though you’d find your bleak apartment staring back at you. You had been floating in stasis for what felt like eons. Wake up, take the train, handle a bunch of freaks, drown in paperwork, coffee and instant noodles, wire a cut of your paycheck to your family, pop a Xanax…
And as though sustaining yourself wasn’t already difficult enough, your rent had doubled overnight. What a cruel joke.
Obviously, you were in it for the money. Times were rough and you were in dire need of a little extra cash. Playing nursemaid for the safest anomalies the Fatui had to offer wouldn’t cut it. You had to choose between a promotion of sorts or picking up another job on the side. And Archons knew working for the Fatui was already taking up most of your waking hours.
It’s a logical decision, you told yourself. But jumping from safe to euclid wouldn’t be so terrifying if your target wasn’t the Damselette.
Maybe if you were slightly less desperate, you would had chosen a subject whose reputation didn’t kill before it did. All that talk about the Heavens, a potential fallen angel, a true form unable to be comprehended by human eyes… it was planting some very legitimate seeds of doubt in your mind.
But you had to keep the lights on somehow. And besides, you could always request to be reassigned to your former position if things took a turn for the worst. In any case, you’d rather be in charge of a single relatively dangerous subject rather than wear yourself thin by handling several safe subjects at once.
“Yes. I’m ready to take on a bigger challenge.” You nodded and clasped your hands together.
Your colleague furrowed her eyebrows in concern. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and then sighed.
“If you say so…”
She started flipping through the documents secured in her leather binder.
“Since you’re graduating from the safe class,” she lifted her hand to mimic air quotes, “why not start off easy? F-049 is much easier to handle. Just shove padisarahs up his beak and you’re done.”
Sure, dealing with a creature that resembled an Eleazar doctor from Sumeru would be interesting. But you needed something - someone - that paid a little more.
You shook your head. “The Jester said he’ll pay extra whoever looks after this new subject though.”
Your colleague flashed you another concerned smile. “Yeah, but still… Do you need the money that bad?”
Your gaze drifted down to your hands. Your poor, overworked hands; sleek from spending hours sheathed within rubber gloves, littered with paper cuts and trembling with exhaustion.
What other option did you have? You couldn’t afford to take out a loan, you couldn’t risk quitting your current job to look for a new one, you couldn’t ask your aging parents for money…
It was a matter of survival. Your colleague could guess by the misty look in your eyes. She twirled a fountain pen in her hand.
“Look, I know you’re capable. I’ve seen how you've handled the others. But this one… she’s different.”
You perked up at that, surprised to find that this particular subject wasn’t limited to being referred to as an it.
“She?” you echoed.
Your co-worker nodded as she leaned back in her chair. “Oh, yeah. She refers to herself as such. Here, take a look.”
She opened her drawer and pushed an envelope your way. The word CLASSIFIED was stamped in big red letters on the cover. You flipped it open and began reading through the Damselette’s case file.
Item #: F-087
Object Class: Euclid
Notes: Generally cooperative. Refers to herself as “Columbina” or “Damselette”. Has a feminine appearance with angelic elements. Enjoys solitude, but appreciates the presence of critters and recently requested for human company. Keeps her eyes closed at all times. Does not require nutrition or sleep. Spends most of her time singing to herself. Medical examinations are incoclusive and thus, the exact nature of the subject is mostly unknown.
The information you were provided with was unusually limited. Sure, euclids are a category of their own because they're not sufficiently understood, but the fact that there wasn’t even a single photograph attached to the report had you fidgeting in your seat.
“Interesting”, you mumbled, trying to hide your increasing nervousness.
Your colleague slipped the envelope back into the drawer as she tapped her pen on her knee.
“We have reason to believe that she has ties to Celestia.” She mused.
“Yes, I heard. Is she related to the seelie by any chance?”
She shrugged. “Could be. But we’re not entirely sure about anything yet.”
That’s always a good sign…
Doubt gnawed at your frayed nerves, beating feverishly against your temples. You raised a hand, pinching the prominent vein that had formed there after years of backbreaking work. You could tell that you were getting involved with something devastatingly otherworldly. Maybe you’d lose your sanity by the end of it.
But you had to try. You owed yourself that much.
You smoothed out your uniform, making sure the apron showed no creases and that the hem reached no further past your knees. You looked as professional as a Fatui caretaker could be. Ideal, your proud parents would even say.
“I’ll do it. Just tell me what to look out for.”
Having surrendered any and all hopes of talking you out of this, your colleague went right back to rambling.
“Right, right. Speak slowly and calmly, don’t make any abrupt movements, don’t touch her and don’t let her touch you.”
You tilted your head curiously. “So... standard protocol then? Isn’t there something more specific I must keep in mind?”
She shrugged.
“There probably is, but we haven’t figured it out yet. You’ll be the one to tell us.”
You showed up early the next day. Clad in a freshly-ironed apron and with extra pins in your hair, you felt like a stressed student preparing for finals all over again. Except that your current predicament was a lot more existential.
Your superiors led you to the elevator, plunging you down in the depths of the earth where special containment units awaited. The fluorescent lights were especially blinding, the tiled floors were unnervingly clean and the hum of some distant machine vibrated through the thick walls. You had to pass through five different security locks before you were finally met with the Damselette’s chambers.
A heavy door faced you ominously. Next to it, a soundproofed one-way mirror granting you a brief glance at the specimen within.
“She’s docile. For now.” Your colleague muttered as she moved aside, allowing you to step closer.
Timid of making too much noise, you approached the window and peered inside.
It was a brightly lit room like all the others. There was no furniture to speak of nor any other orifices to the outside world. Staying in such a secluded environment for too long would drive most people insane. But this wasn’t designed for humans.
Unable to focus, you pressed your face to the cool glass. Your nostrils flared up as a frantic breath escaped them, fogging up the transparent material. And then you saw it. Saw her.
Perched in the corner of the room like a spider dangling from its web, Columbina was tending to her flock of doves. Her moonlit pale skin combined with the countless angelic feathers sprouting from multiple parts of her body made her presence blinding. Her nymphic gown hung in tattered ribbons and a strip of lacework shielded her eyes. Only her flowy black hair - accented by dark pink streaks - served to help you locate her among the endless white.
She already had you in a chokehold. Your mind drifted to paintings of ingenues and snow angels and operas that ended in tragedy. To define a creature so divine as an anomaly felt like heresy.
Columbina held her hand out. One of the doves landed on her dainty wrist. It pecked her knuckles with its beak. She didn’t even flinch as she lifted her other hand, unfurling her fingers to reveal a palm full of seeds.
You stepped away from the glass, struck by a sudden wave of dizziness.
Your colleague took notice and furrowed her eyebrows in worry. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, massaging your temples intensely. “Yeah, yeah… I got this.”
Once your superiors were confident that you wouldn’t faint on the spot, they retreated from your path. One of them even gave you a pat on the shoulder.
“If anything happens, hit the emergency button.”
“Don’t hesitate to call for us if it gets too much.”
“We’ll be right here.”
As they took their positions behind the control panel, you braced yourself. Deep breaths, straight posture, clasped hands. You turned to face the imposing door.
The lead researcher tapped the microphone twice before leaning in to speak.
“F-087, this is Doctor Zandik. The board of directors has approved your request for human company. We are sending in your assigned caretaker.”
You couldn’t tell whether Columbina responded in any way or not. Regardless, what followed next was a sharp hiss of pressurized air as the door creaked open to let you in.
Greeted by a blinding void, you had to squint your eyes to adjust. It was as though the sun was staring back at you. Yet despite the visual assault on your senses, you eventually managed to locate the Damselette. And she had located you too, even with her eyes remaining firmly closed.
For a brief moment, you considered turning back. But the door had already swung shut behind you.
Instead, you cleared your throat and put on your most friendly smile.
“Good morning. I’m Y/N L/N and I will be your caretaker.”
She didn’t respond right away. A melodic hum reached you as she descended from her post, floating much like a seelie. The doves surrounding her scattered all across the room.
“Ah… a human. Just as I requested.”
Her voice was a lullaby that bounced off the walls like an echo. Her bare feet made no sound as they made contact with the floor nor did her gown rustle. She maintained a safe distance from you.
“Y/N…”, she repeated, tasting the name on her tongue. She spelled it out slowly, uttered a bunch of other words that rhymed with it and at last, nodded in approval.
“Y/N, will you be my friend?”
Your eyes narrowed at the corners as you tilted your head innocently. “I will, if you want me to.”
She fell silent again, deeply considering your answer. You were unlike the flock of doves she had been provided with. Human interaction is a lot more complicated, after all.
Finally, she clasped her hands in a silent prayer and smiled. Gentle and forgiving.
“And then there were two.”
The first few shifts were quite uneventful. You’d step inside Columbina’s chambers, greet her, and then watch as she shifted her attention to her doves or the oh-so-interesting ceiling. She made no conversation, and whenever you tried to initiate one, she’d respond with a mundane hum or complete silence.
“Would you like more seeds for your doves, miss Columbina?”
“...”
“I’m guessing doves are your favourite animal?”
“...”
“Is the temperature of the room to your liking?”
“...”
“Would you like something to eat or drink perhaps?”
“...”
“Is there something specific you’d like to talk about?”
“...”
You figured she hadn’t warmed up to you yet. It was nothing new. Plenty of your previous safe-class wardens had been distrustful of you at first. Time was the key.
During your time together, Columbina would sing to herself in lieu of actually speaking to you. You didn’t mind. In fact, her heavenly voice grew on you. Though you had grown a bit restless after hearing the same three tunes over and over again.
So, you decided to experiment a little.
As Columbina fondled one of her doves, you leaned against the wall, head lolled to the side.
“My moon, my man, so changeable and such a lovable lamb to me…”
Your voice was a whisper, timid and a bit hoarse. But the melodic leap from syllable to syllable had the Damselette frozen before she slowly turned her head to face you.
“This melody…”, she mused, “for whom of the Gods are you singing praises?”
You hesitated at first, caught off guard by her curiosity.
“Oh, it’s not a hymn. It’s just a song that’s popular right now.”
Even through the shade of her embroidered blindfold, she stared right at you. She was so still that you couldn’t possibly imagine what was going through her head.
“I see”, she concluded. “It’s a pleasing rhythm. Could you teach it to me?”
And that’s how you began adding some variety to your daily background music. To your surprise, the Damselette was quite proficient in memorizing different motifs and lyrics.
Payday came and went. You were relieved to be met with a rather generous bump in your income and were able to cover your rent two weeks ahead. The Jester himself had expressed appreciation for your work ethic.
Sure, let’s call it that.
By this point, you had gotten over your initial dread. The Damselette was nowhere near as threatening as the others made her out to be. Sure, there was still much of her left unexplained, and the terrifying implications of her possibly being an angel lingered over your head like the heavy blade of a guillotine, but she had been cooperative so far.
Doctor Zandik was delighted upon realizing that Columbina imitated the songs you taught her. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, as he said. Puppeteering you as his avatar, he encouraged you to introduce different kinds of stimuli to her monotonous ecosystem.
You only promised to try.
After Columbina was done singing, you cleared your throat politely.
“Have you ever smelled gardenias, Columbina?”
To be fair, you weren’t expecting a reply. Most of your questions, rhetorical or not, would fly straight to the void. It seemed that she was perfectly satisfied with your presence alone, and had little interest in interacting with you beyond basic courtesies and mimicking the songs you carried from the outside world.
But this time, she responded.
“Gardenias…”, she echoed.
A mysterious gust of wind brushed past the loose ends of her gown. Still no rustling sound.
“A heavy scent. Sweet and plentiful… almost desperate to be noticed before wilting. They bloom so beautifully in the sun, and surrender to the frost like helpless sparrows.”
There was a sing-songy note to her voice as she spoke the most words you had counted so far.
You tried to counter her ominous tangent. “Well, it’s one of my favourite scents. I even grow gardenias at home.”
With official authorization, you presented her with a bouquet of your homegrown gardenias the very next day. Wrapped in decorative rice paper and topped off with a pink ribbon, you carefully placed it before her like a sacramental offering. The once silky petals had wrinkled like raisins after hours of routine examinations - to check whether the flowers carried some kind of parasite that could pose a threat to the Damselette.
She kneeled before the bouquet and cradled it in her arms. She lifted it to her nose and drew in a sharp breath. It occurred to you that this was the very first time you had ever heard her breathe.
“Still heavy. Still sweet and plentiful.” Despite that, she refused to let go of the aging gardenias. “But I will keep them.”
You fidgeted nervously. “You don’t have to if you don’t like them.”
She gently shook her head. Another visual cue she had picked up from your reserved body language.
“They are extensions of you. If an angel is to leave feathers behind, then you are to leave gardenias.”
She shifted her focus to the satin ribbon. With a flick of her fingers, she tugged at the ends and pulled it loose. The rice paper unfurled in her lap and the crowded gardenias spilled out. Her index finger traced the intricate intricate design of the wrapper.
“A couple.”
You flinched. “I’m sorry?”
Columbina gathered the disorganized gardenias in one hand while presenting the rice paper to you with the other.
“There’s a couple etched on the paper.”
Hesitantly, you stepped closer to take another look. Indeed, drawn on the sepia yellow paper were the unmistakable blackened figures of two people holding hands with each other. The creases on the material distorted their poses, but the tight clasp of their hands remained evident.
You hadn’t put much thought into choosing a wrapper for the bouquet. You simply settled for a slip of decorative rice paper you had lying around amongst your dusty art supplies.
“Ah, right.” You snapped out of it. “Is it not to your liking?”
Columbina didn’t answer. Even with her eyes glued shut, you could tell she was staring at that faceless couple.
The next experiment involved food. Although Doctor Zandik’s observations had concluded that the Damselette had no need for nutrition - unlike most living organisms -, he still wanted to introduce new variables to her containment unit.
You played it safe at first; a glass of water and a loaf of bread, both pasteurized to hell and back.
To your surprise, you weren’t viciously attacked by the doves the moment you stepped inside. You expected to be overcome by a flock of white feathers and beaks that bit greedily at the freshly baked bread resting on the tray, yet the creatures remained as docile as their mistress.
You kneeled a safe distance away from columbina and placed the tray before her. She didn’t react. Typical. Imitation was key.
“I brought you water and bread. You can try some if you like.”
You lifted your glass to your lips and took a careful sip. Then, after confirming that her attention was on you, you tore off a chunk of bread and chewed on it. Slowly and performatively.
Sure enough, Columbina approached the tray and gracefully kneeled across from you, hands folded in her lap. She reached for her own glass of water, curling her fingers around it timidly before bringing it to her lips. She didn’t tip her head back, and you couldn’t even tell whether she had consumed a single drop.
“It has no taste,” she uttered.
You shrugged. “Well, yeah. That’s how water is.”
She reached for the loaf of bread next. Much like you did, she tore off a small piece and squeezed it in her palm, making sure not a single crumb slipped between her fingers. And then, she opened her mouth.
Good heavens, you had forgotten what kind of creature you were dealing with.
At first, her rosy lips formed a perfect circle. Then, they parted fully and her jaw hung open to reveal a cavernous maze of baby teeth. She had way more teeth than her jawbone could realistically accommodate, both the upper and bottom set stretching far into the dark pit of her mouth. Canines overlapped each other, wisdom teeth sprouted from her strained gums and you even caught a glimpse of some additional underdeveloped teeth hidden beneath her tongue.
And then, she bit into the bread like nothing happened.
She chewed slowly, her smooth cheeks forming lumps as she bounced the piece of bread back and forth before eventually swallowing it.
“One could easily mistake this for ambrosia,” she mused to herself, unbothered by the taste.
You didn’t know how to respond to that. In fact, you didn’t speak for the rest of your shift. The sight of her grotesque mouth had catapulted you back to square one; shaky hands and excessive sweat.
If that was just her mouth, then you didn’t want to know what was going on with the rest of her.
Thankfully, you were able to get your act together over the weekend. You enjoyed a nice, bubbly bath, prepared a cup of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and booked a table at a fancy restaurant.
This was it. Your first date in ages.
Sadly, it didn’t go as well as you were hoping. In fact, you wanted to punch the guy in his stupid face after ten minutes of idle conversation. All he talked about was his ex-girlfriend, which instantly set off alarm bells in your head. Not to mention the fact that he conveniently forgot to pay for his meal.
You returned home with a sour taste in your mouth, despite the lingering effects of the sweet wine you had. Oh, well. Better luck next time.
Come Monday morning, you entered Columbina’s cell in the same manner you always did; tranquil yet professional posture, polite smile, hands clasped on your chalky apron and careful steps. But before she even turned to face you, her delicate frame stiffened.
“Who was it?”
You froze mid-step, hands falling to your sides cluelessly. “I’m sorry?”
Like a carousel grown rusty with age, Columbina slowly turned towards you. While her serene expression betrayed no signs of irritation, the comforting swish of her doves’ wings had been muted.
“There are foreign traces on you. They lack the artificially clean nature of your fellow men and women of science. They lack the familiarity of your own flesh and blood.”
The silence between the two of you flatlined. Your mouth opened and closed uselessly like that of a fish. No sound came out.
She was way more perceptive than you had initially thought. And as you later realized, she was selective in her observations too. She had never pointed out all the foreign scents clinging to you from riding to work in a crowded bus. She had never commented on the filth lingering on your hands after clutching mora that had been touched by countless hands prior.
But she did pick up on the miniscule traces your botched date left on you. Even though the only form of physical intimacy between you and him was a brief brush of your knuckles, even though you had showered that very same morning, her sharp senses picked up on it.
Head tilted curiously, Columbina repeated. “Who was it?”
“Oh! Right…”, you flinched. “Well, I went on a date yesterday.”
“A date...”, she echoed.
You nodded. “Yeah. A rendezvous, if you will.”
You weren’t entirely sure if sharing personal information with a euclid subject was permitted. But something primal in you knew better than to conceal things from Columbina.
She hummed mellowly as she lifted her head once more. “And how did it proceed?”
You bit your bottom lip. You knew you couldn’t exactly tell her that your date was a massive red flag that left you with nothing but an overblown cheque.
“Uhm… not as well as I was hoping. We didn’t have much in common.”
Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t nearly as charged as it was moments before. In fact, Columbina even clasped her hands again in prayer, a sly smile playing on her lips.
“One taken, one left. What a shame…”
She sighed melancholically, but it was more performative if anything.
Things went back to normal after that. Or at least as normal as things could be in the Fatui. You brought more and more snacks to Columbina’s boxed world, no longer flinching at the sight of her monstrous mouth revealing itself to you. Part of you even wondered what it’d feel like getting bitten by so many baby teeth.
She’d crush honey-dipped berries in her soft palms, squeezing until they turned to mush beneath her fingernails and then licking up the juices. She’d toy with plastic forks and spoons (bringing a knife to a subject’s containment cell was a one-way ticket to getting demoted), attempting to mimic your table manners. She’d leave fluids smeared all over her lips, waiting for you to advise her to wipe them away with a napkin.
It was like teaching a toddler how the world works. And yet, as you splashed cold water on your fatigued face in the bathroom or tossed and turned in your bed, your mind drifted back to those honey-laced lips, those dainty fingers twirling a plastic fork, those soft sighs.
You berated yourself at first. Just how desperate were you that you’d even grow attached to an anomaly of all things? Sure, there was a dark time in your life where you had found yourself stealing shy glances at Doctor Zandik - for fuck’s sake -, but this was a new low.
You reminded yourself that there was a massive power imbalance between the two of you. On one hand, you were tasked with the delicate mission of keeping the Damselette company. Anyone could tell that she didn’t know much about the world and that she was reliant on you to guide her.
On the other hand, maybe the scales were tipped the other way around. Maybe Columbina was playing the part of a damsel in distress (as her title may imply). Maybe she was only cooperating in an attempt to gain her captors’ trust and then stage a daring escape.
Everyone told you so. She wasn’t what she seemed to be. And yet, you wouldn’t believe that. You couldn’t. Not when you had seen how tenderly she’d tend to her doves or how a graceful smile would grace her lips whenever you entered her cell or how she had even begun asking questions about you.
“Y/N.”
You lifted your head. “Yes, Columbina?”
She took a step closer, tilting her head curiously like a puppy. “What of your own flesh and blood? What of their whereabouts?”
You had gotten used to her poetic manner of speaking by that point.
“Ah, my parents… well, they live in a village a few miles out of town. My mother likes to knit and my father grows vegetables in our garden. I visit them during the holidays.”
She hummed, clasping her hands together. “Have you no fellow kin?”
You shook your head. “No. I’m an only child.”
A pause. Columbina drummed her fingers against her rosy knuckles.
“And what of your bonds? Is your soul tethered yet?”
There it is again. Your thoughts snapped back to that failed date. Or more precisely, Columbina’s reaction to sensing your date’s scent on you. You nibbled on your bottom lip, carefully considering your answer.
“No, not really… My job keeps me busy, so I don’t have a lot of time to meet new people.”
It was as simple as it could get. And it wasn’t like you were lying either. Ever since you started working in the Fatui, you had only gone on about three dates in total. Maintaining a relationship was out of the question entirely.
Columbina bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Do I keep you busy?”
Her tone was partially self-deprecating, partially proud. You didn’t linger on it for too long.
“I suppose you’re technically my job.” You shrugged.
You were going to follow this up with a reassurance that you truly do enjoy your time with her and that you don’t mind not having much of a love life anyway, but Columbina beat you to it.
“How sweet,” she chirped, “you spend most of your waking hours with me.”
She twirled around, her doves flocking around her and hooting in response. Facing the wall, her fingers traced straight lines. Five of them, horizontal, evenly spaced out. Then she formed a treble clef followed by a parade of quavers, semiquavers, beam notes and crotchets. All this on a music sheet only she could see.
She sang to herself as she constructed this invisible score. But she wasn’t humming her usual tunes or one of the songs you had taught her. This was a brand new melody, one you had never heard of before.
You stood there, mezmerized as the Damselette played the part of the composer, the conductor and the lead singer at the same time. You didn’t have it in you to interrupt her meticulous work. It was as though you were watching an iconic masterpiece being painted right before your mortal eyes.
At last, Columbina topped off her work with a sharp flick of her wrist. She took a step back and finally turned around to face you.
“I turned you into a sonnet. Now I can always have you by my side - even when you’re not here.”
You were still staring at the pale white wall, as though the curious music sheet would present itself before you. But no such luck.
“And… what do I sound like? The sonnet, I mean.”
Columbina took a deep breath in, the same way you did whenever you were about to sing. You had concluded that she didn’t breathe like most living beings. She didn’t need to. Yet this was another quirk of yours she had picked up.
She began singing. There were no lyrics. Or at least no lyrics that you could understand. It didn’t sound like an actual language. It might have been a dead language for all you knew. There were rhymes in pairs, lots of drawn out vowels, brief mentions of your name and jumbled words that rhymed with it.
And suddenly, you were back in your parents’ cottage; your childhood home. You were still small enough to fit in your mother’s arms and her vocal chords were still flexible enough to sing you lullabies. But you knew it wasn’t her voice. It was Columbina’s.
When she was done singing, she clasped her hands behind her back. “What do you think?” She uttered.
You were crying. You didn’t realize it until you lifted a hand to your cheeks, only to find the unmistakable moist trail of tears on your skin. You sucked in a shaky breath and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.
“I-it was beautiful. Really. I…”
You blinked your eyes rapidly and wiped your hands on your apron. Columbina didn’t point out the fact that you were crying, so you didn’t make a big deal out of it either. But you knew that she knew.
“Thank you, Columbina. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”
Protocol required you to maintain a professional relationship with your subjects, to never get so close and personal with them. But you couldn’t help it. Columbina’s sonnet had drawn such an emotional reaction out of you. Hell, the fact that she liked you to the point of creating a brand new melody just for you had your heart fluttering.
She smiled graciously. “I’m glad. You’re the most pleasant symphony I have ever written.”
“L/N, there you are!”
Bumping into Doctor Zandik first thing in the morning wasn’t on your bingo list. You were looking forward to spicing up your usual coffee with a stick of cinnamon and maybe a mooncake on the side, but you were greeted with his shark-like teeth instead.
Archons, what now?He clapped you on the shoulder. You stumbled under the weight of his hand.
“I must say, you and F-087 have been making incredible progress lately. Not only has it warmed up to you, but you’ve also helped further my research on the divine.”
You wanted to correct him so badly. Her, not it. Columbina, not F-087. But you forced a polite smile regardless.
“Thank you, Doctor.” You spelled out slowly.
Doctor Zandik rambled on. “It’s our single most valuable subject since F-001. I’m sure the implications of that aren’t lost on you, miss L/N. So, we believe it’s time for you to take it a step further.”
You shivered ever so slightly. “And by that you mean…?”
He grinned. “You’ll take F-087 out of its containment cell. It’s about time the two of you got some fresh air, after all.”
You flinched at that. You’re going to finally spend time with Columbina out in the open? You were under the impression that euclids weren’t allowed to take a single step out of their cells - unless very special circumstances applied. Must be an exception to the rule, you reasoned.
“Really? Where am I supposed to take her? Will there be any guards with us? Does the board of directors know about this?”
Doctor Zandik scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. The avalanche of questions clearly irritated him. “Calm down, won’t you? You will visit the gardens near the eastern wing, but you’ll be guarded from a distance. F-087 gets agitated around armed men - or so I have observed.”
Checks out, you figured. The Fatui was cold, not cruel, but being surrounded by intimidating men with heavy rifles would frighten even the most docile anomaly. And the tiny pocket of peace the eastern gardens provided would be a pleasant start to Columbina’s escapades.
Wait, did he even answer your last question?
Before you could press him on that, Doctor Zandik eyed you suspiciously. He glanced around before pulling you aside, leaning in with a terrifyingly unamused expression.
“You’re not backing out now, are you?” His voice was a husky whisper, all cyanide and venom. “That would be a terrible shame… wasting a diligent worker like you on amnestics.”
Trembling, you shook your head stubbornly. “N-no, sir! I’ll do it. I promise.”
He stepped back with a toothy grin. And to think you had a crush on this bastard…
“Splendid. Now, I’ll leave you to your morning routine. You’ll need the caffeine, I can assure you.”
You watched as he walked away, his trademark lab coat disappearing amidst a sea of aprons and gloves.
Doctor Zandik had a reputation for proceeding with such questionable schemes of his without authorization from the board of directors. Whatever he happened to be cooking up now, you wanted no part in it. But you couldn’t leave Columbina to his whims. And you didn’t want your memories to be tampered with either.
You leaned against the counter and dipped a cinnamon stick in your coffee. A little voice within you assured you that no matter what happened, no matter what chemicals were pumped in your brain, you could never forget the sonnet Columbina created for you.
“Outside?”
Columbina lifted the hem of her tattered gown, smoothing out the creases with her other hand before letting it fall loose again. The idea of visiting a garden with you was spoiled by the presence of guards by the open door.
You couldn’t blame her. So, you tried to maintain your composure by treating this impromptu field trip as yet another song you’re meant to teach her or yet another snack you’ve brought her.
“Yes. We’ll go to the gardens. They’re beautiful - you’ll see. We’ll be surrounded by nature and nobody is going to disturb us.”
Columbina titled her head towards the guards. She was silently calling bullshit on you.
You smiled comfortingly. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll be watching from a distance, but it’s all for your safety. You’ll see - they won’t bother us at all.”
Columbina didn’t move a single inch. Still not fully convinced.
You sighed. “The gardenias finally bloomed. Don’t you want to see them?”
She perked up at that. With a spring in her step, she approached you, followed by her flock of birds. “May I bring my doves along?”
You glanced at the poor creatures. They seemed content under Columbina’s care, but being confined to a bare room for so long must have felt like a lifetime trapped within a birdcage.
“What if they try to fly away?”
Columbina shook her head. “They won’t.”
You glanced over your shoulder at the lead guard. He gave you a thumbs-up of approval. Doctor Zandik must have taken this into account as well.
You nodded. “Alright, you can bring them along. Let’s go.”
And with that, you were led out of her cell. But you didn’t take the usual way out through countless keycard-operated doors and that suffocating elevator. Your entourage guided you through a labyrinth of hallways, past neighbouring cells containing other euclids subjects and up staircases that stretched on to what felt like infinity.
“So this is what it feels like…”, remarked Columbina as you ascended the final step.
You looked at her. “I’m sorry?”
She didn’t repeat herself.
At last, you saw the light of day. The guards parted the doors for the two of you, and you were immediately greeted by nature. Freshly mowed grass unfolded before your eyes, perfectly straight rows of pear trees lined the garden, bushes of newly bloomed flowers dotted the perimeter and you could spot the occasional bench.
It was all for show. The Fatui cared little for the aesthetic appeal of their base. But it was there, and the dwarfish gardener who tended to the yard was quite the pleasant soul, and the distant buzzing of cicadas helped clear your head during breaks.
You exchanged one final nod of confirmation with the guards before they took their positions, hidden behind walls and bushes. You and Columbina finally had some semblance of privacy.
The Damselette stepped forward, unbothered by the fact that she was walking barefoot on grass and dirt. Her loyal doves didn’t flinch in the slightest at the prospect of freedom. They remained faithfully by her side, resting on her shoulders and pecking at the crown of her head.
Through her closed eyelids, through the lace, she focused on the lone bush of gardenias. She kneeled beside it, hands caressing the petals in awe.
You approached her slowly. “Do you like the garden, Columbina?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her hidden stare was still fixated on the mass of newborn gardenias sprouting from the bush. But a pure smile still found its way to her lips.
“Yes. I should like to visit more often.”
Payday once again. And funnily enough, you were able to pay your rent early this month. You were in no mood to see your landlord’s snobbish face, but you wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible.
You walked in his office with your chin held high and the confidence of someone who wasn’t struggling to keep their head above water for once. The change in atmosphere was evident. Your landlord raised his eyebrows in surprise, his admittedly charming expression never faltering.
The process was brief. A simple transaction. You handed him your hard-earned Mora and he agreed to let you live for a little longer.
As the two of you waited for his computer to load, he glanced your way. You were gazing at his bookshelves stacked full of heavy encyclopedias you were positive he had never opened, smooth velvet carpets, golden trinkets decorating his cabinets and desk, and the ornate ceiling. Deep down, you were praying that he wouldn’t make small talk with you.
“You’ve been quite diligent lately, L/N.” His satin voice coiled around you like a serpent. “I suppose the Fatui finally granted you a generous salary?”
You flinched, snapping out of your trance. “Uh- yeah, I got a promotion.”
Saying that made you feel exposed, but you had nothing to hide. You earned your money fair and square. But something about your landlord’s inquisitive gaze had you squirming in your seat.
“A promotion? Really?”
He leaned back in his presidential swivel chair, toying with the chain of his silver-framed glasses. The warm light of his desk lamp reflected on the rings adorning his gloved hands, briefly blinding you. He hummed in thought, mostly to himself.
“I see. Well, since you have much more leeway now, I suppose it’s only right to increase your rent ever so slightly.”
Your heart dropped. Increase? Again? Just as you were getting comfortable?
Scratch that, you still had your parents and other bills to account for. Just because you were able to cover your rent in time doesn’t mean that you could afford more expenses!
You stared at your landlord. He was still smiling. Dead serious.
You sat up in your chair, hands curling in fists on your sides. “Increase? But you already doubled it overnight!”
He was barely fazed by the disbelief on your face or the desperation in your voice. He crossed one leg over the other elegantly and tangled his fingers together.
“Inflation, my dear. We all must scrape by somehow.” He shook his head in faux melancholy. He wasn’t even trying to be convincing.
You flared up at that. Irritation coursed through your veins as you stood up abruptly to slam your hands on his desk, sending a wave of vibration through his fountain pens and paper clips. The professionalism you prided yourself on was all but gone. Not that it ever applied to this greedy bastard.
“You live in a penthouse, Sergeyevich, so don’t give me that shit!” You yelled.
And yet, your landlord didn’t even flinch. He raised an eyebrow again, violet eyes regarding you with thinly veiled condescension. Your little outburst was nothing more than a toddler’s tantrum from his point of view.
“My, my… is this the kind of attitude that helped you get that promotion?” He mused.
You scoffed and threw your hands in the air, still shaking with barely contained frustration. “You’re insufferable.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I’m responsible. And I would advise you to be so as well. I imagine orchestrating a freakshow of anomalies is no easy task.”
His computer finally loaded. Transaction complete. And so, that was your cue to leave. With trembling hands, you slipped your documents and wallet in your bag, muttering curses under your breath.
You pushed your chair back. It barely made a scraping sound against the cushiony velvet. Whatever. You still had the door to slam on your way out.
And just as you reached for the golden handle, his voice called out to you once again.
“My point still stands. If you’re unable to comply with it, then I suggest looking elsewhere for an apartment.”
You sucked a deep breath in. Then out. The last thing you could afford right now was ending up in court for assault. And if you had to, you wouldn’t waste that chance on your arrogant landlord. Although you imagined you weren’t the only one harbouring such resentment for him.
“Go to hell.” You mumbled before swinging the door open and slamming it behind you.
“Y/N?”
You snapped out of your stupor, turning to face Columbina. She was seated right next to you on the creaking bench, cradling a handful of seeds for her doves. The feathers protruding from her head tickled your cheek. A gentle gust of wind made the branches above you sway gently.
“Yes, Columbina?” You uttered, trying to remain zen.
She drummed her fingers on her knee, having sensed the storm brewing within you. “Are you feeling well? You’re quite nervous today.”
You let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. You really didn’t want to overload Columbina with all your rent-related troubles. You’d wager she didn’t even know what rent is. And besides, you had to keep your problems separate from your work life.
“It’s nothing. Probably the weather.”
Columbina glanced up. Clear skies with soft tufts of cotton lazily drifting in front of the sun, low humidity, reasonably cool temperatures and breezy winds. As ideal as a day could get.
“Are you sure?” She pressed on.
You stared at your rosy knuckles, still fresh with the memory of being curled white just the day before. You had enough self-control not to turn them bloody. It wasn’t often that your internalized anger terrified you so.
“Actually… I’m having financial troubles. Have been for a while now.”
Columbina listened attentively while tenderly fondling one of her doves. Before she could grow even more concerned, you rushed to cover your own tracks and don your mask of professionalism once more.
“Don’t worry though,” you smiled, “I’ve got it under control. I won’t let my landlord terrorize me.”
You giggled lightheartedly, but Columbina didn’t seem fully convinced. To your relief, she dropped the subject altogether. Thank the Archons. You didn’t want to have to explain rent and interest and the real estate market to her.
Despite your best attempts to remain cheerful, you returned home with sluggish movements, head hung low and eyes stormy. You knew the updated notice on your rent would be waiting on your doorstep. Your landlord was nothing if not responsible, as he said it himself.
With a sigh of defeat, you tore open the letter, expecting to be met with a ridiculous number like the month before. But instead, you were met with a big, fat zero.
No, this can’t be right.
You squinted your eyes and read the letter again.
Dear Y/N L/N,
This letter is to notify you of a recent change in your rent. Until further notice, your monthly rent is 0 Mora.
Refer to the address or the phone number listed below if you have any concerns.
Sincerely,
Feofan Sergeyevich Veksel
You stood there, beneath the flickering lamp of your entrance, staring at the letter in disbelief. This surely had to be a typo, right? Squeezing his clients dry of their hard-earned money was Sergeyevich’s kink, after all.
For a moment, you considered leaving it as it was. As long as the notice read 0 Mora, you couldn’t be held legally accountable for not giving your landlord a single coin. But the memory of him casually mentioning that he’d be increasing your rent lingered fresh in your mind. And you couldn’t risk getting in any legal trouble by relying on a potential typing mistake.
As soon as you slipped inside your apartment, you reached for the phone. You dialed the number stamped on the bottom corner of the letter and waited. The receiver beeped impatiently in your ear for what felt like hours until finally, a pre-recorded voice message let you know that Mr Veksel was currently unavailable and kindly asked you to call at a later time.
You hung up with a shrug. Oh, well. You could always call him another day. You were in no hurry to talk to him anyway.
Your excursion to the gardens had become a daily occurrence for you and Columbina. And rightfully so. Neither you, her or her doves could stand to spend another day boxed up in that containment cell.
Whenever she wasn’t admiring the gardenias or feeding her doves, she’d raise her head and stare at the sky. You tried to follow her blind gaze, but you always ended up having a staring contest with the sun - in which you always backed out first.
Perhaps she was staring at Celestia. Perhaps she was looking for the moon during the daytime. Perhaps she could see something that you couldn’t.
The rational voice bouncing around in your skull told you that there was no need to poke around. Divine knowledge was meticulously tailored to drive common mortals like you mad. The world held truths your vessel wasn’t equipped to handle.
And yet, part of you wanted to know. You wanted to bask in Columbina’s obliviousness to it all. You wanted to follow her back to Heaven (if that’s where she came from) and see her true form. Maybe she would leave you insane by the end of it, but you’d accept it. As long as it was her.
“They will never take me back.”
You almost slipped off the bench when she said that. Her voice was as serene as ever, yet there was an undreccurent of anguish. She was still staring up at the skies, feathers pointing north like the needle of a compass.
“I’m sorry?”
For a moment, you feared that she wouldn’t answer you, that she would leave you with even more questions to keep you up at night. But with her button nose still held high, she spoke.
“My home. My sisters. They will never take me back.”
You tried to locate the floating islands of Celestia, but the sun made your eyes sting. You supposed this is what nemesis does to hubris.
“Why not?” You asked, against your better judgement.
A dense silence enveloped you, as though you were underwater. You couldn’t even hear your own breath.
“They don’t like me,” uttered Columbina, “they claimed my ways are unbecoming of an angel.”
Before your mind could even formulate another question, she abruptly turned to face you. Tears were blossoming beneath her delicate eyelashes and streaming down her cheeks. Crystal clear, human tears.
“Y/N…”, her voice was a broken lullaby, “do you like me?”
Instinctively, you opened your arms. Columbina didn’t walk into your embrace herself, but she allowed you to approach her. Gently, you closed your arms around her petite frame and guided her head to the curve of your shoulder.
This was the first time you had ever really touched her. Her skin was cold as marble yet soft as a bunny’s fur. She felt weightless in your embrace, as though your breath alone could blow her away like a feather. Your heart beat feverishly against her ribs, hoping to find a pulse to match. You found none.
“I like you, Columbina. I seriously do.” You started rambling. The words left your lips before you even knew you were speaking. “There’s kindness in you, I know that. And I really want the others to see you for who you are. You deserve better than this.”
You were out of breath already. A choked sob escaped you, even though your eyes were dry. Yet your heart was aching for her. It ached whenever you heard the other scientists call her subject F-087, it ached whenever you eavesdropped on Doctor Zandik manically trying to tie her back to Celestia, it ached whenever your fellow caretakers talked about her like some kind of freak.
But nobody knew her like you did. They were content to treat her like a mystery, another anomaly of the Fatui. They treated her silence as ignorance. They never listened to her sing. They assumed that since she lacked the need for nutrition and sleep, she also lacked the very real need for human company.
And here she was. The Damselette; first exiled from the Heavens, then captured by the Fatui. An oblivious angel, victimized by the world over and over again.
Hesitantly, Columbina raised her hands to rest them on your shoulders. Despite her tears, she was as tranquil as ever. She accepted your warmth.
The two of you remained there, hugging each other in silence. The world had stopped spinning for a moment. Whenever you gently squeezed her shoulder in comfort, she did the same. Whenever you sighed softly, she hummed in response. The echoes of your words lingered for as long as it took for Columbina’s skin to absorb her tears.
You returned to her cell with no further words exchanged. You walked side by side, dwarfed by the group of armed guards. Your shift officially ended the moment she crossed the threshold to her room.
“Farewell, Y/N.”
You smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Columbina.”
After a quick headcount of her doves, the heavy door hissed shut. And that was it for the day. Though you wanted to spend more time with her, being surrounded by fluorescent lights for any longer would drive you insane.
With your shoulders slumped, you turned to leave. But just as you were about to scan your keycard, a gloved hand reached for you. And suddenly, you were in someone’s office, overwhelmed by notes scribbled in doctor’s handwriting, test tubes and strange chemicals.
And there was Doctor Zandik with his arms crossed and a rare unimpressed expression on his face.
Damn it. You forgot that he was keeping an eye on you.
He tapped his foot impatiently as he glared at you. “Apologies. I couldn’t help but notice how close and personal the two of you have grown. I do not recall assigning you the role of F-087’s therapist, L/N.”
You nervously gripped the hem of your apron as you met his deadly stare. “Columbina needs human compassion. She won’t open up to us if we keep treating her like a lab rat.”
You instantly regretted the venom lacing your voice. Doctor Zandik’s lips curled in a sly grin.
“Oh? Columbina, is it? It seems assigning a caretaker to her proved to be quite detrimental to my research.”
He threw his hands in the air and turned to face the messy notes taped on the walls. You couldn’t read his handwriting if you tried.
“Bah! We have wasted enough time playing house. And we’re only marginally closer to uncovering her relation to the Heavenly Principles.”
You trembled, fear snaking around your poor heart. “Doctor, please listen to me. The Damselette is powerful, yes, but she won’t cooperate with you if you keep her locked up. She just needs a guiding hand - that’s all.”
Doctor Zandik was barely fazed. He waved his hand dismissively before slamming it against the wall, causing you to flinch.
“How touching. A sentimental mind is most unfit for the Fatui.” He grumbled before turning to face you. “Your services are appreciated, miss L/N, but you have wasted enough of my time. If you insist on treating your subjects like toddlers, then I believe the safe class is a better fit for your naive work ethic.”
There it was again; your heart freezing and dropping into the abyss. You stumbled over your words, gesturing with sweaty hands as you tried to change his mind. You couldn’t let him separate you from Columbina. What would happen to her then?
“N-no, wait! We have made so much progress! Why would you undo all of it?”
You were about to bring up the crumbs of information Columbina had dropped, but Doctor Zandik silenced you by sharply raising his hand.
“Enough. I shall consult with the board of directors. Do not be surprised if you’re called to my laboratory first thing tomorrow.”
Ice coursed through your veins. You knew what awaited you there. You had heard countless stories of innocent witnesses, foreign spies and insubordinate personnel that had been led there, dragged in kicking and screaming and then walking out with their memory slots wiped clean.
Columbina’s voice, the sonnet she wrote for you, her body language mirroring yours, her curious questions; all gone. Just like that.
You took the long way back home. You needed to think. If the board of directors permitted it, if the Jester saw no further use for you, then you were done. And even rocks knew that there was no running from the Fatui. Funny how Doctor Zandik had no issue leading Columbina out of her containment cell unauthorized, but required the directors’ support to get rid of you.
You grabbed a sandwich from a food stall. It went down unchewed. You bought a soda from a vending machine. You didn’t even drink half of it.
Finally, you decided to head home. It was getting dark too. On your way back, you took a detour to check in on your landlord. He hadn’t answered any of your calls ever since liberating you from your rent via mail. And to your surprise, his office was dark. No secretary letting you know that he was away on a business trip, no note taped to the front door detailing some kind of emergency or anything.
Whatever. You had bigger problems to worry about. And for once in your life, rent was not among them.
You showed up the next day with heavy shoulders and dark circles beneath your eyes. You hadn’t slept all night, tossing and turning as your head buzzed with questions.
Would the board of directors agree to let Doctor Zandik administer amnestics to you?
Just how many of your memories would you lose?
Who would look after Columbina then?
As you fixed your uniform, a strange calm washed over you. You recognized that you were powerless in this situation. You had done the best you could. The rest of it was in the hands of fate.
You could only pray to the Heavens that they’d spare some mercy for their discarded angel too.
But as you waited in the lounge, that fateful intercom message never came. No guard came up to pat your shoulder and lead you away. No sedative was slipped in your coffee.
Maybe they were waiting on you. With a sigh of defeat, you took the elevator and headed down to your usual post, expecting to be met with Doctor Zandik’s toothy grin and a syringe in his hand.
And yet, nothing unusual was waiting for you down there. Only the usual guards carrying out their patrols and the occasional janitor passing you by. Your keycard was functioning as normal and nobody gave you any dirty looks.
At last, frustration got the best of you. You went up to your colleague - the very same one that had discussed your promotion with you - and grabbed her sleeve.
“Where’s Doctor Zandik?”
Your question was so pointed that it made her freeze in her tracks. “Why? Did something happen?”
You shook your head and tried to hide your increasing worry. “No, no… I just have to talk to him.”
She surveyed your troubled expression before eventually caving in with a shrug. “No one has seen him since yesterday. He’s probably cooped up in his lab again.”
She glanced at her watch, then at you. “Don’t you have to go look after the Damselette?”
You stood there, frozen in place and blinking at her like an idiot. Sure, Doctor Zandik had a habit of disappearing in his lab and then resurfacing when you least expected it, but would he drop such a crucial loose end like that?
You were looking more weird by the second, so you politely excused yourself and made a beeline for Columbina’s containment cell. On your way there, you could only tell yourself that important decisions didn’t happen overnight. You’d be disposed of sooner or later but until then, you had to carry on with your shifts as usual.
“You’re really kind to me, Y/N.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Is it required of you?”
“It is, but I also want to be kind to you.”
You and Columbina were seated on your usual bench, watching as rainclouds drifted past you. The forecast spoke of nonstop rainstorms for the following days. You assumed that you’d have to retreat indoors for a while. Not that either of you were looking forward to the blank walls of the cell.
Columbina took a break from your conversation to sing the sonnet she created for you. A brand new melody woven from thin air. Hearing her sing your name never ceased to amaze you.
When she struck the final note, she fondled the dove resting on her lap, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“You once mentioned that you see kindness in me.” She began. “Did you mean it?”
You nodded, maintaining one-sided eye contact with her. She probably couldn’t see it, but you wanted her to know that you were genuinely interested.
“Of course I did. I believe there’s good in you. Even if you don’t know how to express it, I know there is.”
She weighed your words in her mind before smiling timidly. She let go of her dove to clasp her hands beneath her chin.
“What do you wish for in exchange?”
You went still for a moment, caught off-guard by her question. You were used to her antics for the most part, but there were times where she still managed to surprise you.
“Why do you ask?”
She tightened her clasped hands ever so slightly. “You are good to me. Your soul is untained by lies and falsehoods. I wish to reward you.”
With a comforting smile, you shook your head and hands in unison. “It’s okay, Columbina. I don’t want anything in exchange for simply being nice.”
She went quiet for a moment. Doves flocked around her, pecking the edges of her gown, but she paid them no mind. You felt that she wanted to object somehow, but she eventually trusted in your words and let it go.
She held her hand out, palm facing upwards to check for rain. When it found no raindrops, it drifted south, caressing the freshly cut blades of grass to find a lone dandelion. With a gentle tug of her fingers, she uprooted it and offered it to you.
“A dandelion,” she chirped, “Make a wish.”
You giggled before taking a few moments to think it over. Dandelions are serious business.
Well… you didn’t have to worry about rent anymore, so you were financially comfortable for once in your life. Doctor Zandik was seemingly too busy these past few days to rip you away from Columbina, so your memories were all intact. What else could you possibly ask for?
And then, it finally dawned on you. Drawing, gardening, cooking, reading. Hobbies you hadn’t touched in ages. Your job as a caretaker in the Fatui took up most of your waking hours and by the time you were home, you were too tired to enjoy yourself.
Free time, you thought to yourself, I want more time to myself.
And with that, you gently blew on the dandelion, watching as tufts of cotton scattered all around you.
You returned home earlier than usual. You were lucky enough to catch the first bus and traffic was light. Your mood was slightly tainted when you were met with a note taped to the door of the elevator, letting you know that it was out of commission due to some kind of error.
Of course, you thought to yourself as you lazily climbed the stairs up to the fourth floor. You could only theorize that your dearest landlord was cutting corners again. The bastard picked the worst time to go off the grid.
You kicked your shoes to the side and glanced at the clock. It was only 5:05 PM. You had returned home about forty minutes earlier than usual. To your relief, you could finally prepare a proper dinner for once instead of relying on instant noodles or frozen pizza.
Wearing nothing but your underwear and floral apron, you whistled to yourself as you chopped potatoes and carrots, boiled water and sprinkled a little bit of pepper. It had been so long since you last enjoyed your favourite childhood soup. Family recipe, of course.
By the time you slurped up the remaining juices and nibbled even the tiniest pieces of carrots, you still had a lot of time in your hands. You watered your beloved gardenias and checked for bugs. You found none, thankfully.
After worming into the robe your mother crocheted for you, you plopped down on your couch with a book on your lap. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had read for fun. Half of the books in your library had been collecting dusk for ages, waiting for you to finally indulge in them.
It took you embarrassingly long to focus and start progressing through it without reading the same sentence three times, but you managed. A few chapters in, you placed it aside to make yourself a well-deserved cup of tea.
As you were waiting for the kettle to screech, your gaze drifted to the clock once more. 5:07 PM.
No, this can’t be right.
You stepped closer and squinted at it. There was no way cooking and eating dinner, tending to your gardenias and reading multiple chapters of a book only took two minutes of your time.
You were about to knock the clock down and check its batteries when suddenly, the familiar shriek of the kettle derailed your focus.
With a cup of cinnamon tea cradled in your hands, you went back to reading. A few more chapters and an empty teacup later, you raised your head to glance out the window. It was still relatively sunny. You took the time to enjoy what little sunlight remained before the upcoming onslaught of thunderstorms every meteorologist spoke of.
You walked back to the kitchen to place your teacup in the sink, your thoughts drifting back to the exciting plot of your book. Only when your gaze swept over the clock once more did you snap out of it.
5:08 PM. Still.
With an irritated scoff, you pulled up a chair and grabbed the clock in your hands. Of course there was an error. The thin hand indicating the seconds was moving at an agonizingly slow pace.
You flipped it over and checked its batteries. They seemed to be working just fine. Maybe the clock itself was dysfunctional then. You made a mental note to buy a new one as you tossed it on the table. You had a book to return to.
By the time you developed a headache, you decided it was time to take a break. You gently placed the book aside, its bookmark nestled between chapter 10 and 11.
You glanced outside the window. Still daytime. Still nowhere near dark.
Something uncomfortable coiled in your gut. You weren’t the most punctual person ever, sure, but you could grasp the basic concept of time and you knew for sure you had been busy for hours now. So, how come the sun hadn’t set yet?
Perhaps you weren’t used to returning home so early. Perhaps devoting most of your sanity to the Fatui had been messing with your head.
As you paced up and down your room, a lightbulb flickered to life in your head. About damn time. You could finally use those art supplies you had been keeping stored in your drawers for so long. Drawing could be therapeutic, after all.
You settled down and got to work. Glitter glue, watercolours, crayons and pencils galore. You started off simple; a bouquet of gardenias. Then, you decided to take it a step further. You couldn’t draw hands or realistic body proportions, but you figured you could draw a person from the neck up.
Your mind was only half-present when you sketched furiously, hands moving on their own as you brought your drawing to life. And by the time you leaned back in your chair, she was staring at you. Columbina. Smiling in leftover watercolours, yet alive nonetheless.
You stared back at her. When did you even tell yourself that you were going to draw her?
Your hand twitched, an unfamiliar grip around your paintbrush. Unlike the bouquet of gardenias, this sketch of her didn’t feel like one of your creations. And unlike most of your drawings, this one wasn’t completely trapped in the realm of paintings. Hovering your hand over the paper had you realizing that it was pulsing before you.
With a harsh scrape of your chair, you jumped to your feet and glanced out the window. Still bright. Still daytime. You rushed to the kitchen, widened eyes focusing on the discarded clock. 5:09 PM.
Something was terribly wrong. Nothing was working as it should. Either the world had gone mad or your mind had claimed its glory over you.
Fuck it, you thought. You had to get some fresh air. You had to clear your head.
You grabbed your coat and slipped your shoes on. Within moments, you were out the door and down the hallway.
By force of habit, you reached for the elevator. Naturally, it didn’t budge. Right. Technical problems. You had to settle for the staircase.
And so, you grabbed onto the handrail and began descending. One step at a time. A few turns here and there, and then even more stairs.
Climbing down the stairs was a habit so familiar to you that you didn’t even notice as you passed the same floor over and over again. Only by the time your feet grew numb did you notice that you were running in place.
You stopped at the final step. Floor 03. Again. Dimly lit and eerily quiet. Two doors greeted you; apartments 3A and 3B. You vaguely recalled the owner of 3A having left on a business trip a few days back while 3B had been vacant long before you even moved in.
Trembling, sweaty and panting, you dropped to your knees, the sound eaten up by the cheap carpet. You pressed your index finger on the root of your neck, sensing the delirious pulse of your heart.
Something was deeply wrong. You couldn’t stay there.
Suddenly, a voice. A distant echo. An angelic choir contained in a single being’s vocal chords. The tangled words of a lullaby reached you. Indiscernible words that rhymed with your name. And so it struck you.
You flinched in alarm as you called out. “Columbina? Are you there?”
No response. The melody didn’t falter. In fact, it was getting closer. Choked, hoarse breaths escaped your dry lips, a trapped dove beating itself to death against your ribcage.
“Columbina! Answer me! Please!”
The voice was climbing up the stairs. It was right around the corner. Tears blurred your vision; a last-ditch safeguard as a glowing mass of white unfurled itself before you. Your lungs burned as your throat clogged up. Saliva pooled in your mouth and your limbs fell limp as countless eyes focused their collective omnipresent gaze on you.
“Be not afraid,” she spoke, “For I am here with you.”
Strained cries of sopranos blared in your ears. A hand reached out to you; soft yet cold. Her eyes were open and she was staring at you. Lifting your head in the slightest would mean being rendered blind.
At last, a whisper reached you. The rustle of a dove’s wings. The click of baby teeth grinding against each other. The caress of gardenia petals. The simple snap of dainty fingers before one appears and the other vanishes. A human-shaped hole drilled through the clouds, left over from when she crashed through the Heavens, forever a fallen angel.
“One taken, one left. With your soul on the altar, bare and pure, I ask you to be mine.”
