The hayloft is surprisingly warm.
It's not like it matters to Carmilla, she hasn't been able to feel heat or cold for an unbelievably long time, but it makes her feel better to not see Laura's shoulders curl in on themselves to try and conserve heat. It's a welcome sight after trekking through snow with her and watching her shiver in clothes that would fall apart if one thread was snipped.
Laura seems so much stronger than her slight stature makes her out to be, but bitter Styrian winters and rationed food have leaned her out, and she takes longer to get warm these days. It's hard not to worry about her, but Carmilla often reminds herself that this is the same girl who survived two sleepless semesters without eating anything other than chocolate cereal and cookies.
Carmilla climbs up to the loft, tossing her bag on a pile with everyone else's. Perry and LaF had gone to the neighboring woods to find wood dry enough to use as kindling, and the long forgotten noise of peaceful calm comes back in a rush to her. Carmilla rolls up the sleeves of her shirt as she examines the hayloft.
Dark, paint-stained wood covers most of the ground, barely visible through the liberal dusting of musty hay that covers it. The brick between the adjacent walls opens downwards into a crudely crafted fireplace. There's a few windows, and the light that shines through is grey and silver, like dim moonlight.
The entire place becomes entirely more appealing to Carmilla after she finds Laura draped in a threadbare blanket, with her back against the wall and the massive Sumerian tome stretched across her lap, dwarfing her legs.
"Doin' some light reading, creampuff?" Carmilla asks, making her way over and sliding down to sit next to her.
Laura laughs under her breath but doesn't look up.
"I'm trying to see if I can read anything from what you've taught me so far of the alphabet. It's terrifyingly difficult." She blows out a frustrated breath. "It looks like Latin got mutilated and then grew new limbs."
"Shouldn't you be getting rest instead of nerding out over the book that tells us we're totally screwed? And Sumerian isn't supposed to be easy. If you were writing an angry manifesto dedicated to the light that swallows virgins, you wouldn't exactly jot in down in EZ-2-Read-Phonics, would you?"
Laura groans, but doesn't close the book. She's unbelievably persistent. Her hands are pale against the yellowed pages, almost fragile looking when she edges her shell pink fingernail along a passage.
"Warrior?" She murmurs questioningly, directing the word as a question to Carmilla. "Is that it?"
"Mm." Carmilla replies. "But a female warrior. Sumerians are big on females."
Laura licks her lips as she moves to the next word and struggles to decipher it properly. Her eyebrows furrow together.
Carmilla reaches forward and points at the fading inkblot. Her finger barely touches Laura's, but Carmilla can already smell the tinge of anxiousness pulsating at the knot of veins along the inside of her thin, pale wrist.
It's not embittered like the scent of fear - it's sweet and lush with anticipation, flooding Laura's bloodstreams and warming her from the inside out.
Carmilla smiles to herself. If her heart was beating, if her blood was running, if Laura knew the depth of her feelings for her, she'd know that they were feeling the same thing.
"That's 'death'." Carmilla says softly. Her shoulder presses against Laura's, small, gentle, rounded.
Laura swallows.
"How lovely."
"'The female warrior thrashes at the center of the devouring light - death eats her whole. Her courage and confidence falls to the hands of the One who gathers.'" Carmilla translates, her voice a sea of wavering calm. Laura blinks as if in a daze. "Of course you chose this story." Carmilla says flatly.
Laura looks at Carmilla head on for the first time since their conversation. She looks so different from when they were still at Silas U - something's matured in her face. She looks stronger, alive.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Laura's eyes are glimmering with defiance and something edging closer to anger.
"Cupcake - " Carmilla's floundering for words; that spark in Laura's eyes has caught her off guard for the millionth time since they've met and it makes her breathless and desperate like she's drowning. (She's well acquainted with the feeling and she's not too keen on welcoming it back.) "You know what I mean."
"No, I don't." Laura's steely-eyed, and her fingers are flint against the book, rigid and stony.
Carmilla pauses and tries to match Laura's strong gaze with her own look of cold indifference. She prays that it works.
"The warrior died because... Because she was too brave. The light dragged her in kicking and screaming because it knew that she had the power to destroy it." Carmilla says slowly.
Laura licks her lips. Carmilla blows out a slow breath.
Laura closes the tome silently. Carmilla hangs her head, dark hair falling around her face. A few moments pass before tentative fingers curl a few strands away from her face, and Laura's fingertips brush against Carmilla's cheek.
"What's wrong?" Laura's quieter now, and her voice's lost most of its razor sharp edge. Carmilla laughs without humor, and she can feel frustrated tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
"What is it?" Laura asks again.
Carmilla looks up, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"What are you sorry for?" Laura strokes her hand up and down Carmilla's neck soothingly.
"I don't know." Carmilla croaks. "Laura, I feel like I'm tearing you away from everything that you know - your school, your friends, your family - all for this." She spreads her hands toward the hayloft, the dampened smell of grass and mold, the dust mites swirling through the air. "I'm afraid you're going to wake up one morning and realize it's not worth it. That I'm not worth it."
Laura pauses rubbing slow circles into Carmilla's shoulder. Carmilla takes a deep breath, makes like she's going to stop talking, but pushes forward.
"I'm afraid I'm going to ruin you." Carmilla's voice is a rasp in her throat, a low gravelly purr.
There's a full, lasting moment before Laura laughs under her breath, a sound that's breathless and incredulous and flighty in her chest.
"You don't get it, do you?"
Laura presses forward, hands framing Carmilla's hips, palms stretching up into the sides of her jeans. Carmilla sucks in a breath; her mouth feels flushed and hot and they haven't even kissed yet.
"What don't I get?" Carmilla whispers, hoping that Laura can't see right through her. The last bit of self control and willpower she has left is currently being used to stop from pulling Laura down into her and kissing her until both of them are bloody-lipped. Even Carmilla thinks it's pretty rude to interrupt someone while they're speaking just to stick your tongue in their mouth.
Laura's staring at Carmilla even though they're inches apart, and her gaze is even, albeit a little amused. Her mouth is curled into a half smile, the type of smile that makes Carmilla feel like she's been too slow to understand something. No one's smiled like that at Carmilla since she was a child, a true human child.
"You say you don't want to ruin me, and I just think it's so funny since..." Laura pauses, leaning forward close enough that her lips are barely brushing Carmilla's.
"That's exactly what I want."
Before Carmilla has time to truly understand her, or even lets the words sink in, Laura closes the millimeter distance between them, her mouth hungry and hot against Carmilla's.
Carmilla slides her hands between Laura's shoulders. She's so small, but every muscle in her is tensed and powerful, like she's trying to prove herself with every inch of her being. The thought makes Carmilla want to laugh; Laura's already proved herself time and time again. She pinches her shoulder blades back to press her chest flush against Carmilla's, and it's almost reminiscent of a bird in flight, wings spread without a fear of falling.
Laura's arms are possessive, claiming Carmilla's neck, and she murmurs a lost word into the space between them before gasping when Carmilla nibbles on her lip. Her fingers loop through dark hair, and Laura tugs a little. Carmilla tilts her head upwards to deepen the kiss, cradling Laura's jaw. She makes a noise, wrought with need and want.
Carmilla pants quietly, eyes fluttering when Laura moves to kiss her cheeks, down along her neck, slipping between her collarbones. Her shirt slips off one of her shoulders, and Laura traces the slope of her shoulder. Laura kisses the soft spot at the top of her shoulder, dragging her teeth until they're both sure that a bruise will flower in the morning.
"Laura…" Carmilla purrs languidly. The name comes out like liquid gold, bleeding through her teeth and slipping into their fingertips. Laura leans up to kiss her again, licks her way into Carmilla's mouth instead of forcing passage; she earns her entry with firm passes and feathering flicks until the dark-haired girl is more than willing to part her lips for her. Laura groans a bit when Carmilla grasps for her waist; her hand is firm and wanting as they slip together into a long, rolling grind. Their kiss keeps its finesse even when Carmilla reaches blindly to search for the hem of Laura's top.
"Eh-hem!"
The two break apart from each other, gasping, panting, flushed to the ears. Perry and Laf are standing at the top of loft's stairs, arms full with splintering wood. They're both shifting uncomfortably on their feet, and Perry's face is almost as red as her hair.
"Sorry to interrupt!" Perry sing-songs, even though she doesn't look very apologetic. She dumps the firewood into the hearth, already rummaging for a spare pack of matches in her purse. "We thought we'd be back earlier, but it turned out we got lost trying to find our way back, but there was a really helpful path of stones that I'm pretty sure that we didn't leave? But I'm sure that was just luck. Here we are!" Perry waves a match around victoriously before striking it and tossing it into the fireplace. "And… voila."
Laf coughs uncomfortably and mumbles something about checking the lock on the door downstairs, and disappears for far longer than it takes to examine the perimeter of a five hundred square foot barn. Perry shuffles in place, hands fluttering around her hips in nervousness. Laura scrambles off of Carmilla's lap, helping her pull up the collar of her flannel in passing.
"Just - " Perry turns in a half circle, unsure of what to do. Her eyes flit frantically as she searches for the right words. "Just - Laura, Carmilla - just, please. If you're ever going to do… anything… romantic, LaFontaine and I would appreciate if you two gave us a heads up - you know, just so that we can clear out - and give you - privacy - privacy, that's important, right?"
Perry's still flapping her wrists emphatically, tone climbing from reedy persistence to flat out falsetto pleading.
"Jesus Christ," Carmilla mutters under her breath, hands still trembling as she buttons her shirt up to the top of her collar. Laura opens her mouth to protest but Perry claps her mittened hands together to cut her off.
"And please - please - please - be safe." Perry smiles, nodding fervently, nervously moving around. "Okay? Okay. Okay."
"Oh, gee, I think I forgot my birth control back at Silas." Carmilla says, her voice dripping with absolute sarcasm. Perry points her finger, but stops herself in her tracks. She nods to herself, pleased with her speech. And with that, she scrambles down the stairs to rejoin Laf and calm herself down.
"You have questionable taste in friends." Carmilla says once they're alone again. Laura doesn't even put up a fight, just shrugs.
"I don't even think that I remember meeting them for the first time. It was like one day they were in my room and decided to never leave."
"Our room." Carmilla corrects her.
Laura rolls her eyes.
"I think I kind of repressed those first months living with you. I don't remember a lot except for the custody battle over the yellow pillow and the blood-milk mix-up." She says, laughing a little at the end. Laura's eyes fall to her and Carmilla's hands, all laced fingers and squeezed palms. "Look at us now."
Carmilla leans over to cradle Laura's chin in her hand.
"Things change."
They can't even stay safe for one night. It's dawn when they're escaping from the flaming ruins of the hayloft, and Laura slips her hand into Carmilla's without a second thought. She's not trembling, but the set of her jaw is determined and furious. The angry mob behind them shouts for the death of the vampire, and they advance clumsily, flaming torches ablaze and pitchforks raised high.
Perry and Laf crest the hill to the woods first, and when Carmilla drags Laura up the hill, a blood red sunset paints the Styrian sky. Laura takes it in before looking behind her. The mob's singing a song that can be roughly translated to "Kill the Witch". Carmilla's not sure. Her German gets rusty.
Perry shouts at them to hurry up. Carmilla rolls her eyes and starts running, still hand in hand with Laura.