#fragalis

❛ You always make everything better... ❜ it’s a mumble, as she’s already falling asleep once more. Whether he could do anything or not, just having him home, comforting her was enough. Regardless, as far as she knew, he was capable of anything. He made her laugh when she was sad, he made her feel safe when she was scared, and he took care of her when he didn’t have to. He would fix this, he always could.

It’s on instinct that she’s already climbing into his lap. Her small frame curling up against his chest. Her eyes were closed and her breathing stilled. She was still trembling, and her hands still clung to her sides as her arms pressed tighter against her stomach to combat the pain. She just wanted to be in his arms.

The last thing she ate was days ago. Despite Anjou’s best efforts, she couldn’t keep anything down. Any attempt ended in painful vomiting that left her in tears, and with an odd pain in her throat. So she stopped wanting to try. The feeling was traumatizing enough. So she’d been stuck on fluids, whatever Anjou or Kazu could get her to drink.

❛ A nice man… ❜ She takes a long breath, having moved so much just to place herself in his lap was more effort than she’d exerted in days. ❛ Gave me... cake. ❜ She speaks of the man Sadahira she’d met. He was kind, and gave her a piece of his home made cake. It was wonderful, but since then she hasn’t been able to eat a thing, and slowly she got sicker and sicker. ❛ I really liked it. ❜

The dots haven’t been connected quite yet. ❛ I haven’t had anything else. ❜ She’s falling asleep now. ❛ Cake isn’t strange, big brother… ❜

          ❛   The hell — ?   ❜

          THE FURTHER SHE continues with her recount, the deeper, more pronounced the dip at his brow becomes. It’s an expression of skepticism, horrendously soured, a brand of doubt more quick to manifest through a jaw taut than through any words to leave his mouth.  

          ❛   I’ll give this no more than a day or two for it to sort itself out. Then I’m getting your blood tested for whatever I suspect it is.   ❜ 

He needed finer details ; somehow the mention of this man rouses suspicion in his bones. Generosity gone unchallenged was rare and questionable. Few parted with their goods or wares without so much as a breath carrying the mention of Gil, fewer still offered their services without the expectation of recompense. Had he been in her situation, he may have pressed a blade sooner to their gullet before the treat so much as swept his lips ( which was true for anything, sweets didn’t please his palate ). But he boasts far greater awareness than she, he knew of people’s intentions through instinct and experience, knew between genuine hearts and blackened ones. It came with that professional obligation of dancing between two moral extremes. He trusted a limited circle, and quite frankly he’d fostered more ambiguous relationships than dependable ones.

         ❛   Cake itself isn’t strange, no. But something about your circumstances isn’t adding up. The one time you wander off without company is the one time some strange man offers you food? Allergies were ruled out, and again, I’m doubting this is an aggressive case of the flu. Otherwise Yeran would have caught it. Her immune system is a joke.    ❜ 

What then? What could possibly be afflicting her? He teeters on the possibility of poison making the rounds throughout her veins, hot and acrid, sowing its ghastly influence, sapping her of strength — it’s an assumption he’d initially deemed improbable. Yet now he humours the thought ; much of Nimue’s past remained a mystery to them all, her amnesia fractured any mark in her history, right down to the minutiae. Preferences, dislikes, names — the entirety of her past was but an irrecoverable flicker he so futilely attempts to salvage. 

        She stares at him with a confused gaze once more. Hands motioning towards herself trying to understand what he meant. Of course, she knew what he was implying. That something that wasn’t really her’s now belonged to her. She’s looking at everything he pointed to with big, curious eyes. She hadn’t really realized they were welling up with tears at the gesture. He might think it was pain again, but it wasn’t. He was showing her so much kindness, while she could only stay silent. He was patient and understanding. He was giving. It was such a different image than the night before. It was overwhelming. It was a feeling she couldn’t describe, because she cannot remember experiencing any type of feeling like this before. Only fear.

        So, she scoots her body forward, so that she were slightly closer to him, looking at him with tears running down her cheek. But she was smiling. There’s a mumble, she’s trying to speak. Hands come up to her throat to express that she was trying, and her brows furrow when she could hardly make a peep. She couldn’t feel anything hurting her that prevented her from speaking, but the big bruise on her neck , that was hidden ever so slightly by her scales, stated otherwise. Suddenly she’s focused, searching for the book that he’d handed to her earlier. She opens it, scanning pages quickly to find words to express whatever she was feeling. His hand is grabbed, and she uses his fingers to find in the small text the words ❛   Thank  ❜ and ❛   You.  ❜  It was the best she could do. 

       Hopefully her pouty, grateful expression spoke that, too.

         FEATURES SETTLE INTO a quiet expression of pity. Woe, poor girl. She draws upon the proclivities of a child clinging, just summers old. Too raw, too delicate — he wonders what age she borders on, surely she just taunts the cusp of adulthood. Yet, her features betray that ; wrought by innocence gentle and sweet, broken by the wrath of a past life and born anew, bruised and unable to wade through reality like a lamb tender. Matteo belies her ignorance — to others he’d been the viper. Lone and vicious with fangs bloodied and bared, ever the coldest of souls by consequence of his occupation. She’d caused him to unwind from that aloofness and silver tongue to a more docile façade ( dare he deem it acceptable ).

         ❛   Of course.  ❜  

         Compassion reins the need to downplay the significance of his generosity. He’d claim it was a small gesture, something lacking much effort. But in the eyes of another, rescued, torn from the embrace of death, such kindness satiates the soul far more than any amount of Gil could grant. What he considers minute had been the seed of bountiful gratitude, nestled within her heart to flourish and mould to the route she’d opted to pursue. That was no small gift.

         Now he’d retreated, pulling his hand back to retrieve paper and a quill.