When Charles first sees the blonde girl, he panics.
Who is she? How did she find the library?
How did she get past Isabella?
The girl just laughs. Her laugh so is familiar, but wrong.
This is the laugh that he’s used to hearing in a screeching guffaw, when his unwanted housemate found something so funny that she couldn’t help but lose her composure.
To hear it in this soft, bell-like voice immediately sets him on edge.
“Isabella…?” He dares to ask. Still, he begins to reach for the knife hidden within his cloak. But the girl just grins in that way that only the changeling woman can.
“Took you long enough. Put the dagger down, it’s just me.”
“I… What? Why are you… like that? Did you take another mission?” He’s so, so confused. Isabella laughs again.
"This is the type of girl you like, right? Not my usual form, but I can live with it.”
...Now that she mentions it, her blonde hair is in the twin ponytails that he always adored in women. And it seems like she’d even changed her eye color. Instead of the bright, candy red he’s used to, they’re in a vibrant golden-yellow -- just like he mentioned he liked a few months back.
“But… Why?”
Those yellow eyes narrow, and Charles can’t help but think the color of the glare looks wrong.
“Oh please. Can you really be that dense?!”
Yes. Yes he can.
Isabella lets out an aggravated sigh.
“I’m trying to court you, idiot! I’m your perfect woman! Blonde hair in these stupid pigtails, those weird yellow eyes you said you liked… What else is there?! I even changed my voice, you moron! So just tell me!” She grabs his robes and drags his face a few inches in front of hers. “WHAT ELSE DO I NEED TO DO?!”
A year ago, the action would have made Charles panic and draw his dagger in self-defense. But now, all he can do is raise a hand to gently cup the other woman’s cheek.
“Bella,” he starts, trying out the nickname for the first time, “You don’t need to do anything. I like you, in the form you’re most comfortable in.”
And it’s true -- in the midst of his self-imposed isolation, this changeling had broken into his heart in the same way she broke into his home. Did he still hate society? Yes. But was Isabella ever really a part of that? She was an outcast, just like him.
She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, they’re that brilliant candy red again.
“Should’ve said that sooner, asshole.”
She leans forward to rest against his chest as her appearance changes back to what he’s grown accustomed to. Charles simply wraps his arms around her and pets the once-again black hair.
“Hey,” she mumbles. “Don’t get used to the clinging. Tomorrow, I’m back to my old, stabby self.” Charles chuckles at that.
“Of course. That’s the woman I fell in love with, after all.”
I can’t even draw traditional art anymore but please appreciate the level of Extra required to wear a parka in the summer (he just wants to match his vulpix)
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