Erza…

Erza…

When I snapped that earring, I closed my eyes and pretended it was you. Breaking it was easy—the metal was old and rotting anyway, and it felt good, like I was putting right some of the injustice you did to me.

When you saw it, you almost cried. I wish you had.

Almost.

There is a worm of guilt that lingers when I think of how your eyes filled with tears, how your mouth trembled when you saw two halves of what was once whole. I don't think you wanted me to see you like that but I'm glad I did. Now I know the rumors are all a lie. You are not indomitable. You're delicate. Soon, you're going to split like fine lace.

Erza Scarlet…

You haunt me. I can't stop thinking about the way you looked at me when I asked you to come to that stupid ball. Hopeful, wary. Terrified. I thought I was totally see-through and prepared myself for a harder chase. Then you said yes and I realized that I had nothing to fear, because in actuality, it's you that's transparent. Even if you won't admit it, you want to try to take back what was lost. You want to cover your eyes and pretend.

After that, I had the courage to reach out and touch your lip. You trembled, a delicate girl in hard armour. You weren't thinking about Siegrain Fernandez in that moment.

Erza Scarlet…

Red and ivory.

I wonder if you'll wear what I sent. I don't imagine; you'll be too shy, too proud, too off-balance. I wasn't going to buy it, but as soon as I saw the colour, all I could think of was ocean sunsets and the colour of your scarlet hair. My red and ivory girl. What I would have given to be there when you opened the box and saw what lay inside. Did your breath shorten? Did your skin heat? Did you smile or frown? Did you wish it was another man sending you gifts? In my mind, I imagine you pacing to outrun your turmoil. I imagine you envisioning what it would be like to let yourself accept that gift. I imagine you reaching up and weaving your fingers through your blood-bright hair and pulling it until it hurt, just to keep yourself rooted in reality.

It won't be enough. I'll break you down until I'm all you think about. Until you're so infatuated, you'll forget how to be anything else. Until you can't breathe and you can't think and you can't be without me.

This hurt is going to be with you forever, Erza, but even that won't be enough.

Erza let the box drop from her fingers. It fell to her thin mattress and lay there, almost… mockingly, if a box full of a fine-looking shawl could mock.

Why did he send it? And the jewellery…

Maybe that meant he didn't want her wearing her scratched up rag-tag earrings to such a nice place. She scrubbed her hands through her hair and swallowed a strangled, frustrated cry. What does it mean?

Maybe he just wants you to dress nice, so he sent it as a—a standard of comparison. The thought didn't comfort her the way she thought it would. All she could think was, if that's the case, then I definitely don't have anything nice enough to wear. Her finest, best kept garments weren't formal wear. She imagined walking into the ball on Siegrain's arm wearing her purgatory armour. Master would disown me. Instead, she tried to put herself into something a little more formal. The only dress she owned was old enough that her breasts didn't quite fit in it anymore and it was a little too tight around her hips.

Her ears burned with a hint of shame. Nothing? You have nothing else?

Nope.

She clenched her hand into a tight fist and cursed Siegrain for making her feel like she wasn't good enough. Whether his actions were intentional or not. What were you going to wear before? The too-tight dress?

Glowering, she reached down and snatched up the shawl. It was made of chiffon and dyed the deepest of reds. It pooled in her hand like water. The longer she stared at it, the angrier she got. How dare he demand that she wear it, like it was his right? He was the one that begged her to go. If he didn't think she was good enough, then he shouldn't have asked.

Crunching up the fabric, she threw it back into the box and slammed the lid down.

Then, before she could lose her nerve, she pulled on her tall leather boots, grabbed her fur-trimmed coat and stalked out of Fairy Hills.

"Master Siegrain?" Ginny's voice was almost whisper-quiet.

Jellal lifted his head and looked at the girl. The standard white robes she wore clung to her curves and fell off her body in elegant waves. She did her hair today in anemone tipped clips and swiped some eyeliner under her eyes. He knew her appearance was a ruse to get his attention. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but she was no Erza Scarlet.

"What is it?"

Ginny clutched her hands in front of her bellybutton, pushing her breasts together. "Sir, there's a woman here to see you. The one that brandished her sword the other day. Should you like, I'll get security to escort her out—"

Jellal's listless appraisal of Ginny's body fell away, replaced by a sharp intensity at the mention of Erza. "She's here?" She got the box. And she wasn't happy about it. Why else would she be there? To thank you? He hadn't seen her in years and years, but he thought he still knew her well enough to know that was not her intention.

"Yes, sir. I—"

"Send her in." He couldn't wait to see the way her face would pinch with rage. He couldn't wait to see the way she shook. He couldn't wait to hear her clear voice rise with agitation. He especially couldn't wait to see the way her eyes would linger over his face, the way she'd secretly long for him to be someone else.

Ginny bowed quickly, then disappeared. A second later, Erza filled the doorway. She was in a form-fitting black coat today and a short grey skirt. Her long hair fell over her shoulders like red silk, her cheeks were high with colour from the cold, and in her hand was that black box. Its edges were a little crumpled, as if she'd clutched it too hard on the way there, making a fist over and over again, taking out her frustration on the thin cardboard. Her dark eyes were burning with fury—he wondered how long she'd been stewing on what she wanted to say—but as soon as she met his gaze, some of that anger ebbed away and was replaced by a softness she just couldn't hide. He smiled savagely.

"Miss Scarlet, to what do I owe the honour?"

Erza visibly gritted her teeth. "I came to return your items and to tell you that I won't be coming tomorrow evening."

Jellal raised a dark brow. "You didn't like the gifts?"

"I—" She regrouped. "You don't get to choose what I wear."

"Of course, I didn't mean any offence." Sitting back in his chair, he picked up a coin and danced it over his fingers. "I didn't mean for the note to come off quite like that. You don't have to wear it. I just stopped by my jeweller's shop to enquire about fixing your earring and saw it there. It was the colour that caught my eye. Very similar to your hair." He tried to keep it casual, but as he spoke, Erza's face softened, and as it softened, a predatory part of him wanted to stand and go to her. Maybe to brush back her hair and kiss her. Maybe to jam his pen through her pretty fucking throat. He shook the violent thought from his head and said, "I understand it was presumptuous and forward of me. If you don't want to accompany me based on that alone, that's fine." He held out his hand for the box. Erza hesitated, just as he thought.

"I thought—" Her cheeks were two snapdragons.

"Yes?"

"I don't know." She fidgeted. "I have nice things to wear."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Jellal's chest. "I imagine. That's not why I sent it."

Erza flushed harder. Jellal loved it. He couldn't help it. He listened intently as her lips came open and she said, "Don't—"

"Mmhmm?"

"Don't send me things," she said in a rush. "I'll still go to the ball, but I'm not wearing this stuff." She dropped it to his desk and turned on her heel.

"Erza."

He'd only said her name but she stopped dead in her tracks. Jellal smiled at the tension in her shoulders. She was shaking again; he could hear her armour clinking together so softly. "Maybe you could leave behind that earring so I can get it fixed." She was silent for such a long time he wondered if he'd pushed her too far.

When she turned back around, her cheeks were still so, so red, the colour leaching into her neck, too. Reaching her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the metal and dropped it to his desk. "I'll give you the money once he's finished."

Jellal didn't reply, just flicked it across the desk with two fingers.

"Be careful with that," Erza said. "It's important to me."

Jellal bit back the urge to pick it up and throw it into the garbage just to hurt her. The thought was chased by shame. How could he love someone so much and want to hurt them so badly? Because she hurt me. The day she walked out of the Tower of Heaven and turned her back on him and everyone they cared about. Didn't she want to be free? Didn't she want to be with him? Didn't she want to give everything she had—

"I'll take better care of it," he heard himself say. "Apologies."

Erza nodded and turned on her heel. Jellal watched her sway all the way out of his office and down the stairs. Her scent lingered in the room. He breathed it in, wondering if it would be sweeter if the scent of iron was mixed with it.

Ultear entered, interrupting his musings. "You were right, that girl is tripping over herself. She doesn't know what to do with you."

Jellal dropped his coin to his desk and grabbed up the box Erza left behind. "I suppose not."

"It seems you don't much know what to do either. This game you're playing—be careful."

Jellal sucked on his teeth. "I'm fine."

"No," she said with false patience. "You're in love with her and I think it's going to cloud your judgement. Don't lose sight of our goal."

Jellal sat forward in his chair, any blithesomeness falling off of his face. "My judgement is fine. I won't forget what needs to be done."

"Really?" She sashayed forward and grabbed up the scarf from the desk. "Because I see gifts. That's not like you."

Jellal ground his teeth together, suddenly furious. That scarf was for Erza, even if she didn't want it. "Drop it."

"Here I thought maybe I could wear it and you could pretend I'm her," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jellal considered her, then said in a carefully deadpan voice, "You know, you're so completely unremarkable, that might just work." He said it to wound and was dissatisfied when she was steadfast under the abuse. They just didn't really have the wounding type of relationship.

"You're cranky."

Only where Erza was concerned. "Get out, Ultear." His lips curled up into a snarl as he said it. His words were like sand paper dragging over her skin, rough, but the sting they left behind was kind of pleasant.

She didn't leave, only came closer. "You know, if he hadn't chosen you as a vessel, you'd be just as unremarkable."

He knew she meant it. The attraction went skin-deep, something to do, not something to love. Still, when she moved in to kiss him, he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her back on principle alone.

Ultear wasn't fazed, she just flashed her teeth in a wide grin and pulled away, knowing that in a few hours he'd forget his sudden rage and he'd be a puppet once more.

Erza requipped into civilian clothes and pulled her furred hood over her head. The wind blew so hard that it nearly knocked her over. Snow kicked up from the side of the road and left shallow drifts over the sidewalk. She stepped easily over those, making her way towards a place called Lily Grain. It was a dress shop, one of two located in Magnolia. The place was expensive; she'd been in once with Cana and Mirajane. After looking at the cacophony of finely made clothes and assessing her wallet, she'd decided that it wasn't worth it. She wished she could turn back time now; that way she wouldn't have to waste the rest of her day shopping.

You can still cancel. Never before did she think she was a fickle girl, but suddenly she felt uncertain and shy and maddeningly confused. There was a drumming in her head, a myriad of vicious voices all fighting to be heard. Some said she just wanted to go because he was a connection to Jellal. Some said it was a matter of pride. Some, the most vicious and perhaps the most truthful, peeled back the layers of denial and told her exactly what she didn't want to hear: she wanted to pretend that this man were another, if only absolutely everything in her life had been different.

With a great, frustrated puff of air, she turned sharply into Lily Grain's.

Every wall was lined with clothes. A part of her was excited. She relished the idea of being able to prove that she wasn't a one-trick pony. She could be a warrior and a girl, right? Sure. The only thing was, the rows upon rows of clothes were overwhelming—she didn't even know where to start.

"Can I help you, miss?" A tall, willowy woman with fine silver hair and crow's feet popped out from behind a tall rack.

Erza wrung her hands together and almost left, practically convinced that she didn't actually want to do this, but then she hardened her resolve. "I'm looking for a dress to wear to the Master's Ball tomorrow evening."

"Tomorrow?" the woman squawked. "You've left it to the last minute."

Erza latched on to that. If she didn't have a dress, she didn't have to go, right? And if she didn't have to go, she'd save herself some turmoil and heart ache and hope and poison—because that was what waited at the end of this line, right? Nothing but hurt, she was sure of it. "If—if you can't do anything—"

"I never said that," the woman snapped, suddenly sharp. "I have something for everyone here. Come." Then, armed with a measuring tape, she ushered Erza into a wide open room in the back. It was separated from the rest of the shop by a large, black curtain. "Take off your clothes."

"My clothes?" Erza repeated.

The lady looked at her, an exasperated expression on her face. "How am I supposed to measure you and find something that fits? Into your skivvies, come on."

Erza didn't want to be so exposed in front of a stranger, but the woman really couldn't take a measure through her clothes, right? With a sigh, she closed her eyes and magicked away everything except her under things. When the light cleared and she opened her eyes again, the shop keeper was giving her the most peculiar look.

Erza thought she'd say something about the magic, so she was unprepared when the woman opened her mouth and said, "You're all scarred."

She didn't need to look down to know what she spoke of. Her arms and her legs, her stomach, all riddled with small white scars. They'd mostly disappeared over the years, but some particularly deep ones from whip lashes remained.

"I have ointment to cover that up," the woman determined after a silent moment. "That way, you'll be able to wear your dress without calling attention to those nasty marks."

Erza didn't reply. Her visible scars weren't really an issue, it was the invisible ones, the ones she seemed determined to tear open, that were the real problem. Siegrain filled her mind, temptingly toxic. "Make sure the dress is your finest." If she was going to sabotage herself, she figured she may as well look good doing it.