#yllarith

The bedsheets were washed with such frequency that Temperance had no hope of his scent remaining. But they had his knife, and his scent was thick on it, wrapped around the hilt like the hand of a lover. They had nearly missed it on their search for a specific pair of pointe shoes. The dagger had been laying in the corner of the closet, dropped by accident or discarded on purpose. Only a few days had passed since Y’llrith disappeared, and they liked to think of the instrument as a gift.

Now almost a month had passed, and Temperance had been careless. They’d handled the blade too much, carried it too frequently, and now the scent was all but gone. What little they could detect might as well be a memory, associated with the act of caressing the cool steel and pressing it to their cheek. They hold it aloft in front of them, feeling it’s weight in the grip of their slender fingers. It had been easy to imagine Y’llarith’s return. A week had passed and Temperance thought he’d just be there, in their room - and then another week passed, and another. Petite Ylla sleeps silently at the foot of their bed. She’d yet to accept Temperance beyond a hesitant companionship. Although she no longer hid underneath the bed, she only allowed the san’layn to touch her when their hands had been heated. Heeding Alucard’s advice, Temperance had taken to bottle feeding her once a day. They liked to think it was helping, but they truly had little way of knowing. They were making the effort for one person alone, and that person wasn’t themself. With a sigh, they lay down their arm, pressing the dagger into the bedsheets. It’s as cold as the rest of their room. Their mind starts to wander. “With love from Surmar.” How many times had they been in the city at the same time - and how close had they been to each other? Had they been just out of reach, out of sight? Was he even there, still? Y’llarith’s gift had comforted their still heart, while also leaving them with several more questions. He hadn’t given up on them, or abandoned them. They’d never assumed as much, either. Why would anyone abandon Temperance? They had only been sweet and kind, had they not? Not always, they remind themself. They’d lost their patience with him. Was that the final straw? After watching their rapier coated in blood, after watching them sacrifice bodies to an ancient deity, had they turned cruel towards him, as well? A heavy sigh slips past their lips, and they close their eyelids over empty, hollow sockets. No. Petite Ylla was proof that he hadn’t abandoned them. He thought of them, just as they thought of him. They’d sent him a letter and gift in return and received no answer. Perhaps it had never been delivered, or perhaps it had been delivered to an empty home.