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Valeria Tisserand

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Weaver
He was alive.

It was something that should have brought her joy. It should have brought her relief. It should have made her giddy with excitement and hope. It should have done anything and everything but sink claws into her gut that were cold enough that her spine straightened, painfully tight, and her head swam with the effort to hold her mind in place. Too often it felt caught on the precipice of change, as if their meeting had somehow spiraled the very fabric of this world into a new and frightening array of color she couldn't glimpse past the blinding clarity - the one, singular truth - that he was alive.

Fates it hurt to focus on that thought for too long. The sharpness of her new reality pricked needles at her eyes, drawing tears as she blinked at the horizon. She'd gotten used to waking up each morning knowing he wouldn't be there. She'd found ways to soothe herself during storms and in the darkest of nights when he'd been absent from her side, too far out of reach to whisper that it would be okay. They'd been something like friends once, in the way that teenagers might one day start to look at each other and recognize that there was more to another person than the day-in and day-out certainty that they'd be there.

She hadn't let herself imagine what it might have been like if he'd lived. That possibility, as fragile as a snowflake in Spring, had been too bittersweet to hold onto for long. She'd felt its presence lingering for days and weeks after that night when he'd been lost to her - to them all. She hadn't considered that the possibility had remained because he had remained, too. Was it her fault that he'd spent so long away from them after that night? Would it have turned out differently had she known and reached out for him, searched for him until he was back in her arms? A true friend wouldn't have given up. They wouldn't have listened when they'd been told to give up hope without evidence to be damned.

Valeria blinked at the sky, then glanced towards the sea so, so far below. She could feel Shroud weaving around the ship, caressing its gossamer sails, feeding the... Well, she wasn't quite sure what kept this blasted thing in the air, only felt grateful that it was, even as she turned to look at the receding coast behind them. It was a green line distant on the horizon. Even if she wanted to change her mind, she couldn't do it now. She still felt the pull from the favor he'd called in, tugging at something deeper than her heart or any other physical aspect of her body. If she could liken it to a soul, perhaps that was what she'd call it as she turned inward, feeling for the Shroud-touched bargain she had unknowingly made all those years ago.

Such a childish fool she'd been.

And him? Had he known what this would do all these years later?

She wasn't sure if the promise had been fulfilled. She'd come with them of her own "free will" so to speak, though she'd kept the ocarina, glaring at the dagger he'd raised as if to call him out on that threat. If it was him... He wouldn't hurt her. That bluff was called the moment she narrowed her eyes and hissed through her teeth that the instrument would stay with her and in turn she would stay with him. Not quite a bargain struck, but an ammend perhaps made to one already being woven into ever more elaborate tapestries. She'd considered sending a thread of Shroud his way to inspect just what he was, if he'd been real or imaginary, or someone wearing a familiar face.

Her chest tightened even as her throat caught, heat flaring underneath her skin as nails carved into the pale skin of her forearms where she'd crossed them. They'd kept her down in the living quarters, if one could call the shared lines of cots and beds that, before the male who she'd come to know as the "Captain" of this vessel finally shook his head and made a motion with his hands. Two of the crewmembers who had thought to hold her back had looked at each other, their similarities enough to tell her they shared some sort of kinship before the young male threw up his hands and shrugged his shoulders at his sister, or perhaps cousin. The female had been slower to draw away, watching Valeria with caution, but a wordless order, no more than a sound from the Captain's throat had her finally pulling back.

Valeria slipped past as soon as she could, fleeing to one end of the ship to try and get distance. She'd stayed there for half the day as her home became less and less visible, as they left the trees and cliffs behind, as she saw land give way to sea. It was sunset by the time she heard footsteps drawing near, and her eyes shifted towards the half-known figure with a weariness that betrayed everything the bristling of her shoulders tried to hide.

"I don't even know what to say to you right now," she finally breathed. "I... I don't even know how to feel."

The truth, at least. She could give him that, if only because it was too difficult to figure out how to craft a pretty lie. She was angry, yes. She was also hurt, and relieved, and overjoyed, and sick to her stomach. Though perhaps that last one was as much to do with the strangeness of being on this blasted thing. The way it managed Shroud was unlike anything she'd felt before, and then there was him. He felt off, too, though she couldn't quite tell how or why.

"Although, I suppose I should be thanking you," she snorted, pulling her attention from him to let it drift back to the sea. "I'd be walking down the aisle right about now if I'd stayed."
 
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It was a decision that stemmed from shock, or impulse, or perhaps both.

He thought its owner had died, but the deeper they reached into their subterfuge... the more apparent it became that he was mistaken. He could have twisted his own reality and blamed her for what happened and just ended her life, even when it went against their group's rules. The only choice he had was to force her to come with them and... he didn't think it through. Didn't think there'd be a lick of magic left, he thought the string had snapped and withered away when he--

In the last year, when he "woke up", he never bothered to look back because he didn't want confirmation on if she'd died, or if she lived. Tera wouldn't have known what to do with either. So he let those memories slip and fall into the void, he'd move on.

Well... until a job took him closer to home than he liked, and then directly confronted with someone he tried to forget.

Astera had hid the way the magic pulled and burned as soon as his words left his mouth, held the dagger firm, held what eye contact he could because it threatened his composure and resolve. Pain wasn't often the common effect, but he suspected it was because this magic was from him, from them. It seared in a place so deep within, you wouldn't find it with a simple blade. What else was he supposed to do? It was shock, fear and relief that held his blade and it was those very same feelings that compelled him to take her with them. It didn't feel right, he wasn't even going to use that favour at any point in their lives unless it was harmless fun. Something that benefited them both, that didn't force her to do something she didn't want to.

That decision was childish, and it was wrong. He knew that deep down.

It was too late, now.

There she was, on the ship taking her from home with an artifact they coveted. Five dark and empty years separated them, plus one year of ... this. For their kind that time was nothing, but they were still young. Fifty or one hundred years from now? It'd be insignificant. For now, they sat and lived with what memories existed from that night.... and everything in between.

In his hands was a bowl of a noodle soup... vegetable because he wasn't certain if she still had an aversion to meat. It was meant as a show of good faith from the Captain, neither of them were aware of when she last ate, but also to stave away the cold from the altitude and the ocean wind. She broke the silence before it had time to settle, before he had even a moment to consider what he wanted to say to her. What could he say? Tera could honey his words all he wanted (he didn't) but they kidnapped her, it was as simple as that (wrapped in all the complexities of stealing a valuable Seer). Not only did they kidnap her, she was compelled to go with them (as far as he knew or understood).

It was ugly, and she had every right to look at him like that, even as it struck an old cord tied to something that he believed died when that blade slipped through his flesh.

His fingers tapped against the bowl before he walked as close to her as he dared, "they followed through with him, did they?" It was talked about, before... that incident. Astera, held the bowl between his thumb and fingers and held it out for her, the spoon scraping slightly before it bumped against his thumb. "here, for you." The swirl of silver and greys in his eyes lifted to meet the pale lavender hues of hers for just a moment before they snapped back to the horizon, just beyond her.

"Truth be told, I don't know what to say to you, either. Or..." breath was forcibly exhaled through his nostrils, "where to start." His free hand lifted to brush back stray pieces of hair that slipped from the leather holding his hair back. How did he even begin to explain anything? Did he want to? If he were being honest, he'd sever this lingering thread without much thought, if that was what she wanted. They'd negotiate for the ocarina and... part ways, as too optimistic as that sounded. "A package deal" had been thrown in the conversations just hours before.

Anything he wanted to say to steer the conversation towards an "end" to... or to just let things die, sever old connections even, it all turned to dust on his tongue before he had a chance to utter a word. He didn't know what he was clinging. If he were to look at this practically, she had been an obligation, nothing more.

Liar, whispered his very core.


@Valeria Tisserand
 
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He was carrying... soup?

It was such a simple thing. An old friend who she hadn't seen in years. A bit of food offered as an apology. It was the kind of melancholy, simple thing that she would have romanticized as a younger girl. How many stories had she read where this very scene had played out within different contexts? More than she cared to admit, that was for sure. Still, she couldn't help the way it pulled at her heart, tugging at the smallest corner of her lips to see him stumble over his words nearly as much as she had her own.

Neither one of them knew how to be here. Neither of them knew how to do this.

"Apparently an attack on the family name didn't deter him," she answered back, sighing around a laugh as she shook her head. "His family, at least. Knowing the way things work, it may have even made me seem more enticing. Fates know my Uncle tried to spin the tale any way he could to gain favor."

And she had secretely hated him for it every day since, not just for those she'd lost and the way it had played out for her, but because she couldn't bring herself to lash out at the part he'd crafted for her within it. A damsel in distress. A thing that was to be coveted or protected at all costs.

She let her gaze drift back to the sails of the ship, inspecting them before the dizzying height tore her breath away and sent her vision reeling. "I don't think I can eat," she whined in complaint nearly as much as she admitted the truth. When she looked at him again, she was also staring at the bowl of soup as if it were a monster in disguise waiting to jump out at her and attack. All her faith in her ability to keep a single mouthful in her stomach fled off the side of the ship as her insides twisted in response to the unfamiliar sensation of Shroud being drawn in and around those sails and through whatever powered the larger mechanism.

"Always thought I'd love flying," she murmured, half trying to distract herself. Anything to keep from talking about the two of them and how awkward it was to be here again after all those years of believing him dead. She'd mourned him... She'd said her goodbyes. And all this time, he'd been what? Secretly gallavanting off doing who knew what?! Anger fluttered inside her stomach, dancing with the Shroud-sick nausea. Oh, what a duet they made. She really was going to throw up, wasn't she? Valeria's hand grasped the railing, fingers digging in until her nails shrieked at her to either let go or risk splinters.

"Tell me it gets better," she said in a whimper instead. "Leaving the forest... Facing the outside world. The... Everything? The enormity of it all? Tell me it gets better."

She glanced at him again, lavender eyes pleading with him for some shred of hope that she hadn't condemned herself to a fate worse than what she'd faced back at home. Then again, she wasn't sure how much worse that could get either. It had already seemed fairly bleak. Not the sort where she'd been about to succumb to some fatal illness - less marriage count - but still! Damn it all, she felt like she was being overly dramatic. ... Was she? Or was it okay to want to scream, and cry, and blame everyone around her for drifting through the last several years as if she'd been a fragment of the girl she'd been before everything had changed?

"I want to hate you," she admitted, softer still. And yet, she couldn't stop staring at him. She couldn't... "I should hate you," she continued, vision blurring as her eyes stung behind the first line of tears. "You've been alive all this time. You left me there... How else could you be alive? How else..." The words came faster still as she felt the wound tear open once more, felt it bleed all over again after years of being sewn shut with whatever strength she'd had to muster. "I should hate you, but I missed you so much."

@Astera Devereaux
 
He snorted, "of course he did."

A year ago Years ago he would have been relieved, and perhaps, a sliver of that remained but it was muddied by all of this. How fortuitous, she wasn't going to marry into that family anymore. He would have had more time to figure out some sort of loophole or to just stay at her side without a dismissal or third-wheeling. Back then, a feeling he couldn't name prickled at his insides, lukewarm, at first, easily ignored, but up until the attack... it seared hotter, not unlike the magic had a half day before.

Now?

It was bittersweet, wasn't it? Perhaps more bitter than sweet.

The soup was set aside on some nearby crates that were secured to the railing and he watched as she negotiated with her body to not lose what little remained in her stomach. It was like a ghost wore his features, as something akin to amused sympathy crossed them for a brief moment and his eyes followed the path her's had made just moments before. He had once (more than once and sometimes still, depending on the day's toils) been where she was, clinging to that railing as he lost everything he'd eaten, or something worse.

His merit on this team had once been questioned thrice daily.

"It gets better. You'll adjust to the feeling of how the shroud is used here, or you'll become immune to it in time. As for... 'The Everything', I supposed that depends on you." How she viewed this new found "freedom" or if she saw this as her brand new cage, but much less gilded, and surrounded by people from all walks of life, everywhere they went. It was freeing, and... beautiful, but there were parts that were much less so. Ugly and brutal in ways that he never saw back home. Less politics and backstabbing, more open violence. It was refreshing, in a manner of speaking.

I want to hate you

Those words finally drew his eyes to her, with an expression some may consider subtle, but she knew him for longer than the rest. It was expectant but it was also watching him grasp onto something tangible and easy to digest and then it was gone the moment her tears fell, save for a telling clench of his jaw how can he say he missed her too. He swallowed back a reaction and instead focused on what he felt she should feel. There was a slight cant of his head as his expression slipped into an impassive one with a hint of guarded. Tera took a step towards her, "Would it be easier to hate me?" he asked her as his eyes trailed along her face, as if he was looking for the moment he struck a cord.

Hate was an easier emotion.
He felt it every day since the moment he woke up from that nothingness.

"Would it help knowing that... for the first five years away, I never thought about you once?" There was the slightest forced inflection on the final word, as something else flashed across his near colorless eyes, it was hate, it was loss, it was grief and anger and everything he felt instead. Astera closed the distance between them, gripping the railing directly beside her, still watching her face like a predator waiting for his prey to make just one mistake.

"Before this job, I just assumed you were dead, along with all the others."

That was all the horrible truth. If things had been different, he would have clawed his way back the moment he had healed up, if he hadn't...

"You can hate me, Valeria. Its all that's left."


@Valeria Tisserand
 
"Would it be easier to hate me? Would it help knowing that... for the first five years away, I never thought about you once?"

Something tore open at his words that she couldn't express in anything less than a pained whimper as he walked closer, stalking like a shadow. She pressed herself against the railing, the dizzying height and feeling of Shroud woven around the vessel forgotten as he pressed into her space. Not quite touching, but there. A hand reached up, as if to push him away or reach for his face. She wasn't sure which it had been aiming for as it stopped midair all the same.

"Before this job, I just assumed you were dead, along with all the others. You can hate me, Valeria. It's all that's left."

There was something of truth to his words that she couldn't deny. Even as her mind wrestled with the sound of his voice saying such awful things, her heart ached over the cold distance that layered over his tone. She'd heard it before. Maybe not like this, but she'd heard that tone before. Her gaze held his, struggling to maintain that eye contact even as her spine straightened, skin bristling with the weight of challenge unspoken between them.

"Well, that's the difference then, isn't it?" Her voice did not waver as she spoke, though it was soft as a whisper. "I also thought you were dead, but I thought about you every day." Her words were no longer a reckless, unchecked tumble into oblivion, but a steady dance with truth. "I blamed myself. I told myself if it weren't for me... You wouldn't have been there. You'd be safe."

He had only been there because she had been there. He'd only known her because others had deemed it necessary that she need a protector as much as a playmate. And all of them... Every person that had been there that fateful night, had been put at risk because of the tie she had to her mother. It was the first truth she had had to learn to live with in the aftermath, once the pain of losing so many had faded enough for her to think of anything else.

It had been her fault, not because of anything she had done (at least, not from what little she remembered) but simply because she existed. Her family. Her failure. Her fault.

"Hating you would be easier - a distraction." She said it again, and she could feel how the edges of that anger rallied, sharpening like a blade now set upon a mark. "But I do not deserve easy, and so I am left to what is difficult. Forgiveness."

Confusing, perhaps, but undeniable all the same.

She pushed forward, into his space as much as he'd pushed into her own, head tilting and eyes searching his own before a cheshire smile carved a path across her lips. Between one moment and the next - a singular heartbeat and pull of a thread - she was there and then she was gone, body swept away by the wind in ribbons of shadow and mist. It was dizzying, weaving Shroud before she'd gotten used to the airship, but unlike the crew that had spent energy sneaking into her home and getting them back out, she was far from spent.

Her figure revealed itself from the wall of crates nearby where she'd been hiding, slipping from the growing darkness to the fading light. She tilt her head, just as the illusion had tilt its head a moment earlier, though her pupiless eyes were a far more vibrant shade of violet and that otherness twisted around her features, unchecked by her magic.

"Tell me, Astera, would forgiveness be a better punishment for both of us? For me being foolish enough to miss you," she half-sang with a lilt in her voice as she pressed him towards the railing lest he choose to push back against her instead, "and for you, foolish enough to think you could ever forget me?"

She paused mid-step, lips curling as she hummed before she paused, wavering.

Because for all the posturing between them and games of cat and mouse, her eyes still shimmered with tears, no different than the illusion she'd crafted earlier. And as much as it hurt, there was relief in the pain. No one had held her accountable for what had happened. No one had let her feel much of anything - be it guilt or anger. To be given the choice now, it was almost intoxicating how threads of Shroud caressed her mind in response, whispering in her ear.

"Forgiveness or hate? Punishment or distraction?" Her head tilt the other way. "What would you choose, Tera?"

@Astera Devereaux
 
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