Moth's Cocoon

(Author's note, Adler is a character owned by my friend @odsteria! Go check her out!) Her hair seems better brushed today.

Lucine stares at Adler as the clock ticks idly by. Her head cradled in the cusp of her palm. She watches the marionette nibble on the corner of a biscuit with some interest– wondering how she ate. Meanwhile Adler sits in her living room, tracing the walls with eyes full of small wonder. The walls were crowded- trinkets, shelves, star maps– drying herbs whose leaves frayed and crumbled at their edges. And of course– books. Books piled higher than Lucine could even stand, her shelves upstairs packed to their limit. A charitable stack is left beside Xaela's divan couch, tonight's material no doubt. 

It was something of a teaparty– though it was really only Lucine drinking the tea. She'd left a pot of honey in the center of the table, though clearly less for her own sake. She had the vague sense her guest would be fond of it, and that sense had been right. 

Adler wands over another dallop of honey onto her plate. Though, perhaps realizing she's being watched, she smiles sheepishly at her host, “How curious the things thou keepest.. Tis truly magick that abides in thine abode.”

Lucine smiles, “You flatter me,” she brings the teacup to her lips, glancing at whatever has caught Adler's attention. Oddly enough the morpho pinned on her wall, “it's my love, after all.” She murmurs the word rolling off with irreverence, as though she knows its meaning.

“Would you like another biscuit?” Lucine offers her own, really she only put it there to keep the spread balanced, but the initial show has done its part. Adler glances quizzically at her.

“Hm… Art thou already sated?”

“No,” Lucine shrugs, “I don't make a habit of eating when I can taste my own aether in the food.” She scoots the biscuit a little closer, “you'll find it more palatable, I assure you.”

“Ah… I know thee has quite the tongued sensitivity to aether.” Adler takes the biscuit with some hesitance, the exchange quiet but for a small scrape of the plate, “What is the taste to thee?”

Lucine hums, “...Pen ink.” She responds simply, “Strange I know, but you'd understand my distaste if you dot some on the tongue.”

“Curious…” Adler has no intention of doing any such thing.

Lucine takes up the teacup once more. She sips and savors slowly. She almost sees the next question come to form in her head.

“But the tea… It doesn't taste as such?”

Lucine nods, “The pot brews itself, or rather- a familiar of mine does. Though you'd be hard pressed to see her.” There's a curl to her lips, something of mild mischief.

Adler tilts her head, as far as she was aware- Lucine had poured the tea. Still, she wouldn’t ask too many questions. Lucine seemed to revel in placing small mysteries on the board with tacks. Adler didn’t have the mind to thread a scarlet string between them just yet.

Moments more pass by in comfortable silence. Her own aether… Adler wonders if this little treat was baked by Lucine herself. Was there some sorcery to perform such a thing? Lucine didn’t seem like much of a cook, after all. She still seemed to balk at anything that threatened to callous her soft palms…. Not that such was a rare vice for a mage.

“I did call you here for some purpose.” Lucine’s voice cuts through Adler’s consideration of the biscuit, “I wanted to offer something.” Offer. From her lips it could be anything. For the briefest moment Adler’s mind recalls a not so distant memory, slow warmth coming to her face, “Ah– of course.” 

“I am loath to leave an acquaintance, much less a friend of mine, without access to my well of resources.” Lucine gestures around, but all Adler really sees is books and the occasional not so legal relic or herb, “I would like to teach you to read, and write for that matter.”

She blinks. It really could be anything, Adler’s gaze shifts away momentarily, “A companion from Sharlayan meant to assist me, alas she hath been preoccupied with–”

Lucine cuts her off, “Truly, do not mention to me what some other bailed woman has offered you– I am not interested.” She waves her hand as if attempting to shoo the thought from Adler’s mind itself. Dismissive.

“Take this opportunity or don’t. But these tomes are not primed for bedtime storytelling, if you need full access to my knowledge– which I remind that you pay for. You need to take time to study. My lessons are free, and the aether in these walls plentiful. You will last a few hours stowed away here I assure you.”

Lucine’s voice is firm. She’s really not suggesting it by the tone of her voice, there’s a command hidden somewhere in there. 

Adler hesitates, lips thinned for the briefest moment. Lucine’s brow furrows.

The witch’s next words mimic, “Might thee return again in time.” She lifts her voice to match Adler’s, slightly more girlish than hers, “You supplicated me, not the other way around. Now are you going to follow through with your inclinations or waste my time playing tug of war with yourself?”

“I…” Adler's gaze shifts aside, “I… I apologize if I’ve caused thee offense.”

Lucine’s gaze softens, but her body is still tense. She leans forward, brushes her fingers along Adler’s cheek. The difference in her tone– it feels jarring, that look on her face not much unlike the moments leading to a pinch of her brow, “Look, you don’t have to answer now..” Lucine sighs, “But I would like an answer soon. Okay?”

Adler nods, swallowing. 

Lucine’s hand retreats, “Good.” she settles back down. Though, she doesn’t seem pleased regardless. When Lucine brings the teacup back to her blackened lips, It’s empty.

⚠️Warnings for potential spoilers regarding Lucine. (Applicable to RP friends only)

For her our world was an abyss of panic and motion. Ever veering towards darkest uncertainty. She spent her days mulling over her gift, over the future as it outstretched into a hazy gray. It stunned her, I noticed. Those premonitions that struck us long before we could truly control our power. 

“It’s out of our control.” I think I remember saying it… Or maybe I had just thought it. I remember the dawning horror that passed our mind, how that dread festered and fed over years. Through laughter and tears, through the unexpected, through the familiar. She feared what she saw just as much as what she couldn’t. It bled into me, obviously… I grew quiet, I stifled my own wanderlust to comfort her. Cowered from confronting her or… Our fear?

How close can thoughts mingle until they’re one? If I’m me then what was she? It’s not like we could differentiate who was thinking what back then. What is my body? Was I just lucky to be the one holding the artifact at the time? Or did I seal her to save myself? I remember being terrified, I remember holding the knife, I remember running, I remember chasing, I remember sobbing, I remember screaming, I remember dying on the floor– I remember when the connection was severed. The clarity was a silence like relief.

I can whisper or scream out my despair– but what good is it to cry? I spent all these years scorning her, hating her, rending the mark of her thoughts from my own, keeping that crystal silent. All in the vague hope it would pass. I still feel her flickering in my mind, an unextinguished ember– a vengeful ghost. I see her staring back at me in the mirror- how could I not? I have her face. Makeup can only cover so much, the glacial darkness in the center of my eye an eclipsed proof of her former existence. So many casted their gaze away, couldn’t bear to see this living spectre. What else was there to do at that point than leave? Who in Eorzea would know her?

All of this, all of this after the fact. The tide has washed over, the damage is already done so…

Authors note: This one gets to go back up on account of a stranger saying they liked it. <3

⚠️Content warnings: Forced kiss, seizure depiction.

“Goin’ far, Miss Moonveil?” 

He crowds her against the wall. The stink of spirits clear on his breath. His aether swirls with some rotten taste acquired from years of  drowning in his own vices. Lucine looks up at the hyur- gaudy silks, yellowed teeth, and the grin of a man too sure of his coin.

She knows his face. She's ignored it before.

“Not particularly,” she murmurs, tone flat, though her eyes glimmer with something colder than the alley's dark. Like she knows her answer isn't the end. She shrugs and turns to go but is stopped. His hand finding its way around her arm. 

“Now there, little bird. You shouldn't be wandering alone at night.” He slurs, leaning close, “come with me now, or you'll be finding yourself in the wrong bed come morning.”

Her brow lifts faintly in some dull amusement, “And if I disagree?”

“Then I'll take somethin’ of my own accord… I saw what you did to that merchant the other night, after all.”

Ah. So that's the angle.

 Oh, how her smile flowers like cereus blossom. Soft and deliberate she raises two fingers to her lips, “Then perhaps…” she purrs, “this will suffice.”

She presses, slow and tender. Leaving a perfect imprint of her lips. A dark emblem of temptation. How hypnotic is her motion, like a flute enticing a serpent, coaxing it closer and closer… “An indirect kiss,” she offers, lashes low. Her eyes are steady, untouched by the wickedness in her smile. One lying for the other.

His breath is hot with greed, and when he laughs the air sloshes with his last drink. He grips her forearm, doesn't notice the darkness in her gaze. Nor how the air hums around her. 

Her fingers are bait. He takes her mouth instead.

She doesn't move, doesn't even blink. Her lips are still, and her teeth refuse to yield. He licks against her mouth hungry for the sensation of kissing her. Taking like there's something owed.

Her eyes watch him all the while. Patient, half lidded. Gathering. Feeding.

He pulls back, a foul taste left behind. He pants into what little space lays between them. A hand sliding beneath her dress, fingers fumbling at skin and silk.

She doesn't have to endure long, his body readily betrays him.

The seizure comes silent. Bones locking, grinding. His jaw snaps shut as his spine peels back. He's forced to let go- though not of his own accord. The whites of his eyes bulge like rotten fruits. Muscles knot and veins cord. He falls to the floor, caught by unforgiving stones. His breath rattles once… But the pallor of death doesn't come.

Lucine tilts her head with a smile nearly tender. 

“What a shame,” she whispers. Watching him continue to twitch. The sight reminds her of a swatted fly. Dull amusement passing her glassy eyes, “I didn't intend to test that so soon.”