Chapter LXXIV: The Folly of Old Ways

Hours passing. Days. She woke to the feeling of pain…and by sight and memory, she knew where she was. The oak of the four-poster bed…the glass chandelier in the middle of her bedroom, the side table, and a glass bowl filled with blood. Stains on her bedding as though it had spilled more than once. And always the sensation that someone had just been there. Or perhaps they were still there, only out of sight.

For hours, she could not move. Her body warm, like someone had flayed the damaged skin, leaving the muscles intact. The bones no longer hurting, but her skull filled with pain. The candles too bright. Her eyes hurting whenever she opened them for too long. On occasion, feeling an arm holding her up. A woman with tawny eyes. Feeding her. Holding her hand until the fever passed. Until she remembered again that they were not candles.

Electricity.

All of it so confusing. But their names coming back to her. Rena holding her. Allegra keeping her distance. Asking her questions while guards hovered in the doorway. Something about a gun. Bullets. Had she known what she was doing. How lucky she was that no one had died…

…but she remembered nothing. Only the moments before it happened. Like the fever had stripped her. Singe testing her blood. Over and over. The weakness forcing her to lie down whenever she tried to rise. But her head finally able to move. Turning from side to side, feeling the slight tug of cloth, the strips of a bandage wrapped around her skull. The knots undone and the cloth falling to the side of the bed.

Unwilling to hope even for a second. Until she reached for one of the strands from her scalp…holding it aloft. The strands melding with the darkness. The bones of her hand showing skin as smooth as a bone bleached under the sun.

She was young.

o…o…o

Two weeks later.

He'd sent the guards out. The page turning as it should, the words entering his conscience, drifting into that chasm which cared not a whit for books, words, or knowledge. Allegra was still against the idea of him being here so soon, but considering all involved parties had been captured, protocol aside, it was still his bloody house, he thought, focusing on the tome in hand. Twice, he thought he heard something…but the hours passed and the bedroom door remained closed.

Singe was calling it a 'momentary lapse.' Something about her waking before a process had completed itself. Given her service in the war, the Council had been willing to let her remain in his den, provided she was heavily guarded. Not that they had a choice in the matter considering how stripped they were for resources after the war.

In any case, her duties had been set aside until the Council finished interrogating Kolya. The issue being that whoever that woman had been, whatever memories she'd carried were now absent.

Or sleeping.

His nails starting to gouge the side of the book before he heard the door open, the first sign that she was more than she'd been. To walk in silence only a room from his ears…already she was different.

He looked up.

Attuning himself to her movements, her breathing, the doorway in which she was standing. As though she'd lost her way, leaving an empty space in the photograph where she'd once lived. The hair on his arm rising at seeing her in front of him. Seeing that which, he had…considered…perhaps even dreamt of, yet now, disturbed him so much…

…and yet some things were the same. Her height. The shape of her jaw. The way her hands clutched around the blanket, looking past him to the curtains. Keen to see if the world was still there. His thoughts reaching back to the first night he laid eyes on her. The smallest things taking his focus. The colour of the sea caught in each iris.

Blood.

He looked away. "I fixed you a drink."

She nodded, taking a few steps forward to take the glass, seeming to lack purpose. So different from that woman who'd held a gun to his head. The blanket following her into the armchair where she sat, staring into space. The sharp eyes of Reinette trapped in this…youth. The glass untouched, despite sitting in her hand, and the silence passing easily from shock into bleakness.

"I didn't think it would be like this," she said softly. The eyes reaching up to him as though unsure of what they were seeing. "…I had gotten used to it. That feeling of being trapped…but now I just feel…old." And then her hand went to her throat, as though she were feeling the sound. "I thought I would feel different."

He laid the book aside, reaching forward to take his own glass from the table. All of his emotions hidden behind practicality. "Differences aside, what's the last thing you remember?"

She was rubbing her rib-cage. The space where the hole had been. "I think…he was in my…room."

"Kolya?"

She nodded. Her eyes lingering on the fire. "He gave me something…" It was like she was wading through a dream. "…and I drank it…"

"He forced you?"

"No."

He was attempting to set aside the two weeks of exhaustion that could very well be affecting his mood. "Did you at least suspect it was poison?"

"Possibly…"

"What do you mean 'possibly'?"

Apparently, she was having trouble understanding where his tone was coming from. "I mean I was drunk."

"Reinette, I've seen you drunk before," he said, indicating the chaise lounge they'd brought with them from Oppenheim—a piece of furniture upon which she'd thrown up many a time on his watch. "…and you can name every species in the plant and animal kingdom backwards, so don't tell me you were drunk and having trouble spotting nightshade."

"Fine." She put her glass down. "I knew."

He could hear himself repeating her. "You knew?"

"Oh for bloods' sake, Lyosha." She sighed, picking up the blanket and starting to retreat. "Do we really have to talk about this right now?"

"No, of course not." He gestured at the floor with his drink. "We'll just sweep it under the carpet, and I'll ask Singe to add 'Mental capacity: Fucking stupid' to your file."

She was walking back to her bedroom. "Is that the same file that helped me get my youth back?"

He cursed at the ceiling. "Are you saying we should have poisoned you?"

"I'm saying that you can stop being angry." She had turned at the door. Smelling like she wanted to string him up for the birds. "And what does it matter if it was poison? He gave it to me and it worked."

"No, you were lucky it worked," he snapped. "You could have severed your neck when you fell off that roof." He was well and truly shouting now. "In fact, we could have burned you in the first twenty-four hours like protocol dictates, only Singe was interested enough in your brain that he chose to do an autopsy!"

She slammed the bedroom door on his last word. Which might have been more impactful if the handle had not broken off. He could hear her cursing, flinging the thing at the floor and then pulling her blanket back towards her bed.

He stormed out of the room.

o…o…o

Three weeks later.

It felt like he was lying on his floor. Like it was six years ago and he was holding his Ming dynasty tea bowl, contemplating his own vomit, trying to decide how he felt about the whole matter. Reinette was refusing to talk about it. A month since she got her youth back, and she seemed to be under the impression that no one would notice if she continued sticking her head in the mud, veil included. And in theory, considering the five hundred years he spent ignoring his own issues, that ought to have been fine.

Except he was still thinking about it. Not just thinking about it. He was obsessing over it. The only difference was there was a tapping sound coming from his right now. Four taps in a row. Like a harpsichord with only four keys, idly tapping away, ever so slightly out of tune.

"Aleksey, are you quite alright?"

He glanced up. "What?"

"Oh for heavens' sake." Allegra reached forward, pulled the leather dossier from under his fingertips and opened it. "Did you hear any of what I just said?"

No.

Allegra sighed. "Right of movement," she said again, starting to fan herself with one of his missives. Practically an overnight frost outside, but she was behaving as though they were working in a coffin. "Are we discussing it or shall we reschedule?"

"No, I just…" He looked around. He could have sworn there were advisors here ten minutes ago. "…cannot fathom why we are still talking about this."

"She held a gun to your head—"

"It was a misunderstanding," he said with some exasperation, rising from his chair and putting his hands in his pockets. Starting to eye the gardens outside, the trees and hedges all wrapped for the winter. He was severely behind schedule. Sabine was already sitting on the fountain ledge. She'd be gone in the next ten minutes.

"Aleksey, I've tried to get them to see your point of view," came the response. "…but you can only lead a horse to water so many times."

You could always drown the horse, he thought, still staring at the fountain. "Can they at least drop the fourth guard?"

"No." It was a hard no, although she tried to temper it with an aimless gesture towards the heavens. "And who can blame them—she disarmed an entire contingent."

"The key word being disarmed," he muttered, turning back to his desk. The damage expected, but still making him want to drill a pen into his forehead. Pages one through eight containing a long list of suggestions from the Council, starting with a four-guard rota on her movements. A two-guard rota on his own…

…and no outings for the next year.

Allegra's voice had ambled over to the window. Observing Sabine through the glass. "Did you ever find that necklace?"

He thumbed his brow and then gave a smile that could best be interpreted as a grimace. "No."

"Oh dear," she said. It was the tutting sound of someone who'd known for ages that a venture was entirely hopeless. "Always a poor bet. The records are never as precise as they say. Though I suppose you could have another fashioned if she could tell you what it looked like."

More chance of having her stab him with silver, he thought. His chances of success dwindling with every decade.

She started playing with the line of his drapery with one hand. "Speaking of which, I was hoping to take Sabine for a ride before Raze and I left for Vienna—she keeps saying she's restricted to walking. Is she not feeling well?"

"I couldn't say," he said. Leaving it at that. She'd been found mouth-consorting with two of her riding instructors during the same lesson, so other than banning her from the stables, he saw no reason to linger on the subject.

She failed to notice his discomfiture. "You know, the Line Rumour is having a field day."

When are they not, he thought in passing. It was like being hunted for sport again. His options always to take a hit or throw someone else in the line of fire.

She was holding the drapes up to the wallpaper. "They all think you're going to renege."

"On what?"

"The contract."

"Why would I renege?"

Allegra let the drapes fall and gave him a skeptical look. Not just any look—a very…skeptical…look.

He was not completely following. The concept of what she was suggesting taking a further ten seconds for him to comprehend. Enough that if he had been holding a drink, he might have spilled it in that moment. "Reinette?"

"Yes."

He leaned back in his chair. "Really?"

Allegra started tapping her lips, still eying the drapes. "That is the rumour."

"It's only been five weeks."

"I know."

He put his pen down. "And we are talking about the same woman?"

"Yes—although I do wish she would remove that veil," she said, turning to chide him as though it were his doing. "Is she not comfortable?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

He exhaled, skipping to the centre of the dossier and scanning its contents. "Company."

"Well, she certainly likes your company."

"Tolerates—at best."

"I think she more than tolerates you…"

He snorted before flipping to the back. "—in the sense that she once called me a 'walking cock without direction."

Allegra raised an eyebrow. "So she does see you as a cock."

That was…

…not the point.

He picked up the pen again, using it to point at the chair where the lady in question so typically sat. Or at least used to. "Allegra, we may get on, but that hardly equates to…whatever…it is you're insinuating," he muttered. "I mean, she's a blood-forsaken ascetic, isn't she?"

"Is she?"

Yes.

No…

…possibly?

Allegra appeared to be reading his brain. "You haven't thought about it, have you?"

"Should I have been?"

"No."

"Well, there you have it," he said, still reading over the recommendations. Water-stained photographs aside, he'd seen her naked as a seventy-year old woman, for bloods' sake. One could not simply see that…and just forget…

There was a prolonged sigh this time, followed by an immaculately-raised eyebrow. "Aleksey, you may find this whole affair to be nonsensical," she said. "…but I can guarantee you, the Northerners do not."

He crossed out a word. "They'd be laughing if they knew how many times I've watched that woman throw up rancid blood on a parquet floor."

"I am only saying that certain…things…have changed, and if you are leaning in a particular direction, I would at least like to discuss the consequences…"

Consequences…

He could feel another scoff building. It was ridiculous. Every year they sent a list of 'approved names' for possible mistresses as if it were a case of choosing from a menu. The world seeming to care more about his old habits than the possibility that he might be willing to make a go of it in thirty years.

Allegra was still fingering his drapes. "I just think people might talk," she said. "You know, with the upcoming visit—if things continue the way they used to…"

Hardly a chance of that considering how little she'd spoken to him over the past three years, he thought grimly.

"You're right."

"What?"

"I said you're right." He started rooting around the right-hand drawer for his bone folder. Sabine had already left, so he might as well make a morning of it. "As much as I find the idea nonsensical…" He shut all the drawers and returned to the dossier. "…if you think it will assuage the rumours, I will avoid stoking them."

She seemed a hair away from scenting him out. Possibly unused to the sensation of having him bow to her wishes twice in one sitting. But then she moved on—letting go of the drapes with an idle nod, the true crux of the matter finally coming to the surface. "Have you considered getting a decorator?"

He made a forty-five-degree fold on the edge of the first page and started writing. "Are you going to consider it for me?"

"Well, the wallpaper I understand, but the drapes…" She shook her head. "No."

"Then change them."

Allegra still looked unconvinced. But then he knew precisely what kind of scent she required of him in that moment. Bored, disillusioned, and tired of her company. His scent speaking volumes until she graciously inclined her head. The door shutting behind her and his study empty again. The only sound that of the clock ticking and the scrawl of his pen on paper.

Absolutely…nonsensical, he thought, focusing his thoughts as he continued writing. He was focused. Active. Full of zeal for his position…

His pen broke.

Fuck.

o…o…o

It went downhill from there.

For Reinette, it was a year before they let her walk the hallways. Two before she could venture into the dining hall. The four guards they'd assigned to her ever present…and all of them keeping their distance as though they expected her to…do something. As though she'd woken in a nightmare, her youth back, but her ability to connect with it…gone.

She still felt old.

Able to see herself in the occasional reflection. Her limbs able to stretch, her back strong and supple…but her clothing…the veil…her habits. All of it was the same. No mirrors in her quarters, so that without thinking, every night, she dressed in the same manner she had done for twenty years. Like she was naked without it.

Her veils.

Dozens of them. Veils for the cold. Veils for the summer months. Each of them for a different season or occasion—but all of them black and hiding her face. Rena having no opinion on veils and Sabine—when they finally allowed her to see the girl—initially appearing elated to see her and terribly distraught over the previous state of her skull, but then quickly growing more keen to discuss how all things—including the state of her skull—were directly connected to the shortcomings of her guardian. Or in short, the same conversation she'd been listening to for years prior to her leaving for Denmark.

So that in time, she began to forget that she was young. And eventually…after the first year…and the second…so did they. The guards who found her habits tedious. As though she were failing them by being herself. The daily walk down her corridor. Her decision to read for four hours in the library where they watched her, occasionally yawning as they did. Until in time, it all became…

…normal again.

With the exception of him.

All her dreams in the north now grounded in the cold light of a dreary house in Scotland that she could not leave. Both of them forced into the second house arrest, only this time without any warmth. No more visits to her quarters. No more drinks after dusk. The war…all those years spent apart…making her feel like they'd lost the endgame. Like bishops on opposite sides, present on the same board, but never able to attack.

His initial frustration at her reticence seeming to have evaporated in a cloud of disinterest. She unable to talk about that night…and he unwilling to press her. Unwilling to give her any information about what happened to Kolya and the whole matter eventually swept under the carpet as he'd said it would be. Like they had become strangers, the times she saw him in a parlour or drawing room giving her the general sense that he had no opinion on her presence. That she truly had become furniture. That feeling of…foolishness. That realisation that she'd been closer to him when she was old…

…and that she missed him. More so when Freyja was there. The girl visiting twice a year for two months at a turn…and her strategy sound for if the girl had done anything but ignore it, the slight might have been less painful. As though regardless of her appearance, they all still saw her for what she was. An ancient crone. Polite in each other's presence, but the veil…again…making it feel as though nothing had changed.

Until three years had gone by, the guard rota was gone, and she found herself sitting in his study again, a creature now with no more purpose than delivering suggestions for an evening meal from the downstairs kitchen to his desk. The cook seeming to be under the impression that idle hands were the devil's workshop—and that if someone was visiting the devil's workshop, then it might as well be her. The paper still in her pocket as she continued to meditate on how she'd gone from idling in a golden cage to maintaining the household cooking pot.

Watching him work, unable to say anything and therefore having nothing else to do but ponder. The pen in hand, the assurance with which he signed. A simple household account, yet he gave it the same attention…the same care as though it were a declaration of war…or a peace treaty. A crease upon the edge, and he'd already moved onto the next item of business. Efficient, yet detail-oriented. Introspective, while retaining a certain…

"Reinette, you've been staring at me for over five minutes…either say something or get out." He spoke without turning his head, sealing an envelope with wax as he did. He'd stopped calling her Nette years ago.

She held the paper out.

He took it.

His fingers poised over the paper as he read it. "How soon does she need a response?"

"Yesterday."

"Alright—go with the second menu then."

He'd barely paused for the conversation. Her decision to continue sitting in the armchair failing to muster any response. Like he was having an affair with that blood-forsaken pen. Biting it…caressing it even…

…until very abruptly, he aimed it at her. "Look, is this going somewhere?"

"No."

His lips were looking very compressed. "Only you seem very unsettled."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

It seemed like a very polite way of asking if she felt unsettled enough to leave. But she was not leaving. Not after twenty-three years.

She shrugged, letting herself slouch even further in her chair. "You know, I used to think you found them tedious."

"What?"

"The accounts." She'd given up any pretence of slouching and was now just lying there. After twenty-three years, she deserved that much. "Every…fortnight…you do the household accounts. Except it's not a chore…and it's not something you're forced to do…" It was all becoming very clear. "…no, you want to be here."

"I'm here because it needs to get done." He resumed the routine.

She continued staring. "And if Lyosha does not do it, then no one does."

"Don't you have a menu to deliver?"

He said it while skimming the page in front of him. His fingers already reaching for the bone-folder. Two precise ninety-degree angles followed by an envelope. An hour later, he'd be doing the same thing, only instead of household accounts, he'd be working on Line missives.

Fine.

She got up. "I'm going to go strangle myself."

He made a vague sound in agreement. It was debatable whether he was more excited by her leaving or the fact that he still had a dozen or so accounts to sift through. Closing the door behind her, she meandered down the corridor, going from room to room. Everyone was asleep. The hallways empty, the doors closed, and the air stifling.

She starting unbuttoning her top-collar and then gave up when she realised there was no button. She must have lost it somewhere between a decade and an hour ago. Shifting her skirt out, she sat at the top of the staircase, peering through the rails.

The lights were all out. The sentries going by. One of the household dogs. Another sentry. They barely noticed her anymore. She was like furniture to them; first an old piece of oak masquerading as a cabinet and now a miniature desk.

Her thoughts growing darker, her eyes continuing to follow movement from her perch until she began to follow a single head. Someone slinking about the den in a manner that was not suitable for public appraisal. Just about to discount it as another drunken youth wandering home after the daylight hours when—despite what the shadows were trying to conceal—she caught sight of that which she ought not to have seen…

…red hair.

o…o…o

Ten minutes later.

She knocked on the door. There was a scuffling sound…and then silence. She knocked again. Someone crept up to the door, their feet barely audible on the carpet. She knocked a third time, this time also speaking in a vicious whisper against the crack of the door. "Sabine, I saw you…and if he does, the next time I stand here, you'll be begging me to unlock this door."

The door opened by a crack. She saw a very silver, very intense pupil looking through the gap and then without warning, a hand slipped through, took hold of her arm and pulled her into the room, shutting the door behind them. The hand then proceeded to lock the door and point the key at her. "You can't tell."

She gulped, staring at the girl's dress and then looked up at her face. "I can see through it."

"That's the point, Reinette." Sabine slipped off her heels and dropped the key in the ashtray. She had taken off her coat already. Grey fur to match her eyes. She raised her arms. "We have them for a reason."

"Where were you?"

"Somewhere interesting." The girl…the woman—for there was no mistaking that she was a woman now, however much Lyosha might protest the fact—started to roll down her stockings. "Jealous?"

Yes.

"No," she said stubbornly. "You could have been spotted. Everyone is watching. The horde, the council, the guards…"

There was a momentous sigh as the girl stalked past her. Letting the stockings drop to the floor, one by one. The path taking them deeper into the lair, the four rooms that made up her quarters. Years since anyone had been allowed into the inner sanctum…

…and for good reason.

The bed was in tatters. Cigarettes everywhere. Clothes thrown around as though she'd pulled everything out of the drawers and left them for some unfortunate maid to find. A dust-covered dressing table. A small fortune in pearls strewn across it as though they were worthless. It looked very untidy…

…and altogether quite sad.

Reinette felt her hand rise to her neck before she could stop it. And then realising it might come across as neurotic, she moved it to the other side of her throat. "I thought you had a maid."

"I got rid of her."

The girl's back was facing her now, but in the mirror, she could see drawers opening. Cloth, bandage and alcohol. Sabine seating herself at the dressing table as though she were about to take her make-up off. Instead, touching the cloth to a small cut on her inner thigh. Using her thumbs to push out pieces of glass before flicking them onto the table.

She couldn't help it. The shock. "What happened to your thigh?"

Sabine shrugged. "I fell."

How?"

The girl sighed again.

"Why do you care so much," she asked. It was dismissive the way she said it. And then she laughed out loud, throaty and abandoned. "…is being the carpet he fucks on not enough for you?"

Too far.

Feeling her eyes Change, she stepped forward and slapped the girl soundly across the cheek, catching her wrists before she could retaliate. Too quick…too old…for a youth to react, let alone a drunken one. "Apologise."

Sabine looked shocked…

…but then her eyes narrowed. "No."

"Now," she ordered.

The lips pulled back. The girl's eyes changing to silver. Drunk and swaying…and then stubbornly shaking her head. "No," she said again. Barely able to notice the way her hands were twisted behind her back, let alone the pain.

Rude…

…wretched child.

She dropped the wrists and stepped back. "You should be ashamed."

"Of what?" Sabine was kneading her wrists, but the laughter was callous. "I'm not the one hiding beneath a veil," she said. And then she smiled cruelly. Lighting another cigarette in hand and sitting back to watch the glow.

It dissolved her.

Making her wonder when it all went wrong. Wishing now that she could go back to it. All those nights spent watching them from her quarters. The two of them catching fireflies in the garden…

Only a moment ago.

"Oh fuck you," she said, turning away. Stepping over the mess and the grime. Eventually struggling with the door until she remembered it was locked. The key glinting with ash as she unlocked the door…

…breathing with her back against it. And then flinging the key down the hallway, hearing it clink in the distance. Good luck finding it, she thought bitterly.

o…o…o

Her steps…her nostalgia for it all leading her back to his study. Years ago it would have been a refuge. They would have talked about it. They would have discussed the matter. But when she got back to the study, he was still at his desk, still working away at the documents, still oblivious to the ins and outs of his own household, despite the numbers being all in line. The man glancing up once before continuing to write. "I thought you were going to strangle yourself."

"I got distracted," she admitted. Wrapping the veil closer to her form as she sat back down in her seat. Determined now to find her way back to something resembling the peace and quiet she'd once enjoyed.

He sniffed, reaching for his bone folder again. Two folds before setting it aside. "You smell of cigarettes."

She nearly sighed. "Yes."

Like all recovering addicts, he seemed to be overtly sensitive to anything even remotely related to his issues. Tobacco still banned in the upper house—and cannabis a pipe dream now from the days when he'd been more inclined towards her company. He scrawled another note. "I thought you didn't smoke anymore."

"I don't," she replied curtly.

"Good—because I'd rather we kept the air clean in this area of the den, Reinette." He was pulling out the next set of documents. The Line missives. "I don't think I need to remind you a second time."

She stared at him…

…and then stood up. It was maddening. All of it. Sabine. His desire to just…ignore…everything. Everyone. Lock them all up like they were trinkets, so he could just…move on. His reaction only to look thoughtful and then resume looking at his papers…

She left. Washing her hands of all of it. Lyosha. Freyja. Sabine.

They could all damn themselves into the next decade.

She was done.

o…o…o

Three days later.

She'd spent the last three days in her quarters and so far, no one had noticed, including the cook. Lyosha was doing whatever it was that he did, and Rena was on transfer. When she heard the knock on the door, she considered lying there until they left, but resolved after twenty minutes that if they were going to knock continuously, she might as well sacrifice the energy it took to walk to the door. Glancing at the time—ten after eight—she unlocked the door, opened it…

…and then immediately tried to shove it closed again. Unfortunately, Sabine's elbow managed to wedge a way into the gap, however painful that might be. Who knew such an amiable little girl could turn into such an outspoken harlot?

There was a brief, but very silent struggle which finally ended in her growling an expletive in the young woman's face…and then stepping back, letting her fall in a heap on the floor. If she was so desperate to invade her privacy, then fine…take it. Washing her hands of the door, she stalked back to her bed. Not because she had run out of energy, but because, really, what was the point?

Already back in her bed, attempting to disappear under the covers, only to find that apparently, Sabine wanted those as well. "Reinette, I'm sorry…"

"Oh you're sorry now," she hissed.

"Yes, I…"

"I don't want to hear it."

The fingers were refusing to let go. "Nette, please."

"Don't you dare call me that." Affronted, she let go of the blanket, causing them both to fall back. She was crying. Angry, heavy tears…not for pity, but for the sake of drowning this indecent child in an ocean of antagonism. "…and I am not his carpet," she yelled. "I have spent twenty-three years in this household, all because of some stupid war…and you are telling me that my position in this society is that of a carpet."

She was shrieking now. "I spend my nights in a glorified prison and the only time I get to leave is when he decides his carpet can go for a trip on the outside, so thank you for illuminating me, child. Thank you for letting me know what my duty to this horde is worth. I am a carpet. Thank you," she yelled for good measure.

There was an awful silence.

It was a wonder the guards had not coming running. In fact, they probably had already, but to their minds, she was a carpet…and no one listened to a carpet.

Sabine was looking as chastened as the silence. Her head hanging like a nine year old who'd been caught in the wrong corridor. "Do you want to come with me tonight?"

She snorted. "Does a carpet walk?"

"Oh, Reinette, please don't be cross with me." The girl took her hand and kissed it, kneeling upon the pillows. Fretting like an infant with the patience of a hare. "…please?"

It was unbelievable. Spoilt. Still believing that if she said the word 'please' and held someone's hand, things would be alright.

She jerked her hand out of the girl's grasp. "No," she said, deciding there had been enough seconds between her crying and her breakdown to warrant some dignity to her statements. "…and even if I wanted to go this evening, we'd be caught," she added. Wishing she could just berate the girl as he always seemed to do, but realising that too much had changed.

Time had moved again…

…and Sabine was no longer a child. A full-grown woman, capable of making her own choices, however much he tried to fault her for it. All that hair draped over her like she held the fire of youth. And their years spent so differently. Sabine the siren…and Reinette…the reliable.

Sabine grasped both her hands. "You're coming with me this evening," the girl said. Her voice firm. Commanding, reminding her of the first night they'd met so many years ago.

"Tell it to Lyosha."

It was like their roles had changed. Sabine reached up to her cheek, stroking the curve like she used to do. "Reinette, you spend too much time worrying about him."

"I can't just…"

"Trust me." With a firm hand, Sabine turned her around, unwinding the braid, the dark locks which had grown so much. "It'll be an adventure," the girl said, rubbing the sides of her shoulders…

…and then without warning, she planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Let's get the scissors."

Reinette turned in shock. "What?"

Sabine was already sprinting to the bathroom. "Trust me, Reinette," she called back. Laughing as she went. "You'll be a lark by the time I'm done with you."

Like she was a child again. A fox without a hole, the soles of her feet pelting silent against the jagged stones. A child. An animal. One that could flee without a sound. The sight suddenly filling her with doubt, making her wonder if Sabine had ever found her way out of that nightmare.

And now gone.

Back in the room again, Reinette breathed.

Her eyes growing wider.

Just…

Breathe.

A/N: Thank you to YippieKaiYea, Love-in-Halsey, LovingBitch, MermaidVampire, pamelawright, Codenameyikes, Wynter Phoenix, MermaidVampire, GrimPure and all guests for the reviews, favourites, and follows. As ever, feel free to read and review. Onwards!