i like to imagine Wanderer always carry her like a sack of potatoes when making an escape like "No. We are not doing this." no matter how badly he wanna stomp the enemies into the ground, to turn them into the pathetic worms they are
It's been two weeks. Two weeks since Kaeya's last seen you. Two weeks of him talking to empty air, expecting you to reply back- only to be met with a crushing silence.
He's realized in this time how lonely he was in your absence. He misses you, but he knows you won't come back to him. He sees you, often with an arm slung around your friends' shoulders laughing that boisterous, obnoxious laugh he loves.
When was the last time you ever laughed like that for him?
It was his fault, really. He didn't realize how he was putting his work and alcohol over you. He'd unknowingly- or maybe knowingly- made you the second choice.
Kaeya couldn't fathom how lonely being with him could've been. He just wished he noticed sooner.
Maybe then he wouldn't have to see you pulling lighthearted pranks on Albedo or playfully pressing a kiss to Lisa's cheeks out in broad daylight.
Maybe then he wouldn't be pushing down his loneliness with alcohol- despite having a resistance to the burning liquid.
He shouldn't be here.
In a dim corner of the Angel's Share, he quietly nursed his glass of alcohol. Silently, he tried to recall where everything went wrong.
He never let his nightly escapades hinder his work, he still had a reputation to uphold after all. But almost every night, without fail, he would saunter into the Angel's Share, and leave stumbling, and never remembering the next morning.
Ad he'd do the same thing the next day. And the next, and the day after that.
Why was he even doing this?
The door swung open, to which Diluc offered a silent greeting to the person stepping through the threshold. Absentmindedly fiddling with the bottles of alcohol, he glanced toward the sullen knight but didn't say another word.
Kaeya paid no mind to the newcomer, more interested in downing the glass of wine he had to fight tooth and nail over.
There weren't many patrons in the tavern, he'd just have to spend the night drinking alone, again.
"No bad guys to catch tonight, Kaeya?"
To this, the knight snaps from his mindless stupor. That voice, could he be drunk already?
It's you.
You were the same as he remembered, still so dazzling.
His heart jumped into his throat, words catching on nothing before he could even say hello.
Were you really here? Not just some sick hallucination his sleep-deprived mind conjured up? If so then-
"You- what're you doing here?" He fumbled, suddenly conscious of his appearance. A small part of him wanted to stay composed, show you how little you effected him, but the larger part of him yearned to speak to you again; he longed to hold you in his arms, whispering apologies and smothering your face in kisses.
"Word gets around, you know. What are you doing to yourself?" You pressed, pulling up a stool to sit beside him. The scent of your mint shampoo comforted him, you wouldn't mind him scooting a little closer, right?
Your voice was clipped, laced with dry amusement. "The oh-so great Calvary Captain is drinking himself stupid every night- not like it's anything new."
His opened his mouth to make a joke, but instead his heart poured out.
"I'm sorry." He blurts out. The words sound rough, unpracticed, as if he was unaccustomed to apologizing.
You stiffen, stunned by his admission. He was still gorgeous, even despite the way his face sinks with exhaustion. Even now, he renders you speechless.
"I mean it, I'm sorry for everything."
He looked like he was going to cry, something you never thought you'd ever witness. "I never realized how much I loved- no, I still love you."
A whisper follows, solemn, and guilty. "I know, it's pathetic, isn't it?"
Kaeya was rambling, desperate to keep you here just a moment longer. "I thought- I thought that if I pulled away, it would hurt less when you leave."
His words were uneven, shaking with emotion. He was glad Diluc had gone upstairs the second you situated yourself at the bar. The alcohol swirling in his veins could be the reason for his sudden brashness, but that would be a concern for later.
A warm hand above his own halted the next wave of nearly-incoherent words.
Your shoulders were slumped forward, eyes falling to your lap. A fresh wave of regret washed over the knight, and it took nearly everything in himself not to drape himself around you.
You stayed quiet, a beat of silence falling over the two of you. "You're so stupid, Kae."
"I am."
"You never listen-"
"I know." he breathes, voice raw from the alcohol and strain on his emotions.
"Let me finish." Your lips pulling into a tight smile. "You get on my nerves sometimes, and you have awful time management skills but-" your bottom lip quivers.
Kaeya swallowed, nodding. He thinks he's crying already, and when you pull him into a bone-crushing hug, it all comes pouring out like floodgates being opened.
"But that doesn't mean I don't love you anymore." You breathed out. Gone was the unbearable weight in your chest, the Kaeya-shaped hole in your chest seemed to mend itself as he buried himself deeper into your embrace.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "Please don't leave me, I won't leave you alone again." He swore, clutching onto your shirt as tears fell onto the fabric.
"Next time, I won't forgive you," you whisper against his skin.
And Kaeya clings to you, as if letting you go would mean losing you forever.
Kunikuzushi has hated you since you were children.
You're not sure when this one-sided rivalry began, just that he hates you for whatever reason.
It is especially apparent in the way he hurls insults at you left and right. He tells you he hates you, calling you all sorts of mean names that make your eyes water and lips quiver.
He flings dirt and wood chips at you during recess and ruins your homework.
Kunikuzushi is your bully from elementary to middle school.
Popular even amongst your peers, Kunikuzushi shines like the moon. To others he is charming and amicable. To you, he sinks scathing words that cut live knives deep into your flesh and bones.
A target is on your back whenever he's around- it feels like you're walking on eggshells wherever you go.
It's your worst nightmare when you're paired to be seatmates for the school year. He pokes and prods at you the entire time, gouging your reactions with a sadistic grin on his face.
It's unbearable having to deal with his attitude, you request to change seats within the first two days. If you're around him for another day you might just keel over and die from frustration.
It's a good thing Kazuha needed a seatmate.
You never realized how soft someone's hands could be until Kazuha wiped away your tears for the very first time. You never realized how nice it was to be touched when it wasn't a kick or punch.
When Kunikuzushi's cold remarks sink into your heart, Kazuha warms you from the inside out.
It was inevitable that you fell heels over head for your poetic seatmate. How could you not? What with the softness of his voice gently cradling you to sleep during your sleepless nights. Or how he shares his lunch with you after Kunikuzushi knocks it out of your hands.
Now, rather than dreading having to go to class, you look forward to it- looking forward to passing notes not-so-discreetly between each other enough that it lands you in detention.
You didn't mind, not when you get to spend an hour basking in silence with the boy you liked. And silently, you agonized over your supposed one-sided puppy crush.
How could you confess and potentially ruin what little happiness you had? If you were to lose Kazuha, you might just break.
But at the same time, how could you not confess? If you didn't, and you eventually grew apart, could you live with yourself for not saying anything?
After nights of tossing and turning, you decide to take a chance. You put your thoughts to paper- it's cliche, but it works. Two hours before you're supposed to get up for school, you finally finish it. It's messy, chicken scratches where you carelessly poured your heart out to him. It's hardly as poetic as Kazuha's flowery words, yet it's the truth.
When he rejects you, at least you can be satisfied with how you took a chance. Maybe you'd never be friends again, but at least you can say you tried.
Except you never get to hand him the letter.
It's not in the pocket of your bag when you try to retrieve it before lunch. Your fingers grasping nothing as your heart drops.
There's a sound behind you, and you whip around. Your face of surprise turns to sheer horror-
Kunikuzushi holds the letter between his thumb and forefinger, smiling like a predator cornering his prey. You shrink under his gaze, palms sweaty, heart racing. There's no one around you but the empty desks.
"You thought you could just hand this to him and expect everything to be perfect?" He jeers, cold words shattering the confidence that was crafted by delicate hands.
He stalks toward you, crumbling the letter into a ball. "You're a joke." Huffing out a laugh, Kunikuzushi pushes the paper into your chest. "He's pitying you, and you fell for it. Big time."
Your eyes sting with tears. The door slams open.
Kazuha stands at the door, his presence shifting the room's atmosphere. Chest rising and falling with strain. His voice finally comes, calm but firm. "That's enough, Kunikuzushi. You shouldn't say that to someone you love. Even if you're angry."
Love?
Kunikuzushi's jaw clicks, and he speaks with venom. "Don't kid yourself, Kazuha." His glare slides back to you, sharp enough to cut but tinged with something else- something vulnerable.
"I could never want someone like-"
Kazuha's calm voice cuts off his sentence. "Aren't you tired of lying to yourself?"
Kunikuzushi is silent for a moment, his head bows and his eyes are hidden behind his purple bangs.
"You don't know anything." His teeth grind, jaw tight enough to break. "You ruined everything, without you, I could've had the one person who ever stayed."
The silence stretches so tight, you think it might snap. You feel like an outsider listening in on a conversation never meant for your ears. Any words die on your tongue, something raw twists and churns in your chest.
His glare wavers, then breaks. "I hate that you looked at him the way you never looked at me." His words sound painful, ripping themselves out of his throat.
Kunikuzushi has hated you since you were children.
You're not sure when this one-sided rivalry began, just that he hates you for whatever reason.
It is especially apparent in the way he hurls insults at you left and right. He tells you he hates you, calling you all sorts of mean names that make your eyes water and lips quiver.
He flings dirt and wood chips at you during recess and ruins your homework.
Kunikuzushi is your bully from elementary to middle school.
Popular even amongst your peers, Kunikuzushi shines like the moon. To others he is charming and amicable. To you, he sinks scathing words that cut live knives deep into your flesh and bones.
A target is on your back whenever he's around- it feels like you're walking on eggshells wherever you go.
It's your worst nightmare when you're paired to be seatmates for the school year. He pokes and prods at you the entire time, gouging your reactions with a sadistic grin on his face.
It's unbearable having to deal with his attitude, you request to change seats within the first two days. If you're around him for another day you might just keel over and die from frustration.
It's a good thing Kazuha needed a seatmate.
You never realized how soft someone's hands could be until Kazuha wiped away your tears for the very first time. You never realized how nice it was to be touched when it wasn't a kick or punch.
When Kunikuzushi's cold remarks sink into your heart, Kazuha warms you from the inside out.
It was inevitable that you fell heels over head for your poetic seatmate. How could you not? What with the softness of his voice gently cradling you to sleep during your sleepless nights. Or how he shares his lunch with you after Kunikuzushi knocks it out of your hands.
Now, rather than dreading having to go to class, you look forward to it- looking forward to passing notes not-so-discreetly between each other enough that it lands you in detention.
You didn't mind, not when you get to spend an hour basking in silence with the boy you liked. And silently, you agonized over your supposed one-sided puppy crush.
How could you confess and potentially ruin what little happiness you had? If you were to lose Kazuha, you might just break.
But at the same time, how could you not confess? If you didn't, and you eventually grew apart, could you live with yourself for not saying anything?
After nights of tossing and turning, you decide to take a chance. You put your thoughts to paper- it's cliche, but it works. Two hours before you're supposed to get up for school, you finally finish it. It's messy, chicken scratches where you carelessly poured your heart out to him. It's hardly as poetic as Kazuha's flowery words, yet it's the truth.
When he rejects you, at least you can be satisfied with how you took a chance. Maybe you'd never be friends again, but at least you can say you tried.
Except you never get to hand him the letter.
It's not in the pocket of your bag when you try to retrieve it before lunch. Your fingers grasping nothing as your heart drops.
There's a sound behind you, and you whip around. Your face of surprise turns to sheer horror-
Kunikuzushi holds the letter between his thumb and forefinger, smiling like a predator cornering his prey. You shrink under his gaze, palms sweaty, heart racing. There's no one around you but the empty desks.
"You thought you could just hand this to him and expect everything to be perfect?" He jeers, cold words shattering the confidence that was crafted by delicate hands.
He stalks toward you, crumbling the letter into a ball. "You're a joke." Huffing out a laugh, Kunikuzushi pushes the paper into your chest. "He's pitying you, and you fell for it. Big time."
Your eyes sting with tears. The door slams open.
Kazuha stands at the door, his presence shifting the room's atmosphere. Chest rising and falling with strain. His voice finally comes, calm but firm. "That's enough, Kunikuzushi. You shouldn't say that to someone you love. Even if you're angry."
Love?
Kunikuzushi's jaw clicks, and he speaks with venom. "Don't kid yourself, Kazuha." His glare slides back to you, sharp enough to cut but tinged with something else- something vulnerable.
"I could never want someone like-"
Kazuha's calm voice cuts off his sentence. "Aren't you tired of lying to yourself?"
Kunikuzushi is silent for a moment, his head bows and his eyes are hidden behind his purple bangs.
"You don't know anything." His teeth grind, jaw tight enough to break. "You ruined everything, without you, I could've had the one person who ever stayed."
The silence stretches so tight, you think it might snap. You feel like an outsider listening in on a conversation never meant for your ears. Any words die on your tongue, something raw twists and churns in your chest.
His glare wavers, then breaks. "I hate that you looked at him the way you never looked at me." His words sound painful, ripping themselves out of his throat.
We are teaming up with eleven other talented indie otome developers to bring you the Mystery & Magic Otome Bundle on itch.io and Steam, a curated list of games celebrating magic, mystery, and romance.
Be sure to check out these spellbinding games (direct links and game summaries available below the cut):
Thorn for the Villain by Antares: Itch
"An office lady is reincarnated as Teresa von Ambrose, originally a spriteless extra character in the obscure otome game 'Eternal Blessing of the Stars,'  where most of the endings end up with Asmodia Kingdom in shambles one way or another.
Armed with knowledge of the game's future, Teresa decides to intervene and erase the event that triggered the beginning of the original story."
Save the Villainess by @bestlaidplansproductions: Steam | Itch
"Some people have pets. You have a romance novel villainess. Guide your villainess through an animated visual novel with menacing manors, mysteries, (wo)men, and murder to see if you can Save the Villainess."
Lost in Limbo by @ravenstargames: Itch
"Torn away from your peaceful life and thrown into a world of danger and deceit, you are at the mercy of the Seven Sovereigns of Limbo, almighty gods that have sworn to be your protectors...as long as you prove yourself useful.
As the consequences of a plan set in motion long ago start to unveil, will love be the key to your freedom, or the first chapter of your downfall?"
The Good People by @moiraimyths: Steam | Itch
"Play as a tenant farmer from mid-19th century Ireland, whose path becomes inexplicably entwined in fairy affairs after getting robbed by the roadside and lured into the mythic and war-torn world of TĂr na nĂg: A once unified land, now divided into the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.
Will you escape and return home with your stolen belongings? Or does fate have something else in mind?"
Alaris by @crescencestudio: Steam | Itch
"A global crisis that only continues to escalate. A dangerous run-in with a shadowy stranger. And a mysterious word that won't stop gnawing at you. How does everything tie together? And what role could you possibly play in all of this?Â
Enter a world of magicâof Fae and Dragon."
Sigh of the Abyss by Rascal Devworks: Steam | Itch
"You have been chained to a stranger, a boy foolishâor braveâenough to flee the gilded cage where magi are kept docile and pliant.
The curse will kill you both unless you find a way to break it.
Anyone else would already be dead, but not youâfor you hear the ancient voice of the Abyss, and have been blessedâor cursedâwith powers dark and terrible."
Obscura by @rottenraccoons: Steam | Itch
"There's a marketplace under the mountain where anything can be bought and sold. Visitors wear masks to become faceless strangers. It's home to the unscrupulous, the outcast, and the desperate.
You're one of the desperate.
Strangers with their own secrets and ambitions can show you ways through the market. They'll guide you to your goal, but don't trust them to have your best interests at heart."
Mask - Beyond Lies by Kakera: Itch
"As you are transported to another world, a masked person guides you through the day to the exit to go back to your world. But will it really be this easy ?
Go through the story of each love interest and discover their secrets, and so much more. Each choices might make you discover the darkest secret of their world. Are you ready to do everything to go back to your own world ? Will you ever go back ?"
Snow White Ashes by @endys: Steam | Itch
"One winter night, you find a hunter in the woods: A man so warm and charming you feel as if you've known him all your life.
But appearances can be deceiving.Â
You'd know that well, wouldn't you?"
The Silent Kingdom by @luckycatotome: Steam | Itch
"Place yourself in the role of Princess Erinys, whose kingdom has fallen under the yoke of a sorrowful curse. In order to save everything you have ever known and loved, youâll have to stand against the entire world - and even defy the Goddess herself.
How much weight will a withered kingdom burden your soul?"
Dual Chroma by @galengames: Steam | Itch
"You, a bright young scholar, have finally arrived at the Palace to fulfill your lifelong dreamâto serve the Imperial Family as the newest advisor to the Second Prince. The future finally looks bright⊠until the vile creatures of centuries past return.
Thrown into the epicenter of a new epic tale, you and Prince Keldrannon face impossible odds. As ancient forces long thought to be vanquished threaten to raze these peaceful lands, you must work together with the Prince to discover their origins and save the Empire. With each choice you make, the more it is revealed that history may not be what it seems.
How deep does your connection to the Prince run?"
Youâve just finished wiping down the bar when Leander hoists himself up onto the counter and looms over you, winsome white grin in place. âWhatâs on tap, gorgeous?â
Your hand twitches toward the counter cupboard where, tucked away like a secret, theyâd planted a lever to expel irritants from the bar in a gust of wind. In your mindâs eye, you watch as heâs thrown out into the crowd with a yelp, that infamous ego taken down a peg.
Knowing Leander, heâd probably throw out his hand, summon a whirl of luminous magic to form steps under his feet, and turn it all into a show. That, or heâd enjoy the humiliation. Though you took all gossip with a grain of salt, most lies held a glimmer of truth.Â
With a titanic force of will, you grab a fresh glass instead. âSame watered-down swill as the day before.â
At his perch a few seats away, Ais smirks. âShould you say that? Seems bad for business.â
You shrug. âI just serve it. Youâre the regular - you tell me.â
âSeems the service is of the same quality as the drink,â sighs Vere from his position draped over Aisâs broad shoulder. âYou get what you pay for.â
âAnd you get whatever Leander pays for,â you say, sliding a pint of amber beer across the counter, the glass only just stopping beside a thick, leather-coated thigh. âPaying customers can talk shit, freeloaders can eat it.âÂ
A massive, furry tail curls over the counter in a river of fire. âAs if Iâd pay to drink what amounts to gutter piss.â
Without looking, you jerk a thumb over your shoulder. âDoorâs that way. Weâve got a suitable gutter out back, just for patrons like you.â
Out of the corner of your sight, bright pink eyes flash around slit pupils.
âEasy, sparrow,â Ais murmurs, his hand lazily stroking along Vereâs neck. âYou know what they say about the cat and the canary.â
You looked up and met his stare. âWhat? Iâm curious .â
âNow, now, letâs not fight,â Leander intervenes as usual, propping his boot on his knee and taking a long drink. He licks the froth from his lips and grins. âItâs been ages since we last met here.âÂ
âThree days,â you say under your breath.Â
âA single moment away from your side is an eternity,â Leander replies without an ounce of shame, ignoring the sounds of aborted vomiting at his back with the ease of a man used to frequent mockery.
âIf only.â You snap the rag in your hand at his back. The clap draws several gazes. âNow get off the counter, heathen.â
A dusting of pink blooms on his cheeks. Green eyes dance with laughter as he slides from the counter and drops onto a barstool instead. âYes maâam.â
You look at him for a long moment before pouring yourself a shot and downing it. Whiskey slides smooth and sweet down your throat and pools with tingling warmth in your stomach.Â
Ais taps the counter. âPour me some of that.â
Blinking slowly under the heady rush, you roll your head to meet his gaze. âOn your tab.â
âOn his tab,â he said with a jerk of his chin to Leander.
âHey, now - â Leander starts before dropping his head when you slide the shot without a word across the counter to that expectant hand, the glass clinking against his silver rings. âMaybe I need to get back there, handle the rest of the nightâs drinks,â he suggests, a sheepish look dogging his smile.
âThat oneâs on the house.â
Leanderâs jaw drops.Â
Vereâs eyes narrow. âAnd whyâs that?â
âOwnerâs orders.â You glance at Ais before shrugging. âDonât have the details. Youâll have to ask them."
They turn toward him, one incredulous, the other suspicious. Ais releases a long, slow sigh before tipping the glass back. He seems unlikely to dive into the story of how the Wet Wickâs owner has been prompted to this generosity.
âSeriously? Yanoka hasnât given me a single glass of water on the house for years,â Leander bemoans before lifting a brow, âand you immediately threw that on my tab?â
A wicked laugh hides within Aisâs red eyes. âIâd hate to impose on her too much.â
Vere snickers and steals a few sips of his whiskey.
With a put-upon look, Leander turns back to you. âWith friends like theseâŠ.â
âYouâve got your pick of fawning friends,â you droll back, after refilling another womanâs glass. Youâd be willing to bet any patron in the packed bar at that moment would happily simper at his side, laugh at his terrible jokes, and swoon for every shallow compliment. âThat you keep coming back to these assholes says more about you than them.â Still, you top off his glass with a quick splash of the good whiskey.
âRight back at ya, sparrow.â
âIâm paid to be here.âÂ
Leander gives you a grateful smile before drinking deep. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his neck. He runs a hand through his hair and drops his chin in the palm of his hand. âAs happy as I am to see you out here, I wish I could order a serving of your roast.â
âSeems like youâve had a good serving already,â Vere quips with a smile. He uncurls himself and stretches his neck with a soft creak of leather.Â
âI wouldnât mind some either.â Ais adds, his face deadpan. The last time youâd been the nightâs cook, heâd ordered three times his body weight in roasted chicken, vegetables, and pudding. Itâd been on the frightening side of impressive, as most things were with Ais.
You cut to the quick. âNo can do. Weâre short-staffed tonight.âÂ
âI can bartend for a while,â Leander offers, as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. As if you hadnât watched him buy the entire tavern a round of drinks just to distract from Ais getting into a brawl with a drunkard.
You grimace. âHell no. Weâre trying to make profits here.âÂ
Vereâs perusing the top shelf with greedy eyes. âOh? Fooled me.â
âI promise to be good.â At your dubious look, Leander turns up the charm and says, â very good.â
âNo.â
âWhat can I say to convince you?â He says, leaning forward, his muscles bulging from beneath his skin-tight shirt. A slow, seductive smile curves across his lips, his eyes growing half-lidded. âCome on, gorgeous. Iâm soâŠÂ hungry ,â he adds, his voice lowering to a rumble. It should have been impossible to hear amidst the roaring din of the tavern - he must have infused the words with magic, carried them right to your ear.
A shiver ghosts along your spine.Â
You turn away to hide the flush that rises in your shirt and face, settling a patronâs tab in the meantime. Once youâve had a moment to force down the feeling, you shoot him a look over your shoulder. If he wanted to play, heâd find you werenât an easy mark.
âIâll do it. If,â you say, cutting into the smug delight on his face, âyou agree to settle Vereâs tab for the night.â Your gaze flickers over to the monster in question.
At some point during the negotiation, a bottle of wine had found its way into the foxâs hands: the glass dark green and old, its label lined in gold filigree and elegant script. His claws tapped a sweet tune down the neck as he tossed his hair over his shoulder and stared into Leanderâs eyes, daring him to refuse.
The mage blushes, blanches, and then sighs. â... you drive a hard bargain.â
You cock your hip. âYou can always say no.â
âCan I?â he asks softly.
Before you have a chance to write the question off as glib, you catch the look in his eyes. Flat. Empty. Resigned.Â
A chill slips down your back, despite the sweltering heat. You pause by the bar, taking in the strange stillness of his handsome face. All the laughter seems to have vanished from his expression. âLeander?â
After a second, he blinks, as though surfacing from a deep sleep. â...hmm?â Something in your face must startle him, because in the next breath Leanderâs straightened up to his full height, chest pushed forward, charismatic smile fixed firmly in place. The picture of a heroic mage. âThrow in a slice of that honey roll, and youâve got yourself a deal.â
You hesitate, trying to decide if youâd imagined it - that brief moment of despair on his face - before tucking it away in the back of your mind, to mull over in the safe, dark void of your room. A quick, shared look with Ais tells you that you werenât the only one to notice.
âFine,â you sigh, grabbing a plain, black apron from under the counter and tying it around your waist. Â
Leander whoops before vaulting over the counter and nearly crowding you against the cabinet. âA barkeep after my own heart,â he croons, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.Â
âYeah, yeah, just - try to keep us from going in the red while Iâm gone.â Hiding the flush on your cheeks, you stride toward the kitchen. On the way you shoot a warning look at Vere, who holds your gaze and pops open the bottle with a flick of his thumb. âTry not to destroy the building.â
âNo promises~â
If you tuck an extra flank of roast under the heaping mountain of steaming, saucy vegetables on Leanderâs plate an hour later, no one seems any the wiser.Â
Leander spun on his heel, surveying the tavern with a grin as his hounds cheered, slapped their hands on tables, jostling bottles and glasses, some leaning in and tugging at the end of his cloak to plead with him. He resolved to pick a recent client to further the good tides from good business when an unfamiliar face peered up from the crowd.
Once heâd met her gaze through the dust and dusk of the tavern, a strange charge had settled in the air.Â
Luminous magic clung to his fingers, the lilies born of his magic curling toward her as real flowers might toward the warmth of the sun. The green light washed over her face, brushing away the shadows of her hood. Bright eyes peered back, embraced by thick lashes and a faint sense of wonder. Silken hair tumbled from the side of her neck and down her chest.
Leander felt his breath still for a moment, until he caught his stride and said, with a slow smile, âHow about you?â He held them out to her, as a suitor might for a new love.
In all honesty, she likely could use some luck.Â
Bruises beneath her eyes, mud slicked boots. A weight and slump to her stance, as though she had shouldered a heavy burden long enough to steel her spine and chip away at her soul. He breathed in the air around her, and beneath the smell of the bar that pressed against his senses like the misty fug on a brimming pint lay an unmistakable, acrid trace of magic. Old magic.
She hesitated for a moment. Then a slender hand reached from beneath her sleeve. Bandages wrapped every inch of her skin. His stomach lurched at the sight, an old ache echoing from inside him pricking a tenderness with pity and curiosity.
Her fingers touched the flowers. Instantly the magic faded.Â
At her surprised look, he shrugged easily. âThatâs the problem with flowers. They donât last long, but they leave an impression, right?â He grinned, clapping his hands to diffuse the remnants of magic clinging to his hands. His willowisps drifted upward before dissipating, little more than twining spirals of dust beneath the light.
The stranger paused, her brow furrowed.Â
Then a small but sweet smile spread over her face, softening her features and the edge of grief that dogged her steps.
Leanderâs heart gave a sudden, strong thump against his ribs at the sight.
Well, hello there .Â
______________
He watched the stranger from the corner of his eye, his curiosity growing.Â
Her eyes seemed older than her appearance would suggest, perhaps hewn from a hard life or misfortune. At the same time, she stalled at even his gentlest of flirtations, as though unused to the idea or uncertain how to respond to them. Sheâs careful with her drink and her distance, drinking a tall glass of water and curling her shoulders away from him at the bar. Less so with her words.
Uttering the word Senobium in the Wet Wick had earned scores of men and monsters broken bones, cracked teeth, and a thousand pleas for mercy ignored. His hounds were better trained than most, but he knew that many nursed a grudge where the institute was concerned. Heâd helped sort many of them himself.Â
Theyâd calmed at his words, but he led her from the bar anyway, after finishing his beer to wash the sour taste from his mouth.Â
Out in the alley, Leander turned and asked, in a low voice, âKuras didnât send you here for help with the Senobium, did he?â Though he had yet to pry the doctorâs pristine shell apart for the pearls within, he knew the other man well enough to know heâd never turn someone with a genuine need to the instituteâs door.Â
She glanced away, frowning. âHe suggested I find an alternative.â
âYet here you are, asking about them anyway,â he continued, folding his arms over his chest and appraising her. âWhat do you need the Senobium for?â
Her mouth tightened. Her reticence was obvious.Â
The first thing that had clued him in to her recent arrival to Eridia was the openness of her expressions, how easily he could stare into her eyes and glean her thoughts. Well, that and her looks. He hadnât lied - he couldnât imagine ever forgetting a face as stunning as this.
âWell, I see youâre already aware of the cityâs currency. Informationâs worth its weight in gold here.â He gaged her expression once more before adding, âKuras told you the truth. The Senobiumâs dangerous. Get on their bad side and theyâll imprison you if youâre lucky, or torture you if youâre not.â
The image of a sulky, sneering fox broke through his thoughts in a vision of fiery red hair and black leather, before he shook it off.
Her face fell. âBut the Senobiumâs supposed to be a place of learning, a sanctuaryâŠâ
Leander grimaced. âThatâs what they want you to think, but things that seem too good to be true are often just that.â If he felt a pinch of guilt at the words, he forced it deep down inside. Clearing his throat, he clapped his hands to dispel the bleak thoughts. âBut as I always say: thereâs a solution to every problem, and alternatives to every solution.â
She was watching him warily, her shoulders slumped. Clearly the hard truth about the Senobium had come as a low blow - he could only imagine the hard journey that had brought her all the way here, only to be told that the institute was a facade.
He smiled, eager to turn the mood around. âThatâs why Kuras pointed you to the Bloodhounds.â He leaned his head to the side, glancing humorously at the posters plastered all along the alley way, his own face grinning back at them. âLet us help you. Whether itâs hunting Soulless, finding people, or recovering stolen valuables, we can do it all. And free of charge.â ⊠at least, in terms of currency.
Even as he delivered his speech, she shook her head. Her hood fell back to her shoulders, exposing her hair to the gaze of the sun. His eyes followed the slow unfurling of a lock down her neck, teasingly slow as drizzled honey.
Her mien was far from sweet, though. âListen, I appreciate the offer. But my problem canât be solved by a group of good samaritans.â
Leander nodded, sorting through the information with quicksilver decisions. âThen your problem must be fairly serious. And if the Senobiumâs your first choice⊠youâre searching for a magical solution, arenât you?â
Her face once again gave her away, all wide eyes and slack jaw.Â
He straightened, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin. âIâd be happy to help you out. That is, if you tell me what ails you.âÂ
She seemed torn for a long moment, her teeth biting the corner of her mouth as she stared hard at the cobblestones below their feet. Either she would confide in him, or she would seek her answers somewhere else. He would support her either way, though heâd prefer she take a chance on him and let down those stiffly high walls a bit.
He gave her room for her thoughts, taking his own time to allow his gaze to inspect her cloak, the dagger strapped to the curve of her hip, shapely legs that hinted of lith muscle.Â
Then a whisper stole across the silence. â... Iâm cursed.â
The admission seemed to cost her dearly.Â
âCursed?â he echoed, now inspecting her with a more clinical mindset. âOh, now Iâm very curious. Something ancestral or more recent?âÂ
âItâs your hands, isnât it.â
Her immediate flinch was answer enough. She curled in on herself, her hands stowing away in her pockets, shame twisting the gentle eves of her face. His beautiful stranger forced herself to continue, short and hushed, âMy touch is dangerous, it changes people, hurts them ââÂ
He tugged his glove off his right hand, stretching his fingers after their release from the sticky leather. An anticipation settled over him as he recalled that scent around her in the bar, that taste of magic that lingered on the back of his palette.Â
âLetâs see it,â he coaxed easily, offering his hand as he cast his strongest protection spell over his body. Exceptionally few enchantments or curses would be able to break through this one - Vere had been gracious enough to test that for him several months ago.Â
She balked immediately. âI canât. Believe me, this isnât an ordinary curse.â
And Iâm no ordinary mage, beautiful . âIâll be fine. Perhaps where you came from, your affliction was strange and one of a kind. But spend a year in this city, and youâll see a thousand curses and thrice as many cures.â He frowned slightly as a thought occurred to him. âDo you really think Kuras would send you here if I couldnât handle it?â
She shrugged. âHow should I know? I only met him today.âÂ
Ah. Leander took a breath and calmed himself. He wasnât used to this much resistance to his offers of help - and perhaps his and the good doctorâs notoriety had gone to his head in some ways.Â
Still, he tipped his chin up with pride and said, âIâm as good as any mage in the Senobium. Better even. If they can help you, so can I.â And heâd do it without a sanctimonious lecture to boot.Â
âYou donât know what youâre asking of me.âÂ
Her eyes watched him as though from a great distance. Leander recognized that look for what it was - a lifetime of suffering, enduring, loathing oneself to the point of desperation. He knew that feeling all too well.
The thought of freeing her from that hell was compelling. Dangerously so.
âIâm asking you to trust me,â he murmured.Â
His stranger looked from his hand to his face, caught in between hope and fear. Leander smiled to set her at ease and waited patiently.Â
With a barely audible sigh, she began to unravel the bandages from her hands. âFine. But if you lose control, donât say I didnât warn you.â
Lose control ? Leander bit the inside of his cheek and replied, âYou can tie me up first if it makes you feel better.â His face heated at the thought: strapped down on a bed, bared and open, at the mercy of a gorgeous strangerâŠ. Heâd certainly been in worse situations.
She ignored him, her face grim. Whatever sheâd experienced as a result of this curse, she clearly wasnât one to crack jokes about it.
He watched, fascinated, as each inch was revealed.Â
Her skin flowed a murky gray from the tips of her fingers and up her arms, the color of summer storms or puddles of rain forming eddies on the street. More strange than that was the rivers of gold etched across her skin, forming gleaming branches across her wrist, hand, and fingers. Ebbing, seeping, as though flowing like veins under her skin.
Heâd never seen anything quite like it.
His stranger lifted her hand above his.
âReady when you are,â he said softly. She seemed liable to startle at any loud sound or sudden movement, like an animal toeing around a spring-loaded trap.
Scant inches hung between them now as she hesitated. Leander studied her expression, the sweat studding her brow, fear shadowing her eyes.
âThree⊠two⊠oneâŠâ she said, barely above a whisper.
Her fingers dipped down another inch. She hesitated just a hair away, even as he surged forward, his hand wrapping around hers.
The effect was instant.
A wave of magic broke across his shield, torrential, overwhelming. Leander braced himself against it, his smile falling in concentration as he fought against the invading presence. Something snaked around the edges of his senses, flowing over the surface of his magic as though searching for entry. Sheâd been afraid of this power - physically afraid, flinching even - to the point that he had expected pain at her touch, but this was - this was worse.
It was pleasure.Â
Blistering, tingling, syrupy sweet. Whispering into the back of his mind, sultry as smoke, to touch. To consume . The power pushed at the hot blood inside him, sewing lust and temptation into his veins as though those same gold rivers across her hands now flooded into him.Â
Heâs hard as stone in his pants. His hands ache, as though the urge to touch her was a physical need . His gaze bored into hers, saliva pooling in his mouth, spell-bound by her quickly paling skin, her wide eyes, the bob of her throat.
He let his spell of protection weaken just slightly so that he could analyze the feeling, a shudder running down his back as the curse tried to push deeper.Â
Leander had assumed it would be a fairly powerful curse. Otherwise, Kuras might have handled it himself. This was unexpected, though. Powerful. Old. Wild and beguiling and singing to primal instincts. Almost⊠ancient in nature.
âLeander?â
Sheâs tugging at her hand, trying to pull away - her words brush like a breeze across his mind. Sheâs closer than before - no, heâs closer than before, his arm rising without conscious thought. Her voice, trembling, terrified, broke the fog like the swift cracking of an egg.Â
His magic barreled up from within him and bit back at the curse until the golden fog receded from his mind.
His stranger flinched away from his hand. âNo, youâre - âÂ
âJust fine,â he reassured her with a gentle smile, dropping his palm on her shoulder. âInteresting! Thatâs one hell of a curse.â
Her body trembled, at the precipice of fear that had quickly dissolved into a shaky relief.Â
Bright eyes stared into his face, searching, so intense that he had to glance away when heat rose in his cheeks. His grip on her hand softened, just enough that she could move, and move she did.Â
Gray fingers, surprisingly tender and achingly gentle, began to map out the lines of his palm, brushing along the curves of each finger, before tracing up his wrist and forearm. Her thumb smoothed across each fingernail and lingered at the pulse pumping fast beneath his wrist. So careful was she that Leander felt himself growing hyper aware of the feeling, her touch almost ticklish, drawing goosebumps across his skin.
Thereâs something like awe in her face, earnest and pure and wondrous - so opposite to the lustful thoughts circling the back of his mind that he felt like a wolf allowing a lamb to brush and play with his fur coat.Â
He wanted to bite, a little.
He could still feel the electric hum of her power, each gossamer touch seeking to land a hook into his mind. Even at his strongest shield, it pressed fervently against his defenses, not enough to overtake and control him but enough that he could feel the insidious presence.
Little wonder that she kept her hands so tightly bound. He could see now, how a simple brush of her bare skin would drive a man completely mad.Â
He watched as her hands travel curiously up his arm, fingertips dancing over the edge of his scar at the edge of his sleeve. Quicksilver eyes flicked up to his jaw, to the matching band across his cheek, before dropping once more to his skin. Heâd feel like a lab specimen, except for the almost reverent way she touched him, as though this were a wholly new experience.
Leander paused at the thought before venturing to ask, âAm I the first person youâve been able to touch like this?â
She froze. â...so far.â
Warmth settled in his stomach. He couldnât deny that the thought was strangely satisfying, filling himself up with a heady, eager buzz like a stiff drink. âIâll admit your touch does make it somewhat difficult to stay level-headed. But not due to your power⊠âÂ
Leander grabbed her hand again and twined their fingers together, before drawing them up by his pin. âLook, we match,â he joked softly, hoping to ease the tension.Â
His stranger stared at their clasped hands before another shy, genuine smile appeared. His heart gave another insistent leap in his chest.Â
When she drew her hand back, he felt the loss in the cold air seeping back over his palm, the sound of the busy street behind breaking into the quiet solemnity of the moment. She wrapped her hands absentmindedly, more habit than anything, and adds in a small voice, âI canât believe that worked.â
Leander nearly offered his hand again immediately, possibly forever, but managed to hold on to his air of mystery and dignity.Â
He offered her another slow smile. âYou were right to hide this from me. That curse of yours⊠itâs unlike anything Iâve ever dealt with. I can tell youâre discreet, but youâd best not go showing that off to anyone else.âÂ
âI didnât plan on it.â
âAre you staying in Lowtown?â At her shrug, Leander clapped his hands and guided her back to the Wet Whick with an open arm. âLetâs get you settled then. Bloodhound rates.âÂ
As she led the way back into the inn, the door opened with a flood of oak, sawdust, grease, and beer-stained air. Just beneath that was the delicate scent of her, herbs and leather, and that faint bite of magic.Â
Leander paused on the threshold, his eyes lingering on her form as she glided swiftly through the tables, her hair tumbling down her back, candlelight dancing across her face. His pin sparked, his skin tingling where sheâd touched him. His stomach seemed to hollow for a second.
He felt⊠strangely empty, hungry. Alive in a way he hadnât been just hours before.Â
Eridia never slept, never stalled - the city was always changing, always adapting. Mysterious strangers were a dime a dozen.Â
And yet, this felt different. She felt different.Â
Leander curled his hand into a fist, hoping to stretch out the prickling sensation, to no avail. It was as unsettling as it was addicting.
He wondered how he might convince her to touch him again.Â
He must have noticed the lights on, and yet Kuras still strode undaunted into the examination room. His gaze alighted on you immediately, and a gentle smile curled his full lips. âAh, my favorite patient.â
You smiled back, a little sheepish. âYour most consistent one, at least.â
_____________________
The clinic was cold and quiet when you slipped inside through the back door, lockpicks stowed safely in your coat pocket. As you shook off drops of rain from your hood and dropped it on the coat stand, the lantern on the counter sparked to life, filling the room with a white, clean glow.
The stool where the good doctor usually perched sat empty. You tugged at the doorknob to his office, found it firmly locked, and listened at the hinge of the door for a moment. No soft shuffle of papers, no dainty chimes of bottles kissing as concoctions passed between them.
Heâs out, then.
You hesitated, before inspecting the gash on your arm. A soulless had taken a cut of flesh on your return to Eridia, nearly catching the bag of valuable potions ingredients youâd brought back to sell. There were a couple things in there that you thought Kuras might be interested in buying: thalus roots, spotted sunshrooms, a particularly thick undu stem that could be stored and siphoned from for months before itâd run out. Youâd intended to trade treatment for a discounted rate, but perhaps you should try your luck elsewhere.Â
Distaste hollowed your stomach at the thought. The local clinics had a habit of prying whenever youâd been forced to visit, finding excuses to try and remove the bandages wrapped around your hands.Â
Kuras never pried. As patient and steadfast as a saint, he would wait, golden eyes soft and alluring, an effortless grace that seemed to coax others to open themselves up like flowers to the sun.
Though youâd rather seek treatment here, you might be short on time. Blood continued to drip sluggishly from the wound and, from within the open gash, the muscle and tissue inside seemed to be darkening, pink flesh graying like rot.
Poison or a curse, you couldnât be sure.
Just as you prepared to shrug your coat on and brave the storm, the front door opened with a tingle of bells.
He must have noticed the lights on, and yet Kuras still strode undaunted into the examination room. His gaze alighted on you immediately, and a gentle smile curled his full lips. âAh, my favorite patient.â
You smiled back, a little sheepish. âYour most consistent one, at least.âÂ
âHow may I assist you this evening?â he inquired graciously, his hand gesturing toward the exam bench.Â
You huffed under your breath before placing one boot on the stepstool and lifting yourself onto the edge, the sheet crinkling under you. You looked him over as he turned toward the counter and swept a few papers neatly into a leather book.
Kuras had clearly been out in the storm for some time. Rain had soaked into his hair and coat, the edges dripping fast onto the tiled floor. His long mane of hair stuck wetly to the coat, a few curling locks caught in the gilded plates of his coat. His face looked dewy soft, his fan of lashes thicker with moisture. Drops trailed perilously slow down his thick neck, skirting the edge of that high collar.
Heat pooled in your stomach, a strange restlessness harrying your limbs.
You cleared your throat and glanced down. âRan into a soulless on my way back today. Turns out, not all dark, mysterious strangers are happy to see me,â you quipped.
âA fault on their part, I assure you.â He approached and leaned over you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over your lap. âMay I?â
âWill I need to strip down this time, doctor?â You asked, striving for innocence but struggling to keep your mouth from trembling into a smile.
âRolling up your sleeve should suffice, from a medical standpoint,â he replied smoothly, as though butter wouldnât melt in his mouth. His golden eyes narrowed in mirth. âThough I certainly wouldnât be opposed.â
Flushing slightly, you tugged your sleeve to your elbow and offered it up. As he craned his neck to inspect the wound, a couple raindrops fell to your skin.Â
Kuras frowned. He straightened up and murmured, âjust a moment.â Two strides of his long legs later, he had vanished into the back room. A moment of silence passed before he returned.
You sucked in a quick breath.Â
The massive, white coat that draped his form was gone.Â
Smooth, coffee skin was laid bare on his shoulders. His sleeves cinched around his biceps with gold cuffs, the fabric thin and see-through to the forearm before wrapped in flowing white silk. His hair, before flowing freely down his back, had been tied back simply with a leather thong.
He looked so different in that moment - so much more open and unguarded and tangible - for all that heâd only bared his shoulders, that the sight took your breath away.
âMy apologies for the lack of courtesy and the delay,â he said, producing a clean towel from his pocket and dabbing carefully at the spot where the raindrops landed.
âKuras, youâve sewn this same arm back onto my body,â you said with a short laugh, still grappling for equilibrium. âYou could drip acid on it, and Iâd still be grateful.â
His brow furrowed more. âWhile there are valid applications of acidic substances, I would consider them a last resort.â He folded the slightly damp side of the towel inward before using the folds to carefully hold your arm and inspect the injury. âIt would be most abhorrent to risk tarnishing your skin.â
A flutter of feathers stirred in your stomach. Still, you joked with an edge of bitterness, âYes, my precious, corpse gray skin that drives people to insanity. Canât risk that, or Iâll never trap a partner.â
Kuras paused. He looked down solemnly at you through his fan of lashes, the gold of his gaze molten and bright. âBeauty lies within the eye of the beholder,â he replied, his voice low and achingly gentle. âYou have always been beautiful in my eyes.â
The intensity of him - his voice, his gaze, the way his body seemed to curl around you, a shield against what would harm you - each word genuine and strong, as though he spoke a undeniable truth of the world, cut you to your core.
Your head turned, eyes lowered, flinching against it even as your chest grew warm and full.Â
For a long moment, you struggled to reply, your jaw clenched tight as your heart pounded in your chest.Â
Kuras seemed to sense, as he always did, the riotous feelings inside you, because the next moment he had retreated to the counter and begun pulling various ingredients from the shelf, his head lowered to give you a moment of privacy.
The gratitude that welled up inside you threatened to boil up through your throat, tears stinging at the back of your eyes.Â
âThere does appear to be a venomous residue within the wound,â he murmured, deep and scholarly in tone, his mien serene as a moonlit pond. âI have encountered a similar substance before with other patients. Certain species of soulless grow mutations that secrete toxins into the bloodstream of prey, in their claws or fangs, not unlike the parotid salivary glands of snakes.â
You listened quietly as the frantic race of your heart settled, letting his velvet voice lull the storm inside you. Rain pitter-pattered against the window and battered the roof above, occasionally subsumed under a rumble of thunder.
Calmed once more, you faced him again, your gaze lingering.Â
Without the coat, his large, willowy form was in full view: his broad back tapering to a slender waist, prim ass, and impossibly long legs. Dark, curly hair trailed down his back, still wet and soaking into his silk shirt. The lamplight shone around him, tracing his body in an edge of white light even as his shadow encompassed the room.
His head turned, the gold hoops at his ears sparkling, and surveyed you for a quick moment before gliding closer. In one hand was a bowl of smooth dark green paste, in the other fresh bandages. He set them on a metal table by the exam table by a bowl of clean water and a pile of cloth before reaching within a box and withdrawing a pair of white silk gloves.Â
As he perched on the stool, his body leaned into your space. Heat rolled off him, as though he had swallowed a star.
âWe will apply this poultice for now, monitor for infection, and then reconvene to sew the wound closed.â Kuras pulled on the silk gloves and, after a quick, searching look of your face, took your arm in hand and began cleaning the wound.
You held still and breathed through the pain - at times a dull ache, others pinching and acute. Rinsing the wound brought searing heat that had your teeth clenching tight, trapping any sound that attempted to escape up your throat.
The doctorâs treatment, from the outside, looked more like a dance than medical practice. He did not coddle or cajole, nor castigate or belittle, as was the style of other doctors youâd seen - instead, Kuras worked with utter silence and composure, all of that overwhelming intensity focused on the task at hand. Each movement was efficient, graceful, and imbued with an exquisite gentleness that would endear even the worst of enemies to him.Â
Each dab of poultice like the brush of a master painter. Each stitch into flesh the weaving of a master dressmaker.
Poetry in motion. Medical practice envisioned in art form.
The treatment seemed to pass quickly and effortlessly. One moment you were gripping the side of the exam table as he smoothed the creamy poultice over the wound, the next your inflamed, gray skin had been wrapped comfortably in fresh bandages.
âHow does that feel?â Kuras inquired, removing the gloves with a small flourish.
âGood as new, doc,â you replied with a sigh.Â
He smiled, his eyes thinning with pleasure.
âExcellent. Then your next priority should be a good nightâs rest.â His large hand curled around the side of your arm, his palm feverishly hot even through the thick bandage. âAllow me to escort you back to the Wick.â
He rose from the stool and began to pack away the poultice bowl and bandages.
Your left hand replaced his, holding that fading heat to your skin for a little longer, as your gaze wandered to the window. Rain continued to batter the window panes, the sky outside an endless abyss.
It was tempting to ask if, rather than venture out in the pelting rain, you could remain there, in the clean, cozy atmosphere of the examination room. You could lie back on the exam table, draw your cloak (or his) over your body for added warmth. Youâd bet all the coin in your purse that youâd sleep like the dead.
But you couldnât intrude on his hospitality any more than you already had. Heavens knew youâd arrived in the middle of the night. Youâd probably delayed his own well-earned rest before the next endless line of patients would arrive at his door at dawn.
âIâve got some things for you,â you said, rising from the exam table to grab your satchel.
Kuras gave you a bemused look over his shoulder. âYou know well that I require no payment for my services.â
âNot payment,â you denied, well used to this debate. âFavors amongst friends. You mentioned a few days ago that your stock was low on a few items.â
One thin, dubious brow rose, but he inspected the haul you offered from the satchel with the calculating interest of a man well-used to haggling in the market for prime ingredients. âI will purchase them from you.â
âTheyâre a gift,â you insisted.
Kurasâs eyes narrowed, his full lips frowning. âThe value for the undu stem alone would fetch you a generous price. More than enough to lease a private residence in Lowtown.You cannot think me so crass as to take advantage of you in this way. â
You hid a smirk. For all his manners and professional admiration for Leander, his quiet but strong dislike for your current accommodations grew more obvious by the day.Â
âNever,â you replied easily, adding, âNeither so crass as to thrice refuse a gracious gift from an appreciative friend.â
Kuras held your gaze for a moment before a cat-like smile curled across his lips. âI seem to have been out maneuvered.â
âOut mannered, more like.â
âThen I concede and accept your gifts with gratitude,â he said, his voice velvet smooth and mirthful. âI will endeavor to use them well.â
âDo as you will,â you quip. âRoast them for lunch, itâs your choice.â As long as theyâll be useful to you.
He took the ingredients with careful hands. The undu stem, which took you both hands and significant strength to lift, he took in one hand. He carried them into the office and stowed them away properly in glass containers before returning his coat draped over his arm.
âShall we?â
You watched him take the shoulders of the coat in hand, preparing to sweep the heavy fabric over his back, before stopping him.
âWait.â You hesitated, licking your lips. âWonât that be uncomfortable? With your hair, I mean.â
Kuras paused, his eyes wide, before that gentle smile reappeared. âYou need not concern yourself with me. Weâve only a short walk, after all.â
âItâll get tangled, though.â An offer sat on the tip of your tongue, enticing enough to embolden you to speak it. âI could braid it for you.â You cleared your throat and fought the urge to stare down at your boots. âNothing - nothing fancy, or anything. But it would help.â
âYour injuryâŠâ he trailed off, his brow furrowing.
âItâs fine, really. Iâm not in any pain, and this would be - nothing.â
Kuras seemed to mull that over, his face inscrutable.
After a long, tortuous moment in which you wished youâd kept your mouth firmly shut and resolved to keep it shut for an eternity, Kuras nodded. âThen I accept.â
Your jaw dropped. âReally?â
âI must admit my surprise, but the prospect intrigues me.â That cat-like smile returned with a vengeance. âUnless you would like to rescind the offer? But surely, my friend, youâd never be so crass to do so.â
Oh, you -Â
Flushing hotly under your clothes, you squinted at him. âI seem to have been out-maneuvered.â
âOut-mannered, I believe, was the term you used, and just so.âÂ
With an air of smug satisfaction and humor, Kuras draped his coat over the exam table, then crossed the room in two strides to withdraw an antique brush from a drawer. He perched once more on the stool, one golden eye glancing over his shoulder.Â
You take the brush, looking it over. Itâs a beautiful piece, comprised of gold filigree and a stunning mother of pearl inlay on the back. The bristles were soft but firm, scratching lightly against your palm as you tested the feel. The gold handle was a cool, easy grip, its engraved markings depicting flowers, feathers, and what looked like an eye pressing against you through the veil of your bandages.
Gripping firmly, you surveyed the waterfall of dark hair in front of you, your heart beating fast.
With a fortifying breath, you gathered the heavy, silky length in your hands and started from the ends of his hair, stroking the brush as gently as possible. Despite how wet and woven the strands were, there were very few knots to tease out.
Kuras sat peaceably for several minutes, still as a statue in prayer, before he asked, âHave you done this for others?â
You paused, now smoothing the hair at the middle of his back. You thought about what to say for a moment, but the truth seemed easiest. âMy mentor. She had long, red hair that would frizz at the slightest spit of rain. Every morning, since I was old enough, I would tie up her hair for her.â It had been a small but daily act of care that, with time and distance, you had eventually realized she never reciprocated.
He hummed softly but said nothing more.
When you reached his neck, your hands danced with delicate caution, holding his earrings out of the path of the brush. Kuras seemed to stiffen ever so slightly whenever your fingers brushed his skin, but soon relaxed back into his posture.Â
Once you had brushed smooth from the crown of his head to the dusky purple ends, you set the brush down on the exam table and began to braid.
A rhythm soon developed, your fingers twined the hair into five sections and began weaving them together, each pull drawing to the very tips of the hair to prevent bunching at the bottom. The movement was made effortlessly easy as the hair was still damp and content to be handled.
All the while, Kuras sat patiently, his hands clasped in his lap. When you finally reached the end of the braid, now well past his waist, he finally broke from his vigil and held a black leather tie from the crook of his finger.
You tied the braid securely before letting your hands smooth down the braid, testing for any loose sections. The braid itself looked immaculate: neat, tidy, his dark hair gleaming in the soft lamplight. âIs that comfortable?â
âYes,â he said, his voice a soft rumble. A heavy sigh followed, his shoulders drooping, before he rose to his feet. He turned around, his hand drawing the braid across his shoulder and inspecting the work.Â
Somehow, his face seemed different than only moments before. A tension you hadnât known existed in his bearing had been smoothed out: his brow clear, his lips parted, those captivating golden eyes softer than youâd ever seen.
Then, he met your gaze, his musicianâs hand stroking down the braid, and smiled. âThank you. That was⊠truly an experience I will not soon forget.â
You froze, still caught, the world narrowed in on that single, sweet smile.
He draped the coat over his shoulders, showing particular care with his braided hair, before gliding forward. With a firm hand on your waist, the heat of him radiating through your clothes, Kuras coaxed you toward the back door.Â
How skilled are the LI at fighting ? Obviously not too worried about Keir. And the idea of Cirrus fighting makes me curious.
Francesco
You could definitely beat Francesco in a fight! (and he probably wants you to)
But in all seriousness, he's not trained in the slightest. The only way he's winning a fight is if it's against someone half his size.
Keir
Yeah, he knows how to kick some ass.
Oleander
Like, an actual fight? His best offence is a good defence, and the best defence is not getting into fights in the first place. He's a fairly strong dude, but without any combat training he's going to lose most fights and he knows it, so he works to avoid that circumstance in the first place.
Cirrus
Cirrus isn't that good of a fighter. He can grapple a little bit and use his height to his advantage, but he's not exactly bulky.
Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.
Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)
Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious
Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!
How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasnât too sure.
The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didnât provide any hints either.
However, he himself is to blame.Â
A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.
A true reflection of his current solitude.Â
The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance.Â
The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished.Â
He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him.Â
Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.
Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?
A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content.Â
As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.
Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.
Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric.Â
He reasons that the wind mustâve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.
A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches.Â
The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.
A child whoâs clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk.Â
Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid.Â
Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.
Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence.Â
It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises.Â
It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each otherâs gaze.Â
The childâs shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent.Â
And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.
Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk.Â
â
Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.
The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.
That small human again.Â
Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creatureâs lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.
A human child doesnât have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes.Â
âHello! What is uh⊠your name?â They chirp out.Â
His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.
Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.
A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through.Â
Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall.Â
The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.
The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon.Â
âIt tastes good, I promise.â A small hand extends itself further through the open window.Â
Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.
Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call âmannersâ. There werenât any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.
However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society.Â
So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the humanâs face only got wider.
âNow that youâve taken one, you have to give me your name, itâs only uh⊠fair!âÂ
Ah, it looks like heâs been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didnât have the strength to form a frown.Â
Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldnât be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.
âNeuvillette.â He finally said his first words to you.Â
A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well.Â
Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.
It wouldâve been better if you used the door. However, heâs aware of the complications such a request would bring.
Perhaps itâs because heâs currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, youâre just exceptionally brazen.Â
Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.
One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.
A sight heâs come to expect now.Â
Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet theyâre already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.
Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well.Â
If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting.Â
âYou do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.âÂ
The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows. Â
âOh? Why so suddenly?â The collection of fables now resting on the rug.Â
Itâs already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth.Â
âThey are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.â Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.
âThey taste fine to meâŠâ You mutter, picking another one up.Â
This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.
As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.
âThen what do you like?â
Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.
The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book.Â
It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation.Â
âWater, spring water.â
âHuh?â
Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesnât ease up, he couldnât fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable.Â
âPerhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.âÂ
The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice. The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin.Â
Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier.Â
It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished.Â
But that is today, youâll have another tea break tomorrow, and youâll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well.Â
The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him.Â
â
The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.
Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing.Â
That tomorrow he had come to expect never came.Â
Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity heâs yet to grasp.
These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut.Â
Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.
However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former.Â
Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself.Â
It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each otherâs presence.
However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked.Â
Heâs still too naive.
Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.
Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?
Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder.Â
However, it wasnât loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.
There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room.Â
Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.
Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.
Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.
After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears.Â
âT-they⊠they patched⊠up the hole,â you huffed out between short breaths.Â
Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.
Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, heâs aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.
This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you.Â
âI⊠ran⊠through the gates⊠before the⊠Gardes noticedâŠâ Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence.Â
Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasnât too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.
The tomorrow thatâs been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.
Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless.Â
With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didnât mind in the least.
Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats.Â
âWhat is that?â An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.
âWater, water from the servantâs well, I bottled it myself.â A small hand holds the bottle out more.Â
âThank you,â Neuvillette accepts it into his hands.Â
He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, itâs improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.
However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didnât realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow.Â
Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip.Â
âItâs sweet.â His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone.Â
âReally?â Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes.Â
Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water youâve always drank.
A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows.Â
Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.
If he is to walk amongst the human world, then itâs best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths.Â
A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.
Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?
âAhh⊠The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.â You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee.Â
As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.
One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores.Â
The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your motherâs responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate.Â
Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didnât escape Neuvilletteâs hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.
Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker.Â
âThe people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why canât they make something to dry clothes?â You resume.Â
The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa thatâs more familiar with your shape than his.Â
âPerhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,â came his curt response.Â
His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan.Â
âIâd rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,â you grumble aloud.Â
Ah, thatâs right, youâre approaching the age where you could travel freely.
By law, you wonât be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.
Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate.Â
While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him.Â
âDo you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?âÂ
By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being âitâs too longâ.
Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.
However⊠where could he return to? A homeland⊠was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?
Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sunâs rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.
Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful.Â
Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds.Â
â
âMonsieur Neuvillette! Itâs been a while since youâve visited!â Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man.Â
Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.
While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.
He wonders if it's his bodyâs natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese.Â
Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.
Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice.Â
Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears.Â
Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.
It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.
Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.
How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?
Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right.Â
Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call.Â
âNEUVI!â Came a voice from just over the beaten path.Â
Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.
When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.
The same specter whoâs currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence.Â
âThere you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because youâre almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,â you chide.Â
The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose.Â
His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.
The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.
Her sudden movement caught your attention as well.Â
Ah, thatâs right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.
Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that canât seem to see directly into each other.Â
If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.
Neuvillete certainly wasnât prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it.Â
In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.
Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine.Â
âHello there, would you like some conch madeleines?â Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of.Â
The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.
Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle.Â
âItâs tasty isnât it?â Your lips formed a wider grin.
The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.
At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle. Â
âIâll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,â you offered.Â
After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago.Â
âMy name is Carole!â She chirps.Â
âWhat a wonderful name.â Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise.Â
As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.
âMonsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?â
Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more.Â
The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself.Â
A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the dayâs trials. Albeit, half heartily.Â
Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, itâs been this way for around a week going on two now.Â
Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasnât been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.
Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of âThe Chief Justice is handling a very important caseâ or âMy apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busyâ.Â
Neuvillette recognizes that heâs currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase.Â
How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?
Heâs sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, sheâd be greatly entertained.Â
As if the mere mention of the nationâs archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor whoâs been turned away one too many times.Â
âMy my, itâs been quite some time since Iâve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,â you remark as your eyes hone in on him.Â
The childâs hiding place under the bed has been exposed.Â
âGood afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.â Neuvilletteâs own eyes trail past yours.Â
From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didnât have to look hard to deduce the crime theyâve committed: Accepting bribes.Â
The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours.Â
Itâd be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one heâs been trying to maneuver out of.Â
âIf I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-â
âWhy have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?â you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses.Â
His lips press together, by now heâs well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.
Guilt which originated a few weeks prior.Â
â
On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears.Â
âW-why? Why did he have to go?â Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups.Â
As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese.Â
Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle whoâd matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or itâd be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo.Â
Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.
In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them.Â
The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them.Â
Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them.Â
However, just like how laws canât completely stop crimes, his words canât completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.
âIâm sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him⊠A dogâs life is brief-â
âMonsieur Neuvillette.âÂ
The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.
After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine.Â
Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued.Â
âI know it hurts,â you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe.Â
âB-but why? W-why is it so sad?â she hiccuped.Â
You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold.Â
âWouldnât it be sadder if you never met him?âÂ
At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion.Â
âTo have loved him, and for him to have loved you in returnâŠisnât that enough?â You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank.Â
Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view.Â
He had misspoke.
Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.
His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority.Â
Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky.Â
â
Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldnât seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue.Â
âDidnât you want to visit your homeland?â
âOh?â Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips.Â
âAnd then whoâd be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?â Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion.Â
âSurely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,â he rebukes.Â
âOh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?â You press on.
âI can manage.â
âThen can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?âÂ
Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room.Â
The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle.Â
Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours.Â
It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate.Â
âIâm not upset, Neuvi.â
With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.
It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.
This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum.Â
âUgh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?â It wasnât long before your attention returned to the state of his office.Â
Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.
All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds.Â
From his observations, itâs instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, itâd be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions heâs been guilty of.Â
âIf I knew I had to work this hard now, I wouldâve skipped more chores back at the estate,â you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.
To have loved and have been loved in return.
Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.
Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life?Â
Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure?Â
As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon.Â
The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.
With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason.Â
The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.
Almost immediately, a muffled âcome inâ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.
âMy, my, if it isnât Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?â A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes.Â
Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.
âPlease, forgo the formalities.âÂ
Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldnât escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.
Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.
Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it.Â
By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries.Â
âHow have you been fairing?â Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws.Â
âItâs just a mild case of pneumonia,â you muse aloud.Â
Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.
It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness mightâve surrendered to your stubbornness.Â
It might've surrendered⊠if your body had remained as it once was.
How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.
Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face.Â
The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, âWe match nowâ.
However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.
Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours.Â
âHow are you finding your stay?â At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view.Â
âMm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.âÂ
He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding.Â
âWell, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.â Your eyes motioning toward a corner.Â
The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.
The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.
âTheyâre such sweethearts.â Each one of your words coated with endearment.Â
Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.
Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.
In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer.Â
âAre there any regrets you hold?âÂ
âOh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?â A familiar quirk graces your brow.Â
âItâs nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.âÂ
âMmm⊠I donât feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.âÂ
âIs that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.âÂ
âHaha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?â you chuckle.Â
Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window.Â
âDidnât I tell you already? Iâll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.â Smile softening on your lips.Â
Neuvilletteâs folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.
The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room.Â
He wasnât sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin wonât wrinkle along with you.
He wasnât sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started.Â
Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.
Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldnât fully grasp it?
A creature whose skin didnât wrinkle, whose bones didnât grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.
Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds.Â
â...vi?... NeâŠ?... Neuvi.âÂ
A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvilletteâs attention back from its escapade.Â
âMy apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.â He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.Â
But the frown weighing down on your lips didnât disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldnât wash away any shadows.
Your chest moves with a deep inhale.Â
âMaybe I do have one regret,â you began.Â
Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice.Â
âActually, I have many,â you sigh.Â
Before he could formulate a response, you continued.Â
âI wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you wouldâve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.â Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame.Â
A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.
Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence.Â
As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.
All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away. Â
That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion.Â
The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.
The Melusineâs uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.
The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours.Â
Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more.Â
âYouâve done more than enough.â He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter.Â
âAre you sure?â Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again.Â
âI never even learned your real name,â you interject.
A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.
The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.
What shall he do now?
The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.
Oh, what shall he do now?Â
Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean.Â
âYou donât have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.â Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.
Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.
A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another.Â
âI swear, once Iâve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, Iâll fall back down like rain to your side.â You whisper into the kiss.
It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.
âThen I swear, when you return, Iâll tell you my name.â He whispers in the kiss.
The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer.Â
âMmm⊠Where I should go first? Maybe Iâll just amble about,â you ponder aloud.Â
Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.
âI wish you well on your travels.â Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles.Â
â
Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.
However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle.Â
Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldnât bring a skip to their steps.
It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour.Â
The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.
At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad.Â
The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, wonât ever stop.Â
To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough?Â
In Neuvilleteâs eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again.Â
Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.
So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean.Â
Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldnât ever seem to purge himself of.Â
Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder.Â
And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth.Â
But now, the shore has eroded away.
Where does the tide go now?
Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?
Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldnât answer this riddle conjured by his own mind.Â
Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.
Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.
Maybe that was the first destination of your journey.Â
During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose.Â
Neuvillette feels heâs grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods.Â
Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures.Â
The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.
Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.
Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past.Â
The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.
Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.
New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols.Â
A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.
A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justiceâs fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks.Â
The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.
Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth.Â
He supposes heâs been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.
Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face.Â
No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer.Â
Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice singings out:
Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.
Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler whoâs unfamiliar with Fontaineâs seasons is now caught in this rain.Â
It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.
His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella.Â
It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.
âThere is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,â he advises the lost traveler. Â
Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.
That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.
Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers. Â
âOh?â You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes.Â
Youâve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.
When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.
You werenât sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did. Â
 Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.
Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.
âMister?⊠Are you alright?â You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets.Â
How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers.Â
He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?
âHere.â Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man.Â
As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where youâve seen the familiar lavender hue.
Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.
A strange familiarity you couldnât name.Â
âThank you very much.â He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters.Â
The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds.Â
It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.
They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.
So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again.Â
Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path.Â
The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.
Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.
Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long.Â
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