Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

High above, sunbeams glare upon the fabric of a well worn coat. It’s all but an insulator; especially in this weather. Sweat gathers at the curve of Alice’s neck, beneath her gloved palms, and — unfortunately — across her forehead. She knows, even in the absence of a mirror, she’s close to looking a right awful mess. Or at least an overly ripe tomato. Which, truthfully, is not the best impression to leave upon a woman she’s never met, but it’s the hand she’s dealt, and not the first time she’s had to roll with the punches. 

It wasn’t particularly courteous to be here in the first place. This arrangement had been set months prior, of course — Mrs. Plinius was a rather difficult woman to get a hold of — but in light of recent events, it felt a little disingenuous not to reschedule. 

Her husband's passing had been front page news. Joshua Plinius, world renowned entomologist, found dead in his home. Cause: cardiac arrest, currently under investigation. Which, of course, was only followed by a multitude of passive aggressive comments towards Mrs. Plinius herself. The media finds it scandalous. Alice finds it apathetic. Journalism was a wayward field and many who claimed the title did not hold earnest intentions — something blearingly apparent in the article. They’re circling her like vultures, like she wasn’t grieving, like she couldn’t possibly be.

Alice finds it difficult to consider herself an outlier in this. Ignoring the dismissal of the maids and instead opting to look for Mrs. Plinius herself was certainly a choice. A.. breach in trust, before she’d even met her. It was going to seem questionable at best.

But her objective remained true to its original purpose — recent events be damned. She was not here to pry within the confines of her relationship, nor was she interested in picking apart the what-if’s. Melly Plinius was an intriguing woman — and a brilliant one at that, if Alice were to go by any of her academic papers. It would be a shame to let such an opportunity slip by, one she’s sure would not come again.

Alice wonders, fleetingly, as the scant trees give way to a blooming field and she spots a silhouette in the distance — how many of Joshua’s published findings had actually been hers.

“Mrs. Plinius?”

It’s a half shout, cautious in approach, careful not to startle her. A moment passes and the woman only crouches, focused on something just beyond Alice’s sight — but it’s obvious she hadn’t heard her. So Alice tries again, then thrice, and upon the fourth decides to take a different approach. 

She stands at the fence line and stares. A myriad of bees seemed particularly focused on this area — it must be their hives that she’s tending to. A veil enshrouds Mrs. Plinius’ visage, protective gear, and Alice thinks twice before crossing the threshold. Just this once, despite the balming heat, she’s glad to be covered from head to toe. Well, neck to toe. Which posed her current problem. Her entire face was bare.

That left two courses of action. She could simply take the risk of being stung — or, she could find a way to cover her face.

Alice was nothing if not ingenuitive. 

Carefully, she peels the coat from her arms to pull up behind her head. Laying the collar against her temple, she wraps the sleeves across her nose — snug enough to enshroud the lower half of her face while the top pulls across her forehead. She’d just have to risk being stung above the eyes.

Alice takes a deep breath, fastens the camera upon her shoulder, and jumps the fence.

Her boots hit the ground and pollen rises from beneath them. It’s a beautiful sight at first, like fairy dust against the wind. A sneeze whisks the thought away with it.

Her track towards Mrs. Plinius is slow, every step cautious, mindful of each insect that may be lurking beyond her sight. She sneezes again, then again, again, until she has no choice but to pause and take a breath; opting to look towards the sky. A single patch of white paints an otherwise endless cerulean sea, sunbeams casting an otherworldly glow upon it. She holds her breath as she watches, trying to focus on the beauty before her. Breathtaking.

“May I help you?”

Alice starts, head snapping down to follow the source of the voice. Mrs. Plinius stands before her, carefully veiled and at least three steps away. She can’t see her face through the mesh that surrounds it but it deters her none, extending a hand out in greeting. Alice smiles.

“My apologies. I’m—”

Her fingers curl before her nose ever begins to itch. A second later and she’s raising her elbow, sneezing again, but it’s muffled by her arm as much as the fabric at her face. She waits a second, then another, sneezes again and shakes her head with the notion. Perhaps not a very good first impression.

Alice waits a full thirty seconds before extending her hand once more, and by then her face is flushed from the heat as much as the tinge of embarrassment.

“Allergies.” Her voice is sheepish. Still, she smiles, gazing where the woman’s eyes would be. “I’m a journalist, Ollie Lamb. I believe we had an interview scheduled for today, though I do apologise for interrupting your work.”

For a moment, Mrs. Plinius only stares. She’s a remarkably tall woman, even from this distance. If she were to come any closer, Alice would have to crane her neck to look up at her.

..Which is exactly what happens. She takes a step, then another, careful in approach but no less purposeful. Alice thinks that perhaps it’s hard to hear her through the fabric upon her face, but then she comes close enough that Alice has no choice but to lower her hand. By then, she’s only a breath away.

She can feel the eyes boring into her through the mesh that binds them. Alice stares back all the same, hardly fazed, just a little.. surprised. 

A second passes. That turns to five, then ten, then twenty — but Alice is nothing if not patient.

“You have my apologies, it seems to have slipped my mind.” A careful incline of the woman’s head and the sun blears out from behind her veil, casting a blinding light upon Alice’s eyes. She squints in response. “Melly Plinius. Pleasure to meet you.”

She raises a hand to her face, blocking the sunlight from her gaze. Thankfully, Mrs. Plinius seemed rather undeterred by Alice’s haphazard attempt at a makeshift veil, or perhaps she was only politely refraining from comment.

“Pleasure to meet you as well.” She smiles, then, a habit but no less genuine. It turns a little more apologetic with her next words. “I’ll be quite frank. I was turned away at the door, so I came looking for you myself. I know that’s.. well, rather rude. But I couldn’t let the opportunity to converse with you slip by.”

She stares again, or Alice thinks she does. It’s difficult to see, even against the shade of her palm. Instead, she tilts her head, mirroring the woman before her, and leans the slightest bit closer. Ever so faintly, she can make out the curve of her eyes — but not quite the colour.

“Shall I consider that an act of trespassing?”

Her voice is carefully even, posture relaxed, despite the way she holds herself. It could easily be mistaken for stiff, almost staunch, but the ease to her shoulders betrays that. Alice hums.

“It would be an accurate deduction.” Her tone is lighthearted. The hand at her face lowers back to her side and the woman before her uses the opportunity to lean closer. Enough so that if Alice rose a tad further, the mesh would touch her nose. That in itself feels a lot like a silent challenge. “Though if you’d rather I leave, I will. No questions asked.”

Perhaps she should be a little unnerved by how close Mrs. Plinius stands, but she isn’t. It’s certainly peculiar, though if anything, it seems a lot more like she’s sizing her up. A test, of sorts. 

Alice was never one to back down. 

“Are you truly so inclined to know of my personal life?” There’s an odd mix of neutrality and amusement beneath her tone, but the latter doesn’t seem quite genuine. She gets the distinct feeling this isn’t exactly the first time someone has been so bold. “To know more of my late husband's passing?”

“No.”

Alice smiles, then, though there’s little reason given the fabric across her face. It’s an attempt to show earnestness, to soften her gaze, to put the woman at ease. 

“My reason for being here hasn’t changed. Your work is incredibly vital,” She blinks. Up this close, it’s easy to hear the rasp of breath against the veil she looks to. Easier, still, to feel the sweat upon her neck. “Your studies have made quite an impact on the field of Entomology. I’ve read what I could find, and..”

The slightest tense of her shoulders, almost indistinguishable. 

“..I think it’s important to highlight your role in that. To uphold it, actually.”

Silence. A beat passes, then another. She presses her forefinger and thumb together while she waits. It’s hard to hear Melly breathe now. Actually, Alice isn't sure she’s breathing at all.

But she must, because it comes out a moment later in the form of a sigh. More defeated than anything else.

“You’re under the impression that people would care,” Only now does the woman pull away. At least, she leans back. “They don’t.”

“I do.”

A tilt of the woman’s head. 

“And why is that, Miss Lamb?”

Silence. She chews the inside of her lip.

“You’re a brilliant woman.” Her voice is open as it is earnest. “While your husband may have made his own mark upon the field, I’m not here for him — or because of him. I’m here for you.”

She seems to contemplate that. It’s difficult to gauge when her body language gave so little on its own — she’s still as a statue, and with the veil covering her face, Alice can’t quite discern if she’s even still looking at her. 

..No. That wasn’t true. The weight of her gaze hadn’t eased in the slightest. 

“..You’re a very curious woman.”

“I get that quite often.”

“So you often trespass upon other people's property?”

It’s hard not to smile. Perhaps that doesn’t paint her in the greatest light, but she’s humoured, regardless.

“Every now and then, yes.”

A hum resounds from the woman before her, half amused, half thoughtful.

“..I’m afraid I must decline your interview.” Her voice is carefully neutral, though not as guarded as it had been earlier. “But if your interest lies in Entomology, I would be happy to share what I know. As.. acquaintances."

Alice’s smile breaks into a grin.

“I’d be honored.”

“However,” The woman’s hand raises, careful to reach out and just as careful to slip past her gaze. Something presses to the top of her head gently, gone a moment later, and when that same hand comes back into view she sees why. A bee sits upon Mrs. Plinius’ index finger, precarious and gentle all the same. “There’s a question I must ask you.”

For a moment, Alice only stares. Wings flutter, all but content in its place upon a gloved hand. The sight is.. interesting. Sweet, in a very specific way. 

“By all means.”

Her index finger raises and the bee takes to the sky. Alice watches until she can’t, until it dives far beyond the woman’s shoulder. She smiles.

“Oftentimes an author will use a pen name in place of their real name. An alias,” A tilt of the woman’s head and Alice knows for certain she’s being watched very closely. “For their safety. Anonymity removes you from target, after all.”

She hums, a thoughtful sound. Alice gazes up at her, unwavering as she is sure. 

“While I understand journalism does not follow that exact path, I do find they parallel one another in certain ways,” This time, she doesn’t lean down as she speaks. It’s unnecessary when Alice knows she holds the weight of her attention. “Am I correct in assuming you have taken similar precautions?”

Perceptive, if not a tad paranoid. It isn’t quite an accusation, but it didn’t seem unwarranted either. Alice takes a moment to contemplate those words. It would pose a risk to divulge that information, especially to a woman she had just met. But any friendship built on a lie would not be a friendship at all. Perhaps it was unwise to even consider such a grand leap of faith — yet she can’t quite bring herself to shy away.

Taking a step back, Alice raises her hand in greeting once more. Then, she smiles.

“Alice.”

This time, Mrs. Plinius accepts the offer and she knows there’s a smile beneath that veil when she speaks.

“Just Alice?”

“Just Alice.”

—

“I appreciate the discretion.”

A finger taps absently against the curve of her elbow. Arms crossed, attention split between the mauve plant before her and the woman that stands ever patient, Alice turns — half hesitant, half contemplative.

“..However, I don’t wish for you to feel obligated.” Melly’s presence is a tad too close. Not enough to feel oppressive, but enough to know the action has purpose. “If you'd rather be truthful with the other manor guests, I’d understand.”

A thoughtful hum in response. There was little difference between the veil and mask she wore — even with the lower half of her face bare, it was difficult to gauge anything from that alone. Which left posture and stance, her most reliable fallback in deciphering the puzzle before her. Both a blessing and a curse, for Melly never seemed to stray very far from her person. 

“It would be.. safer to withhold that information from them,” A tilt of her head. The action seems almost curious. “..Miss Lamb.”

Eyes are the windows to the soul. Is that why she is so eager to know of the color they hold? Why Melly is ever so insistent to gaze upon her own?

“I agree,” Another careful tap against the fabric of her coat. “But my point still stands. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re hardly asking the world of me.”

A breath upon Alice’s cheek and it’s not so unusual how close she seems to stand. If anything, the behaviour was relatively ordinary. For her. Perhaps it would disconcert any other individual, but Alice was not so easily swayed.

She stares a second longer. Another tap against her coat, another hum as she thinks. Then, carefully, cautiously — a hand raises, wrapping itself gently beneath the curve of Melly’s shoulder. She tenses in response, lips pulling to the slightest frown, but Alice is half certain the action is instinctive. It only lasts a moment before ease winds its way upon her skin.

Alice smiles, small but genuine.

“Thank you.”

—

Moths, by nature, are peculiar insects. A common theory within the field of entomology was that, simply put, such ardent attraction to light relates only to navigation — a way of guiding their path. Curious creatures, untraditionally speaking. Species does not affect this factor, for their trajectory adjusts at the source of any light; be it moon or sun or flame. She’s observed this behaviour on many occasions; thrice, upon an open flame. A moth cannot distinguish between different types of light, and thus, will burn if it flutters too near. An unfortunate practice.

One, in particular, has found its way here. Opisthograptis luteolata. Brimstone. Remarkably golden wings that flicker under the moon and sun. They are beautiful creatures, easily distinguished, and just as easily captured. Nocturnal by nature; an irony not lost on her. 

Brimstone, or even Icarus. They are not so dissimilar.

For now, it’s best to observe. Multiple species inhabit this area. Two are cause for concern; one whose indifference is but a shield, the other whose scrutiny can be passed off as curiosity. The last, she is only half wary of. Loxosceles. Recluse, perhaps by nature, or rather despite it. Time is needed to establish a proper rapport.

Above all else, Icarus captures her attention far more than she should. At first, it was simple to assume those fluttering wings were the reason for her constant presence. Now, however, that proved only half true. Everything gravitated towards her, born of the sun itself. Even the recluse doesn’t seem to find her company so troublesome. Such an.. interesting concept.

But was she truly any different? Tucked within her false semblance of safety, a home away from home. The insects hold her company as much as the veil she hides behind. Icarus, too. While she hardly shies away from it, she’s no less wary. 

(Enraptured, as well. Wings lined in starlight are hard not to behold.)

Perhaps it’s better to view it as an opportunity for examination. Kindness lay behind those golden eyes, more true and genuine than the world ever beckons. Humanity, with all its cruelness and justification for such behaviour. Icarus could be no different.

…

No. That was.. a far-fetched assumption in this case. An outlier. Those wings were real as the sky above, that smile so terribly sincere. It would not take much to pluck the wings from her, twist the heart to scorn. A cat had nine lives but did it remain that way with each one gone?

No.

…

No, but then again, it needn’t lose any in the first place.

“..And what of you, Mrs. Plinius?”

It’s difficult not to frown. The Phasmid wears a plausible cloak, enough to blend in — enough to be pleasant, even. It would’ve been simple to accept that at face value, had the labyrinth before her matched the image of her memories. But there are layers to his skin, tightly wound together by courtesy and a turnabout way of kindness. Perhaps, given time, she would strip them away. Just as he attempted the same of her.

“Pardon?”

It’s the only acknowledgement he receives, much more occupied by Icarus, the flutter of golden wings. She sits opposite the table, perfectly imperfect, an image of poise and grace. Her eyes are sincere, but not to be mistaken for naive. She’s impeccably perceptive — a note to hold with the utmost caution. 

A chuckle resounds to her left, but her focus remains ahead.

“Are you enjoying your time at the manor thus far?”

Beside her, the Beetle grunts — much too occupied by the plate he’s all but inhaling. He holds the elegance of a caged animal and perhaps he fancies himself one — the polar opposite of Icarus. Weighed by woes she doesn’t care to find. Weighed by selfishness and greed.

She doesn’t need to look to know the Recluse would rather be anywhere but here.

“As much as one can,” Only now does her gaze finally draw from Icarus, head turning — a deliberate gesture. “Considering the company.”

It’s perfectly even, void of the contempt that brews with each passing conversation. Campbell snorts, mumbling beneath his breath, before wolfing down another piece of bread. Mirth draws beneath Orpheus’ eyes, lips twitching, but it’s the Recluse that speaks first.

“I concur.”

It’s equally as even, gaze fixed on the man opposite him, and she gets the distinct feeling it’s not meant as a personal jab — but rather, a simple fact.

“You wound me,” Amusement, despite how fond he seemed of escalating things. “I, for one, rather enjoy the company. We would all do well to make friends in such an unfamiliar place, no?”

In her peripheral, Icarus shifts.

“I agree,” There’s a careful encouragement beneath her words. She smiles; small but sincere. “However, that isn’t really something you can force. Friendship is earned.”

Melly watches him as he watches Icarus. The curve of his lips seems much less sincere, a tad too close to serene. 

“Of course,” He inclines his head, the perfect image of understanding. This time, she does frown. “Trust can be built over time. I propose we share something about ourselves, however small. A.. foundation, so to speak.”

She swallows the scorn that rises to her throat. Perhaps Kreiburg shares that sentiment, because his lips pull to the slightest frown. Barely noticeable. 

“Would you mind starting us off, Miss Lamb?”

Icarus inclines her head. She seems contemplative for a moment, fingers drawing upward; enshrouding the pendant at her neck.

“This was given to me,” She smiles. There’s a touch of melancholy beneath her eyes, despite how bright they seem. “By my mother, who passed away last year. It’s been in my family for generations, so I suppose you could call it a heirloom.”

Campbell is decidedly quiet beside her, all but ignoring the conversation. For a split second, his gaze draws upward, eyeing Icarus with nothing less than disinterest. But that couldn’t be true, no, otherwise he wouldn’t have looked at all.

Orpheus hums.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sickly sincerity. His eyes betray the same, but the image of the man he had been remains lodged in her mind. “Perhaps you and Mrs. Plinius may find a.. camaraderie, of sorts, on account of her husband passing away around the same time.”

That crescent smile turns towards her, bathed in an evening sun yet to reach his eyes. It’s a stark contrast to the woman beside him, open and earnest and guarded all the same.

“Mourning is a rather fickle thing, after all.” The words are deceptively open, but she can sense the catch beneath them. “I imagine it’s rather difficult to endure alone.”

An odd sort of blankness seeps beneath those eyes. For a moment, fleetingly, his smile errs the line of strain. But it’s gone the moment he blinks and, truthfully, it’s not so unbelievable to wonder if she’d simply imagined it.

Only, she hadn’t.

“Many things you must endure alone,” Her words are careful, precise, picking apart each minuscule change in expression. “That is simply life.”

A hum in ascent, but there’s that clouded look in his eyes once more. A crack in the careful foundation of an otherwise impenetrable wall. He’s not so much looking at her, but rather, through her.

“My turn.” Campbell stands and the action is so abrupt the table shakes. It’s enough to pull Orpheus from whatever reverie he’d fallen into. “I find small talk pointless. So, if we’re all friends now, I’m done here.”

He leaves without another word, followed only by a fluttering Goodnight! from Icarus herself. She doesn’t bother watching, much too occupied by the mask Orpheus holds and how carefully it’s reassembled. Not carefully enough.

“You seem rather troubled, Orpheus,” She smiles, then, ever so slightly. It’s far from sincere. “Perhaps it is you in need of a friend.”

That crescent smile twists his face, head inclining, and the slightest hint of teeth gleam beneath his lips. In her peripheral, Kreiburg frowns. 

“Is that your way of offering, Mrs. Plinius?”

She’s tempted to scoff; to scorn and really, she could. None of it would be seen through her veil. Instead, she looks to Icarus, who constitutes the perfect image of patience. Evening light filters across her eyes, painting them in a warm summer glow. Like honey, she thinks, and then — No, like starlight.

“Trust is earned,” Her gaze doesn't pull from Icarus for a single moment. Perhaps she senses that, too, because her eyes turn curious. “You’ve yet to share something of your own.”

Icarus smiles, then, like she knows of the gaze set upon her. It’s a delicate little thing, earnest and true. A stark contrast to the atmosphere — the frown Kreiburg still wears, and the smirk of the man across from him. 

“Very well,” His gaze flicks to Kreiburg for a moment, but that only makes him frown more. “I harbor a fondness for music. Symphony, to be exact. Something Frederick and I share; Miss Lamb, too.”

His smile is nothing less than sanguine; a portrait of politeness and pleasantry. She hears a tsk to her left, followed by the scrape of a chair.

“That’s Kreiburg to you,” He stands, both palms brushing down the front of his collar. “I see I must remind you, not for the first time, that you and I are nothing alike.”

It’s the most emotion he’s ever shown. Orpheus moves to speak, but the sharpness beneath those eyes seems to halt that notion. Or, perhaps, unbelievably so; he simply chooses not to. 

“Good day.”

Kreiburg leaves in the same fashion as Campbell, disgruntled and unamused. Which seemed to be the running theme of anyone who conversed with Orpheus.

..Except Icarus. An outlier. She herself is not exempt from the discontent he seemed to beseech upon those around him, but Icarus was. A puzzle to be solved, a moth that flutters towards the sun. An unreachable goal yet it deters her little. How.. vexing.

“And then there were three,” His amusement only serves to test her patience. But to leave would be throwing Icarus to the wolves, a notion that unsettles her. “That leaves you, Mrs. Plinius.”

He smiles once more, not unlike a fox. Does Icarus see it, too? Do those golden eyes behold the teeth before her? Or does she find herself enraptured by that peculiar gaze? A trail of breadcrumbs to lead her everywhere and nowhere.

No. She is curious, but far from naive.

…

Yes. Curiosity does not save you from naivety.

“Phasmids are intriguing insects,” Her head tilts towards him, but her gaze remains set on Icarus. “They are masters of camouflage, so to speak, able to adapt to their surroundings in response to predators. However,” This time, she smiles, and it’s far from a lilting thing. “They often confuse themselves in the process. Even caution has its downsides.” 

Whatever filters through Icarus’ eyes, she can’t quite discern. But she’s staring at her rather intently, or, she’s trying to. As perceptive as she was, there’s only so much you can gather without beholding the full expanse of someone’s face — their eyes in particular. At least, she’s been told. There’s a strain of her lips, ever so slight, she’s thinking, but it’s Orpheus that speaks first.

“Forgive me,” He inclines his head, hand gesturing. “But I do believe the point was to share something about ourselves, rather than our work.”

It’s a double barrelled statement. He knows full well that there is more to her words, that she wouldn’t have said them for nothing. But she’s not so.. kind, as to elaborate. Or give him a moment longer of her time.

“Perhaps another time.”

The words are even. She stands from her place, head tilting to gaze upon Icarus. The woman before her simply stares, perhaps expectant, perhaps simply waiting.

“Would you join me in the Greenhouse, Miss Lamb? I’d appreciate your help with something in particular.”

A half truth. A lamb will never be safe in the presence of a fox.

Icarus smiles, inclining her head.

“Of course. I’d be happy to.”

But a moth is equally unsafe in the presence of an open flame. 

—

“You’re not very fond of Orpheus, are you?”

Caution is a flimsy shield to curiosity, for curiosity seems fond of guiding the lamb to slaughter. It is worth the effort to diverge the path, but no less difficult to maintain it.

“I am wary of him, yes.” A careful turn and the sun bleeds out from behind her, casting Icarus in the faintest of glows. The evening draws ever near and in its dying light lay a portrait unmarred by scorn; one that will remain so. “I urge you to be just as cautious.”

Icarus is nothing less than a golden silhouette. As the days wear on it becomes abundantly clear how little that has to do with the sun.

“Why so?”

Inquisitive and perplexing. Admirable qualities, in their own way. Now, they only bring that odd strained feeling within her chest. 

“I find him..” A downward tilt of her head. Even the slightest affliction would not go unnoticed by that ever curious gaze. “Insincere. Untrustworthy.”

Only a moments pause before Icarus’ hand reaches out, careful to enshroud the one at Melly’s side. Reassurance was such a foreign concept to her, yet so very.. Alice. Those eyes bear nothing but sincerity because of course she was never anything less than kind. It is irksome, if only for the fact that many people did not deserve it.

It’s simple to question whether she does, too.

A gentle squeeze draws her from the thought. Icarus smiles, another reassurance, and it’s difficult not to bask in that a moment longer than she should. 

So she chases it away. Uses the hold against her, pulls her forward, earns a startled gasp with the motion and now she’s leaning down — never so close that her veil brushes Icarus’ skin, but enough that she has no choice but to look at her.

“Heed my warning.”

There are times, like now, so few and far between — those eyes flicker with something she can’t quite discern. Ever searching, ever curious. Perhaps that’s why, rather than being deterred, Icarus leans closer. The action brings her veil gently upon sun kissed skin. An array of freckles line Icarus’ cheeks — a scant few even dotting her forehead. But it’s those eyes that hold her attention — autumn hues, the sweetest light. Breathtaking.

Perhaps she finds her answer, for a moment passes and she carefully leans back. It’s difficult not to follow her as she does. 

She smiles, then, fingers flexing beneath her hold. A perfect picture of ease, the furthest thing from unsettled. It’s.. unusual. Different. Warm.

“I’ll be careful,” Then, because of course everything she does is tender, Icarus’ free hand reaches upward — clasping her shoulder. Just as gentle as the first time. “You have my word.”

The lightest brush of her thumb and it’s so utterly tender that something twists in Melly’s throat. Harsh and warm and sweet all at once. 

She swallows. Then, she sighs.

“I hope so.”

—

Lavender holds an ever-adored spot amongst her favourite colours. A sweet hue to lift the environment as much as it enshrouds, for its namesake is ever blooming and wild. Sourly fragrant. Effortlessly beautiful.

Which is why it’s particularly odd to be found in the Greenhouse. Of course, Lavender *did hold a number of healing properties — often considered pleasing to the eye, just as well — but other than its fragrance, Alice can’t quite ascertain its purpose here. Lavender was resilient, capable of enduring even the most turbulent weather, short of a flood. She wasn’t a botanist by any means and what little knowledge she had drew simply from curiosity — but, still, why foster it inside?

Another addition to the myriad of questions she’s yet to answer. For now, she holds her tongue. Melly’s fingers squeeze beneath the shears in hand, pruning with an accuracy of years honed. Alice watches it fall to the concrete below, lifeless but unwithered, a perfect remnant of beauty. 

She’s careful to lean down, guiding the stem between forefinger and thumb. A simple twirl and even from this distance the fragrance hits her nose. Pungent. A wonderful balance of sour and sweet. She smiles. 

“Munstead. English Lavender.”

Melly’s voice is calm as it is thoughtful. Her attention remains fixed on the plant before them — another cut, another stem to grace the others. This time, Alice brings the flower to her nose, inhaling gently — and abruptly sneezes.

The woman’s hand halts beneath a bud. A slight turn of her head is the only indicator Alice receives to know her attention has shifted. That, and the uncanny fact that she can always tell when Melly is looking at her. 

She lowers the flower once more, though it remains within her grasp.

“I’m quite alright,” A rosey tint across her nose to accompany the words. Alice smiles, half bashful, half apologetic. “Though I’m afraid I have rather fierce allergies.”

Melly’s gaze remains transfixed a moment longer. It’s simple to gather, even through the veil, that those eyes are pulling her apart piece by piece. Alice has never seen them but she doesn’t need to. Melly’s gaze holds weight. Not enough to make her uncomfortable though perhaps it should, perhaps it would to another.

But not to Alice. She doesn’t falter, not for a moment. Instead, she gazes down at her. Then, she smiles.

Another cut. Melly’s attention shifts back to the task before them.

“Yes,” It’s absentminded. Factual, more than anything. She draws back, shears in hand. “I remember.”

It’s a little humorous to think that she does. Their first and only meeting might’ve been an insignificant memory to anyone else. Not exactly a fact Alice takes personally — after all, many people found it uncomfortable to be interviewed point blank. She supposes, almost sheepishly, that a woman so perceptive would recall little details just as well. They were alike in that sense. A comforting notion.

She crouches beside her, careful to tuck her skirt beneath her knees. 

“I’m a little touched that you do,” Earnest and open. Alice’s attention draws from the plant back to Melly’s visage, half turned away from her. “I truly wouldn’t have been surprised — or offended — if our meeting became a passing memory to you.”

She’s not sure if it’s her words or something else why Melly’s lips pull to the slightest frown. An apology lay on her tongue, one that she withholds; for it’s a knee jerk reaction above all else. But a part of her is still curious. Ever searching. What slipped beneath her mind to cause such a response?

Patience was a virtue. Perhaps one she had a less than immaculate grasp on — but one as important as action. A battle to be picked. Choose wisely, Alice.

So, she waits, and she doesn’t need to wait very long before Melly turns to her. There’s an odd sort of tenseness beneath her jaw that piques Alice’s curiosity. A second passes, then five, then ten. She counts to fifteen before Melly inclines her head.

“You are far from forgettable.”

Her tone is clipped and kind all at once. Alice hums, brow arching.

“How so?”

Gentle, for that peculiar sort of edge still seeps along Melly’s shoulders. She doesn’t quite know what to expect — but what she doesn’t expect is for Melly to reach upward, careful and more unsure than she’s ever been. Careful, still, as she traces the curve of her jaw. It’s feather light, almost unnoticeable, until it trails beneath her chin — one finger extending to push upward ever so slightly.

The touch has purpose, for Melly rarely touched anyone. 

Alice stares. Exhales. Waits.

“You are not unlike..” The slightest strain of her lips. Hesitation — no, contemplation. “Heaven’s light.”

She can’t quite mask the surprise that breaks across her shoulders. The words are.. earnest; borderline reverent. It catches Alice entirely off guard. What a heavy claim to make. Not one that she finds particularly founded. Perhaps a lie, then, something sweet to dull the senses, or — no. A conclusion without evidence made it a simple assumption. Even hunches could lead to dead ends. 

Still, Melly’s touch lingers a moment longer. If she didn’t know any better (Careful, Alice.) — it almost seemed as if she were savouring it.

Luckily, she does know better.

(Careful, Alice.)

“At the very least, I imagine those who believe in such would conjure an image akin to you.”

There’s an odd sort of longing beneath those words, half masked; a failed attempt at neutrality. It’s enough to give her pause; enough to make her wonder. Melly was not an unkind woman. Melly was open and guarded all at once. Melly was peculiar. Intelligent. Sweet.

“Would you consider yourself amongst them?”

She feels that gaze long after Melly’s hand retreats. Sunlight blares along the outline of her cheek, casting a gentle silhouette that Alice aches to glimpse in its entirety. Curious, but not enough to push the line. Trust was earned, after all. 

Melly seems almost contemplative. In a way, it’s.. interesting, trying to gauge her thoughts on body language alone. There’s nothing to be drawn from the lower half of her face; a politely neutral mask. Sometimes (perhaps a little too often) she ponders the idea of how expressive Melly’s eyes might be.

“Not quite,” Only now does her focus draw elsewhere, hand raising to clip yet another wayward stem. “I’ve never been particularly inclined to religion.”

A half truth, something she’s unwilling to disclose. Perhaps it’s unwise to view the words so critically, but there’s that gnawing feeling Alice can’t quite ignore. Another missing puzzle piece to the enigma that was simply Melly.

Even the slightest push posed risk. However.. it was difficult not to be somewhat curious. 

A cluttered sound rips the thought from her grasp. Pins ripple across her skin; an automatic response, and while she doesn’t quite flinch, she can’t withhold the gasp that claws up from her throat. It’s an unsettling little thing, but not so much that she frowns.

Her attention draws to the source of the noise — eyes falling upon the shears still in Melly’s hand, blade now resting gently against the concrete below. It should not bother her as much as it does, but that line of thinking prickles against her brain so easily — a draft beneath an ever stubborn window.

There’s an odd sort of pause that follows, the kind which breeds doubt. It’s almost laughable how often she has to swallow that, or rather, ignore it. A stray thought that snowballs into a jumbled mess against her psyche. Usually they come in the early hours of the morning, mixed within exhaustion and restlessness, a haunting shadow. Which makes it all the more irksome that they’re here now.

Perhaps Melly knows that. Perhaps she sees that peculiar sort of weakness Alice tries so hard to bind, layer upon layer, deep within her heart. Like a match to curtained fabric, she strikes — literally, metal grating upon concrete like an out of tune piano. That ringing noise ricochetes within her mind once more.

Alice doesn’t frown. She doesn’t so much as flinch but it’s a practiced notion, a skill she’s honed over the years. Melly’s gaze is still upon the plant before them but she’s sure her focus is elsewhere.

Another strike and she feels her face twitch. One more and her brows draw downward ever so slightly.

“Lavender is as much of a pollinator as it is a deterrent for insects,”

The next splits through both her ears. It’s an effort not to frown, even more so to convince herself it isn’t done to provoke her. That would be.. wrong. An assumption with no proper basis.

“It attracts various types of bees, as well as butterflies. But it’s mostly kept for the oil it produces,”

Another, sharper this time, dragged upon uneven ground in a slow and agonising notion. Beforehand, it was simple to think the action was absentminded — but it felt much less so now.

“Which is what makes it such a proficient repellent. Certain insects — moths, for example — aren’t as fond of the pungent odour like humans are.”

She can’t withhold her frown now, fingers twitching in their place upon her knees. There’s that burning sensation rising within her chest, clawing beneath her eyes — searching for an escape that will spill right through her lips if she’s none too careful.

But she is, she’s always careful.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Discomfort stains her tone and it’s an effort to force it back down. She raises one hand, gesturing towards the shears in Melly’s grasp. “But could you stop that?”

A stifled kind of silence follows. It’s difficult to tell with her mind so frayed — when her chest feels tight and her thoughts are never quite right like this. Melly’s head angles ever so slightly towards her and it’s the first time her gaze has felt disconcerting. No, no. That feeling had already been there beforehand. 

“I apologise,” Alice offers a half smile that feels a tad too forced. “It makes me a little uncomfortable.”

There’s this small, split second where Melly’s lip tilts upward — baring the smallest hint of teeth. When she blinks again, her expression is perfectly neutral, and that fact is so odd Alice wonders if she simply imagined it. 

Which grows difficult to believe when that prickling sound tears across her mind once more. This time, she does flinch.

Another strike. Alice inhales. Exhales. Confusion sweeps her heart as much as her face.

Again. Rippling beneath her skin.

Again. Crawling within her nerves.

Again. Tearing the edge of her eyes.

She frowns. Flinches (again). Gnaws the inside of her cheek (again). Bites her tongue (again). Bites her fingers (again). Hiding somewhere cold (again). Somewhere safe (again). Somewhere alone.

(Again.)

“Melly,”

That voice is distant. Lost within the fabric so tightly wound at her throat. 

“Please, stop.”

Teeth clenched, half bare. Something slithers against her spine and her face twists, head shaking. 

“A simple storm can wear the life from these plants,”

Again. Much slower, drawn out so achingly that it ripples across her chest up through to her brain. Alice stands, tries to, but Melly’s hand is quick to grasp her wrist. A vice. She flinches against both.

“Let go.”

“..However, they’re much safer kept indoors. Far from any foul weather and pests alike.”

There’s desperation in how fiercely she begins to struggle, barely catching the words, but Melly’s grip only tightens with each pull. It’s madness more than anything when Alice’s free hand shoots out, clawing for escape, for anything — and curls around the veil that sits ever so gently upon Melly’s hat.

For a moment, everything freezes. She feels, very acutely, the air within her lungs, the pins across her skin, and Melly’s gaze as it sharpens upon her.

For the sweetest, most gentle moment, it’s utterly silent.

Then, she pulls. The veil lifts and in its wake lay a scar that curls up over the bridge of Melly’s nose. Those lips pull downward, then back, teeth bare in a stricken grimace that almost makes her feel guilty. It’s the most of her face that she’s ever seen and likely all she ever will, but it works — Melly’s hold releases and Alice tumbles back, elbows bracing against the concrete below. 

Something clatters to the ground and it must be the shears — because she blinks and both of Melly’s hands are clutching her hat, forcing it down, fingers shaking with the notion. She’s curled inward ever so slightly and her whole body convulses, like she’s sick — no, like she’s scared.

Something clicks within Alice’s mind. A piece of the puzzle now has a place.

Alice inhales. Exhales. Steadies her pounding heart and forces herself not to claw at the concrete below.

Melly’s posture turns rigid. Then, slowly — carefully, she looks up.

She freezes. Blinks.

For a moment, all they do is stare at one another. Then, as the silence morphs to an uncomfortable embrace, Alice stands.

There’s an apology upon her tongue, for the grief she has wrought. But something glints against the corner of her eye — sunlight upon metal. The shears.

She pauses. Frowns. Glances back towards Melly. The silence is stifling.

Alice turns towards the door, and leaves without a word.

—

Everything within this manor was nothing less than disheartening. It’s difficult to convince herself, though Alice knows (knows, knows, knows), it’s solely her tattered nerves why she thinks so. That once the irksome ringing against her ears subsided — once she had a proper moment to breathe — none of it would feel as burdensome as it does right now.

Still, she can’t quite help the twitch of her hands, can’t quite withhold the urge to press her thumb along the length of her index finger — a habit, urge, impulse more than anything else. It was better than scraping her nails across skin. Better than peeling back her cuticles like she had so many times before.

Her gloves served more than one purpose. A protector as much as a barrier.

It’s difficult to grapple with any possible solution. Not unusual, given the circumstances. Her mind works on autopilot as she traverses the corridors, thankful for the lack of company. At least, this once.

It gave her time to think. To ease the tension within her heart as much as her shoulders. She comes to a standstill before her destination, one hand raised, half caught between confusion and that small, small sense of anger. Not as small as she’d like it to be.

Her fingers curl about the handle, and then she hears it — a soft melody. Tender and.. mournful. It’s enough to give her pause, enough to bring her closer. The tune is beautiful as it is melancholic. Perhaps it’s strange to simply stand and listen, but she’s more than a little reluctant to encroach on such a performance. 

She hasn’t heard Mr. Kreiburg play since the morning she arrived. It’s.. peaceful. Calming. And, as she finds all music, beautiful. 

The symphony comes to an end much sooner than she’d like. With its closing note, Alice contemplates returning to her room, but a voice disrupts the thought — slightly disgruntled, tinged in annoyance.

“I know you’re there.”

..Damn.

Swallowing the twist of embarrassment that climbs her throat, Alice gathers her bearings and pushes the door open.

“My apologies, Mr. Kreiburg.” She ducks her head upon entering, careful not to smile — lest it be taken wrongly. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

He’s half turned towards her, still sitting before the piano, brows furrowed ever so slightly. She’s regarded with a particular kind of wariness — the kind that only solitude brings. Alice wonders, not unkindly, whether that was something thrust upon him, or a decision he made. 

Mr. Kreiburg frowns. Then, he stands.

“It’s just as rude to lurk within the shadows,” One hand raises to dust a lapel. She has the distinct feeling it’s a habit more than anything else. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He’s already walking towards the door by the time she speaks, fingers twitching, hopeful and bold and curious.

“Would you,” Careful, gentle. “Perhaps — be so kind as to honour me with a duet?”

She half expects him to continue on his way. Instead, he pauses at the threshold. A second passes, then another, and from this angle she can’t quite see his face — but she can see the etch of hesitation along his shoulders. 

There’s reluctance in his voice. But, hidden beneath it, quiet curiosity.

“..You play?”

It’s difficult not to grin.

“I do,” Still, she does smile, small but genuine. “Not nearly as well as you. But, I do.”

After a moment's hesitation, his head turns towards her. Those eyes aren’t sharp the way Orpheus’ are, nor the way she has seen her own be — but they’re searching; curious and wary all at once. Downturned, melancholic.

But he doesn’t frown. He doesn’t move closer to the door, either.

“Fantasia.”

A question. She inclines her head.

“..Franz Schubert?” Her arm sweeps towards the piano. This time, Alice doesn’t bother to hide her excitement. “Shall we?”

A pregnant pause. He stares. Then, he inclines his head.

“..Very well.”

—

The evening brings little respite. Alice supposes, half sheepish, half watchful; it’s only a natural affair within this haunted tower. Wearied and withered; perhaps your last night, forced back to the recess of her psyche. Not a very helpful thought, but not the first it’s ever come to mind, either. 

Sleep evades her. Or, rather, she evades it. 

Her bow is missing. Taken. An irksome and curious happenstance, for not once has she ever misplaced it. Sitting at her desk, one hand tapping methodically upon its surface, she ponders. To let her mind rest was not an option. A trap awaits her, wedged carefully against the line of subconsciousness. Unavoidable, but one she could obstruct until exhaustion bore its hand.

At least, Alice likes to think so. She likes to think many things. That Melly is her friend, that Mr. Kreiburg could be, that she could wear Mr. Campbell down just as well. Perhaps Orpheus, too, with all his half sincerity; tempered glass of kindness. Everyone had layered themselves so precariously, sheltered from the arduous weather. So quietly mistrustful, so plainly.. unhappy. 

She’s not quite exempt from that. More so now, with that chittering nausea overhead. A voice speaks, childlike, lock your door. Anxious and overbearing. But she’d done just that, thrice now. The thought persists.

It is easier to doubt in these moments. Easier, still, to ruminate; ever the same. You could be wrong, she thinks, and then — stifling, suffocating, fearful — what if you imagined it?

Her hand raises automatically, teeth grit, a finger pressing to the seam of her lips. No. She remembers the lock beneath her grasp, remembers how it felt. Cold metal, a turn of the handle. It hadn’t given way. 

…

Don’t.

…

The thought persists. A sigh presses through her teeth. Alice stands.

To no surprise, it is locked. Of course it is, because she’d checked four times now. But the unnerving feeling remains and it’s an effort not to frown. 

Instead, she breathes, counts to ten and back down. It’s silent, save for her beating heart. Not a very comforting notion when her mind was anything but.

Then, after a moment, after that gangly feeling begins to wedge itself beneath her skin — she hears it. The patter of footsteps. Gentle and attentive. Her mind blanks. Or, rather, it stops beating against her skull.

Alice inhales. Presses her ear to the doorframe and hears it — them — approach. Curiosity blooms in her heart as much as prudence. It was rather late to be exploring the manor, no?

Perhaps they aren’t quite doing so, because a gentle knock resounds behind her door. She’s careful to peel herself away, shuffling about in an attempt to mask the fact that she’d already been standing there. It almost makes her feel silly. Almost. 

One hand raises, hesitant, fingers twitching upon cold metal. She.. wasn’t exactly in the mood for company, and it wouldn’t be odd not to answer, considering the hour. But she was curious, and curiosity was never easily stifled. 

Alice sighs. The lock gives way so jarringly easy.

She half expects it to be someone from the staff. She half expects it to be Orpheus, too, for a reason she can’t quite explain.

But it’s neither. It isn’t a man at all, for that matter. A veiled figure stands before her, oddly dressed; candle in hand. The former stands out against her nightgown. It’s the first time Alice has ever seen her like so, but the veil is an odd match in the absence of formal attire. Like a misshapen puzzle piece. A safety net.

“Mrs. Plinius,” She breathes it as easily as anything. “May I help you?”

Melly’s lip twitches downward. It isn’t quite a frown, but there’s obvious displeasure in the notion.

“Melly,” Her fingers flex upon the candlestick. “It’s simply.. Melly. There’s no need to be so formal with me.”

Firm and unyielding, but not unkind. Another veil, of sorts, for Alice knows what it is to be wistful. She stares in lieu of a response and, unbidden, is struck by the memory of Melly’s twisted expression.

She wonders, briefly, if Melly hates that title, or simply hates when Alice uses it. 

“Okay,” Gentle. Because she could be, because there wasn’t any reason not to be. Yet. “Melly.”

Something eases along Melly’s shoulders, simple to discern without the layers so often adorned. Perhaps it was both, then.

“I won’t trouble you very long,” She raises her free hand, palm outstretched — and to Alice’s utter surprise, within her grasp, lay her bow she’d searched high heaven for. “I only wished to return this.”

She’s a little.. flabbergasted, all things considered. She also has half a mind to accuse Melly right then and there. The thrum of curiosity seemed not so dissimilar to anger, for her chest burned bright, fingers twitching and teeth gnawing her inner lip. She doesn’t dare frown, doesn’t so much as blink, relieved and discomforted all the same.

Her own hand raises, tenderly intent, curling around its fabric like a beloved keepsake. Which, it was, and it takes all her strength not to immediately snatch it back.  Instead, she brings it to her chest, squeezing gently; as if it could slip through her fingers any moment. 

“Thank you,” Alice smiles, but it feels as strained as it is practiced. “Where did you find it?” 

“Earlier today,” A gentle incline of Melly’s head. “In the music room.”

It’s hard to keep smiling at that. 

“I see,” The fabric beneath her touch is a comforting presence, contrasted by the woman who seems so confident in her bold-faced lie. “How.. strange.”

The smallest upturn of Melly’s lips, only noticeable against the flicker of candlelight. Otherwise, she speaks none.

Alice was many things. Kind, as well as persistent, and very unabashedly stubborn. All things she held in high regard. All things she wanted to be. But what she had never been, nor would she ever be, was obtuse.

This time, Alice doesn’t study her. She simply stares, allows the seconds to pass by, and considers closing the door on Melly’s face. That would be rude, but no less rude than lying, and no less rude than any haphazard attempt to frame someone. It’s disconcerting, but it makes Alice wonder, too — and curiosity was hardly something easily subdued.

The silence deters Melly none. If anything, she’s ever patiently waiting, and that odd itch rises to leave her standing there. Alone.

Instead, Alice caves, taking a step back from the door.

“Come in.”

Melly does so without a second thought. It’s almost funny, except none of it really is, let alone the fact that she barely walks through the threshold — only enough for Alice to close the door behind her. Ever near, and it would be uncomfortable if it weren’t so Melly. She considers locking it, hesitates, and leaves the key unturned. Perhaps that spoke more volumes than she’d like it to. 

When Alice turns, Melly has shifted to face her, but no further from the door. The candle upon her desk paints a delicate side portrait, offset only by the light within Melly’s hold. It’s.. overbearing, if ever so slightly. Sun upon the skin from every angle. She raises her free hand, gently clasping the candlestick, and her fingers brush along Melly’s by accident. She lets out a breath at that, which Alice finds particularly curious, before understanding the intent behind it. Her hold loosens, gentle, as if reluctant to be without it, and Alice is careful to take it from her grasp.

A gentle exhale and the light falls dormant. Then, she’s moving towards her desk, placing it gently alongside her own candle and it strikes her that she hasn’t the slightest idea why she invited Melly in at all. Curiosity, of course, but curiosity would not dredge the answers from her heart — and it seemed, neither would trust.

The thought makes her frown, fingers pressing to the fabric still clutched upon her chest. After a moment's hesitation, she places it down, too.

“I must admit,” She chews the inside of her lip, resists the urge to pick at her skin, and turns back towards Melly. “I am a little confused as to—Oh.”

She hadn’t quite expected Melly to be right there. Silent as the night, almost a wisp. It startles Alice into the desk behind her, rattling its contents, no — the candle — and her head whips back just in time to watch it careen sideways. One hand shoots out to catch the stand upon her wrist but at such an awkward angle, she doesn’t quite reach it.

As it turns out, there’s no need, because Melly is fast — fingers clasping the holder and righting it instantly. The other, much less fortunate and thankfully unlit candle, clutters to the floor and snaps in half; held together only by its wick. The holder, however, makes an ever sharp clang as it hits the wood below, sudden enough to make her flinch.

Her lips pull to a frown. Entirely unbothered, or perhaps simply ignoring everything, Melly speaks.

“How are you finding the manor, Alice?”

It all feels a little awkward, if only for the fact that Melly’s hold doesn’t budge and she’s partly leaning over her. Alice is still half turned, arm bent, weight balanced upon the desk. If she moved further back, the flame would catch upon her hair. If she moved further forward, she’d be pressed to Melly’s chest. Just this once, it’s a little uncomfortable, but whether that’s due to how close Melly is or how precariously she’s positioned, is anyone’s guess. 

“It’s—” The words catch in her throat, suddenly struck by the absurdity of it all. “Hold on a moment.”

One hand reaches upward, clasping Melly’s shoulder. Gently, she tries to ease her back, and is initially met with resistance. Melly’s lips pull downward for the slightest moment, perhaps an unintentional notion, before she relents. Even as she pulls away, she doesn’t quite move, only withdrawing enough for Alice to stand upright.

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t mind the proximity. But tonight, with her nerves frayed and her heart borderline mistrustful, it’s a bit.. much.

“It’s certainly strange,” A twitch of her fingers and she looks up — half wary, half watchful — but Melly’s expression is carefully neutral. Then, seeking any sort of semblance of space, Alice moves away; opting to sit upon her bed. Thankfully, and strangely, she isn’t followed this time. “Though I find, within this manor, quite a number of things are.”

Arms folded, finger tapping gently upon the nook of her elbow. Alice watches her, carefully, and she has the distinct feeling that Melly is, too. 

“What are your thoughts, M—” Mrs. Plinius. “—Melly?”

A gentle hum from the woman before her, but there’s that itching feeling it’s only for show. Exhaustion bears its teeth, bears the struggle to ward off her more uncanny thoughts. Doubt is one of them.

“It’s rather dangerous, too,” A tilt of her head and now Alice is certain she’s being studied. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She smiles, then, small and subdued. A trap lay before her, one that only makes Alice wary. Ordinarily, her patience wouldn’t be so thin. But tonight, the ebb of irritation gnaws at her psyche. She swallows it, tries to, and waits instead. Two could play at that game.

“No more dangerous than any other unfamiliar environment.”

It’s spoken offhandedly, almost absentminded. Melly’s smile widens a fraction. 

“You think so?” Melly’s hand twitches at her side. A tell. “Do you find yourself in such.. pleasant company, quite often?”

She doesn’t need to ask to know what that really means, which is the exact reason she can’t withhold the sigh that slips past her lips. 

“Melly—”

“Of course, that is only a single factor among many,” She smiles, again, and it looks so terribly off that Alice’s back straightens. “All of which you should be mindful of.”

Melly’s hand extends, hovering over the desk beside her — reaching toward the candle — and she doesn’t look away all the while. There’s a split second where confusion sweeps Alice’s heart, where she simply watches, but recognition sparks a moment too late, even as she rises to her feet. Melly’s already snuffed the candle. 

Darkness permeates each corner of the room, and on such a crescent night, there isn't so much as a slither of silver to illuminate the way. 

Alice freezes, teeth grit, then bear; and it isn't quite terror that grips her pounding heart. Rather, the tender discomfort of unease.

She swallows, counts to ten, and doesn’t hear a single sound outside her own uneven breathing. No wind to rustle the trees, no midnight song, not even—

“..Melly?”

…

Silence. Her fingers twitch at her side. Inhale. Exhale. Until her heart isn’t pounding in her ears, until her breath doesn’t stutter at all.

It’s utterly silent, save for her own gentle breath, save for another, just off to her right.

Alice’s hand shoots outward, open palmed, fisting straight into Melly’s nightgown. She hears a gasp, feels an exhale along her wrist, and pulls. A body collides with her chest and it’s enough to make her stumble, but not fall. Her free hand raises to grasp for purchase and she’s half clinging, half holding Melly in place. 

For a moment, the only sound that echoes against the walls are their own harsh breaths.

Then, Alice speaks, unyielding — but not unkind.

“I am well aware of the risk in being here,” A squeeze of the fabric beneath her palms, like Melly would slip through her fingers if she held her gently. “Believe me, this manors reputation is not lost on me.”

She inhales, struggles with it; squeezes her eyes shut and calms her beating heart.

“But how am I to consider you an outlier in that when you try so hard to frighten me?” Another ragged breath. This time, her hold loosens. Exhaustion prickles her skin. “I thought we were.. friends. Was I — wrong, in assuming so?”

She can feel the stiffness of Melly’s shoulders from her nightgown alone. Perhaps she’s taken aback — uncomfortable, even, or maybe she’s just tired. Maybe exhaustion had pulled forth delirium, for it was ever so simple to stumble upon. 

Time marches forward, as does the silence between them. Alice considers — fleetingly — withdrawing altogether, tucking away in the safety of her bed. To call it that is almost laughable. Almost. 

Then, a breath dusts over her cheek and with it, Melly’s shoulders deflate. 

“I only want you to be safe.”

There’s so much tenderness as she speaks, gentle and kind and melancholic. It’s so unexpected that, for a moment, Alice wonders if she’d simply imagined it. 

…

Except she hadn’t, for even without her sight, Alice knows that Melly is frowning. That she meant every word. That she’s worried. It’s so, so terribly conflicting.

Her hands flatten against the expanse of Melly’s collarbone. Whatever fight she had left seeps from her skin the moment that warmth melds against her palms. 

She’s at a loss for words. Perhaps words weren’t needed.

Gently, tenderly — because she’d always been so, because she liked to be — Alice raises her hands, tracing high above Melly’s gown and across the expanse of her neck. Higher, still, along her jaw; coming to rest on either side of her face, cupping it softly. 

Melly’s breath stutters, but she doesn’t quite tense under her touch, so Alice takes the risk; running a thumb below her eye — fingertips dusting along rough, scarred tissue — and warmth blooms beneath her palms. 

A reassurance, of sorts. Alice receives one in return. Gentle and cautious, Melly’s head bows, leaning ever so softly into her touch. A sigh presses past those lips, dusting over Alice’s nose, and it sounds more relieved than anything else.

She allows herself to bask in it, if only for a moment.

“That same danger extends to you,” Soft, barely a whisper, like anything else would break the tender space between them. “Just as well, you make it known that it can come from you,” Another brush of her thumb along Melly’s cheek and she shudders in response. “..Why?”

A stricken little sound slips past her teeth, forced back to her throat before it can morph to anything else. Any other day, any other place, Alice might not have been so confused; but here and now, it only adds to the strangeness of it all. Still, she waits, on the precipice of something she doesn’t quite know how to word. Most things seemed to be that way with Melly.

Then, gently, Melly’s hands raise; fingers coming to rest along both of Alice’s wrists. She pauses, ever so hesitant, before they trail further — encompassing Alice’s own hands against her face. They’re warm. She’s warm. It’s all so quietly tender.

But there’s no hesitation when Melly speaks, voice taut, unyielding.

“I’ll do what I must.”