Work Text:
Soup. Oh, delicious soup.
They’ve finally foraged up enough to make themselves a real meal. No more dried meat scraps or fish for the hundredth time. Wonderful, amazing soup!
Sciel had scrounged up some wild carrots and onions. Lune offered some herbs. Monoco had said something gruff and vague and then handed her a pouch of powdered stock from…somewhere. Doesn’t matter. It all added together into something heavenly.
Now, the soup is bubbling low in the pot over the fire. The flames crackle steadily, casting warm orange light over the worn faces seated around it. Lune is curled up with a book half-hidden beneath her blanket. Monoco is shining his bell with a clump of his own fur. Sciel ladles stew into bowls, murmuring to herself as she adjusts the seasoning. Verso is off on one of his broody walks; he said not to leave any for him if anyone else wanted seconds, which Sciel pointedly ignored.
Maelle sits a little ways off, leaning back on her palms, her legs stretched toward the fire. Her eyes are on the flames, but her mind is somewhere else. Everywhere else.
She’s not cold. Not really. But something in her won’t stop trembling.
It’s been like that lately.
Like the world is holding its breath around her, waiting for something to fall apart.
She stands. Her joints pop. A two-day-old scab on her side pulls and itches.
“Gonna get some air,” she says to no one in particular and starts walking past the edge of camp.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Lune says, suddenly perking up. This startles Monoco, causing his bell to clang noisily. Every time Maelle thinks she’s fallen asleep, she’ll jolt like a startled rabbit and be awake again.
“I won’t be long,” Maelle says back, waving a hand. Then, mimicking what Verso had said when he departed on his own walk, “Don’t leave me a bowl if anyone wants seconds.”
Sciel snorts. “Yeah right. If anyone is gonna be eating tonight, it’s you, young lady. Be back in ten!”
Maelle grins. “I will.” She then turns and continues walking.
The moment she passes the tree line, the warmth of the fire leaves her skin, and the quiet becomes too loud. The moon filters down between skeletal branches, turning everything silver and still.
It’s almost peaceful, in an eerie sort of way.
And then, she feels it. A strange prickling sensation in the back of her neck. Her hand reaches up slowly, feeling. Like the raised hackles of an alarmed dog, the hairs on her nape are standing up. She looks around, her other hand splaying open, ready to summon her rapier.
And that’s when she sees her.
Around twenty feet away, half-concealed in shadow, stands the figure peering out from behind a tree.
A girl. Pale-haired. Slight. Masked.
The one Maelle keeps seeing.
The girl is watching them. Has been for some time, apparently. Her single, remaining eye reflects the moonlight faintly, unreadable behind its veil of exhaustion. She doesn’t flinch when Maelle looks at her.
Maelle drops her arm. Relaxes her fingers. There’s no need to call forth her weapon.
Not with her.
“Hi,” Maelle says softly. “Alicia, right?”
A moment of hesitation. Then, a small nod.
“You hungry?”
Alicia blinks. Maelle can’t help but giggle a little at her bewildered expression, even when most of it is hidden under her mask.
“We made soup,” Maelle goes on. “It’s pretty good. I mean, I haven’t tried it yet, but I bet it’s good. It smells good, at least. But even if it isn’t, I’m so hungry, I’ll scarf it down anyway.” She pauses. “So…want some? I promise, it’s not poisoned or anything.”
Alicia hesitates again. Longer this time.
Maelle takes a small step forward. Reaches out her hand, palm turned upward, but doesn’t move any closer than that. Just waits.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
Five seconds pass. Then ten. Then fifteen.
Maelle is about to pull her arm back when Alicia finally reaches out and takes her hand.
She doesn’t look much better up close.
Her shoulders are hunched like she can’t quite straighten them. Her clothing is tattered and stained. Her skin, pale and ashen, looks thinner than it did before. She sways slightly, like she’s been on her feet too long.
Maelle’s brows knit. “You’re not doing well, huh?”
Alicia shakes her head. A jerky, unsteady motion.
Maelle breathes out through her nose. “This Continent has a way of beating the crap out of everyone…”
Alicia doesn’t smile, but the corner of her eye wrinkles a bit. Maelle takes it as a small victory.
“Come on,” Maelle says. “You don’t have to talk. Just eat.”
They return together, and all conversation dies the moment they enter camp.
Sciel immediately rises to her feet, hand frozen with the ladle mid-air, like she’s planning on using it in the place of her scythe. “Maelle. What—”
“She was watching us,” Maelle says. “I invited her over.”
“She— she was watching us?” Lune echoes, slowly closing her book. Her eyes flick from Maelle to Alicia warily.
“She’s not a threat,” Maelle insists, helping Alicia settle by the fire—which she immediately scoots back from. Glancing at the burns visible on her face, Maelle thinks, Oh, yeah. Right. The girl lowers herself down onto the earth like her bones can barely hold her weight. Her hands shake as she wraps them around her middle. “She’s not well. Look at her.”
It’s true. In the light of the fire, Alicia looks even worse. Her skin is pale and clammy, sweat beaded along her brow. Rasping breaths can be heard from beneath her mask. Her white hair sticks to her temples by sweat. There’s a fresh bruise on the corner of her empty eye socket.
“Maelle,” Lune says. “She’s one of them.”
“I know,” Maelle grits.
“Isn’t she usually with him?” Lune presses.
“Yes,” Maelle says. She doesn’t need anyone to say his name- she already knows it. The man who haunts her dreams. The man who took Gustave away from her.
Renoir.
“But she’s not like him,” Maelle says. “She’s never hurt us before! Besides, we beat him once before. I’ll happily do it again.”
“Barely,” Monoco mutters. He’s been staring at Alicia ever since she stepped foot into the camp.
“Please,” Maelle pleads with them. “Let her have some soup. We can give her Verso’s half!”
The others exchange looks. Their skepticism is palpable.
But then, Sciel moves.
She sets the ladle down and comes forward, kneeling down in front of Alicia. Alicia looks up at her timidly, and Maelle gets a weird feeling of deja vu.
She used to look at adults the same way when she was little.
“Oh, honey,” Sciel murmurs, taking in every inch of Alicia’s exhausted form. Alicia looks so drained. Like a sketch half-finished and left to fade. “Look at you.”
“She’s hurt,” Lune speaks up. “Her left wrist. Look at the way she’s holding it.”
Indeed, Alicia has one hand clasped around her wrist like it hurts.
And Alicia just sits there. She’s clearly aware of the scrutiny, but she’s too tired to care.
“We’re helping her,” Sciel decides.
Maelle perks up. “Really?”
Sciel nods. “Really.” She looks back at Alicia. “May I see your wrist?”
Alicia hesitates, then extends her arm out. Sciel is gentle as she tugs off her glove and rolls up her sleeve, revealing a deep, gaping wound sliced viciously in Alicia’s wrist. It cuts all the way down to the bone. The visible muscle and tissue are a stark red and pink against her monochrome grey skin.
Sciel sucks in a sharp breath. Maelle’s stomach turns. Lune looks both appalled and in awe. Monoco is silent. Alicia blinks like she wasn’t expecting the wound to look that bad.
“Oh,” Sciel finally says. “Oh my.”
“That should have killed you,” Lune says. “But…you’re immortal, aren’t you? Like Verso? Because he’s your brother, right?”
“Lune, dear, less intrusive questions right now,” Sciel chides, to which Lune blusters.
But Alicia does nod. Slow and stiff, as though every vertebrae in her neck is strung together by fraying thread. The fire’s glow dances across the cracked porcelain mask covering the lower half of her face, catching on the deep bruise by her missing eye.
The wound is so obviously wrong. Wrong in the way that makes Maelle’s mouth dry out.
It’s not just deep—it’s ruined. The skin puckered and angry around the edges, something old and rotting beneath something new and raw. A wound that was made to last, not heal.
And yet, she’s alive.
“Immortal or not, we need to treat this,” Sciel says. “After all, immortal beings can still feel pain. Verso makes that clear enough when he stubs his toe.”
There’s a soft breath exhaled from the mask- a laugh. Or something close to it.
Sciel does the work. She flushes the wound with water, dabs it with a salve Lune had made from herbs, and wraps it with clean lichen and strips of fabric, all while murmuring sweet things whenever Alicia flinches. Meanwhile, Maelle hovers anxiously.
And when Alicia suddenly jolts in pain, Maelle feels a sharp twinge in her own wrist. Her eyes dart down, half-expecting the bone to be piercing the flesh.
But there’s nothing there. The skin is smooth. Unbroken. Unharmed.
She swallows hard.
“There,” Sciel says, tying off the bandages. “All done. It’ll still hurt, but at least it’s clean and wrapped.”
Alicia flexes her wrist, then gives Sciel a grateful look. She dips her head. Sciel smiles at her.
“It’s not a problem, sweetie,” Sciel says. “Now, let’s get you some soup, hm?”
As Sciel gets up to ladle the soup, Maelle sits down next to Alicia.
“What did that to you?” she asks.
Alicia tilts her head toward her, just slightly. There’s something in her eye— a sadness so deep it doesn’t know what to do with itself. Maelle thinks again of a sketch left in the rain. Ink bleeding. Lines gone soft.
When Alicia doesn’t answer, Maelle decides to switch topics. “You’ve got Sciel wrapped around your finger now. Sorry, I probably should have warned you. She’s a bit of a mother hen. But it’s nice.”
The corner of Alicia’s eye crinkles again.
Sciel returns with two bowls of steaming soup. She presents them with a flourish, and Maelle giggles softly.
“Don’t think you can get out of eating,” Sciel says to Maelle, who huffs.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all day since we found those onions,” Maelle says. She immediately scoops a spoonful of soup into her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees movement- Slowly, hesitantly, Alicia is taking off her mask.
Old burn scars, twisted and gnarled like seared tree roots, climb along her face, probably stretching further down her neck and torso. Everyone does their best not to look (Lune is struggling the most).
Maelle’s face feels hot all of a sudden. Burning. Like someone is pressing an iron to it. She flinches at nothing, and Alicia gives her a quizzical look.
“Burned my tongue,” Maelle lies. At least…she thinks that’s a lie.
Alicia nods softly, then takes a bite of her own soup.
Something about the way Alicia sips from the spoon—hesitant, trembling, desperate—makes Maelle’s chest ache.
Like looking at a reflection she can’t recognize.
Like watching a dream rot from the inside.
Sciel comes back over to tuck a blanket around Alicia’s shoulders, fussing quietly, her brow furrowed with the same deep compassion she offers anyone who needs her. “You’re safe here tonight, alright? You’re not alone.”
Alicia blinks in delight.
“Told you,” Maelle whispers. “Mother hen.”
There’s that eye crinkle again, but this time, Maelle can see her lips twitch into a tiny ghost of a smile.
Alicia returns to her soup, and Maelle stops talking. She lets her have her peace.
It doesn’t last long.
The first sign is subtle. A faint tremble in Alicia’s hand, barely there. She sets the bowl down after only a few spoonfuls, her shoulders curling in. Maelle doesn’t think anything of it at first—maybe she’s just full or tired or overwhelmed. She’s been through a lot. Of course she’d be unsteady.
But then, Alicia sways.
And Maelle sees her throat work in a dry swallow. Her fingers go white-knuckled on the fabric of the blanket. Her eye blinks too slowly, unfocused.
“…Alicia?” Maelle says, low.
The girl’s chest heaves once. Her body lurches forward. She makes a faint gagging sound behind tightly pressed lips.
And that’s when Maelle panics.
“Sciel?!”
The name comes out loud, high-pitched. Maelle scrambles closer, hands fluttering helplessly in the air like she doesn’t know where to touch, where to hold, what to do. “She’s—she’s sick— she’s gonna throw up or something—!”
She does.
Alicia keels forward, gripping her stomach now, and the soup comes back up in a messy torrent.
“Sciel!” Maelle shrieks again, voice cracking.
Sciel is there in an instant.
“Move, move— Maelle, move, I’ve got her.”
Maelle stumbles back, spilling her soup on her legs, but she doesn’t notice the burns. Her heart is hammering in her ribs like it’s trying to escape. Her mouth is dry. Her hands won’t stop shaking. She feels like a little kid again—helpless and small, barely able to breathe under the weight of someone else’s pain.
“There we go, sweetheart,” Sciel is murmuring to Alicia. “Just breathe for me, okay? I know it hurts.”
Alicia retches again, but nothing comes up—her stomach too empty, her body too weak.
“She needs water,” Sciel says. “And something gentler than stew. Her system can’t handle that yet.”
“I didn’t know,” Maelle blurts. “I-I didn’t know, I thought she needed food, I thought—”
“Shhh,” Sciel hushes, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s alright, Maelle. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But she’s sick, I-I can’t—”
“You brought her here,” Sciel says, meeting her eyes. “You helped. You did the right thing.”
Maelle swallows hard. She doesn’t feel like she did. She feels like she failed again—like she’s always too late, always doing the wrong thing. Her fists curl in her lap.
She watches as Sciel gently pulls Alicia’s hair away from her face, soothing her with a hand between the shoulder blades. “That’s it. You’re alright, sweetie. Get it out. Too much too fast. That stew was too rich for your stomach, huh?”
Alicia shudders miserably, slumping sideways when it’s over. Her face is ashen, her lips quivering, but she doesn’t cry. She just goes quiet. Bone-deep quiet. Like she’s bracing for punishment.
Sciel doesn’t let her spiral.
“Hey,” she says gently, guiding her back upright. “No shame in that. It happens. You did great.”
Alicia won’t look at her. Won’t look at anyone. Her hands twitch where they rest in her lap, like she’s waiting for someone to slap them away.
“Maelle, can you get some water and a wet cloth?” Sciel asks.
Maelle scrambles. “Yeah, yeah! I got it!”
She hurries over to the supplies, but right as she’s bending down to retrieve a cloth, a wave of nausea hits her, hot and sudden. She jerks upright, sucking in a sharp breath. The bottom of her throat feels warm and tastes acidic. Lune glances at her.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Maelle answers, but her own voice sounds hollow in her ears. Raspy. Weak.
Lune raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look alright. You look like you’re about to be sick.”
She certainly feels like it. But only for a moment, as the sensation slowly dies away until only a drained feeling is left behind. Limbs heavy. Brain foggy.
“I’m fine,” she says and bends down again.
She doesn’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t think she really wants to. So she tries to focus on the task given to her by Sciel instead.
“She needs water, right? I’ve got water—wait, I can heat it up, maybe it’s too cold—no, wait, she doesn’t need it hot, she just needs it clean—oh God, did I boil this one or the other one—”
“Maelle,” Sciel says gently, trying not to laugh. “Sweetheart. Breathe.”
Maelle freezes mid-step, staring down at the flask in her hands like she’s holding something that might explode. Her hair is a mess. Her cheeks are flushed. Her face is still burning (she still doesn’t know why). She probably looks like she’s about two seconds from combusting out of sheer anxiety.
“I am breathing,” she lies.
Sciel raises an eyebrow.
“I was breathing.”
That earns a chuckle from Sciel, warm and amused. She shakes her head fondly and turns back to Alicia, who’s sitting hunched under the blanket, her head tilted toward the fire. Her face is pale and drawn, but a little less than before. Her eye is half-lidded, glazed with exhaustion but present.
Sciel leans down and whispers softly, brushing a damp strand of hair behind Alicia’s ear:
“God help me. She’s trying so hard. Poor thing’s got no clue what she’s doing, but I don’t have the heart to tell her.” She pauses, then adds, “She’s like a baby goose with anxiety.”
Alicia’s eye crinkles at the corners.
She lets out a faint, breathy sound—small but unmistakable.
A giggle.
Sciel grins.
Maelle, mid-rummaging through the supplies again, whirls around at the sound. “What?! What— did she laugh? What did you say? Was it about me?! ”
“Nooo,” Sciel says innocently, smoothing Alicia’s blanket.
Maelle narrows her eyes. “Sciel—”
“Just telling her how helpful you’ve been.”
“I knew you said something! What did you say? Tell me what you said. I swear, I will scream.”
Alicia giggles again, a soft hiccup of a sound, half-buried under the blanket.
Maelle huffs and lifts her nose. “Fine! Don’t tell me! I don’t care!”
She brings the flask and wet cloth over, and Sciel thanks her.
“Here, wash your mouth out,” Sciel says, pressing the flask into Alicia’s hands. Alicia obeys, sipping slowly, tentatively.
Maelle is getting deja vu again.
Sciel gently wipes off Alicia’s face with the cloth, and when she does, Maelle feels the burning in her own face fade away.
“There we go,” Sciel says softly. “Feeling a little better, sweetie?”
Alicia nods.
Maelle offers her a wild carrot.
Alicia stares at it.
“I didn’t know what else to grab.”
Alicia laughs slightly and takes it.
Sciel eventually stops hovering—though only after bundling Alicia in two more blankets and telling her to get her if she needs anything. The others drift off in time, retreating to bedrolls, to books, to silence. The fire settles into a soft, sleepy crackle. The stars above glimmer in the sky like dust in still water.
But Maelle stays awake.
So does Alicia.
They sit beside each other now. Closer than they were before. Alicia’s fingers are curled loosely around the edge of one blanket like she’s afraid it’ll be taken from her. She ate the whole carrot. No seasoning or dipping sauce or anything. Gross.
She hasn’t moved much. Her eye droops. Her breath’s gotten steadier, softer.
Maelle fiddles with a stick, drawing lazy circles in the dirt. Her knuckles are scraped from a fight with a Nevron earlier. She presses the pad of her thumb to the scab without thinking, then glances up at Alicia.
“You always watch us,” she says quietly. “But you never come close.”
Alicia glances down. Guilty.
Maelle shrugs, but it’s not dismissive. It’s small. Honest. “I get it. I used to do the same. I used to think if I got too close, I’d ruin everything. Or they’d see something awful in me. Or I’d say the wrong thing and break it all.”
Alicia doesn’t say anything. Instead, she leans over, slow and careful, and bumps her shoulder gently into Maelle’s.
Maelle bumps back.
It’s such a stupid, small thing. Like something sisters would do. Or friends, maybe. Or—just girls, at the edge of everything, stealing a moment for themselves.
“Wanna braid each other’s hair?” Maelle eventually asks.
Alicia stares at her.
Maelle grins. “I’m serious. It could be fun!”
Alicia considers it, then nods.
Maelle shifts behind her, gathering her long white hair into her hands. She splits it into three even sections and starts to braid.
It’s clumsy at first. Her fingers are rough from fighting, and Alicia’s hair is so light and thin it barely stays put. But she keeps going. Slow and careful.
She fills the silence with words.
“I’m not the best at braiding,” she admits. “That’s why I just throw my hair into a ponytail and call it a day. But Gustave— Gustave was the best at braiding. He said he used to braid Emma’s—that’s his sister and the Chief Councilor of Lumière—hair when they were kids. He still does—” She stops. Swallows hard. Breathes out. Starts again. “He still did. When she would have a really important meeting, she would demand that he did her hair, and if he tried to refuse, she would threaten to lock him up for disobeying the government of Lumière! He was just so good at it, even with a robot arm. He was so gentle, and it would also make me drowsy. Sometimes I would pretend to have a headache just so he would play with my hair.”
Maelle’s fingers fumble with the fine strands, the braid forming unevenly, slipping and tangling, but she keeps at it, patient and gentle. The softness of Alicia’s hair beneath her calloused hands is a startling contrast to everything else in this world—the battles, the harshness, the cold that never quite leaves her bones. Here, in this quiet moment, it feels like a fragile thread connecting them to something real, something tender.
Alicia leans slightly into Maelle’s touch, her single eye closing briefly as if savoring the warmth and the strange comfort of being cared for without words.
“I think he would have liked you,” Maelle says softly. “After we, like, explained everything, of course. Renoir would still be on his hit list, though. But not you. He’s good with weird, quiet girls.”
Alicia turns her head slightly to leer over her shoulder. Maelle titters.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Too personal?”
Alicia huffs and looks forward again.
“Is Verso a good brother?” Maelle asks after a moment.
Alicia’s shoulders tense a tiny bit, then relax. She nods.
“Good,” Maelle says. “I’m glad. He seems nice.”
Another nod. Smaller this time.”
When Maelle’s finished, she ties the end with a fraying ponytail from her own wrist. “There! All done!”
Alicia reaches back to feel, then smiles. Maelle smiles back.
Silence settles as Alicia starts to braid Maelle’s hair. They sit comfortably, watching the stars up above.
Girl to girl.
Ghost to ghost.
Wounds pressed close in the dark, where no one can judge them. Where no one can say this is strange or wrong or impossible. Where no one knows that they are the same.
By morning, Alicia will be gone, the blankets that once covered her folded neatly by the fire and her mask gone from the log it sits on now.
By morning, Maelle will be battle-hardened and blood-soaked again.
By morning, they will go back to being enemies.
But for right now, they’re just girls.
“Do you think, in another life or another world…we could have been friends?”
Alicia does not answer, but she doesn’t need to. The way she presses her forehead against the back of Maelle’s head is enough to know what her reply would have been.