“Ochette, what are you doing?”
Ochette flashed Castti a toothy grin, adjusting where she sat on the floor of Miss Clarissa’s home, braiding Elena’s hair.
It had been a few months since Elena’s rescue, and she was recovering swiftly- no doubt aided by the constant presence of her real father, who was reading a story to her.
If the story sounded awfully familiar to the group’s own, Ochette pretended not to notice.
“Braiding Lena’s hair, Ma! Can I do yours next?”
Castti reached a hand to the bun she always wore, face scrunched in the way Ochette had come to learn meant she was deep in thought.
“Where did you learn to braid?” Thronè asked, coming out of the kitchen with a full pie tin. She had been learning from Miss Clarissa how to bake, and was steadily getting better as the attempts wore on.
“I taught her,” Miss Clarissa said cheerfully as she too exited the kitchen.
What a cheerful bunch they had all become, Ochette thought. Months ago, she never would have thought this sort of outcome possible. Pops had been bent on revenge, Ma had been stumbling along with only half her memories, and Nènè had been almost ready to give up her dream of ‘freedom’.
Now here they were, practically living in Conning Creek. Osvald had his daughter back, Castti had saved an entire kingdom (she still woke up some nights screaming Trousseau’s name, tears in her eyes), and Thronè had gotten her freedom.
Osvald had entire notebooks filled with their stories, and read the more lighthearted of them to Elena often. Castti, though she still dreamt of travelling the continent to continue extending a helping hand, had agreed to take up a temporary position with the Apothecary’s Guild stationed in Conning Creek. Thronè was learning to bake, learning to create rather than destroy. Ochette was learning how to braid hair.
They had all changed, but something told Ochette it was for the better.
Especially when she tied Elena’s braid off with a ribbon and Castti agreed to let her braid her hair and Thronè cut the pie with a dagger once used for cutting throats.
Peach pie. Those always did grow well by the sea, Ochette remembers hearing someone say. She doesn’t remember where she heard it from.
“Elena, would you be a dear and get me a slice of pie?” Castti asked, and Elena smiled and nodded, scampering to her feet and getting a slice of fresh warm pie from the tin.
And so Castti ate pie that Thronè had made while Ochette braided her hair, and Osvald and Elena ate together while she asked him questions about his travels, and Miss Clarissa sat in her old armchair by the fireplace and read a book while sipping tea, seeming quite content to remain quiet in all the chatter that filled her home.
It must have been very lonely for Miss Clarissa, spending so long alone. Now her home was filled with life and love once more, and the smile that always seemed to grace her face told everyone all they needed to know about how she felt about it.
That night, as Thronè and Ochette made their way back to the inn, they talked and laughed and raced all the way to their room (which the innkeeper let them stay in for free, thanks to some strings pulled by Miss Clarissa). Ochette knew she would have to return to Toto’Haha soon, but she could allow herself to have a little bit of fun while she was away.
As she curled up in her bed at the inn, she drifted into a warm dream of eating pie and playing games with her family.
UUEUUEUEUUEEGHHGDGEHHEHEGEE!!,!!,!,!,!:!:!2?$,?:
MAVVIE THIS IS SO SWEET IM GOING TO FUCKING MELT
TH!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE FUCKIGN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!,!,!.!,!!?!!.!,!.!,! THEYM!!!!!!!!!!