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“I’m so happy you’re back.”
Marcille’s whisper is almost inaudible, voice withered and cracked when it passes through her lips, but still, Falin hears her. She cracks open an eye, squinting blearily in the dark room at Marcille’s face situated so close to hers.
Marcille’s cheek is squished against the pillow, and even the night cannot stop the resident sparkle in her eye from twinkling. Falin thinks she looks so nice despite the exhaustion painting the rest of her features gray from the undoubtedly large expense of her mana.
Falin smiles. “I’m happy, too.”
She adjusts the covers over their bodies and ignores the minute aches and pains deep in her bones from the reconstruction of her body lingering like an afterimage. Parts of her mind are scattered and some thoughts feel hard to grasp, and it almost feels like there is more than just blood in her body.
Falin lets the covers fall out of her grasp, laying her hand to rest on the sliver of mattress between them, ignoring all the parts of her that feel indescribably wrong.
She watches the shadows of Marcille’s body move, tainted with hesitation, before a slim hand emerges from under the blanket to smooth over her own. Cold. Falin’s smile grows, and she moves her hand to encase Marcille’s with her own to warm her up.
“Thank you, Marcille,” Falin says, “for coming back for me. For saving me.”
Marcille’s face scrunches up and her eyes dart away from the ones boring into hers, and Falin giggles at her embarrassment.
“Stop laughing! It wasn’t just me, you know.” Marcille pauses, and Falin waits for the words that want to be said to inevitably be spoken, because Marcille always speaks her mind when Falin’s around. Eventually, she does indeed mutter, “And of course I would come back for you.”
“I know, I just thought I’d thank you anyway.”
Falin watches as Marcille falters and gives into her thanks, nodding in response instead of offering words. The silence that follows is eerily serene as Falin’s eyes start to wander Marcille’s face.
Her twinkling eyes fall closed, and her lips subconsciously part as her body relaxes, undoubtedly overcome with a wave of tiredness. Her hand falls limp in Falin’s hold, and Falin wonders if she actually did fall asleep so quickly. Her thoughts start to scramble a little as she maneuvers their hands into interlocking their fingers, squeezing the now-warm flesh gently.
Marcille stirs at the movement, confused. “Huh? Sorry, I think I fell asleep for a moment.”
She laughs it off, but Falin worries. She’s always been worried about Marcille, ever since their school days. There is something in Marcille that Falin feels might shatter at the slightest wrong move, but she hasn’t figured out what yet.
Maybe Marcille pushed herself a little too far this time to get her back, and Falin feels guilt pool in her chest at the thought, cold and sickness-inducing. Something brutish and protective circles the guilt inside her and settles down around it like a dog lying down to rest.
“Marcille,” she says, surprisingly (or, perhaps, unsurprisingly) choked up a little. Marcille’s eyes flutter shut, and she hums. “Marcille,” Falin repeats, pulling their hands against her chest. She can feel the cold skin on the back of Marcille’s hand through the cotton of her shirt. She can feel as Marcille’s hand starts to tremble.
Suddenly, Marcille begins to cry.
It is slow to start, but Falin can practically sense the weight boring down on her shoulders, forcing the tears out between closed eyelids. She watches, silent, as Marcille splinters and shakes and unravels by the seams of which she was sewn together time and time again.
Falin gathers up the pieces and pulls Marcille closer to her, sneaking her free hand between the pillow and Marcille’s cheek, feeling as each tear slips down her cheek onto her fingers.
“Falin,” Marcille croons low and stilted, broken by tears and sniffling as she tries to hide behind a hand. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Senshi and Chilchuck- they didn’t want us to go through with it, but I don’t know what I would’ve done if Laios didn’t want to, either.”
She speaks as though it hurts her, as if each word brings back the initial devastating crush of hope they must’ve had when they cut her out of the dragon’s body. The mounting fear, the sickening desperation, the hysteria of losing Falin that the others probably didn’t quite understand. The mere thought of Falin being gone for good must have killed a part of her and Laios that is still a bit dead despite bringing Falin back.
“We needed you,” Marcille cries against her grasp.
Falin’s own lip trembles as feelings swell up within her, ever empathetic, but she tampers it down. Her guilt grows even colder, slinking out of the hold of her protection down to rest in the pit of her stomach, isolating itself to make itself known. Its presence grows parasitic, beginning to slowly eat away at her.
She thinks about how Laios hugged her earlier after chiding her for her self-sacrifice, so tightly and firmly. She thinks about the way he spoke to her. Don’t ever do anything like that again.
Marcille takes a deep, steadying breath that feels like it was stolen right from Falin’s chest. She grabs onto the wrist of the hand holding her cheek and says, “I’ve never felt so relieved before, when the spell worked. I was so scared, Falin. When we put you back together- I’ve never hated holding a part of you before, until then.” She pauses.
Then, “I know your body now in a way I never should have had to and I hate that so much. ”
Falin knows she should say something now that Marcille’s working herself up over it, but the words do not seem to form behind her teeth, instead sinking under her tongue as jumbled letters and fragmented thoughts.
Marcille must have touched all of the bones in her body, touched particles of blood that must have been hers, held her in death knowing what she would have to do to have her once again. Oh, the pressure in her chest is getting a little too hard to bear. Even with her newfound power, strange and rippling under her skin, through her muscles and tissue like electricity, it cannot abate the weakness Falin feels right now.
What could she say to her besides– “I’m sorry, Marcille.”
She pulls Marcille down against her chest, erasing the leftover space between them in one smooth movement, listening to the muffled cries being pressed into her skin. Marcille’s arms come up to wrap around her, squeezing her tightly, fistfuls of her shirt clutched in shaking fingertips.
It’s a long moment Falin spends staring in the dark at the wall behind them, thinking of everything yet nothing as that feeling of wrongness slithers up her spine again. But she ignores it, or at least, she tries her hardest to. She closes her eyes as Marcille’s hands loosen their grip and move up to rest on her shoulder blades. Then, she opens them as Marcille pulls away to wipe away her tears, sniffling softly.
Something claws at the base of her throat with dull talons, just shallowly scraping at her from the inside like a silent warning as Falin looks down at her. An urge, nearly possessive in its silent desperation, washes over her, and Falin gives in to press her lips against Marcille’s forehead.
Marcille shudders at the sensation, and her voice sounds thick with tears as she says, “I just want you to be okay.”
Falin exhales slowly and deeply, until all of the air in her lungs is expended. She lets herself feel condensed yet empty for a second, then she inhales again. “I will be,” she assures her, spoken into her hair, knowing that what she says is an undeniable truth. Falin has always been okay – or, when she is not, she has always gotten better.
“Okay.” Marcille whispers, weak. She calms down enough to stop crying, and Falin retracts herself so they can look at each other once more. Marcille’s eyes glitter, a dark green in the lack of light.
Her hands peel away from Falin’s body, and Falin subconsciously mirrors her, just for Marcille to interlock their fingers and hold hands between their warm bodies. Marcille raises their hands to her lips, kissing their connection with soft, chapped lips. Falin thinks the sensation is like brushing knuckles against rose petals.
The wrongness itches at the roof of her mouth, but she ignores it. It’s made home in the roots of her teeth, crawling through her bones, but she ignores it. Falin frees a hand to place it back over Marcille’s cheek, and that urge, that slight desperation sparks in her borrowed blood like a live wire. She leans in and kisses Marcille, closing her eyes tightly against the surge of bubbling blood and sparkling affection muddling her mind.
Marcille gasps against her lips before melting into the touch, like a flower perking up under a ray of dedicated sunshine. Her skin is still slightly chilled, but she has warmed up considerably since they have been holding one another, and Falin is pleased, humming against her lips.
It doesn’t progress much further than that – just a sweet press of their lips, barely a kiss. They stay there for a long time, against each other, holding each other, eyes closed against the darkness of their reality.
Falin is definitely not the same person as before, she can feel it. That wrongness that has been flaring up in her body, that is taking shelter in her bones like a hostel, that wears her skin as its own; she doesn’t want it to be true, but she has always been realistic.
Something is wrong with her, and she cannot stomach the idea that Marcille and Laios maybe, perhaps messed up in the process of bringing her back.
Her life, both physical and metaphorical, was in their hands, and they stitched her back from nothing but the foundations of her body. Even if they have done something wrong, she is happier to be alive to hold Marcille, to talk to Laios again, to surround herself with allies and family, than to be dead in a monster’s stomach with her memory disintegrating to something evil. So she’ll let herself ignore the idea for tonight and confront it another time.
Marcille's free hand rests delicately on Falin’s jaw when she separates from the kiss. “Don’t leave us like that again, please? Promise me.”
Somehow, Falin’s small smile does not come as easily as before when she replies, “I promise.” despite how earnest she feels. That something wrong prevents her from doing so.
Marcille hesitates a fraction of a second before kissing Falin again and then tucks herself into the space under her head, fitting against her chest as Falin curls around her protectively. She can sense it as Marcille falls asleep because she relaxes into her hold, softer than she had been before.
Falin sighs, pleased, and closes her eyes, following her into slumber.