#binah lobcorp

a hand. your fingers. the tip of your nose. curled against her cloak; laced with her own; buried into her feathered collar. always close. always touching Binah, soaking up her presence. the scent of black tea clinging to your clothes and hair. she never dissuades you. perhaps even encouraging it. a similar desire wrapping about her heart, dreaming of pulling you into her arms and keeping you tucked against her side until the Library crumbles to dust. until the stars wink out and her blood decays, rot sprouting from her veins. Binah settles for stroking your cheek. touching her forehead to yours and sweeping her heavy coat across your shoulders. anything to see you smile, burrowing deeper into her embrace.

the other librarians have grown used to it. where Binah goes, you follow. any protests silenced by a silent stare, the glint of sadistic glee in her eyes. her fingers move without fail. tracing your features, smoothing over your hair. her fellow Patrons catch flickers of warmth. fleeting embers, glimpses of the adoration she keeps hidden from a dissolving world. to you she gives the key, burnt and brittle. trusting your hands with stitching her mind back together. you shift closer, head fitting perfectly beneath her chin, and Binah's gaze softens. pecking the back of your knuckles with a quiet chuckle, more gentle than an ex-Arbiter has any right to be.

none but you shall ever know. how easily she turns to downy plumes, melting into your palms. a shared yearning, relishing how you snuggle so eagerly within her arms as she showers you with a thousand kisses. one for each star in the sky, her silent, endless gratitude. twinkling, murmuring.

Arbiters do not celebrate birthdays, their lives drenched in apathy and bloodshed, ash clinging to their souls. the whole City a candle, waiting to be engulfed in flame. a year marked "time". time, and nothing more. all time was the same. sediment on glass, falling in monochromatic layers. Binah- Garion- was the same as the others. a gear, twisted and cold. slotted into place within the eternal machine. before being wrenched away, carved and burned and left to decay in the dust. even then, the world passed silently. year after year, an unchanging cage beneath the dirt. her agents lived and died. rewound, lived again. short, painful things; her favorite flower crushed beneath a passing shoe. you never reached your birthday, back in the corporation. always passing too early, another gravestone for the Extraction Department.

yet she wants to celebrate, this year. Binah can see the sun in the Library. slowly counting the weeks, month after month. towards a day you barely even remember. what to do for such an occasion. how to thank you, she wonders, for being alive. the Head permitted nothing of the sort, only vague gratitude and pride for each bone snapped in her grasp. she settles for waiting. seated at your side, slowly running a hand over your hair. Binah's eyes glimmer as you stir, tracing her fingers down your cheek. leaning in close, brushing her lips against the bridge of your nose.

"Happy birthday." a fond murmur, and her smile widens, watching you glow with drowsy delight. warming her heart, the chains of ice melting away into raindrops.

she hasn't mastered it yet. joy. delight. yet your eyes shine whenever that raspy static slips from her throat. clapping your hands, giggling along with her. Binah stares at the birds clinging to her knuckles. silently listening to their tiny cheeps. the same melody you hum and whistle. guiding her steps, soothing the pain of each sparking wire and malfunction. she turns, slowly. making her way through your workshop, gaze locked on a particularly stubborn thrush. you're at your desk, as usual. hunched over a few bits and bobs, fingertips rough to the touch. Binah extends her free hand, carefully touching your cheek. cradling your face as you glance up, tilting your head curiously.

"Look." she gestures to the bird. "It is you."

you blink several times, before dissolving into that sweet, wonderful laughter, and Binah's eyes flicker with gold. pleased. a ruined thing, amused, the twitch of a smile tugging at her mouth.

it was your idea. yours, and that single seed in your pocket. it stayed with you, through the corporation. through the Light, into the arching branches of the Library. a stubborn thing. small, flat. cradled in your hand like a shining jewel. the facility was cold. dark. crushing your dreams of starting a garden, withered to nothing but dust. the Floor of Philosophy is filled with light. the glowing rays of the sun, perfect for budding leaves and blossoms. Binah clears a space near one of the windows. helping you arrange pots and planters, burying the seed in fresh soil. an Arbiter with dirt beneath her nails. she laughs at the thought, thumbing over your knuckles. it leaves a smudge on your skin. a tangible claim, tying a bow in your joined threads. she smirks, faintly. smearing a touch more soil against your hand- if only to hear you laugh.

you tend to the shoots in your spare time. coaxing new growth, ensuring each root is healthy. slowly, slowly, green gives way to a rainbow. deep violet; golden crowns; blues and pinks, shades of the dawning sky. Binah sits in her usual chair. wreathed by sunflowers, taller than the shelves and twice as vibrant. watching you fuss over the petals and pollen with a slight, tender smile. how long she has waited to see your eyes shine. that flicker of spirit finally blooming under the light. she rises to her feet, approaching your side. reaching out and carefully flicking a stray leaf from your hair, trailing her fingertips down your face until she reaches your lips.

"A lovely flower," Binah whispers, laced with teasing warmth.

an arm tightens around your waist. Binah stirs, obsidian gaze flickering open. watching you silently, hair splayed across the pillow. turning your sheets black and gold, an angler's lure beneath the sea. her brows pinch. still barely conscious, yet registering your soft warmth slipping from her grasp.

"Don't."

she shifts closer, pressing her forehead against your spine. "Stay. Do not leave again."

again. again. her sleep riddled with fragmented memories, your blood painting her hands. Binah gently tugs you back down. lacing her fingers with yours, cheek resting in your hair. safe. here, you're safe. with her. even if the nightmares taunt her, caging her in that dreaded facility. the key cradled in her grasp. she kisses the top of your head, and your muscles gradually unknot with a quiet mumble. going slack against her, perfectly sweet.

Punishing Bird has been lingering at your side. hopping across your desk, pecking curiously at the scattered sheets of paper. your pen. your fingers. gently, gently- nudging its head beneath your head and demanding scritches. strange. the birds usually prefer to lurk between the trees, observing the librarians' toil and battles. only emerging if needed. if called upon by the Patron Librarian of Philosophy. Punishing Bird chirps, climbing onto your wrist in a ruffle of feathers. settling down, right at home. it looks rather smug. as if it's won a game of sorts. leaving little splotches of ink across your arm and tugging on the edge of your sleeve for attention.

a soft chuckle echoes behind you, footsteps joined by clicking talons across the floor. Binah rests a hand on your shoulder, her heavy cloak sweeping behind her. leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek. smiling, obsidian gaze crinkling at the edges.

"You as well, I see."

a thousand eyes blinks over her shoulder. curious, bright gold. Big Bird perks up, croaking and making its way over, setting its beak atop your head. Judgement Bird approaches your opposite side. carefully nuzzling your face, scales lopsided across its neck. all three Abnormalities nestle up against you and doze off with a collective grumble. lumps of white and black, red and blue. Binah laughs once more, smoothing down Punishing Bird's feathers.

she bleeds each time. with every feather she pulls brings a trickle of red, gleaming garnet and speckled with distant starlight. it stains her skin. droplets scattering across the floor, smearing against your face. Binah doesn't seem to care. Binah, your Binah, twisted and broken into a husk of skeletal wings and staring eyes. always focused on you. confused at your crying, trying to wipe the moisture from your lashes. another feather. more blood. mutilation, her claws pulling out clumps and clumps in hopes of making you happy. she only stops when you shake your head, kissing her scarred temple. with a coo, Binah settles. draping a wing over your shoulders and nuzzling softly. inhaling the familiar scent, fleeting memories ruffling her crushed feathers.