Juliette Coulombe (clearyourmind) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-28 13:19:00 |
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Juliette had not missed Darius’ concerned looks, or the fact that he had stayed longer than strictly necessary, even after Alys was awake. It seemed he really cared for her sister. It was, in the midst of everything else, very small comfort, however. She had choked down the porridge eventually, though it had been cold by the time she had remembered it. There had been another cup of bitter tea some time ago, and she would not have retreated from Alys’ room at all had Ms. Han not insisted on giving her time to sleep. Juliette had settled herself in the sitting room then, scrolling through the network to pass the time and finding only more things to cause her distress. She didn’t want to cry, but the tightness in her chest was almost suffocating. She wanted, more than a little, to throw something and watch it shatter, but curbed the impulse with a practiced mental shove. It would help nothing (except, perhaps, her emotional state, but that was less relevant in the moment, now wasn’t it?). She did not realize that she had dozed off, curled among the cushions, until she heard voices. It seemed that someone had come, and Ms. Han had invited them inside. Divina took the seat across from the girl as she had previously done not long ago. Per Lavitz’s insistence on silence, the knight had possessed the good sense to change out of her riding gown. And yet, although she had dressed in civilian attire, the strain was evident in the circles under her eyes, the haphazard plait draped over a hunched shoulder. Even with Morgayne’s presence to anchor her, the day had not been kind, offering little in the way of results besides. She was not defeated, however. Divina straightened her spine, startled by the sense of responsibility that filled her at the sight of Juliette. But there was no pause for self-examination as she asked, “How much have you slept?” Juliette looked up, unsurprised after her recent conversation on the network to see Lady Marcos, though she did note, with some muted distress, that the woman did not look her usual immaculate best. But she did not have the energy just now for more than a few thoughts in this direction; she was tired and already worried, not to mention feeling a little as though she had been hollowed out. “Good afternoon.” The words were automatic, easy where others would be difficult. To the question, she answered, vaguely, “Some.” She had slept the night prior until Alys’ screaming had wakened her, and perhaps a little just now, though she could not say how much that had truly been. “Some,” Divina echoed, lips pursed. The girl was not in good shape. The bruises under her eyes, the rumpled state of her dress, the way she had buried herself into the cushions, as though to find in them some solace—none of these eased the burden upon the fell knight’s shoulders. Unthinking, Divina rose. In long strides, she crossed the distance between her seat and Juliette’s. The woman crouched down, laying a hand gently over the girl’s hair. “How are you feeling?” Divina said. “And Alys?” The touch was unexpected, but she had become more accustomed recently to physical expressions of affection. Alys was a proponent, and at the moment, the hand resting on her head was strangely comforting. “I don’t know,” she answered, meeting the woman’s eyes. The answer encompassed so many things. She didn’t know how she felt. She didn’t know how Alys felt. She didn’t know what to do. “Not well,” she said at last. That, too, encompassed both her and her sister. “The white mage said a way would be found to heal her but… he looked… very worried.” She wanted to believe it would all be well, but she couldn’t. Bad things happened more often than good. Divina withdrew her hand. It joined the other, forming white-knuckled fists in her skirts. “You should proceed to bed,” she said after a moment of tense silence, coming to her feet. Proper rest would do far better for Juliette than stolen hours in the sitting room, of all places. If this disease was contagious, the squire could not be in anything less than optimum condition. Faram forbid what would happen if Juliette, too, fell ill. “I will keep vigil for the rest of the day.” Juliette found herself too tired to argue. And the presence of Lady Marcos was a comforting one. “Perhaps I should,” she agreed. Then, softly, “If… something changes… you will wake me? But call the white mage first.” “It will be so.” Divina hovered by the squire’s side and waited for her to rise, not likely to be at ease until the girl had been seen to her room (and with refreshments, Divina considered, reminding herself to speak with the housekeeper) for certain. An unnecessary precaution though it was, Divina’s nerves frayed raw, she would not rest without knowing Juliette’s security had been guaranteed. So little else could be, she thought, teeth gritting. “And should there be anything you require,” she continued, “you will inform me immediately.” “Yes,” Juliette said. But really, the things she needed were not things anyone could give her. Tell me that I will not lose my family scant months after finding it, she could not say. No one could provide that sort of reassurance, and she could think of nothing else she needed in this moment save that. She stood from her seat, neglecting even to smooth the wrinkles in her clothing. “Thank you,” she said. A hand reached out, then stopped, fell back to her side. (It did not go unnoticed.) In the end, this was not Alys, who cared little for the propriety required of their clas. As much as she might have liked to seek physical comfort, she had just enough sense to realize such would not be proper or appropriate. And if she was infected -- a possibility -- the last thing she wanted was to make anyone else ill. Attempting to compose herself -- she had not realized she still had tears left -- she turned to go. “Juliette.” She turned her head back. “Yes?” The knight stepped forward then, and after a moment of hesitation (how had he done this?), folded her arms around Juliette in a silent gesture of shared strength, cheek pressed against her hair. Divina’s touch was firm, steady, an attempt to hold herself together inasmuch as it was to buoy the younger girl. A moment of shocked hesitation, then, with a sniffle muffled against the older woman’s shoulder, Juliette’s arms came up, hands gripping the fabric at the back of her dress, holding on far more tightly than was, perhaps, right or appropriate. It seemed she had more than a few tears left after all. “Not alone,” the knight said into the girl’s ear. “Understand?” “Thank you,” Juliette managed once again. It was not, in the end, nearly enough. But in this moment, it was something. |