Chapter Text
It's back, that crushing feeling. The one that hounds that you REALLY shouldn't be here right now. The one that wishes you should be dead. I could have cared less about what happened thirteen years ago.
Thirteen years ago. Thirteen goddamn years ago.
I swear, if I had one, just one more chance, I would have grabbed twenty-five-year-old me by the neck in a chokehold and told myself to get up and fight, not let myself be hidden in the safely of the panic room.
But nooooooo, time travel hasn’t been discovered yet. Hooray for loser me!
“MOSELLE! Chop the vegetables for the soup already, I can hear the self-deprecating thoughts from here!” Nicolas shouted out, fucking hate that dude. No, I don’t. I grumbled, continuing to chop the Bok choy resting on the cutting board in front of me.
Where’d he even get his hands on Bok choy? Do we live near anywhere that sells it? Whatever, grateful for the in-laws! Honestly, without Nicolas I’d be out on the streets. Well, more like because of... Oh, my poor... Jeez, what's in this stupid vegetable? Can’t be tearing up over something that long ago, can I? Just keep in the moment, Moselle.
Moselle. Moselle Osburn married to Cavalier Osburn, deceased at twenty-six, adopted son of Lux Osburn and Nicolas Allard, and heir to their fortunes.
Well, He WAS the heir, now I just get his stupid trust fund and old room. How can I use HIS money without him here? That money was for US, not ME, US.
I grabbed the finished cut produce and slid them into the pot, threw in a seasoning cube, and covered the pot to let it boil.
If I had just been stronger thirteen years ago... I felt a warm hand on my shoulder as I flinched back, the ugly face I turned out to see was Nicolas’ overly joyous face. His smile was big enough to scrunch up his nose a bit and show off his dimples, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s feigning to make me comfortable, watch. In 3 seconds, he's going to ask me about my health. 3, 2..
“You’re spacing out an awful lot again, or are you just focusing your vision? Do you need new contacts?” Nicolas said worriedly in his dumb fancy French accent.
“No, I’m fine. Just thinking. That’s all. My vision hasn’t worsened or anything, you can relax.” I said with a smile as he raised his eyebrow, did I say something wrong?
“You should go out this week, it would do you some good. Especially because we’re neari--” No, He can’t just bring this up. He can’t just unload this can of worms on me and look so unphased. The bastard. Its so close to his son’s death date where he heroically died in a battle, and he is TELLING me to GO OUT? AND NOT MOURN? Hold your tongue. Holding my tongue. I am in his house. Hold your tongue Moselle. He might as well be literally paying my bills by now. I’m just as bad, if not worse, than a nepo-baby mooching off his old ass fortune.
“I’ll think about it.” The words felt faulty in my mouth, short and clipped too fast for my own liking. “Nicolas, can you do me a favor and set the table? Thank you.” I asked him as nicely as I could, but my voice came out barely above a meek whisper, unfitting of the woman I once was. Nicolas grinned widely, this time his smile met his eyes and crinkling the corners, and went off to the other room, the clinking of silverware echoing in the peaceful quietness of the house. It seemed that time has mellowed all of us out. The clicking of keys and the exchange from shoes to slippers was barely audible but close enough to be heard in the kitchen.
“Lux, Is it you?” I asked out loud before a loud gruff was heard. He peeked into the doorway, after letting down his black hair, and it now hung over his face.
“No, actually, it’s the deputy.” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. I rolled my... Eyes? Let's settle for that. Eyes. He can’t possibly always greet someone sarcastically? Right? I mean the man introduced himself as the newspaper boy when I met him over dinner after I asked if he's one of Cavalier’s fathers.
“Hey, I know you’re rolling your eyes.” Lux said as he pointed at me, cancelling my ongoing thoughts.
“Yeah, for a reason. Stew is almost ready, go wash up or Nicolas will throw a fit. That germophobe.”
“You’re acting like I don’t know anything about the man I married years ago.” He chuckled heartily as he headed up the staircase to freshen up, shopping bags swaying in his hands as he did. The smell of the stew fills the kitchen, and honestly, it's not half-bad. I take a couple of steps and open the kitchen window and I might as well turn on the extractor. Reaching up towards the range hood, I pressed the extractor button to let it suck up the smell. Sure, the stew smelt good, but why would I want the whole house smelling like food for the next week?
No less than 15 minutes later, Lux comes downstairs dressed in his house clothes and his hair still soaking wet.
“Go sit, I’ll take over the rest of the dinner making.” He said, holding a grocery bag in hand. He's probably holding at least ten different peppers and thirty different spices in that bag, and I’m not about to let him ruin my stew like this. I crossed my arms, straightening my posture as he scoffed at the blatant defiance. Last time I let him take over dinner it ended with me and Nicolas bawling our eyes out and eating half the dairy products in the village. Lux had some stupid fire-resistant taste buds, that's for certain. It seems he caught on as he raised his arms up to his chest and let out a fake gasp.
“I can’t believe you are holding that little thing against me. The bag does not hold ghost peppers, or hot sauce, or anything!” He said defensively and then put on a hurt act but I could sense the twinge of playfulness in his voice.
“I come bearing gifts for later and you think I’m going to poison dinner? Woooowww... SO mature. Now shoo, you’ve been stood up for too long. Wash your hands and get seated at the table, I’m having the Butler-Bots, take it to the table.” He said with a smile. I am perfectly able to take plates or bowls to the table or stand all day. Just because he's my father-in-law, in LAW, doesn't mean he can boss me around like a kid. I am a grown woman, thank you very much. I guess it’s because I’m still so beautiful, youthful, and joyful. Yep.
Right, the sink. I wonder what soap Nicolas left out today. His obsession with soaps is almost concerning, but it is crazy how well he's taught me to identify soaps. I seize up the soap and turn it over in my hands, toying with the weight, and judging by the sharp square cuts, it is artisanal. Very colorful but has that milky white tone to it, goat’s milk or oatmeal. There are rose petals on the top and just a faint floral and sweet scent emitting from it as soon as it was run under the faucet’s water. Rose, goat’s milk, and honey.
With my hands finally clean, I toweled them off carefully before waving Lux a short bye and heading for the dinner table. The bots came around 10 minutes later, holding the trays and placing them down, they left a few minutes after to store themselves back in their space in the kitchen. With the calendar hung in the room, all we could do was stare sullenly, too awkward, or too fearful, of breaking the ice between the three of us. Nicolas cleared his throat,
“The stew is great. They would have loved it.”
“We don’t need to talk.” I said, it came out rather stiff, but I swear my intention was to comfort. Nicolas clenched his teeth and seemed to mentally scold himself.
The atmosphere was thick, almost palpable, and suffocating. The clock’s ticking got louder and louder as time passed.
Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. The minutes started to blend and get lost in time as we sat in silence. Every once in a while, when I look up from the bowl of stew in front of me all I can see is their stupid pitying stares and glances. Do we really have to do this? This is just annoying.
“Hey. Moselle. I got you a little something.” Lux said softly, breaking the silence, his eyes softening. He slid a small pack of TimTams across the table.
“TimTams?” Nicolas said, voice almost breaking, eyes fogging up as he stared at the package and then at me, making sure I was alright. TimTams. Those are TimTams. I reach over to take it as my hand shakes slightly. Why am I shaking? It's just some biscuits...
“These were discontinued, Lux. How did you get them? And why now?” Nicolas said, his voice teetering in confusion and concern.
“I know a friend of the friend of a mercenary. It paid to have alliances in the day. They found it weird that I set a hit out on the old owner for his recipe to create one more package. But I thought it would bring us closure.” Lux said, his strong disposition started to falter. He always seemed so untouchable and poised but now he just looked like he was ripping at the seams.
“They were always her favorite, she couldn’t get enough of ‘em.” Lux said heavily, and Nicolas added, “Couldn’t eat them without the remnants sticking on to her face.”
“She was three, Nic.” Lux said sweetly, putting his hand on Nicolas’ shoulder and rubbing it in a comforting manner.
Nicolas’ mouth started to move but I couldn't hear the words coming out of his mouth, my head started to ache, but felt light in a dizzying way. In one, out one, deep breath. Why the HELL can’t I get any oxygen?
“Excuse me.” I said, standing up and wincing at the god-awful sound of the chair scratching, sliding, and screeching across the floor. Both older men in front of me stood, hands reaching out, mouths still moving but everything was going all too quickly for my liking. Check for exits. Exits, now. NOW MOSELLE! EXITS! NOW! THIS IS WHY YOUR GODDAMN CHILD AND HUSBAND DIED YEARS AGO MOSELLE! MOVE! THERE! One behind me, close to the stairway. The sounds of stomping feet follow me as I loosely hear them, pursuing me as I run off to my room.
3rd level, right wing, down the hallway, right turn, avoid the priceless vases, left turn, 7 doors down, turn to the right, open, get in, lock. Hurrying to my windows, I drew the curtains shut, the darkness and the stillness of the room comforted me. What was that in my hand while I had closed the curtains? Oh. The stupid TimTams.
Tim-Tams.
Ugh. It's like I need to be reminded of the failures of my past every year.
As I made my way to the walk-in closet door, I opened it and switched on the light. One, two, three steps, move the clothing. And there it is, where it will always remain. I pressed down on it, and mechanical gears whirring and moving began to make themselves known behind me as I spun around in place. The chunk of the shoe rack behind me began to detach and flip itself around, a bigger open area of the past replaced where it once sat as it breathed in my presence once more.
The counters were covered in dust, yet it was only like I set everything up yesterday. Pacing forward, I ran my fingertips through the counter, admiring the preserved items on it. Useless memorabilia, small toys, and looking upwards, guns and swords on display filled the walls. Medals, old posters, spears, and, straight in the middle, withering flowers surround our family portrait.
Me, Cavalier, and our precious daughter, Aura, standing there stoically as the insignia hangs proudly above the three of us in our uniforms. Their pictures towered over me, in a cruel mocking reminder. I can’t bear to part with it even if it causes such strife. It was taken only a week before the attack, their smiles and such livelihood shined and couldn’t be contained well enough in the portrait, but they looked so alive and carefree. I stained the photo, why didn’t I look half as live as them? How dare I, when I’m the one standing here, sole-surviving, and Cavalier is six feet deep. How dare I survive, when I could never find my own little girl’s fragile broken body in the rubble?
Aura’s small dark eyes complimented mine near the photo, with her goose-down untamable hair almost rivaling her father’s. The two always were more alike than they thought, maybe that's why they butted heads so often over such silly and trivial things. That stupid project of Cavalier.
If I had just resisted instead of going along with it to ‘honor his biological family’... If I had resisted.
Maybe then my precious husband and precious daughter wouldn’t have been ripped away so cruelly on the same day. I shakily place the small pack of biscuits near Cavalier’s half-melted badge as sobs bubble up my throat, my eyes stinging.
My poor Darling.
My poor Tam.