The

The world was soft. It was warm- like a ray of autumn sun. At first, a flash of panic whipped through his veins, the events of yesterday immediately choking out the flames of anxiety. A stressed sigh slipped through his teeth, the faint sound of light breathing causing the tenseness in his stomach to relax. A part of him wanted to stay like this for as long as possible- the deep darkness of the study, the quaint feeling of not waking up alone. It was another luxury that stung his eyes slightly, as if it were a cruel punishment. The mask seemed like it was latched to his face, smothering him- the gloves were a strange medium that numbed the entire world. Every touch, every notion- they were translated through a thick film of fog. If she vanished, he realized he would never know what her hand felt like. He would never see her face un-obstructed. Were there small details he would never see? A small freckle above her brow- a faint highlight in her black hair? As his mind quaked under the hot pressure of those thoughts, something lightly moved further up his chest before stilling, a faint sigh echoing into the room. Instead of thinking about those things, he decided to keep what he had right now. He was alive- she was alive. They were still in his house, and everything was going to be okay. A vow in his chest took shape, the letters on his desk suddenly a miracle rather than a curse.

With the mission fresh on his mind, he gently moved the hand on his chest away- the heavy weight of a wing resting on his legs like a blanket. Rather than try to get up, he decided to slowly roll to the floor, attempting to be as quiet as possible. A loud sound gritted against the floor as his shoulder bumped into the coffee table, his heart frozen. One second- two- ten- the sound of her breathing was still steady and slow. An almost silly smile took hold of his face as he stood up, embarrassment pinching his neck.

Much quieter than before, he opened the door and paused briefly, a sliver of light cutting into the room. Despite everything, a small bit of doubt lingered in his mind if everything was really some strange dream, but the dim image of her laying on the couch squashed it all away. Softly closing the door, he scanned the foyer and saw the blood had been mopped up. A grateful hum stepped from his lungs as he went to the kitchen and saw Nimbe and Hans sitting at the back table. Their faces were both solemn, the room filled with silence. At the sound of his footsteps, they both stood up- Nimbe opening her mouth angerly.

"Where is she? What did you do-" He rose his hands in defense, almost insulted.

"She's sleeping in the study- and I didn't do anything. I'll tell you both- not to mention I'll compensate you for dealing with another mess."

At that, she calmed down and sat back in her chair. Though he hadn't noticed it, Nimbe had grown fond of Viera in some motherly kind of way. Another space filled, he mused.

As he told them what happened, they both hardened their gazes with determination. His throat tightened at the part of the story where Viera... changed, wondering if he should tell them. It's her secret, he told himself. But things are getting dangerous.

A heaviness in his heart caused his mouth to seal shut.

"The remaining portion of events, I cannot disclose. That would be cruel of me to her. Know that she is safe, and unharmed. She is not to be disturbed unless she calls on either of you."

Nodding, Nimbe slouched slightly. He bent his head at Hans silently, confirming the mute thoughts conveyed in his aged eyes. With a silent sigh, Hans left the room to complete a routine that had become frequent since Viera's stay at Bingsby.

While Viera slept most the day, Sir and Hans sanded the wooden door down before painting over the maroon stains with white, an almost ironic choice of color. Leaving the doors open to dry for a little bit, he looked across his grounds: the swaying grasses and wispy trees. I'll have to install a peephole.

After completing other nameless tasks to return his house to order, he finally retreated back to his room and pulled out a blank sheet of paper, his hand moving mechanically. Finishing the envelope with an all too familiar address, he left it on his table to be sent incognito.

An unknown fear squeezed his heart, its fingers crushing it so tightly he could just hardly breathe. Despite doing everything in his power to make things right, he couldn't shake it away. Perhaps I should return to the city before Mr. Zahi responds. Perhaps things would be safer if we left for a small while. Perhaps I could... take care of things myself.

***

It was strange waking up in a pitch black room, the lack of light causing painful memories to rear upon her brow. With a quick glance at the door, she jumped up and twisted the knob, the faint 'click' telling her it wasn't locked. Her pacing heart stilled, her hand resting upon her chest. She almost opened the door before she remembered Hans and Nimbe would be back. The ​​​​​​knob felt hot in her hand, her teeth gritted bitterly. It was so draining being afraid of everyone. With a deep breath, the breaking followed as it usually did. Strangely, it hurt the least than it ever had before.

Taking off the robe, she saw only a small smudge of blood left over. Shock painted her face- did everything really go... that easily? Her tongue slicked her teeth stiffly, a curious voice flickering to life. Maybe it was because she had let herself... exist for so long. Her body was able to acclimate to the reconfiguration slowly, instead of rushing between one state and the next. Deciding that was the reason, she flipped the robe inside out to conceal the small stain, her hand shaking slightly as she opened the door. A breath stopped in her chest as she looked out- the floor completely clean, and the stained door a pristine white. If she hadn't witnessed everything from yesterday, she wouldn't have the slightest notion to think the entire room had been sprayed red.

At the sound of faint actions coming from the kitchen, she mutely rushed to her room and softly closed the door behind her. Upon her vanity was a small bowl and pitcher of water, a cloth set next to it. Holding the cloth tenderly, she set to changing and wiping up her back. Thankfulness had nested under her heart, and a word etched itself into her mind.

I'm home.

Braiding her hair, a content smile rested on her face. Putting a dress on as quickly as she could manage, she paused at the door. What would she say to John? What about Hans and Nimbe? Did they know? Something told her John wouldn't tell them- maybe she trusted him enough not to. Looking out her window, she knew she had passed most of the day sleeping, and now it was almost time for dinner. Would everything really be back to normal? Would it be rude of her to hope things were?

She scolded herself. How could things ever go back after they had to clean up so much blood? Her face paled as a new thought crossed her mind. What it they're scared of me? What if-

She shook her head and opened the door, each step suddenly heavy. The pictures on the walls, the light fixtures on the ceiling- she looked at everything delicately to distract herself. It felt like she had walked miles before she walked down the first step of the stairway, her eyes glued to her feet.

As she reached the bottom, warm arms wrapped around her tightly- and though she stiffened at first, she slowly wrapped her arms around Nimbe, her fears floating away.

"I'm glad you're okay Miss." The small bit of anger she harbored had vanished, the comfort within Nimbe's arms a different type of care she had ever known. It dawned on her that she had never thanked her for teaching her how to braid her hair, or put on a dress. She never thanked her for always being so cheery and kind even when she had been so cold and distant.

"Thank you Nimbe." She whispered. "I'm glad you're back."

After a brief moment, Nimbe pulled back before clearing her apron of any creases. She cleared her throat awkwardly before walking towards the kitchen.

"Dinner is in the dining room."

Walking in, she felt calm seeing John was in his seat, the atmosphere almost the same. They didn't talk much- but perhaps that was because the only thing either of them could think of was yesterday, and they didn't want to speak of it. Before the meal was over, John sat back in his seat.

"Thank you."

She blinked and set her napkin on the table. Before she could ask why, he cut in.

"I never got to thank you for saving me yesterday, so thank you." She froze slightly, unsure of how to react. Hearing 'Thank you' hadn't happened in a long time. She only heard that from...

She bit her lip and forced herself to stay in the present.

"Thank you for being patient," She countered, sincerely. It means more than you can know.

They both walked upstairs together after dinner, pausing at her door for a moment. Things were going back to normal, but she almost missed parts of it. She missed holding his hand when she was afraid. Though normally her head would have burst with snake tongued voices berating her, today they were oddly silent. With that silence, she let her thoughts roam freely. It felt so strange going separate ways. Somehow, just saying 'Good night' felt too shallow. 'Good night' was empty and little. Thinking of a small moment of happiness the past once afforded her, she hooked her right pinky with his and rose it between them.

"Good night," She began. It was a promise now- perhaps a childish one, but if felt right. It felt just small enough to be acceptable by eyes they both imagined were watching them.

"Good night," He promised back, his voice light and clear. Had it always been so smooth, his voice? She had never thought to notice it before.

They each paused a second more before retreating to their separate rooms.