#ffxivwrites2023

Persephone cracked open eyes stuck together with sleep and a portentous stinging that she knew normally would herald the coming of a terrible fever. Throat dry, she struggled to push herself up, only to jump in surprise at movement in the dark.

“Shhh, it’s just me,” she heard Hythlodaeus’ voice, and a moment later a dim lamp on the side table clicked on to reveal him looking drowsy in the desk chair.

“Why are you just sitting in the dark?” she croaked as he poured some water into a glass and passed it to her.

“Well, you were asleep, and I was starting to doze off, so I thought-“

“No, no, I mean, why are you watching me sleep?”

“Oh,” he shifted a little. “We figured since we don’t know how long your transformation will take, that we should stay nearby in case you need something.”

“I thought the goal was for me to die,” she said, more conversationally than if she’d been fully awake.

“The process is unpleasant enough without having to suffer through it with no care at all,” he took the water cup back from her, setting it on her side table as she settled back into her blanket.

“I didn’t feel this bad before,” she mumbled, already on the edge of sleep again, but uncomfortable enough to keep her awake.

“Like I said, there are a lot of factors in how fast it goes.” Hythlodaeus pulled a few blankets out of a nearby dresser, setting them across the foot of the bed. “I hope it continues to go this quickly. It’s bad no matter how long it takes, but most tend to agree the less time it takes, the better.”

“Oh? Anything we can do to speed it up?” she asked blearily. He chuckled quietly.

“No, it will take as long as it takes,” he shrugged, touching his hand to her forehead. She leaned into it, the coolness a relief.

“Ah, that’s nice,” Persephone mumbled. “Just stay there, would you?” Another huffed sound of amusement as he reached over with his other hand to turn the lamp back off, but he didn’t move his hand. Or she didn’t think he did. It wasn’t long before she fell back into unconsciousness.

The next few days were an ocean of symptoms; each time one receded, another rose to take its place. If the fever subsided for a time, a cough would emerge, or her eyes would water and itch, or she’d struggle for breath. It was like her body knew all the attempts to rid herself of this infection were futile and desperately was trying everything it had to rid her of it.

The worst was day three, the day her body attempted to purge itself of everything she attempted to eat or drink. The two vampires fussed the worst over that, insisting she keep drinking more and more water even as it continued to come back up. Said she needed to stay hydrated. She pointed out if the point was dying, why were they trying to keep her healthy? They both tried to explain, but her head was so fuzzy she couldn’t grasp the concepts.

Hades fussed just as much as Hythlodaeus, she learned, just went about it a different way. Instead of kind smiles and friendly conversation, he was all scowls and angry admonishments of foolish behavior. The day she tried to go get her own food when her legs shook with chills, he lectured her the whole time she ate the bowl of soup he made for her. But a smile and a thank you seemed to be all it took to crack through the harsh exterior and spy something a bit more bashful just behind. But before she could prod further, he fled the room, switching out with Hythlodaeus.

During the good moments, when she could fathom doing anything but curling up in bed and waiting for it to be over, she asked for her phone. She knew she’d had it with her during the attack, and it hadn’t been on her person when she awoke in the aftermath. After a couple of days, Hythlodaeus approached with something small in his hand.

“So, good news. We finally found your phone, but um, there’s also some bad news,” he presented to her, and she grasped for it only to be filled with disappointment as she realized it was in a sad state. The front was shattered, the metal body bent almost to breaking. The port appeared as if someone had tried to jam something inside. She sighed in disappointment and set it aside.

“I guess the last thing I need right now is people blowing my phone up looking for me,” she mumbled, though it was clear she was far more let down by the news of her phone’s fate than she was letting on.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find it before it got like this.”

“Don’t worry about it. Things can be replaced,” Persephone shrank into her blankets (the chills were almost constant now, so she slept with two thick quilts that did almost nothing to relieve the cold). “You must be hot; go cool off for a while.”

“In a little while,” he always answered her concerns, which she knew to mean only when Hades appeared to swap out. Despite his prickliness, Hades had refrained from complaining about the heat in the room when she was so cold she felt she would never be warm again. She appreciated it. Persephone felt guilty enough about it already without his barbed comments being directed at it. She rested only slightly easier knowing they’d closed off the room as much as they safely could, to keep the rest of the house cool. Not just for their comfort, but her future comfort soon enough, once this heat was just as unbearable to her.

But for now, in the midst of a fever that seemed to just get higher, it was as if she couldn’t get warm enough, the warm air around her still cool on her skin.

~*~

Everyone knew something was off on day seven, when the two vampires realized mid morning that Persephone had yet to stir for water or food. Hythlodaeus woke her first, with great difficulty, food and drink at the ready. She sniffed just a little at the food, a breakfast spread with just about anything she might want, but ultimately refused to eat any of it. The water she choked down clearly only to make him happy, then dozed back off, either unwilling or unable to pull her blankets around her as she had before.

She slept most of the day, the two taking turns watching her like a hawk, abandoning the pretense of keeping busy in her vicinity. Persephone’s occasional shivers and puffs of breath stirring the hair in her face were the only signs of life for hours. Late in the evening, however, Hades looked towards her to find her fever bright brown eyes watching him.

“Would you like some water?” he asked her, clearly deciding that she was far enough gone that insisting she stay hydrated was pointless. She nodded weakly anyway, and he carefully helped her sit up before helping her drink. She took a few sips before pushing it away, and he settled her back before placing the glass back on the table.

“…I’m scared,” he heard a small voice, almost too quiet to catch, and he turned to see Persephone still watching him, tears slowly dripping down her face as she tried to keep them in.

Goddammit, he thought. This is really more Hythlodaeus’ strong suit. He took a breath and pulled the small chair he and his companion had been practically living in for a week closer to the bedside. Hades reached across the blankets to take her hand in his. She clutched it with what seemed to be as much strength as she could muster.

“What’s it like?” she asked, and he could only assume she meant the act of dying itself.

“I don’t rightly remember.” He ran his thumb over her fingers. “It was a long time ago for me. I barely remember the sickness. But I do know Hythlodaeus has assured me over and over that this part you’re going through right now was by far the worst part. So I think you could say that it’s all downhill from here.”

“You do know that has two meanings, right?” Persephone’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk.

“I mean the good one.”

“You better,” the smile faded again, and she stared into nothingness for several moments before Hades tried taking back his hand. Her eyes snapped back to his, and she redoubled her grip.

“Please stay?”

“…Of course.”

And so he did. He stayed when she drifted into sleep again. When her shivering subsided and her fever spiked higher. When her grip loosened around his. When her breathing faded.

I need time away from you.

From me? Is our compromise not enough? Colour me surprised.

We made our peace with each other. I don't need you to hold the reins right now. Let me breathe.

And what, pray tell, will you be doing with all your time away from me? No more running away from our villains? Please tell me you plan on doing something constructive.

Oh, I do. I have a list. "Things that Got Away from Me."

A list, she says. I am doing my best to fight the urge to critique it, I assure you. Since, as you said, you need a break from me.

First, I'm going to Costa Del Sol.

The beach? Whatever for?

I promised someone a dance. They're at the beach in Costa Del Sol, waiting for me.

In all my time with you, my Warrior of Light, I have heard naught more strange than that. Go. I will be here if you need to call on me.

-----

Lightning cracked across the sky at Costa Del Sol, a fierce accent to the driving rain that turned the usually beautiful locale into a miniature monsoon. Even from out here, up by the hills with wild cattle huddled together for warmth, Minti Chocolate could see specks of glittering reds and golds, and feathers tossed about on the wind. Troupe Falsiam was here, that was good. They must not have moved about much since the last time she was here. Hopefully Minti would not be recognized in the rain, and could just slip through the musicians without recognition. All she needed to do was find Ranaa, and surely, surely her extreme tardiness would be forgiven.

Right. Here goes.

With every step Minti took, came the threat of being sucked down by soaking wet sand. Perhaps wearing her knight's armor in a torrential rain storm wasn't such a good idea. Upon further reflection, yes, this was a terrible idea, especially since the Troupe's musicians, all seated by one of the seaside bars, were beginning to stare at her. One of them gave a sharp whistle and wave towards the quieter part of the beach. So much for sneaking by, right?

I would love to give you the solution to this little problem, but, I am afraid that I am not available right now. Oh, and do look behind you, Minti.

What?

I warned you. Good luck.

Minti felt her shoulder being tapped, rather sharply at that. A quick turn around revealed a hyur woman on the older side, with greying brown hair and black glasses that were rapidly getting wet. She might have been on the smaller side, at least compared to Minti, but that didn't make her any less intimidating.

Nashmeira, the principal dancer and leader of Troupe Falsiam, looked up at the armored Viera with daggers in her eyes. At least, that's what it felt like. "Miss Chocolate," she said with quiet authority, looking her wayward performer up and down. "It has been *some* time since I've seen you. You look well."

"You're looking wet. Ma'am." Minti turned her head in the direction of the bar. A drink would be just perfect right about now. "Fancy finding you here! Isn't it...great..."

"As I recall, and I do recall correctly, you mentioned that you needed to assist the Scions with some business regarding primals."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And then you did not return, for some time." Nashmeira brushed rain drops from her hair. "Until today."

"Until today, yes ma'am." Would the sand just hurry up and swallow Minti already, please!

No authority over the elements, dear.

You don't need to take this embarrassment. Tell her off and leave. Are you really going to take this dressing-down, bound soul to mine?

I know you're afraid, Marget. Make an excuse and go. You don't need to be here if you're going to fail again.

"I take your returning to mean you still wish to stay in the Troupe? That you want to re-learn how to dance our ancient arts?" Nashmeira gestured over towards an umbrella, away from the pouring rain. "We can talk more where we won't catch our death of cold. Come."

"Yes, ma'am."

The two dancers - one principal, one up-and-coming - spent the rest of the storm catching up, talking about all the accomplishments Minti had made since the day she left Costa Del Sol. It became clear that Nashmeira wasn't angry, more just concerned that she had done something to drive a dancer with such potential away. There would time for forgiveness, if Minti wished for it. "I know that Ranaa would be overjoyed to see you again," Nashmeira said. "She has talked ever so much about you, in your absence.

Now, I've said my piece, Miss Chocolate. What of you? Will you come back?"

-----

The next morning, along the beach at Costa Del Sol, a beautiful viera dressed in fiery reds and golds, with two silver chakrams at her side, spun in joyful partnership with the rising sun.

"Please, I haven't got anything a' yours, I swear. Please don't kill me."

He couldn't have been more than sixteen summers, the hyur boy in the leathers and black shoes. The knife he held in his right hand was quivering, shining in the evening moonlight. The black cloth mask he was wearing was slashed in half, and lying pathetically on his lap. He wasn't bleeding, not yet, but the reddish sign of a blade touching skin could be seen, now that his shirt was cut open. "I got no friends out 'ere, I promise, I swear. You're a nice lady, ain't you? You'll be nice to me?" A mixture of sweat from his raven-colored hair and tears from his brown eyes rolled down his cheeks.

Look at him, begging for his life, from a trained warrior. He should not have tried to put that knife to your throat. Novice move for a would-be bandit, if you ask me.

Evil like his should be treated like how the gardener regards a weed that chokes the rose bush. He is weak, Minti. You know what voidsent do to the weak.

Her katana was still in its sheath - there had been need for only one good swing of the blade. Minti Chocolate, samurai, had simply been walking towards Gridania's Lavender Beds, in the moonlight. The intention was to go home, but this boy thought it best to interrupt her. That was a mistake. And now he was at her mercy, scared half out of his wits, crying out to the open air. "I'll scream, and the Wailers will come fer me. Not a good, not a good look for you, miss?"

She put a hand to the blade's grip. This could all be ended now, and nobody would come calling for this boy.

But killing is not what Master Musosai would have wanted for her.

"From this moment forth, do you solemnly swear to be a changed lad? To never do a foolish thing like this again?" Minti pulled the blade out a bit more, letting it shine far greater than any hunting knife.

"Yes, miss! Whatever you want! I'll say my prayers, and eat my vegetables, and whatever the hells else you want."

Minti's blade came forth, then snapped back sharply into its sheath. "Then, by my blade, I cleanse the evil from your heart. Go home, and pray that I don't see you play bandit again."

If you didn't know better, and were passing by Quarrymill, you might have thought you'd seen a boy being chased by voidsent, from the way he was hollering about a mad-woman with a blade in the woods.

Minti hoped that scaring him was enough. Master would have been proud.

She poked around her salad, trying to maintain some level of composure though her appetite had vanished.

“If the situation stresses you, then you don’t have to be a participant.” It hurt to see him like this. The burden of his position weighed on him more and more. The stress pressed his shoulders down, threatening to grind him to dust. She didn’t need their soul sight to see how his ached. “I don’t remember asking for help. Wash your hands of this whole mess and go home Emet. I can handle this myself.” 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The others in the Convocation are planning on censoring you. This isn’t just a minor infraction Persephone!”

She flinched at her given name. Hating how it hit his tongue like acid only to be spat back out at her. There was once a time when that name was a source of comfort that only he spoke. An age that had passed during her travels with Venat. They had grown up, and now it seems they had grown apart. 

“I’m not a child Emet. I don’t need anyone hovering over me with lessons of right or wrong. Not you and not the Convocation. None of you were there, and it’s easy to cast judgment from a distance.” It had always been that way when Venat was Azem. Her verses the Convocation. Kore had watched as her mentor faced every battle headfirst with a smile. 

That’s who she wanted to be.

…but . . .

She tried to look Emet in the eye, but he continued to pace back and forth worrying a trench into the floor of her dining room. With a sigh, she pushed herself away from the table. Rising without a word she walked past him, doubting he would even notice. 

“I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll be back in a little while.” 

The air was cold in the city tonight. Winter was on its way to the city thanks to the hard workers and the leadership of the Convocation. 

It was so…stifling.

Like most of her travels, she didn’t have a goal in mind. The thought of returning to her home for another unwanted lecture made her stomach churn. Finding a quiet corner in the park she sat and watched as the others went about their evening. 

The night was cool, parents and young children had already headed off to bed or settled in for the night. The only company in the night were pairs or groups not ready to abandon the day together. Sometimes they’d be huddled together, lips whispering soft words to one another. Others would be in groups giggling or laughing about some event. 

At the end of the day they were together. They were whole.