Chapter Text
Preparing for your real pilgrimage drives home that you really, really were too young to make history, and the whole thing still feels like it could have been a crazy dream.
Well, maybe not the whole thing. Maybe it’ll be good in another way, too. To let the restlessness out, see everything in a proper way and help your overworking brain understand that yes, you did it.
(“Wow, that’s harsh.”)
... And you have a permanent reminder too.
(“You’re not supposed to snoop?”)
(“I’m sorry. It was getting really loud, I didn’t even notice I should have heard that.”)
(“Forgiven, but watch it.”)
Your head goes quiet. Guesses he’s watching it now.
Still, it’s a big thing, and you feel ready, while nervous in a good way. Sure, it took a few days, but that’s a good thing. It’s different from having to run from the place for your life. Like saying bye to a friend.
...
Let’s see an unfrozen country, Mirabelle.
You camped alone before. It wasn’t too long ago, but feels like a lifetime. This time, you have a tent and real food, won’t have to hide under a bush and pull your shawl closer to try and shoo away the cold.
Maybe that’s the reason why you decided to do that, even knowing how to reach the next town.
... Even this is something that need to be cleaned, isn’t it?
(“Mira?”)
“Yes?”
(“Can you- Do you- I’d like- Do you want to look at the stars?”)
Oh Change, they’re so nervous, and adorable. How did you ever think they were careless?
“Sure. Why not?”
You feel an impulse to do a little hop. He likes them that much, hm?
You... have an idea.
“Siffrin, do you want to see how much you can do with my body?”
(“Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’m more than happy being able to feel the breeze and taste food.”)
Despite knowing they won’t see, you make a little puppy face.
(“You’re not even curious?”)
(“Curiosity doesn’t come before respecting your space. And, this is as your space as it gets.”)
(“But what if it could be useful?”)
(“How would that be useful? At this point your reaction time is better than mine was.”)
(“But what if I want to?”)
(“Mira, I was already scared that I wouldn’t be able to leave.”)
(“... You know, you made Madame a little carving. You like carving, don’t you? And I want you to do things you like.”)
(“Still, it doesn’t feel right. It’s still your body.”)
(“Yes, it’s mine, and I’m saying that if I don’t mind if you ask to borrow it sometimes, specially if I’m offering.”)
You feel a wave of empathetic sheepishness.
(“... I don’t have what to carve with.”)
(“Is your old dagger good enough?”)
(“My dagger? When did you get my dagger?”)
(“While preparing your, body, for cremation. Most of the things you were carrying were destroyed, but your dagger survived somehow, and I didn’t want it to be trashed.”)
Smiling proud of yourself, you dig around your pack before finding a thick handkerchief, with a curved dagger wrapped inside.
(“Wow, imagine robbing the dead.”)
(“Imagine being dead.”)
You regret your words as soon as you realize Siffrin heard them.
“I’m sorry!”
(“I am dead, so...”)
Oh, Change, you stepped on it bad. You need to fix this!
(“Well, do you want to train?”)
(“I... I do. But not with the dagger! I’m not doing any training with something sharp!”)
You weren’t planning on starting like that, but it’s still a yes.
You lie down on the grass, and relax every muscle in your body. You take a few deep breaths before letting it come and go on it’s own again.
...
The more You try to relax, the more it feels like he’s a tiny thought you didn’t even realize you were having.
(“Aren’t you gonna do anything?”)
(“I’m trying! I think you’re still the one in command. Or maybe I really am just the passager.”)
(“No. We’re not giving up after a single try!”)
Sure, maybe you were just... trying too hard! You’re thinking too much about relaxing so Siffrin can’t move them. How to avoid that, though? Think, think...
... You have na idea.
Sometimes you end up thinking so much and so deep, that you forget you’re physically present. Maybe you should try to do that.
One more deep breath. You stare up at the sky.
The sky is really interesting, isn’t it? A shade that covers the world influenced by a pair of huge floating lights. Floating lights, like fae. Isn’t it curious how, in some fairy tales, a human soul only costs one pastry? If a vampire bit a fairy, technically comsuming fairy food, who would be the master and slave?...
It doesn’t take too long for your eyes to start closing. You don’t fight it. You’re doing the opposite of grounding here.
When it actually happens, you only really notice when your eyes open again. They don’t feel exactly, yours. No, that’s not right, but not wrong either. You’re seeing everything, but doesn’t quite feel like it’s your surroundings. It feels more like you’re viewing something you read described in a book. Or the backdrop of a play.
Hm, that was a stray thought if you know what they feel like.
(“Okay! I can make the eyes open!”)
Cute.
(“Please don’t call me cute, I’m literally dead.”)
Still cute.
One of the arms rose and fell covering the eyes.
(“Oh, look, you can move limbs, too.”)
(“I guess I can. It felt kind of weird, though.”)
It moves again, away from the face, hand raised towards the starry sky, then the other joins, like you’re trying to offer the moon a hug. The hands open into big stretched palms, then close into fists. He can move your fingers too! It’s not even a bad feeling. Sure, it feels like na external pulling, but it’s less like strings yanking them around and more like hands gently showing how to position them
(“You want to try to grab something? Not the dagger, just, something?”)
Left arm is lowered, and your pointy and thumb pinch a blade of grass. It’s awkward, the other fingers open and hanging back, and the attempt at pulling the little blade fails because the pinch is too light.
(“Oops, guess not.”)
(“Nop, not allowed to give up after one try.”)
(“And Mira shows her secret ruthless side~”)
If he can crack jokes, then guess you guys can keep going.
Everything has a slow and awkward start. Kneeling, them standing up, stumbling and needing to lean into a tree. Picking up a stick, putting on the bonnet, making a little heart with the hands, holding a pencil, even if not going to write now, even jumping. By the end of the little exercise, the clothes are dirty and the body more tired than those little things should make it.
It seens that Siffrin also found it tiring, because you get the control back as soon as the sugestion to go to sleep is made – kind of felt like a shove, but you forgive him.
You close the floppy door behind you, and curl under a blanket.
“This was fun.”
(“I almost ruined your dress.”)
“It’s just a dress. It was fun. We should do it again, my bodymate.”
No matter how much they try to hide, you can tell Siffrin still got amusement on that.
You’re glad.
(“This is a House of Change, too? It’s so different.”)
(“Yes, that’s intentional. I can’t say that no House is ever the same or simular to another, but they tend to be different. It’s hard to see it as representing Change if they follow a cookie cutter model, you know?”)
(“Makes sense.”)
The gates are shaped like a butterfly. The walls don’t have a plain shade, but a gradient that becomes darker towards the ceiling. It’s interesting, or maybe it looks interesting only by comparison. Or you want to find things interesting.
One way or another, you take in the sight. You’ll go inside soon enough. You’d like to see what else is different, before you go for other things.
It’s not a huge city, but it’s nice, and large enough to not be the kind where everyone knows everyone.
(“Mira, please, don’t get this wrong, I really, really don’t want to be snobby, it’s a genuine question out of curiosity and nothing else...”)
(“Siffrin... Sif? Can I use Sif?”)
(“I’m not the one You should ask that.”)
(“Right. Well, Siffrin, can you please just ask? I don’t want to attract attention just standing around so we can talk.”)
(“Right! Well, this place is not all that big, and, I think, if it had some big history, you’d have started gushing already, so, why is this a planned stop?”)
(“Siffrin, every place and people have something different to offer. And, you know what’s something that happens mid autumn?”)
(“Mira, I didn’t even know what a bonding earring is.”)
(“Right. Well, it doesn’t happen everywhere, or, all the time, because we need the space, but, sometimes, we go to the outskirts to plant trees. It’s not exactly just that, but that’s the gist of it.”)
(“And, you didn’t want to do that in Dormont?”)
(“Dormont is surrounded by woods, so planting trees around isn’t much of a different. So, it happens mostly inside town. In the time I’ve lived there, I only participated twice. And, they probably already their own Change Festival, if they went straight back to business after the unfreezing.”)
“Excuse me? You’re clogging the gate entrance.”
!!!!
You’re so caught off guard that you do a little jump
“Ah! Sorry! I’m going inside now. Sorry.”
You head inside and avoid eye contact with the person. Lucky you, it doesn’t take too long to find a housemaiden. They greet you with a smile, a stylish mustache somehow making their face even more expressive.
“Hello there, welcome!”
Okay! You remember how to interact with new people! Be normal!
“Hello, nice to meet. My name is... Pois, I use she/her pronouns.”
(“Pois?”)
(“It’s one of my middle names.”)
(“Cool.”)
“Nice to meet, Pois. I’m Remy, they/them. I see you have Change brooches. Enthusiastic or housemaiden?”
“Housemaiden. On the very start of my pilgrimage.”
Remy holds their chin and nods a few times, in a show of sympathy that gets you almost off guard.
“Ah, the green youngling beginnings. Been there, done a lot of dumb things.” The nodding stops, and they eye You a bit “Hm... Eh, I thought you seemed familiar, but it’s probably in my head. Anyways! I think it wouldn’t hurt to show the place. If mademoiselle wouldn’t mind.”
(“Siffrin, I think I like them.”)
(“Odd.”)
(“I know.”)
“I don’t. I’d actually like that.”
(“Okay, let’s do that. I’m sure it’ll beat staying under your bed all day.”)