Archive of Our Own

It’s raining. It has been for a while now.

There’s a sea of black out in that rain. Somber umbrellas held up above dark hats and shadowed veils, each person connected in a common grief. It’s quiet save for the pitter-patter of the raindrops bouncing off of the rocks and muddying the dirt. An occasion sniffle rings out and every once in a while someone speaks up to offer a few reserved words of remembrance.

Navia isn’t really paying attention. She’s too focused on the streak of blue and the splash of purple standing out against the sea of black. She’s too focused on wondering why.

Navia knows the answer, actually. Or at least, she has a pretty good idea of one. But she wonders all the same, because that is all she has been able to do for the past three years and Navia is nothing if not stubborn. Most everything is done and dusted, beheld for all to see or buried six feet under. The case, as they say, is closed.

But one final question remains.

Just who is Clorinde, really?

Someone finally steps forward. Navia lets her attention be dragged away and pulled towards the grave she’s been avoiding looking at all this time. For a while she had wondered if her sorrow had finally washed away in the sea of time that swept her further and further away from the days that her father was alive, but nothing could’ve prepared her for a memorial in the rain.

Especially not when her brain aches as much as her heart.

“Boss,” Melus speaks, raising his voice and his head to appear at the front of the crowd, “was more than just a good man. At times I think he was the greatest of us, and at times I wonder if he was greater still.” Melus pauses, bowing his head and hefting his umbrella up above him. He removes his hat with his free hand and places it against his chest. “I think all of us here will remember him for what he truly was: a true, honest, and hardworking man who had a lot bearing down on his shoulders. But none of us except for one will be able to remember him as a great father who loved just a bit too hard.”

It’s her cue. Navia looks up, peering harder into the drizzling rain and pretending that the water clouding her vision is not coming from her eyes.

“I—” Navia says, stumbling over the lump in her throat and breathing through a shaky breath. “I know why he did what he did.” Her voice cracks. “I know exactly what he did for the sake of me and for the sake of all of us. I know what he thought it was the right decision, and I know that he wanted nothing more than to give me a choice that mattered.”

Navia closes her eyes, sighing out something heavy and holding the tears in for just a moment longer. Her hand clenches around the hilt of her umbrella and she wonders if the words she can say will ever be enough. She feels like they won’t be, no matter what she does.

“I wish I knew what he was thinking in his final moments,” she manages after a second of held breath. It almost feels like the rain is coming down harder now. “Because I know for a fact that he was the best of us. He did more than any of us could ever fathom. But…even then…” Navia chokes on her words. “I just wish I could’ve said that I love him, right there at the end. I hope he knew then that I did and that I do now and that I always will.”

Navia feels a hand on the back of her shoulder. She immediately bows her head, hiding her face behind a gloved hand and sinking slowly into the despair beneath her feet. She can hear, faintly, in the back of her consciousness, that Melus is bringing attention back to himself. She can feel how he jumps in to save her, just as he always has.

The hand belongs to Silver, this she knows. Navia knows the flavor of Silver’s sympathy, and she knows firsthand just how incessant he is on being a rock, forever present and always collected. She appreciates it. So much so that she can do nothing but turn and bury herself in the crook of his arm, silencing her sobs in his shirt.

Navia doesn’t care anymore what anyone else thinks. She doesn’t care about appearances or reputation anymore. She just wants to feel the loss of her father finally hit her with waves and waves washing over her and she wants to cry.

Perhaps that’s all she’s ever wanted to do all along.

She’s chased thread after thread to its end, following trail after trail no matter how hard times have gotten. She’s thrown her everything at uncovering the truth behind her father’s murder and she hasn’t let herself slow down even once. She's wept, wailed, and beat the ground at her father’s funeral already, but ever since then she has focused on nothing more than restoring his name.

But here, and now, Navia wonders what it was for. Her father wasn’t coming back. His name had been cleared, but the attention of Fontaine passed in the blink of an eye and the talk of the town has already shifted to the wonder of the Chief Justice and the Oratrice Mecanique d’Analyse Cardinale disagreeing on a verdict. Was all of this worth it?

To Navia, of course it was. She had upheld the promise she made when her father died: she had cleared his name. It was a nice sentiment to believe in, but actually she’s not so sure she can trust in it anymore. The sorrow she feels now contains no white-hot flashes of rage or hazy vision from anger. She holds no more resentment and heralds no more retribution. All she wants to feel is grief.

And maybe that’s what she was chasing all along. She just wants to cry, and perhaps that’s all she wanted in the first place.

Silver’s hand is firm on her back, holding on even as Navia lets the final waves of loss pass through her and her tears slowly dry against her cheeks. She feels him shift for a handkerchief, then takes it gratefully with a small smile that costs all of everything she can manage. She turns away and lets the service wind down as naturally as it began. She stares out towards the horizon and simply allows herself to feel.

It’s nice, she thinks, to feel every once in a while.

Navia has been the character in a performance for far too long. She has always kept her appearances up and always played the part expected of her all in hopes of finding the truth. But she has that now, and suddenly continuing on like she has been all along isn’t all that appealing anymore. She doesn’t really want to be the professional, playful president of Spina di Rosula right now. Right now, she just wants to be Navia.

Maybe it was a pipe dream to ever wish for such a thing. There are people counting on her and people believing in her. She can’t let them down after today’s done.

For now, though, she will let herself feel.

It’s a pleasure that she rarely indulges in, after all.

The rain doesn’t stop even as people begin to disappear into the curtain of falling water one by one. Silver stands by Navia’s side for a long time, only leaving once she’s shooed him away a half dozen times and Melus finally keeps him away. The sweet smell of rain and fresh life is almost insulting in its own way.

If the world was going to cry this hard for her father, why didn’t it do it when he died the first time? He deserved so much better than a retroactive grief, this Navia knows. She finds the smallest of solaces in knowing that at the very least she could give him a retroactive justice in the end.

But even then, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Perhaps it never will. That’s what scares Navia the most.

Someone new is standing at Navia’s side now. She’s not sure if she’s ready to face them. Perhaps she never will be.

“I’m sorry,” Clorinde says, scarcely more than a whisper.

“I know,” Navia says.

No more words are spoken between them, and Clorinde turns to disappear once more into the curtain of rain that once fell on a fateful day three years ago. Navia hums to herself, holding her umbrella a little tighter in her grip and kicking at a rock by her feet. She wants to scream.

The rain doesn’t stop.

“Tell me again how exactly you first suspected Marcel?”

Navia groans. “Charlotte, we’ve been over this at least a hundred times by now!”

“I know, I know!” Charlotte sighs, a pen twirling in her grasp and bouncing on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, I just really want this to be the most comprehensive report The Steambird has ever seen.”

Navia chuckles humorlessly. Being ambushed after the service for an interview was expected, she could deal with that. What she wasn’t expecting was being invited out for brunch the next day for even more statements and clarifications. But here she is now, teacup cradled in hand even as Charlotte keeps taking notes on her sixth page of the day.

“I understand why you want to know all of this,” Navia says, allowing herself a genuine smile from across the table her company booked for them. “But I’m really not sure how much more I can give you. I think you know more than the Chief Justice by now!”

“Agh, sorry!” Charlotte apologizes, not for the first time in the last hour. At least she seems to be genuine in each apology though, her pen falls from her chin each time. “I promise I only have like two more questions prepared. No more follow-ups, I swear!”

It’s a hollow promise at best, Navia knows that much. She rolls her eyes fondly, setting her teacup down and then leaning back in her plush seat. She’d like to think her and Charlotte are rather good friends, but this is a little much at this point.

“Okay,” Navia concedes, holding up a hand. She breathes out a quiet breath and shakes her head in exasperation. “If you want to know more about suspecting Marcel, ask the Traveler. They were the one to pick apart his words and deduce his initial involvement.”

“Fine, fine,” Charlotte hums, jotting something down on her notepad much too quickly to be legible. Navia is nothing if not impressed with her notetaking skills.

“Now, you get two more questions. That’s it.”

Charlotte immediately freezes, her face falling. Navia feels a little bad, of course, but she has been stuck here for two and a half hours and that is simply far too long for a brunch. The line must be drawn, even if Charlotte gulps and peers across at Navia with the second most pathetic, pleading face Navia has ever seen.

Charlotte nods and schools down her expression, gripping her notebook in one hand and her pen in the other. She visibly racks her brain, trying to decide what the most important points of clarification are for her publication. She comes up with one rather quickly, all things considered.

“Do you have any relation to or know anything about the Harbinger that originally stood accused?” Charlotte asks slowly. Ah, she’s looking to secure her next lead. She’s a smart girl, Navia will give her that.

“No,” Navia says simply, smiling a little too wide. Charlotte’s face falling is almost enough to break her heart. “But—” Charlotte’s face immediately brightens back up “—I do know that the Traveler knows him well. They might have something for you.”

Charlotte takes that for all it’s worth. Her pen practically rips a hole in the page as she tears point across paper. Navia suspects that Charlotte might’ve just scored an entirely new story with that question. How might she top that up with her last one?

“Thank you for the information,” Charlotte says, her voice barely able to contain her excitement. She actually audibly giggles to herself a little bit, flipping through pages faster than Navia thought was humanly possible.

But, all too quickly, everything stills just a moment later. Charlotte clears her throat and lets her giddy smile drop, her head tilting up to find Navia’s eyes. She actually flips her notebook closed and pins her pen back up, setting both aside. Her hands fold in her lap and Navia leans forward a bit, both surprised and curious.

Is Charlotte going to ask her for something…off the record?

“Navia,” Charlotte says, her expression serious. Navia straightens her back and nods to let Charlotte go on. “There’s something I’ve been wondering for a while now.”

Navia just quirks an eyebrow up. In between the moments of Charlotte sucking in a breath, preparing her ask, Navia loses focus. A flash of striking blue and soft purple catches her attention out of the corner of her eye.

“What’s your relationship with the Champion Duelist Clorinde?”

It’s a valid question. Too bad Navia is instead focused on jumping up out of her seat and whirling around.

“Hold that thought,” Navia says quickly, already taking a heated step forward towards the girl she’d been hoping to catch sight of all day. She doesn’t even mind shouting across the entire floor, “Clorinde!”

Clorinde halts, turning quickly with wide eyes and a rigid back. She recognizes Navia instantly and tenses up even more, her arms locking at her sides. Navia barely resists the urge to roll her eyes as she jogs over to catch up to Clorinde’s place across the room.

“Miss Navia,” Clorinde greets as Navia finally reaches her. She avoids Navia’s eyes, opting instead to let her hat fall a little further down over one eye as the other points down towards the floor. She appears meek, a stark contrast to her usual haughty and confident figure.

“No need to be so formal,” Navia laughs softly, waving off Clorinde’s shy mannerisms. “I was hoping you’d stick around after the service yesterday, but this works even better I think.”

“Oh,” Clorinde says smartly, glancing up from the floor. “My sincerest apologies. Were you waiting for me?”

And, oh, there it is. That damned face. That heart-wrenching expression.

Clorinde, her heart bared for Navia and her eyes shining more pathetically than anyone else in the world. She’s like a little kicked dog, looking up with the lightest of pouts and her breath held in silent question. Her eyebrows tilt up as if asking Navia for the world and Navia hates how her chest clenches at the simple recognition that this is the woman who killed her father.

It’s not fair.

It’s just not fair.

“I was hoping to invite you out to lunch,” Navia admits, gritting her teeth and forcing her smile. She wants to yell and she wants to scream. She wants another rock to kick.

“Lunch?” Clorinde repeats, and her voice is so soft that Navia can’t help but want to drown in it. Navia can’t help but shift imperceptibly closer, leaning in as if it would quench the raging fire burning down her arms.

“It doesn't have to be today if you don't want,” Navia hums, sucking in a controlled breath because she can’t bring herself to look away from those royal purple eyes that have captured more than her attention. “I just thought that it’d be a good opportunity to…reconcile, if you will.”

Clorinde blinks, as if lost. “I…you want to…” she swallows hard, and Navia realizes that she’s the only one close enough to see the quiver of Clorinde’s bottom lip. “You’d like to reconcile with me?”

How is this the same person that shot her father in that duel three years ago? How is this the person her father gave up his life to? How is she the one that set her jaw and thrust her sword forward?

Why? Why is she the one?

“I would,” Navia confirms, smiling softly. “With everything finally behind us, I think it’d be nice to.”

“I—” Clorinde closes her mouth as quickly as she opened it, closing her eyes briefly to force herself to take a deep breath. When she opens them again, Navia can’t help but realize that her newfound smile is not only genuine, but also kind. “That sounds wonderful.”

Why is she the one that Navia fell in love with?

It’s. Not. Fair.

It’s. Not. Fair.

“Great!” Navia grits out, clapping her hands together in front of her. She tears her eyes away, finally admitting to herself that it’s all too much. She can’t stand to look at Clorinde too long anyway, she might end up losing her temper.

Navia pivots on a heel, twirling around and clearing her throat. She can practically feel Clorinde’s soft smile burning into her back, she can almost imagine the way her body has relaxed from the olive branch Navia’s just outstretched towards her. She hates this. She hates all of this.

“Sorry Charlotte,” Navia apologizes, taking a few steps back towards where she was sitting before. Charlotte’s already cleaned up the table and is standing at the ready by her chair, something that Navia appreciates. “What was your last question again?”

Charlotte laughs, waving a hand without a care. “Don’t worry about it, Navia,” she says with a lilt in her voice. Navia lifts her eyebrows, surprised that Charlotte would let a chance for information slip by. “I think you’ve already answered it anyway.”

“I see,” Navia mumbles, dipping her head. Perhaps Charlotte reviewed her notes while she was waiting and couldn’t come up with anything new. “I’m quite sorry that I have to leave you so suddenly, but—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlotte interrupts with a laugh. “You’ve done quite enough for me today anyway, I wouldn’t ask for any more of your time. Besides—” she glances pointedly over Navia’s shoulder “—it appears that there’s someone waiting for you.”

Navia doesn’t need to turn around to know that Clorinde’s eyes are still burning into her back. Navia almost blushes, actually, since it must be intensely obvious to Charlotte what their dynamic is, but she’s a little past caring at this point. Really, Navia just wants to find a rock to split apart with her claymore at this point.

Actually, she supposes she could just create the rock herself if she really wanted to.

“Well thank you for the tea,” Navia says, dipping her head and smiling at Charlotte. Charlotte smiles back. It's almost too easy for Navia to turn away without another thought.

Clorinde is still staring at her with the most muted hopeful expression Navia has ever seen in her life. Navia tries her best to walk over to her calmly without letting her feet fall too hard, but she's not so sure she succeeds. At least Clorinde doesn't seem to mind, even if she does wince a little.

"Come," Navia demands, curling a finger in a beckon and watching in amusement as Clorinde scrambles over herself to heed her command. The sight churns something like disgust in Navia's stomach. Maybe she should kick Clorinde to vent her anger instead.

"Now?" Clorinde asks, her voice tilting up in surprise. Navia turns away to hide her smirk.

"If you're busy you can say no," Navia offers, surprising herself with how genuine she is. She turns to find Clorinde looking down at her feet as they walk. "I simply assumed you weren't since you waited for me, but I can wait if need be."

"No!" Clorinde shouts, a tad bit too loud to not be entirely obvious to the entire building. She backpedals immediately. "I mean, I'd like to. Now, I mean. If that's amenable to you."

Navia can't bring herself to answer. She just nods and looks forward again before Clorinde can glance up. She doesn't want to see her face right now. She has too many feelings and not enough outlets.

The fresh air that hits Navia's face as she pushes open the doors to the outside world only makes her more sick. It's still raining. She doesn't bother with holding the door open for Clorinde, either; she doesn't think she could manage to with anything more than a grimace.

"Silver," Navia greets as soon as she sees him. He turns to her with a slight bow, already holding up an umbrella for them even though they're still under the overhang. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."

"No, Boss," Silver says with no emotion in his voice at all. "I just returned recently."

"And Melus?" Navia asks, her curiosity giving her an excuse to ignore Clorinde for a moment. She relishes it.

"He's still out running errands. If you need anything more, I am at your disposal."

Navia grunts, thinking for a moment. Melus and Silver had reluctantly left her side an hour into Charlotte's interrogation once Navia realized just how long it would take. As much as she didn't mind, there were still matters to be taken care of. Melus likely headed straight back to Poisson to make sure the rain was draining correctly and not creating extra hazards around the entrance.

"I was hoping the rain would clear up a bit more," Navia sighs, a little dejected. "I figured a picnic would be perfect for this, but I suppose we'll have to make do with something else."

Silver sends a pointed glance at Navia's newfound company from behind his sunglasses. Navia makes sure to give him a small, but admittedly strained, smile. He furrows his eyebrows in thought and then nods to her once after a moment of consideration.

"Allow me," Silver says, bowing his head and passing off his umbrella to Navia's hand. "I'll reserve a private balcony at Hotel Debord and gather some extra foodstuffs for you right away."

Well, there's one issue taken care of. Navia considers stopping him for a moment, but his teeth are already set and Navia knows better than to try and talk him out of it.

"Thank you, Silver," Navia allows with a smile. It's genuine this time. "That would be very much appreciated."

Silver gives a silent nod of his head and then turns out towards the rain. He produces a second umbrella from seemingly nowhere, gives it a thoughtful spin, and then sprints out into the rain without opening it. Navia just sighs as he disappears behind the water falling from above.

A moment of silence stretches into two. Navia rolls her eyes and hefts her newfound umbrella, pivoting on one foot to look back at her silent company. She can't help but place her other hand on her hip and look thoroughly unimpressed.

"Well?" she prompts, spinning the umbrella slightly to draw attention to it. "Come here."

Clorinde, previously frozen in place again, strides forward quickly, ducking under the umbrella and carefully avoiding Navia's eyes with everything that she is. It's painfully obvious how she tries to huddle under the umbrella Navia holds without coming anywhere near too close to her.

"Come along now," Navia mumbles, stepping out into the rain and watching carefully to make sure Clorinde remains close enough to stay dry. "Silver won't be long."

"He's certainly a character," Clorinde mutters, her arm brushing against Navia's between steps. It makes Navia shiver, though she consciously blames it on the slight chill in the air.

"I'm certain you've said that to me before," Navia says to fill the space. She doesn't have much more to say to Clorinde anyway.

"Have I?"

"You have."

"Oh. Apologies, then."

"Mhm."

They walk in silence then.

Neither of them speaks a word as they continue to walk the rainy streets of the Court of Fontaine. They both know the way, but Clorinde very clearly lets Navia lead every step they take. She doesn't offer up any more conversation and it makes Navia's blood boil.

At this point, she wonders if she should just send Clorinde out into the cold and demand to be left alone. Her brain and her heart can't take this constant assault anymore. More than anything, she just wants to stop thinking about her.

Navia wants to stop thinking about Clorinde's rigid posture and her chiseled jaw. She wants to stop thinking about her long legs and tight gloves. She wants to stop thinking about her dejected little face and she wants to stop thinking about her pathetic little personality.

She wants to stop thinking about Clorinde.

But here she is, in love with the woman who killed her father. Perhaps this is a curse placed upon her. Or maybe it's karmic retribution for her actions in a past life.

At least she doesn't deny it anymore. She decided it was best to accept it as soon as Clorinde spoke to defend her father's honor in that damned Opera Epiclese. It's still a new feeling for her, this acceptance, but she thinks she's known about her feelings for a long time now.

She's in love with Clorinde. They barely know anything about each other and yet still she can't help but accept that the squeezing in her chest is more than surface-level attraction.

She doesn't even know where it came from. Clorinde is intensely pretty, sure, but even then Navia has recognized her as nothing more than her father's murderer for a long time. It's…she doesn't know why she feels these things. They defy logic and reason, but she just can't help it.

A flash of memory pierces through Navia's mind. She can look back now and see things in a new light, but still she doesn't know how to seek answers from the past. All she knows is that she can glance at Clorinde and remember each and every time she's protected her. From the Gardemeks last week to the remnants of the Sinthe ring years ago, Clorinde was always there.

It used to make Navia uncomfortable that Clorinde seemed to always be keeping an eye on her, but now she sees things differently. Now she knows that Clorinde did not want to kill her father, she resisted it in fact. Now she knows that Clorinde was watching her not out of some false sense of guilt and duty, but out of the desire to uphold her father's true final wish. Now she knows that everything Clorinde's done, she's done for her.

Navia remembers even earlier, peering up to the balconies of the Opera Epiclese and catching sight of a girl her age dressed in blue, purple, and white. She remembers catching her eye and waving, excited to be watching a performance she had been looking forward to and wanting to share that excitement. She remembers that girl blushing and turning away after a meek wave of her own.

Maybe that's when it started. Maybe Navia has liked Clorinde for far longer than she ever could've imagined. Her father's death split them apart so easily, but perhaps they were already intertwined strings even back then. Maybe they were always meant to reconverge.

"We're here," Navia deadpans, glancing up at the lettering of Hotel Debord and frowning through the rain. Last time she came here she probably almost died. Even Clorinde couldn't have prevented that one.

Silver is already standing outside the door, his suit completely dry with not even a single wrinkle in sight. He has a bag thrown over one shoulder and a note in the other. He does not smile as they approach, but Navia can tell that he's happy to see them.

"Hello again Silver," Navia greets not for the first time. She can hear Clorinde glancing between the two of them, her confusion and exasperation basically audible.

"Boss," Silver says, extending his arms and quickly relieving Navia of her umbrella. "I've made the necessary preparations. Please allow me to accompany you up."

"Of course," Navia allows, smiling. Silver is, after all, carrying the stove with him. She makes to open the door only for Silver to swoop in and pull it open faster. Navia just gives him an unimpressed look as she turns and walks into the lobby of the hotel. She may be used to it, but that doesn’t mean he needs to scramble over himself for her sake every chance he gets.

Silver guides them through the lobby silently. He shows the note to one of the staff members near the stairs and gets a nod of approval before leading them up. Navia walks, silently, with Clorinde following close behind. She considers punching the wall once or twice.

The balcony that Silver leads them to is a somewhat familiar one. Navia’s been here a handful of times before with various other people. It’s a nice place that overlooks much of the Court of Fontaine. With the rain falling incessantly, there’s a bit less to look at, but at least the chill is staved off by the well-built overhang and the prominent outdoor heater.

Navia walks out onto the balcony and sets her hands on her hips, looking out into the dim visibility of the rain. It’s a little fitting, she’ll admit, but even then she wishes she could see the sunny landscape of her beautiful homeland now. She’s been living in the shadow of gloom for far too long.

“You can just leave the stove and ingredients here, Silver,” Navia says lightly, turning her head to glance over her shoulder. “I’d appreciate it if you stood attention on the other side of the door for this conversation.”

“Yes, Boss,” Silver accepts, only appearing slightly apprehensive. But he’d never disobey a direct order from Navia herself, that much is obvious. Silver follows his direction quickly and perfectly before silently closing the door behind him with nothing more than a hardened nod in Clorinde’s direction.

Navia’s eyes rest on the door for a few seconds too long. She’s not sure if she’s actually ready for this. Her father’s trial has brought her closure on everything but this unspoken electricity in the air, it has answered all her questions except for one. But she’s starting to wonder if she even wants the answer to this final question of hers.

It’s not fair. It never was.

“I think I have a lot to say to you,” Navia says, more to herself than anything. She clenches her hands into fists, breathing through a deep breath. “But I don’t think I’ll ever find all of the words I want to use.”

“I’m sorry,” Clorinde apologizes, a whisper in the cold wind.

“I know,” Navia grunts. And really, that’s all she’s ever been able to manage.

Navia opens her eyes and blinks through the blurriness of tears. She smiles a little, not because she is happy but because she doesn’t know what else to do. When she finally does turn to meet Clorinde’s gaze, it’s with unclenched hands and a relaxed posture that she falls into easily. She’s expecting something more, but she’s not sure what it is. What she doesn’t expect is to find Clorinde tensed up not from their words, but from the cold.

“You’re wet,” Navia frowns, stepping forward quickly. One of Clorinde’s arms is practically dripping, the sleeve and glove entirely soaked through. Some water falls from the tip of Clorinde’s hat.

“It’s nothing,” Clorinde deflects, turning away gruffly. Navia crosses her arms, entirely unimpressed. Was sharing an umbrella really that repulsive of an idea? So much so that Clorinde would rather have an entire third of her body be soaked in the cold rain?

The thought makes Navia pause. She shrinks in on herself a little, suddenly feeling dejected. She’s hated Clorinde for a long time, and she’s made it abundantly obvious too. How could she have expected that that wouldn’t have its own kind of consequences? Was she thinking that Clorinde would treat her the same as ever without ever developing some animosity of her own?

Navia doesn’t know. Her arms fall to her sides and she turns away, swallowing over the sudden lump in her throat.

“Well,” she croaks out, staring out into the rain like nothing is wrong. “At least come by the heater and dry off a little.”

“I’m fine, really,” Clorinde insists. Her voice carries no emotion at all and Navia realizes, not for the first time, that she will never learn to read Clorinde the way she wishes she could. She might never pierce that wall of gruff professionalism herself. She has always seen the way Clorinde treats her like a flower to be cradled and delicately handled, she has always felt that Clorinde keeps her at arm’s length. It’s infuriating.

“Clorinde,” Navia speaks, a little loud and a little harsh. She turns to glare at the woman who stands so far away from her and she can’t help but channel her anger into her voice. “Come here.”

Clorinde steps forward without another word. She keeps walking until she stands by Navia’s side, her soaked-through arm angled towards the heater. Navia nods in acceptance, turning away again. Clorinde’s taken to being her meeker self again, her hat tilted down and her eyes low.

It’s all just so confusing, this whole mess of things. Navia can’t help but wonder where the hell this is all going.

“I’m still mad at you,” Navia says suddenly. She surprises even herself with her words, but it just feels like she’ll explode if she keeps anything pent up any longer. “I’m furious, even. I know, consciously, why you did everything you did, and yet I still can’t help but find the sight of you rather repulsive. You make me feel things that no one else ever could.”

She can feel Clorinde flinch away. She can hear how her breath hitches, she can see how she shrinks in on herself. She knows that she can’t ever take back the things she’s said. She knows she can’t ever take back what is about to be said. But Navia must say them all the same.

“I’m sorry,” Clorinde whispers like a broken record.

“I don’t care!” Navia shouts, kicking her foot forward and slamming the tip of her boot against the brick half-wall in front of them. A piece of the brick chips off, crumpled into dust at the force of her kick. “Being sorry isn’t going to bring my idiot father back!”

“I know,” Clorinde practically whimpers. Navia lets a terse breath out from between her clenched teeth. “I know it won’t.”

Navia shifts away, holding the bridge of her nose and shaking her head. She didn’t come here to yell at Clorinde. It felt pretty good to get it out there, but she doesn’t want to keep being mad. Truly, she really does want to find a way to leave everything in the past. She wants to reconcile, she wants to move forward.

She wants to know Clorinde as more than the shadow that stalks her. She wants to know her as more than her father’s executioner. She wants to know what Clorinde likes to eat and what she wears at home and she wants to know what her preferred scent is and what sort of hobbies she has.

Clorinde doesn’t give her a chance to deflate.

“Here,” Clorinde says, looking up. Navia turns slightly, peering at Clorinde curiously out of the corner of her eye. The sight of Clorinde turning up a cheek and tapping it lightly with a finger is not what she expects. “Go on.”

Navia pivots before her conscious brain can catch up with everything else. She’s been given the lightest of permissions and apparently that’s enough for her. Clorinde’s eyes are already closed, her teeth are already clenched. Clorinde’s hand falls away to fist into the hem of her shirt, her nose wrinkling in preparation.

Navia isn’t about to let the opportunity slip by. She rips off the glove on her right hand and tosses it to the ground. Seeing red, she swings her hand without another thought. Hard.

The slap rings out on their little balcony, resounding as Clorinde stumbles a step away and clenches her eyes shut. Navia seethes, pulling up the sleeve on her left arm.

“That was for my father!” she screams, stepping forward again. She grabs Clorinde’s collar with her hand still stinging and yanks her up. She swings her left hand just as hard.

The second slap hits even harder. Navia’s entire arm feels it, springing up with immediate pain and stinging agony. Both of Clorinde’s cheeks flush red. It’s not from anything like embarrassment, but rather the blood flow rushing to the areas that Navia is sure will bruise. Good.

“That was for stalking me!” Navia huffs, letting Clorinde fall back down onto the heels of her feet. Clorinde doesn’t reel back, though Navia can tell she clearly wants to. Instead, Clorinde just reaches up with one hand and sets her jaw, barely blinking her eyes open past the mist of tears hanging onto her eyelashes.

Navia reaches down and grabs Clorinde’s free arm, perhaps a bit too roughly. She pauses, turning her eyes down and lifting Clorinde’s arm slowly, thumbing at the ridges on her sleeve and the silky material of her glove. Carefully, almost gingerly, Navia pushes her sleeve up far enough to grasp her glove at the wrist and slowly pull it down. She exposes the skin underneath with barely a thought on her mind.

With a sudden realization, Navia turns her eyes up to find Clorinde’s gaze. She stops her movements right at Clorinde’s wrist and channels a question into her eyes, silently asking for permission. Clorinde just swallows and nods, her cheeks so red it’s impossible to tell what from.

Navia looks back down and peels the rest of the glove away until it is scrunched up at the base of Clorinde’s fingers. She brushes her hair behind an ear and then leans her head down. She closes her eyes and breathes for a moment, letting her breath tickle Clorinde’s palm.

Navia presses the softest of kisses to her wrist. She stays there for a moment, letting her lips do the talking that maybe she never could.

“And that,” Navia whispers against Clorinde’s skin, “was for everything else.”

The falling rain dampers the silence that stands deafening between them. There has always been an impossibly thick silence between them in everything they have ever done. It feels untouchable.

“I did it for you,” Clorinde breathes. The rain falls harder in Navia’s ears. She caresses her thumb down the side of Clorinde’s palm and then softly pulls her glove back up past her wrist, covering her kiss with the fabric.

“I know,” Navia whispers back. She turns her head back up, finding Clorinde’s eyes blown wide and staring deep into her being. “Thank you.”

An infinite amount of somethings between them are left unsaid. Navia doesn’t understand why she could ever feel this way and she could never understand why Clorinde attached herself to her so easily. She could never hope to fathom just what happened between them to spawn all of these unspeakable feelings. Is she pining? Is that what this is?

Navia doesn’t know. With a hum, she decides she doesn’t really care either.

“I forgive you,” Navia says, loudly this time. She stands up to her full height and watches patiently as Clorinde tilts her head up with her. “I want to move forward with you.”

Truthfully, Navia might’ve forgiven her a while ago. Clorinde’s actions at the trial were enough to prove what she truly cared about, what she truly believed, but even then Navia can’t get the image of her rushing forward through a swarm of Gardemeks with a sword in one hand and a gun in the other out of her head. She can’t forget all the times that Clorinde looked away from her piercing gaze, promising her protection and she can’t forget all the times that she spat at Clorinde’s feet. She can’t forget the shy looks and stolen glances from before her father died.

She’d never again be able to pretend that the feelings she feels weren’t real.

“Thank you,” Clorinde hums, a rare smile gracing her face. Her cheeks are still red and bruising over from Navia’s slaps, and it’s a sight that almost makes Navia burst out in sudden laughter. If she was fated to fall for someone, at least it was someone easy on the eyes. That’s how Navia would like to rationalize it, anyway.

It’s almost too simple, how they hurdle the tension between them. It’s almost too easy. Navia just wants to be done with it, just wants it out there in the space between them that she has wholly forgiven Clorinde for everything she ever held against her. She maybe wants to say a little more, too, but she holds her tongue and swears to herself that it’s not the right time.

That they are still only halfway there.

But, at the very least, they can enjoy each other’s company for the first time in a long, long while.

“Come now,” Navia says, and her voice is happy this time. She outstretches one hand and uses the other to motion at two chairs sitting beside the heater of their balcony. “Come sit with me. We can chat for a while and I’ll make us some snacks. Perhaps a full lunch, if you’d like. I have plenty of time to spare.”

Clorinde looks her up and down, the smile on her face sticking like glue. Her eyes are bright now, something that Navia thinks she’s maybe never seen before. But she’s not given the chance to wonder, since Clorinde skips a step over to her and places a hand in hers.

And they sit, and they chat, and it is as easy and free as they both always hoped it would be. It is a chance for them to truly know each other for the first time in a long, long time. It is their moment hidden between the monumental pillars of supercharged emotions that have always driven everything they’ve done.

To Navia, she could never wish for anything more. She’ll walk away hours later, but still her brain will refuse to forget the sight of Clorinde’s lips turned up in a happy smile.

The rain has finally stopped.

Navia stands on the beach, looking out over the clear water near her home. She leaves her hands clasped in front of her and she bows her head one last time, sending off the last of the negative feelings that have carried her to this point. The guilt, the grief, the sorrow, the anger, the hate…she bids goodbye to it all. She welcomes in the newfound pride and relief that floods through her body, and she relishes in the warm feeling of something she’s sure by now is love.

It’s nice to feel every once in a while.

She would be lying if Navia said that she could leave it all behind easily. She would be lying if she ever claimed that the mere thought of Clorinde didn’t raise unpleasant memories. She would be lying if she claimed that forgiveness was freely given without another thought.

Navia wants to move forward, but she does not want to forget. The life she’s leaving behind is not one that she will ever be ashamed of.

The burning fire of instant disgust and raw hatred has quelled within her core. Her smiles come easier once again, and her breaths are no longer labored with the weight of the world she has carried for so long.

“I knew I’d find you here,” a voice interrupts Navia’s thoughts from behind. Her first reaction is not to smile and laugh and be playful. No, instead Navia’s gut feeling tells her to whirl around and slash forward with her claymore in a second flat, it tells her to yell and kick and scream.

“You know me so well,” Navia says, her voice light but still somewhat strained. It’s progress. She turns her head, blinking against the setting evening sun and forcing a smile towards a familiar figure.

Clorinde hums and dips her head, her expression featureless without a speck of emotion held within. She walks forward stiffly, almost professionally, until she stands beside Navia on the sand. The sight of her normal self is actually a little relieving, if anything.

Navia turns back to the horizon without another word, relaxing into the silence of company. There are no more questions, no more arguments, and no more expectations between them. Navia has aired everything she could’ve ever wanted to already, and Clorinde has weathered the entire storm with a stony face and thin lips. It’s over.

It’s not a new beginning, not really. To Navia, at least, it is more like a fresh perspective on the relationship they have already had. She is approaching the invisible wall between them with different tools this time. But it is still the same wall, and it still spawns the same visceral feelings in her gut.

“Here to make it up to me?” Navia jests, her words light and quiet on the wind. She wants to fill the silence with something, wants to break through that wall with her own effort. She built it herself, surely she could tear it down as well?

“I think I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” Clorinde whispers. Her words don’t register, for either of them, for a long few seconds. Navia takes the promise for what it’s worth as easily as she takes any other promise from Clorinde. She stashes it away and chuckles lightly to herself as she notices Clorinde noticeably dip her head out of the corner of her eye.

“Walk with me?” Navia asks, a request and not a demand this time. Clorinde lowers her head further and nods once, motioning with one hand for Navia to lead the way. Navia decides to just roll her eyes, shake her head fondly, and begin walking along the beach with Clorinde at her side.

Something that Navia still can’t get a good read on is what Clorinde is truly feeling at any given moment. Is her dipped head out of embarrassment for offhandedly making a lifelong commitment to Navia? Or is it just her turning her eyes down to think through whatever thoughts fill her head? Or maybe could it be her way of showing sincerity, as if she’s serious and she wants to portray it that way by showing subservience to Navia?

Truly, the Champion Duelist Clorinde is such an enigma. In all respects, she is almost entirely not understandable in any way. Or at least she certainly isn’t while dealing with Navia.

There’s still a slight chill in the air from the rain that has only recently cleared up, and it makes Navia shiver a little as they walk. Clorinde immediately takes notice of it as soon as she raises her head for the first time, her sudden attention obvious. Navia wonders if she’ll ever get used to Clorinde always watching her, doting on her and bending to her whims.

It used to make her uncomfortable, it used to be a reflection of guilt and duty stained blood red, but now it’s more of a gentle reminder of her care and watchful eye. A slightly uncomfortable shiver still runs down Navia’s spine, that much cannot be denied, but at the same time her chest grows warm from feeling Clorinde’s eyes on her back.

“Are you cold?” Clorinde speaks up, turning her head fully to stare at Navia with almost blank eyes. The only thing that gives her actual care away is the tiny little furrow in her eyebrows.

“Only a little,” Navia shrugs, glancing over and managing a smile for Clorinde’s sake. She rubs her sleeves down as if to prove that her clothes are sufficient, but she never could stop Clorinde from jumping to conclusions and unnecessary actions in the face of any slight inconvenience Navia has ever experienced.

“Here,” Clorinde says, somehow already holding out her jacket without Navia even seeing her take it off. She’d call it impressive if she weren’t frowning and rolling her eyes.

“I’m fine, Clorinde,” Navia laughs lightly, her scoff a little more forced than she wanted it to be. It’s still a challenge for her to control herself around Clorinde, but at least she’s getting better at it. It just flares up when Clorinde gets annoying now.

“Please, I insist.” Clorinde raises her eyes to stare into Navia’s completely, nothing but blank nothingness written on her features. Her voice is monotone and her lips are too still and it makes Navia want to slap her again right on the slowly healing bruises.

“I don’t want your damn coat.”

Clorinde flinches. Good, at least she can still feel something in that husk of a heart of hers. Navia finds it a little disgusting how quickly the coil of warm satisfaction spreads through her body.

“Sorry. My apologies.”

Clorinde shuffles back into her coat without another word, though she does look back down and tilt her hat further down on her head again. Navia just sighs.

“Don’t apologize to me for something so simple,” Navia tsks, turning her head fully forward again and following the curve of the water beside them. The satisfaction curls up and dies, leaving in its place a silent regret and a deep dejection.

“Of course,” Clorinde accepts easily, no thoughts in her words. It makes Navia snap again.

“Will you stop it with that?!” Navia shouts, stopping and whirling on one heel. Clorinde flinches, but this time she flinches upwards and it gives Navia a great view of her expressionless face. The white hot flash of anger is familiar in her body. “I don’t want your apologies or your sincerity or your professionalism! Stop it with your dejected puppy act!”

Clorinde opens her mouth and Navia can physically see how she intends to say “sorry” yet again. Navia has to resist the urge to summon her claymore to her side.

“Well?” Navia prompts, her voice still loud enough to constitute a shout. She doesn’t care who might hear them, not way out here and not anymore. “What do you have to say for yourself?! Anything at all, or are you just going to look back down and be sad again?!”

Clorinde doesn’t quite flinch, but her lips do turn down and her hands come in a little closer to her body. Good. Navia wants her to feel.

“You don’t have anything, do you?” Navia seethes, stepping forward to really get in Clorinde’s fragile little space. “Nothing but empty promises and fragile apologies? You can’t treat me with anything but a pole of ice and a brick wall of no emotion. Go on, get mad! Say something! Do something! Feel something, Clorinde!”

“Who do you want me to get mad at?!” Clorinde screams, surging up and finally meeting Navia for the first time. It makes Navia’s lips curl up in delight to see Clorinde’s eyes narrow and her nose curl in thinly-veiled disgust. “Do you want me to yell at you?! Scream at you?! Do you want me to swing my sword at you, furious and hellbent?! Because I can’t do any of that for you!”

“I want you to feel something, Clorinde!” Navia returns, her conscious thought slowing down as her impulsiveness wakes back up from deep inside her. “Talk to me, say something! Scream, shout, I don’t care! But if you want to move forward too, I need to know what you want from me!”

“Well I can’t be mad at anyone other than myself! I’m the only one here who deserves anger directed at them!”

Clorinde turns suddenly, spitting a wad of fresh blood onto the sand. Navia blinks, tilting away in surprise. Clorinde must have bit down on her cheek at some point. Knowing her, it was probably to keep herself quiet.

“All I feel is guilt and regret,” Clorinde grunts, staring down at the blood soaking gently into the ground. Navia steps away, working herself through a breath. “I’ve killed more people than you can ever imagine, Navia. I live with every single one of their lives bearing down on me. I’ve watched the light die from each new set of eyes with nothing but a frown and a scoff, that’s the kind of person I am.”

Navia blinks. For once, she doesn’t have anything to say about that. Everyone knows that it’s quite literally a Champion Duelist’s job to kill people, but never once has Navia really considered what that meant for the person in the position themselves. She knows now that what Clorinde really felt most strongly about her father was the guilt that he shackled to her, but Navia’s never thought about how he’s not the only one who might’ve done so.

“There’s nothing left for me to feel,” Clorinde scoffs. She meets Navia’s eyes and for the first time Navia sees something other than empty voids that could ever hold regret. She sees resentment, and she sees anger. “The audience of Fontaine thinks me an upholder of law and a bringer of just retribution. I deal death to those who know it is their only choice. I am the hero to the court, but to those accused I am their villain. I live to weather the yells and the screams and the swords directed at my neck.”

Navia deflates, breaking her gaze away and turning down to the sand beneath them. She feels a million different things rip through her chest all at once, and she doesn’t know what to think about any of it. She doesn’t know Clorinde, not really.

How could she ever think that she loves someone she hardly knows? She doesn’t know Clorinde’s struggles or strifes. She knows nothing about her ambitions or goals, has never once asked about her beliefs in any capacity. Navia does not know Clorinde.

“I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” Clorinde says, her voice low. It makes Navia shrink away from her. “I’ve commit sins that cut deeper than you could ever imagine, but nothing in this world cut me quite as deep as you. I’ll spend every day regretting everything that ever led me here but I can’t find it in myself to hate those things because at least I can stand here beside you and at least I can pretend like making it up to you means anything at all. And what do you want, hm? Do you want us to continue walking like nothing ever happened? Do you want to pretend like I didn’t kill your fath—”

“He asked for it!” Navia interrupts, flinging her hands up in the air. “He was a stupid, idiotic man and he asked you to kill him! I’m serious when I say I forgive you for it! I don’t want your pity and I sure as hell don’t want your stupid, empty devotion. I just want these ludicrous feelings stuck in my chest to make sense for once in my life. I don’t want anything more from you than the truth.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Clorinde sighs. Navia huffs, turning away again. She knows exactly what she wants Clorinde to say to her, and it’s something she could never ever ask for. It’s a deranged, stupid fantasy. It’s not real. It was always just in her head.

The wall between them lost one layer but grew three more and Navia knows for sure now that she will never break through. Maybe they really should just walk away from each other. For good.

Maybe Clorinde could finally learn to leave her alone. Isn’t that what Navia has always wanted? Isn’t that what she said to her so many times?

Navia closes her eyes for a prolonged moment, thinking back on everything that brought them to this point. She feels the familiar pings of sorrow and the intimate flames of anger, but what she feels most is the impossible mountain of regret. She wishes so ardently that things could’ve been different between them.

She wishes they could’ve been something more. But perhaps it was always meant for a different life.

“Fine,” Navia says, opening her eyes to the sight of the sea washing along the shoreline. She turns to Clorinde and fixes her with an unfeeling stare. “Then maybe we should let this be it. You’ve fulfilled your promise to my father several times over by now. Just leave me be, and we can both be done with this.”

Clorinde’s jaw falls open. She doesn’t manage to say anything. The inferno that was so intent on blazing behind her eyes washes away with the visible pinpricks of tears that mist along her eyelashes once more.

“Let’s move on,” Navia offers with a sigh. She swallows down every feeling that rises in her throat. “Separately.”

Their day of reconciliation seems so far away now. It took less than a week for them to devolve all the way back to their old ways. They barely gave it an attempt, in the end. All those worthless words spoken between each other and for what? What does it matter if Navia knows Clorinde’s favorite color or her favorite dish? What could it have ever mattered?

“You want me,” Clorinde whispers, pausing to blink her eyes rapidly, “to leave? You want me to walk away, just like that? That’s it?”

“Don’t you?” Navia challenges, crossing her arms. “I’ve already forgiven you. The only thing tying you to my side is your own, unwarranted, false sense of guilt. My father’s case is solved. It’s already shelved in the archives. It’s over, Clorinde. Let’s be done with it.”

“But,” Clorinde whimpers, her lips tilting down in a familiar look. She doesn’t manage any other words. All she can do is flounder with her mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish far beneath the waves. Navia can’t bear to look, but she can’t bear to look away either.

This should be it. Navia will break her own heart in two and then shatter the halves on the ground if it means letting Clorinde finally move on. Clorinde has enough to worry about, has enough guilt bogging her down each and every day. Navia will lament her loss, maybe, but she might also learn to move on. Someday far in the future, she might be able to learn to look at Clorinde with nothing more than a dull ache in her chest.

Wouldn’t that be better for both of them? Wouldn’t that be the best-case-scenario?

Clorinde dips her head. “If that’s what you think is best,” she accepts, hiding behind her hat again. Her hands clench and unclench too many times to count. It’s clear she wants to say more, but she’s holding back.

Navia sighs. How could she ever pretend that this is what she wants? How could she ever say that this is the best option? She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t. This isn’t what she wants, but right now what she wants doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.

It’s over and that has to be a good thing. It has to be because Navia doesn’t think she could handle the alternative.

But they don’t have another option anymore. After everything, how could they? How could they reconcile if they can’t even learn to talk to each other? Clorinde can’t even really look at her. There was never any hope.

“Then that’s that,” Navia mumbles, too exhausted for tears. She wants to cry but she can’t swell them within herself because doing so would simply sap too much of her mental energy now. “I go on with my life and you go on with yours. All you have to do is turn and walk away.”

Clorinde swallows, looking up to meet Navia’s eyes. She’s checking to make sure Navia is serious, probably. But Navia is. She truly believes that this is the best option for Clorinde at the least. This is the option that lets them both heal. This is the option that lets them move on.

“Then this is goodbye,” Clorinde says. Her voice croaks as if it were just a tiny stretch away from breaking apart. Navia lowers her eyes. This is goodbye. “Before I go, there was one more thing your father said to me three years ago.”

Navia’s head snaps up. Even after all this time, there was more? Clorinde breaks her sudden eye contact, turning away with a soft blush on her cheeks still stained purple from the bruises Navia left. She clears her throat.

“He told me to protect you and to watch over you, of course,” Clorinde hums, nodding once to herself. She turns, slowly, back towards Navia. “But,” she says, pausing for a moment to gather her words, “he told me to do something else, too. He told me to take care of you.”

Navia blinks. Her chest wants to explode. Her brain wants to melt into a puddle at her feet. Her body wants to collapse on the sand. Her father…just how much did he know, even back then?

“By biggest regret,” Clorinde continues with a crack in her voice, “is not finding a way to fulfill that part of his final request. I’m sorry. I always will be.”

And then Clorinde turns, and she walks away.

Navia stands there for an amount of time unknown to her. It is dark by the time she blinks and finds herself in control of her body again. She feels a million things rip through her.

Without another thought, Navia sets her jaw and stalks over to the first rock she finds that looks big enough for her to sit on. She summons her claymore to her side, her hands coming up to grip its hilt as it falls into her grasp. She angles it down and hefts it, her teeth clenching in some sort of emotion that she can’t bear to recognize.

Lamentation, maybe.

Navia screams, and she swings her sword.

The rock splits in two and then shatters into a billion little pieces at her feet, just like her heart.

At first, Navia thinks it’s just going to take a little time.

She needs to learn to move on, and that’s not something that’s going to come overnight. She can hope and wish, but she’s not going to forget everything so quickly. She needs to focus on her work and her people, she needs to find something else to worry about. She just needs a little time.

First it’s Melus offhandedly mentioning that she seems distracted. Then it’s Silver sending her silent glances of concern a few too many times per day. Then it’s the people of Poisson hesitating to come to her for their problems because of the bags under her eyes and the exhaustion in her bones. At one point, Navia realizes that she’s started avoiding mirrors because even she can’t bear to look at herself.

But she just needs a little time, right? She can feel that Clorinde’s eyes are no longer watching her, she should be happy. She should be relieved, this is what she wanted for so long. Maybe it’s not quite what she hoped for at the end, but it’s something that she can live with. She knows that for sure. Right?

The decisions are already made. The micro blackouts and distracted mumblings are just from the recent stresses. She assures Melus as much. The clumsiness is explained away as a loss of focus and the tiredness is a product of insomnia. She swears up and down that she will be fine in a while.

She just…she just needs time. She needs to…..

Navia doesn’t know what she needs.

Does she need to get over Clorinde? Is that what this is? Is Navia grieving a love lost? Melus tells her that she looks worse than she did when her father first died in the dueling arena. She tells him it’s because back then she knew that he was wronged and she was carried along by the adrenaline of her anger. She tells him, in a private corner of their complex, that she’s simply truly grieving for the first time. She insists that it’s just the grief of the loss of her father finally catching up to her.

For a while, she believes it. For a while, she avoids the Court of Fontaine like the plague. For a while, she stays as far away from the Opera Epiclese and any connection to her as humanly possible.

For a while, she pretends like she’ll get better. Like she’ll get over it.

It doesn’t happen. Or at least it doesn’t happen fast enough.

Perhaps Navia will never know if she could be better in a year or in ten. She isn’t willing to wait and find out. Or, really, Melus isn’t.

He took most of her duties quicker than she ever could’ve expected, shouldering her burden himself on account of her needing to “rest and recuperate.” Even Silver backed him up, nodding silently and fixing her with painful glares any time she tried to go out without a reason. It’s not like they’re forcing her to do something she doesn’t want to, but she’s mostly just not voicing any complaints because she might expend even more energy if she were to. She’d probably die if it took any more out of her.

Navia is, in a word, miserable.

It doesn’t make sense. She made all the right choices, she fulfilled everything that she ever wanted to do. She brought justice to her late father, she gave her public reports and secured more funding for Spina di Rosula again, she felt proud of all of her accomplishments, she even…

She…

She sent Clorinde away.

She told Clorinde to leave. For good.

The feeling dragging every part of Navia down is more than regret. It’s pure anguish, and it’s heartbreak in its purest form. It’s directed at herself, and she could never hope to stop it.

Things don’t get better. If anything, they actually get much, much worse. Navia can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened, she can’t stop herself from running it all over in her head and whispering to herself what she wishes she would’ve done instead. She stays in bed for hours, ruminating on all the things she’s said. The regret that nestles deeper and deeper into her body makes her feel worse as each day passes.

The world seems to grey over with the unfeeling reality that is Navia’s rationalizations. The sparks of the world dim until they are nothing. Navia finds no joy in doing anything anymore. She simply sits in a plush chair in her room and stares forward for hours on end. On most days, she can’t even find it within herself to change out of her bedclothes.

Daily reports from The Steambird stack in a pile high on her low-set coffee table, each one entirely unread. Books line the shelves of her room, gathering more dust each day. She hasn’t cooked or baked in so long she wonders if she’s forgotten how yet. The only time she leaves her bedchambers is for food that Melus personally takes it upon himself to cook, ensuring that Navia at least has one thing to look forward to each day.

There’s a knock on Navia’s door. She tilts her head after a moment, slowly turning to look at the door with a blank stare.

“Demoiselle,” Melus calls, rapping his knuckles on the door again. “Someone is here to see you. It’s the Champion Duelist Clorinde.”

Navia blinks. Something cold snakes down her back, making her shiver. The regret swells up in her throat.

“I believe you’ll want to hear her out this time,” Melus continues, clearing his throat from beyond the door. “She’s brought some things I believe you’ll be interested in.”

Navia is nothing if not intensely sentimental. Perhaps that’s been her real problem all along, actually. She’ll cling desperately to any inking of the past that she can manage to pretend means something. She wants to see Clorinde again. She really, really does.

“Send her in,” Navia calls, her voice shaking more than she thought it would. She swallows down every feeling in her bones as she listens intently to Melus’s footfalls as he walks away to follow her order. He’s good to her, isn’t he?

It takes a long few minutes for anything more to happen. Navia stares forward and sets her chin on her palm, propping herself up not in any semblance of professionalism but instead in simple acceptance that she is not at her best. She is, in fact, far from it. She never even changed out of her pajamas today.

Another knock, this one softer, rings out from her door. The soft, familiar voice of Clorinde sounds out, calling, “Miss Navia?” She sounds almost hesitant, as if she doesn’t want to be here at all. Navia hangs her head, closing her eyes for a moment. “It’s me, Clorinde. I apologize for coming here unannounced.”

“Come on in,” Navia invites halfheartedly. She has to blink to herself a few times, pushing the feelings down further. The click of the door opening is followed only by Clorinde’s quiet shuffling and the click of the door closing. The stagnant silence Navia has lived in is carefully shattered, falling to her feet with nothing left but an awkward semblance of reticence left behind.

Clorinde clears her throat and walks briskly forward until she stands before the table in front of Navia. Her eyes flick over to Navia rapidly, a frown stuck to her face and what must be a million thoughts running through her head. She looks the same as ever, really. She doesn’t look beaten into the ground like Navia does.

Clorinde blinks and looks down at the empty chair on the other side of the coffee table. She motions to it, catching Navia’s eye and tilting her head in question.

“Please, sit,” Navia croaks, swallowing thickly and straightening her back a little to at least reclaim some of her normal formality. It must be obvious to Clorinde by now that Navia is most certainly not in a state to be the strong and focused Boss of Spina di Rosula. But, still, she sits without another word.

For the first time, Navia notices that Clorinde is carrying something. A small box that was cradled in the crook of her arm is now shifted around until it sits in her lap, unopened. She looks down at it, sighs and shakes her head, and then tilts her head up to meet Navia with a withering stare.

For the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, Navia is unable to meet her gaze. She gives it three seconds of an attempt and then lowers her eyes back down to the box. She can see a label on one side of it that reads “Callas.” If she had interest to give, it would be piqued.

“We’ve finished collecting and reviewing everything that Marcel left behind,” Clorinde starts, her face hardened. Navia pulls her arms a little closer to her weak body. She hates looking so pathetic, but really there’s nothing more she can do. “Only a few effects of Callas’s were left behind, but we believe we’ve uncovered them all. Most appear to be various pieces of evidence linking Marcel to the Sinthe trade that he collected to hide the truth.”

Navia nods. She understands enough to get it. She remembers something from the trial about Marcel collecting belongings from his victims. Though her father was not dissolved, he was certainly still a victim of his massive scheme, Navia’s sure of it.

“Most of it is, in my opinion, rather uninteresting,” Clorinde continues, her eyes never leaving Navia’s face. There’s not a single speck of feeling in them. “As I told your butler Marcel, I believe much of it will mean very little to you.” Navia’s face falls further. “However, there was one thing recovered that I believe will mean very much.”

Clorinde, without another word, opens the box. It’s small enough to only hold a few items in the first place, Navia can believe that there really is nothing of interest within its confines. Likely some various reports of her father tracking Sinthe movements or strips of clothing left behind in haste. But the thing that Clorinde takes out and presents her is nothing like she could’ve imagined.

“We couldn’t figure out why Marcel would keep it,” Clorinde admits, holding the item in question in one hand and reaching over the coffee table for Navia to get a good look. “If anything, it must have been petty spite. But, anyway, we believe these rightfully belong to you.”

The thing that Navia gently reaches over to cradle into her hands is a stack of Kamera photos. She undoes the band and thumbs through them, careful not to smudge the ink or bend the edges. Each one is a different picture of her and her father, posing for something or other or working on something together. Him teaching her bladework or her poring over reports with him or them simply standing on the beach and posing for the picture. Each one tells a story from within Navia’s memory, and each one she remembers fondly.

Navia does not cry. She is long past crying. She has very little emotion to give nowadays, and she has even less energy to spare. She frowns, closes her eyes in brief reminiscence, and then swallows everything down. She stacks the photos back up, binds them together once more, and then leans forward to set them on the table.

“Thank you,” Navia manages. Here, in her uncleaned bedroom with nothing but her bedclothes on her body, she dips her head to Clorinde and thanks her. It’s for more than just the photos, really. It’s Navia’s chance to let go for real this time. She can’t think about whether or not Clorinde still cares about her when she is on the receiving end of that emotionless gaze and when she hears nothing but her entirely monotone voice.

Navia is just another family member of the victims, now. She is just a civilian once more. She is no longer special in Clorinde’s eyes. She deserves no more than anyone else in Fontaine.

The realization, the truth, settles in Navia’s body. It lifts the swirling feelings in Navia’s gut and it makes her limbs feel a little lighter. But, at the same time, it bears down entirely down on her chest and presses in like it wants to suffocate her. She shifts uncomfortably, sucking in terse breaths in an attempt to relieve even a little bit of tension.

“I shall leave the other items in your care,” Clorinde says, clearing her throat a little. Navia can still feel her burning stare, but she can also feel how it is no more special than any other burning stare Clorinde gives to anyone else. It’s over between them. “Peruse them at your convenience, they are yours once again. The Gardes apologize for the delay in retrieving them for you all these years.”

Navia nods, not trusting herself to speak. She presses a hand against her heart and rubs softly, struggling for breath. She keeps her head down, refusing to meet Clorinde at her level high above. She refuses to give her the satisfaction of seeing her any weaker than she already is.

A silent moment passes like the rain on a windy day. Navia can hear Clorinde stand and brush herself off, can feel her gaze pass over her pathetic form one more time. Clorinde clears her throat again, fussing with her gloves for a moment before sighing out through her nose.

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Clorinde says, her voice quieter than normal. Navia doesn’t look up. She still can’t breathe very well. It’s getting tighter with each moment and it feels like each movement Clorinde makes narrows the space left in her chest. “Please don’t hesitate to speak to the Gardes if you have any concerns or if there is anything more that we can do for you.”

There’s another pause and Clorinde doesn’t move. Then, “I’m sorry. I wish things could’ve ended differently.”

Navia wishes that too. None of this feels right anymore. She thought this is what she wanted and then she thought this was a choice she could live with. She thought she could move on, she thought she could return to some semblance of easy normalcy. But it’s clear to her, now, that perhaps that was only ever some impossible pipe dream. It could never be real, because Navia is still missing something in her heart and she knows exactly what it is. It is something that she can never have.

Clorinde walks to the door. Each step burns like lava on Navia’s heart. She winces with each second that Clorinde walks away from her. She harbors no more anger, no more rage. She can’t even manage to be sorrowful, really. All she can feel is the sharp blade of dejection and the washing waves of lament. She regrets so strongly that she can’t breathe.

It’s not fair. It never was. It never could be.

Clorinde rests her hand on the handle of the door. She stops there for a moment, her hesitance palpable. Is it pity? Is that all she holds for Navia now? Does she look at Navia’s form, shrunk in on itself with messy, unkempt hair and ragged clothes, and see nothing but a pitiful girl? Navia feels small and insignificant in Clorinde’s gaze.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” Clorinde whispers from across the room. Navia can feel the silence between each breath like pinpricks along her skin. “I truly will. Don’t ever think I won’t.” She pauses and Navia feels like she wants to throw up. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. “But even still…I am selfish, and I wish we could’ve been something different, something more.”

There’s something like a ringing in Navia’s ears. She chokes on the air, the familiar warmth of tears running down her cheeks finally returning to her. She doesn’t want to yell or scream or hit something this time, she just wants to cry. She wants to cry until everything else fades away entirely.

“Goodbye, Navia,” Clorinde says. Her tone carries finality. It’s her true goodbye, open in the air and bared to Navia like a secret.

Clorinde opens the door. Navia places a hand on her mouth to stop the whimper that wants to escape her. Clorinde steps out into the hall. Navia pulls her legs up onto the chair and she curls in on herself. Clorinde closes the door. Navia squeezes her eyes shut.

It’s over. It’s over.

There is nothing left to say and nothing left to do. There is nothing left between them, not even the barest scrap of feeling. All Clorinde could ever feel was pity and regret. That’s all it ever was. She never once felt the squeeze of her chest just at the sight of Navia. Never once did she look away in anything more than guilt. Never once did she long for Navia’s touch.

Right? Isn’t that how it went?

Isn’t that how it goes?

Navia is alone in her longing. She always was. She has spent years tormented by the feelings she has been powerless to stop. For years, she has turned her head away from Clorinde to ease the tension bearing down on her heart. And she was alone in every single moment.

Each and every time, Navia was wholly and entirely alone. Each and every time, her feelings were hopelessly one-sided. That’s what she believes now. That’s what she knows now.

Right? Isn’t that how it always was?

Isn’t that all there is?

Navia is left alone, crying and struggling to breathe, one more time. Clorinde is walking briskly down the hallway, her jaw set and her eyes unfeeling like they always were and always will be. Clorinde is sighing from the prolonged sight of pathetic little Navia. She is turning down and wringing her hands, finally feeling the guilt and regret lift from her back.

Right? Isn’t that how she feels?

Isn’t that what she always felt?

Navia doesn’t yell or scream or hit things. She doesn’t want retribution. She doesn’t cry like she cried for her father.

She feels small and she feels powerless. Truthfully, she is small and she is powerless. She always was. Her father’s case wasn’t even solved by her, at least not really. Maybe she was always as worthless as she feared.

Navia isn’t quite sure what comes over her to make her do what she does next. She catches a breath and this time she doesn’t choke on it. It goes down and it spreads throughout her entire body and suddenly her tears slow. They don’t stop, but the oxygen finally coming to her fills her lungs and expands her chest. She feels the tightness lighten its grasp, if only a little bit.

She swings her legs down to the ground and stumbles to her feet. She grabs onto the back of her chair hard and steps forward slowly, holding herself up. She turns her eyes up and stares at the door. Something rises in her throat again, but this time it isn’t bile or lament or the feeling of powerlessness that it usually is. No, this time it is a raw, primal, unadulterated form of necessity.

She can’t let Clorinde walk away. Not yet.

Clorinde has said her part. She has turned and walked away. But Navia hasn’t. She still has one more thing to say. She still has three words stuck in her throat.

It can’t be goodbye for good until she says them.

Navia yanks the door of her bedroom open. It slams against the wall, but she isn’t paying enough attention to care. All she can think about is running forward, down the hall and out the front door, as fast as humanly possible. All she can think about is catching up to Clorinde and whirling her around, gasping for breath.

She doesn’t get the chance to. She swings through her doorway and whirls on her heel, ready to sprint through her estate. She’s ready to give up everything for this final need of hers. But she turns, ready to throw everything she has on catching up to Clorinde, and she finds Clorinde herself leaning up against the wall heavily.

She finds Clorinde, head in her hands and her back shaking uncontrollably. She finds Clorinde, her shoulders hunched in on herself as she cries. She finds Clorinde, one side of her body pushed up against the wall almost desperately, as if she can’t even stand any more. She finds Clorinde, tears dripping from her palms and onto the floor.

Navia stumbles forward. She swallows down any sudden apprehension that wants to burst forward.

“Clorinde,” Navia breathes, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her around until she can peer through the cracks in Clorinde’s hands at her face. Navia is a total mess, this she knows for sure, but somehow Clorinde stands here looking almost just as bad.

Navia trails her hand up the curve of Clorinde’s arm and softly grasps her wrist. She tugs gingerly, carefully, and guides one of her hands away from her beautiful face. Clorinde looks at her, her eyes puffy and red from the still-flowing tears and her mouth curled in a cry. She closes her eyes and tilts her head down as if to back away from Navia’s searching gaze.

Navia snaps her other hand up and grabs Clorinde's other wrist too, preventing her from going anywhere. She stares and stares, her mind whirling with an impossible amount of thoughts. She doesn’t know what to think at all.

But, she does know what to do.

“I’m sorry, Clorinde,” Navia whispers. Clorinde flinches in her grasp, making Navia curl her hands tighter. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to be selfish. I still…even after all this time I still have something I need to say. I’m sorry. It’s selfish of me, I know that, but I need to say this to you.”

Clorinde’s head tilts down, her jaw shaking as if to stop the pitiful cries still falling from her lips. Navia wonders how the two of them must look together, both weak and pathetic and crying like babies. She finds that she doesn’t quite care. She doesn’t quite care because Clorinde is here, in her grasp.

“I’m sorry,” Navia breathes again. She stares at Clorinde with wide eyes and slowly reaches up to remove the hat still clinging to Clorinde’s head. Clorinde makes no attempt to stop her, even as Navia tosses it to the floor. “Hey, would you look at me?”

Clorinde’s breath hitches. Her face scrunches and it’s clear that she wants to flinch away again. Navia doesn’t let her, instead running a soothing thumb along the inside of her wrist and trailing her other hand down to peel up one of her gloves. Navia tosses that to the floor too and places her hand in Clorinde’s, intertwining their fingers.

“Look at me,” Navia says. It’s more of a beg and a whimper than an order. It’s more broken than anything she’s ever said in her life.

Clorinde blinks her eyes open. Navia smiles. searching deep into her eyes.

“We’ll be done with all of this soon,” Navia promises. She sniffles lightly, preparing herself. “We can truly move on, separately, I promise. I just have one more thing to say. Please, forgive me.”

A breath. A beat.

Clorinde nods her head once, her eyes red and awful but also wide and watching. Navia finds that look, that damned look, one last time. Like a pathetic, little kicked puppy, Clorinde stares into her eyes and asks her for the world.

And, oh, how Navia wants to give her everything and more.

“I loved you,” Navia whispers. The words fall from her lips like a confession that means the most to her. In a way, it really is. She has nothing else hidden away, she has nothing else to say.

Clorinde stops breathing. Navia does too.

The tears stop, perhaps only for a moment. Navia can feel Clorinde’s whole body tense in shock. She can see Clorinde’s eyes widen even further and she can watch closely as her brain ticks through each function to find just what the hell Navia is talking about.

“I—” Clorinde breathes, shaking her head and leaning away. “What?”

“I know,” Navia hums, shaking her head at herself. She can’t quite believe it. “I’m sorry, Clorinde. But I truly did love you.”

Clorinde’s mouth opens and closes no less than a dozen times. Navia actually chuckles breathily to herself, her chest suddenly the lightest it’s been in years. She looks up, briefly, towards the ceiling. Even after accepting it, she still can’t quite believe herself. She can’t believe she ever fell, and she can’t believe she fell so hard.

She’ll probably never know what did it, in the end. She’ll probably never know why she ever developed such strong feelings for the Champion Duelist Clorinde, her father’s personal executioner. It’s like a cruel joke of fate, honestly.

It’s nothing more than a twist of the knife already in her heart.

“You…” Clorinde trails off, clearly unable to believe her words. Navia looks back down with a sweet smile and finds her eyes, narrowed and searching. “You loved me?”

“I did,” Navia confesses with a nod. She feels almost silly, saying it now. But it really is the last thing that needs to be said. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Clorinde says, shaking her head and furrowing her eyebrows. She doesn’t break from Navia’s grasp and she doesn’t break their shared gaze. “I don’t understand at all. How? Why?”

Navia laughs, shrugging helplessly. She feels Clorinde’s open hand begin to tremble and she rubs her thumb a bit harder against her gloved wrist. She squeezes the other hand still held in her own, smiling all the while.

“I have no idea,” Navia admits. She could never hope to attribute it to one thing, isn’t that what she’s learned about herself? “I don’t know where it started at all, honestly. All I know is that it’s wholly and completely true. You’ve had my heart for a long time, I think.”

Clorinde blinks, swallowing hard. She searches Navia’s gaze, looking for something. She can tell that there’s more. That there’s something else.

“And?” Clorinde prompts, her voice so quiet Navia almost misses it. Navia finally breaks the gaze, looking down towards the ground beside them.

“And,” she says, clearing her throat awkwardly, “you still do. That feeling hasn’t gone away, and I don’t think it will for a while.”

Clorinde stops breathing again. Navia presses her thumb firmly against her wrist, feeling her pulse. It’s absolutely racing, wild and intense with each beat of her heart.

Navia looks up, giving Clorinde a sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a genuine remorse in her voice. “But I still love you.”

Navia would like to say that her confession is monumental. That the world stops and holds its breath, watching intently and recognizing the enormity of the moment. She’d like to say that it’s everything that she ever hoped for.

But it’s not. It’s small, and it’s simple, and it’s sad. It’s Navia baring her heart and handing Clorinde the knife. It’s her watching and waiting for Clorinde to wrench out of her grasp, disgust written all over her face. It’s Navia waiting for the rejection that she knows will come.

“Can I kiss you?” Clorinde asks, her voice quiet. Navia stares at her, her smile still plastered to her face.

Clorinde blinks, looking taken aback as if she didn’t mean to say what she just said. Navia stares at her, uncomprehending. Then, Clorinde sets her eyes and doubles down, a new type of fire that Navia’s never seen blazing behind her gaze. It sets Navia’s stomach alight.

“Navia,” Clorinde whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

Navia’s mouth falls open this time. She can feel her own heartbeat pounding against her eardrums now. She can feel it in her own bare wrists. Her mouth goes dry.

“I don’t need something like that,” Navia says, insistent. Her eyes are wide and her legs are ready to give out at any moment. “You don’t need to give me anything, I don’t need anything more. I just needed to say it, that’s all. I’m sorry, I’m selfish, I know. But your guilt shouldn’t make you do something like that, I promise.”

She’s rambling. It’s obvious to both of them. Navia continues anyway, unable to rationalize anything that’s happening.

“Honestly,” she says with a sighing breath, “that was it. I just needed to get it out there, to move on, you know? I’m done now, honest. I can go on with my life and you can go on with yours and we can finally find our own peaces, right? Don’t force yourself to do something you don’t want to do because you think you owe it to me, okay? I don’t need—”

“Damn you,” Clorinde basically growls, stepping forward into Navia’s space and making her brain short-circuit. “Shut up for once, would you?”

Navia shuts up.

“Can I kiss you?” Clorinde asks.

Navia doesn’t think about it anymore. She just nods, completely truthful in her want.

Clorinde leans in, her breath hot on Navia’s face. Navia feels her legs shake. She’s spent all this time preparing herself for pure rejection. She’s expected anger and hatred and disgust, and now all she’s getting is Clorinde’s gloved hand breaking from her grasp only to settle softly on her cheek. She’s getting Clorinde’s other hand finding its way down to her waist to pull her closer.

And then, she’s getting Clorinde’s eyes closing and her lips parting, shining in the dim light.

Navia closes her eyes and meets her there.

She’s not really sure what she was expecting, honestly. All things considered, probably nothing, but now that she’s here and her lips are pressed against Clorinde’s she can’t help but wonder if she ever gave this part any thought. She wonders if she ever thought this was a possibility.

Clorinde presses her body closer to Navia’s and Navia can’t help but fling her arms up around Clorinde’s neck. She presses a little harder, feeling a greed well up within her. If Clorinde is going to give her something like this, then she’s going to take it for all it’s worth even if it’s nothing but a brief, lone moment controlled by guilt, pity, and regret. Navia presses up and guides Clorinde’s lips to move with hers.

Clorinde follows her each step of the way, pressing her lips harder and then kissing her fiercer, hungrier. She surges with Navia far longer than she should, far more than her guilt should carry. Navia furrows her eyebrows and tightens her arms. Clorinde responds by snaking her arm fully around Navia’s waist.

Navia can’t hold herself up anymore. It’s too much. One of her knees buckles out from underneath her.

Clorinde is lightning quick, dropping her arm down and grabbing around the back of Navia’s thighs. She hefts her up, dropping her other arm down and carrying her as Navia wraps her legs around Clorinde’s waist. The new angle gives Navia even more to kiss senseless.

The feeling of Clorinde’s arms flexing and rippling between them drives Navia crazy. She doesn’t know what’s going on anymore, she has no idea what switch flipped to drive them both to such intense lengths. All she knows is that she pulls her arms up and cradles Clorinde’s head with both of her hands, tilting her head down to keep her lips moving for as long as possible.

It takes what must be another dozen seconds at least before Clorinde finally breaks away. Navia just sits there, carried easily in Clorinde’s arms, panting hard like her life depends on it. She struggles for breath for a different reason and she can only feel maybe one of her limbs.

Clorinde moves her eyes up and meets Navia’s even while wheezing for air. Navia just stares at her, her eyes blown wide and her lips left parted as she struggles too. Clorinde laughs softly, as if to herself. Her eyes grow soft.

“I love you too,” she whispers, setting her forehead against Navia’s. “If that wasn’t abundantly clear.”

“Oh,” Navia says, blinking. That would…make sense. “I see.”

Clorinde laughs again, shaking her head incredulously. Navia learns to laugh along with her, trembling body forgotten.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Clorinde admits, closing her eyes. Navia hums, letting her go on. “I don’t know where it started either, but I thought I knew for sure it was nothing but an impossibility. For a while, I was disgusted at myself for ever having the gall to feel such things for someone I so easily and readily hurt.”

Navia strokes one of her hands along Clorinde’s cheeks. The skin is soft and smooth, tensing and moving with Clorinde’s mouth. She wants to stay here forever.

“I still don’t understand,” Clorinde whispers, shaking her head softly. “How? Why? Is this okay? Is this something I am allowed to indulge in after committing such atrocities against you?”

“I already said I forgive you,” Navia says softly. Clorinde’s mouth clicks shut as she breathes out a terse, shaky breath. “I already said I love you and I already said I want to move forward with you. I want to be with you, Clorinde, more than anything.”

Clorinde doesn’t say anything more. She just sniffles and tilts her head to the side. Navia follows her, pressing a ghost of kiss to her cheek and then again to the tip of her nose.

“I’m sorry,” Navia says. “For everything, I’m sorry. I was mad, angry, I heralded a hate that was directed at you but the whole time I knew you weren’t really to blame. I think I always knew that my father chose a duel because he was ready to die. I think I always knew it was his fault in the end.”

Clorinde sighs, pursing her lips. Navia smiles down at her fondly, a sparkle in her eyes. Never has she ever dreamed of such indulgence coming true for her.

“I don’t care about any of that anymore,” Navia promises, her words light and true. “Everything is done and dusted. It’s over, Clorinde. Will you let me love you?”

“Please do,” Clorinde whispers. “And please let me love you in return.”

Navia thinks that she’s beautiful like this. Really, Clorinde is always beautiful, but Navia has never even been quite this up close and personal with her. She finds every little twitch and every little breath adorable. She never wants to let go.

Clorinde blinks her eyes open slowly, peering up at Navia and finding something there in her eyes. Navia hums again, another tightness settling in her chest. But this one is pleasant, and this one must be love.

“Clorinde?” Navia asks softly.

“Yes, Navia?” Clorinde asks in return.

“Indulge with me a little longer?”

“Of course.”

Navia leans down, lets her eyes slide shut, and presses her lips against Clorinde’s again. Navia decides she likes the taste.

They have more to talk about, now. More to discuss and more to work through and more to do. They are not suddenly okay and they don’t pretend to be. But they are moving on, and they are finding each other in the darkness they’ve both come to know so well.

Navia smiles into the kiss.

They’ll do it together, this time.