Chapter Text
Their living room was cold.
It always had been — the stone did their poor house no favours in the winter, and she could have sworn that sometimes it felt as though indoors was colder than even the snow blanketing the grassy fields outside. Some of Coco’s fondest memories were huddling under a blanket by the fire with Mama, teas and hot cocoas in hand and giggling as Mama told her countless silly stories. Tales of yore, she claimed, with princesses so conveniently named Coco and dragons and witches that swooped in to save the day.
It had always been cold, but now, it felt freezing.
Mama and her knitted blankets were nowhere to be seen — not as Coco searched through the small expanse of their house. She checked the living room first; the kitchen, to see if Mama was baking her favourite rocklodge ginger cakes; Mama’s room, the bathroom, every single closet she could think of before finally landing on her own room.
Opening the door set her heart offbeat in her chest, and letting it fall softly closed behind her only served to make her hands tremble with a memory that seemed just out of reach.
”…Mama?”
Still missing, Coco noted with a sigh. She couldn’t have gotten far; this year was quite the blizzard for the winter solstice and Mama was always lecturing her about staying inside in such weather.
Her bedroom remained untouched, except for the pen and paper on her desk she was sure hadn’t been there before.
…A seal.
It was so pretty, made up of all sorts of twisting, tangling lines and pretty swirls and fancy little dashes; exactly the kind of thing she’d imagined it to be. Mama had warned her to never mess with magic; Qifrey had told her that she must never witness a casting under no circumstances, so she shouldn’t know what the outer ring was, let alone that it was incomplete and the only thing stopping the spell’s activation.
She shouldn’t have. Especially not without Mama here — she’d surely scold Coco for fiddling about with spells and such, particularly on her own. But it was just so beautiful, and before Coco could think about it, before she could stop herself, the inked pen resting on her desk was in her hand.
”Coco!”
Coco startled, the nib dragging across the paper and closing the seal.
She blinked, and that same blue crystal that haunted her waking and sleeping mind erupted from the page and raced across the walls and floor. It swallowed her desk, her bed, her blankets, her dresser, merciless in its destruction of anything in its path, unyielding as it swept through the room, right towards—
“Mama! Mama, run, please! It—“
And suddenly, she was no longer looking into eyes of warm brown, but cold blue crystal.
”…Mama?”
No. It couldn’t be.
Coco walked closer.
This… had to be a dream, didn’t it? It had to be a joke. But she’d seen this before — Mama had been outside the front door, then, seeking out Coco in the chaos. She’d looked the same, though, lantern in her outstretched arm, face frozen in fear and confusion and slight recognition as her gaze landed on her daughter.
That witch hadn’t let go of her, then, so she couldn’t have checked if Mama was really gone.
She reached out for Mama’s hand — just to hold it one more time, as she hadn’t done in years, physical comfort she hadn’t let herself seek from those who had no obligation to care for her.
Her fingertips touched Mama’s.
And Mama’s frozen figure shattered.
”MAMA!”
Coco awoke with the tail end of a scream tearing through her throat and Mama’s name still on her tongue.
The room was dark, still, a little chilly but not as cold as home was. And it smelled different, Coco thought — not damp stone and sheep’s wool anymore. Just sweet pine wood, spellpaper and silky conjuring ink, something that had grown oddly comforting over her time at the atelier.
The atelier.
Of course. She hadn’t been home since… well. Far too long ago. And Mama hadn’t been at her bedroom door — Qifrey had lifted Coco from her desk, away from the danger, had held her firm in the sky as she fought tooth and nail to reach for Mama, see her again, prove to herself it was all a dream and Mama was okay and…
No, she couldn’t think like that. Master Qifrey had done so much for her since she got here — he’d saved her life that day, and he’d saved her memories after that, and had sworn he’d do whatever it took to help her, teach her how she could save Mama from the spell.
But it felt so lonely here, sometimes, even surrounded by people as she was. Tetia and Agott, even Richeh seemed to have their own little rhythms and routines here. Master Qifrey knew them well, and in turn they each knew him — silly little inside jokes that Coco could only laugh awkwardly along at, understanding nothing; friendly ribbing that when Coco tried to join in, her teases always seemed to land just on the wrong side of blatantly offensive. Likes and dislikes and the like; Coco had to very politely and nervously tell him once, Master Qifrey, this looks so delicious and it smells so good and I’d really like to eat it, and I hate to be a bother and I don’t want to be ungrateful but I actually can’t eat the nuts that are all the way through this soup because I might die I’m really sorry.
(…Qifrey had scolded her for apologising, insisting he really did not care about the soup, and had promptly made her a sandwich instead as Coco tried to breathe, calm down and Richeh stole Coco’s bowl for her seconds.)
The cold crept in faster when you were already sad — Mama used to joke that it could tell. She’d tell Coco silly stories or even just tickle her until there was a bright smile on her face and laughter on her lips, and Mama was right, she didn’t feel so cold anymore. Coco remembered sleeping by the fire in the living room some nights; or sneaking into Mama’s bed to huddle close to her warmth.
She wished she could cuddle Mama, now, terribly so. She’d always been a tactile child and couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held. The other girls got hugged a lot, Qifrey wasn’t shy with affection; but for some reason Coco was never really included in that. Maybe Master Qifrey just didn’t want to hug her, and that was fine! Disgusting child, outsider, freak, he doesn’t want to touch a freak, fREAK— She really didn’t mind! She could— she could comfort herself, knees drawn to her chest and face pressed into her folded arms, tears soaking into her pyjama sleeves and—
Tears?
…Maybe it hurt a little more than Coco liked to let on.
She thought about the sign on Qifrey’s bedroom door — All Are Welcome to Knock! with a little smiley-face next to it. She thought about his nighttime send-off to all the girls — come and get me if you need anything, my dears, alright? She thought about his countless promises from ever since she’d first moved into the atelier — Coco, nothing is too trivial if it bothers you. I want to know if there’s anything wrong. You may tell me anything, present me with any problems and I will be on your side. We will figure out a solution.
…Would the small hours of the morning be too great a stretch of the limits of his kindness?
She did not have very much time to dwell on it. Every time her eyes drifted shut she could see Mama’s face etched permanently into her eyelids, her form made of crystal outside the front door, then her bedroom door, watching as Coco’s mere touch shattered her into little more than dust.
She peeled herself out of sweat-dampened sheets with her thin blanket around her shoulders and headed out of her bedroom as quietly as she could.
The hallways were cold all the time, but combined with the darkness of what must have been just two clockmarks past midnight made them extra-creepy and extra-scary — every shadow no longer seemed like her childhood fear of monsters and dragons under the bed, for now she was afraid that the brimmed caps may yet jump out from any darkened corner.
No, Coco. The atelier is safe.
She kept walking.
The faded sign still hung on Master Qifrey’s door, and a soft light spilled from the gap between the wood and the floor. The door was left propped just ajar, as both Qifrey and Olruggio left it during the night in case the girls needed them, a clear invitation. Even so, Coco’s hand paused where it hovered to knock.
Did he really mean that the girls could bother him whenever? Or was that just one of those things grownups said to be polite but never actually meant? Master Qifrey seemed so polite all the time Coco could hardly tell the difference with him — at least Master Olruggio was far more direct, she appreciated that about him.
And was a nightmare just too inconsequential? He’d said there was ‘nothing too trivial’, but this was pathetic, wasn’t it? At twelve years old Coco should’ve long since passed the stage of seeking out anyone’s comfort for stupid dreams that she knew weren’t real. She’s sure the others get them from time to time and as far as she’s aware, none of them have come to disturb Master Qifrey in the night.
…Perhaps this is too much.
Coco turned away, ready to creep back to her room and yawn her way through breakfast again and try her best not to fall asleep during Master Qifrey’s lesson tomorrow. It really couldn’t be helped when she was tired, no matter how fascinating she insisted the lessons were or how hard she tried to keep herself awake — Master Qifrey was blessedly patient with her in such situations, so perhaps she’d have to bank on his unending forgiveness for yet another unfortunately timed—
“Coco?”
Somehow, she managed to not shriek at her master’s voice or his silent, sudden appearance behind her. But her shock must have been written clear across her face, as Qifrey gave her a sheepish smile.
”My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, voice quiet in the darkness of the hallway.
Coco realised she’d never seen him in sleepclothes before. Simple linen pants and a thick sweater that looked suspiciously like one Master Olruggio might own. Or like one Mama had when Coco was little, that had been one of Coco’s favourites — soft and warm, it made sneaking under Mama’s thick duvet in the dead of winter all the more appealing, huddling close by the fire all the more comforting.
Master Qifrey tilted his head; if he noticed her silence or her stare lingering on his sweater, he chose not to remark on it. ”Is something the matter?”
”Um.” Crap, she’d been planning on leaving, hadn’t she? “N—no, there’s nothing… um…” She couldn’t lie to Master Qifrey. “I— I mean, it’s nothing important! I really hope I didn’t wake you up, I’m sorry! I—”
”Slow down, my love,” he interrupted, that same warm smile never straying from his face. “You’re alright — I was already awake, and I should hope you’d still come and get me if I weren’t and something was bothering you. So?”
You can’t. She shook her head, numb, gathering her courage to speak around the lump in her throat and the burning in her eyes. “I was just leaving, Master Qifrey,” she mumbled, though her traitorous feet stayed rooted to the spot, pinned under Qifrey’s gaze as it swept over her trembling form.
He crouched to her eye level as he so often did, wincing as his knees cracked — which, in any other situation, Coco may have spared a chuckle or even a smile for. Pale hands reached out and—
—brushed a tear from her cheek.
His hands were colder, rougher with callouses, thinner than Mama’s but comforting all the same as his thumbs swept gently under her eyes. Like when she’d scraped her knee when she was six; tripped and hit her chin on a stone when she was eight; messed up a customer’s order when she was eleven — Mama had dried her tears with much the same concerned look on her face before Coco had admitted what was wrong. Everything Qifrey was doing tonight reminded her of Mama with the worst possible timing and it only served to make the tears fall faster.
”I won’t let you go if you’re upset,” he told her. “Whatever’s brought this on, Coco, dear?”
You mustn’t. Don’t bother him. Don’t bother the nice man, Coco; don’t you dare bother Master Qifrey with something as silly as this. Turn around, go back.
It doesn’t matter how soft his sweater looks, how comforting his touch is, how safe the crease between his brows makes you feel, how inviting his words are.
Don’t do it. He’s not Mama. He doesn’t care.
Even if he looks like he does, even if—
The first half-aborted cry that bubbled up from her chest seemed to startle him.
“Oh, pet…”
Then, before Qifrey had the chance to second-guess it with a child he’d been so sure was so averse to touch, he drew her into his arms with a whispered, “shh, Coco, shh.”
Coco clung to him something fierce, as though if she let go he’d disappear, or something like that. Her small hands — cold, he noticed, and trembling, too, perhaps worse than the rest of her — tangled themselves tightly in the back of his sweater as she pressed her face against his shoulder and began to sob.
Qifrey didn’t have much experience with crying children. Agott had kept to herself as a child, a few errant sniffles all he’d catch if she got injured or something of the like; and the others had been much older, less prone to tears, when he’d taken them in. And Coco cried like it was the end of the world. He hadn’t known such a tiny body could produce such awful, howling, gut-wrenching sobs, loud enough as they were muffled into his sweater that he dreaded to think of the severity had the fabric not been in the way. He hadn’t known children could pack such anguish into every little sound, every last desperate gasp for breath and aborted sob and borderline scream let into his shoulder. He hadn’t seen a child cry like this… well, ever.
So he didn’t know what to do, except squeeze Coco’s shaking frame as tightly as her arms were wound around him; pet her hair with hands he knew were too cold and uncertain to offer much comfort at all; offer her empty promises he couldn’t keep — like it’s alright, you’re safe, it’s all going to be okay — and ones he could — I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’m here.
Time ticked on by as they stood in the doorway to his bedroom, until his back began to ache and his knees began to cramp but Coco’s heartbreaking cries finally ebbed enough for her to rest her chin on his shoulder and speak to the open air instead.
And, of course, in true Coco fashion: the first things that tumbled out of her mouth past her wobbling lower lip are heavens-forsaken apologies. “I— I’m sorry, Master Qifrey!” she wheezed, “I didn’t mean— didn’t mean to wake you, or bother you, or anything, I swear it, I just—!”
”Hush, Coco. I’ll have none of that; just breathe, darling, deep breaths.”
Eventually, blessedly, Coco seemed to calm a little, enough for Qifrey to let go without fearing he’d erase all their progress. But he kept contact — just hands on her arms as he scanned her face, her reddened eyes and tear-tracked cheeks — and Coco seemed to ground herself in it.
Maybe he’d been reading this wrong, all these months. Maybe Coco’s glances toward his ruffling Agott’s hair or patting Richeh’s back or pulling Tetia briefly into his side, or the many hugs he’d offer his girls with varying levels of success — maybe they weren’t reproachful, disdainful as he’d feared they were. Maybe her gaze lingered in awe, wistfully, on something she’d believed was out of reach because for some godforsaken reason that Qifrey couldn’t possibly fathom, the girl was still too shy to ask for what she needed and wanted.
”Better, Coco?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her long sleeves with a deep exhale. Qifrey let go of her just long enough to scrape away the hair stuck to her face with careful fingers before his hands drifted back to hers. Coco held on so tightly he feared she’d crush his knuckles.
”Good. Now,” he said, “what can I do to help, darling? You must have been here for a reason.”
Coco swallowed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep if she went back to her own bedroom; not unless Master Qifrey had a very illegal spell to knock her out that he’d so happen to be willing to lend her. Mama… that nightmare (for she refused to even dwell on the events for too long) played in vivid detail behind her eyelids whenever they were closed and it had her ripping her eyes open as soon as she could. Master Qifrey had already held her, something she’d thought was too much to ask for when she’d first come to knock on his door. So she could risk it — worst case, Qifrey kicks her out of the atelier never to be seen again.
”Can I… stay? Please?”
Qifrey frowned. “Stay?”
”With you,” she clarified, wringing her hands nervously in front of her when Qifrey’s frown only deepened. “I— I used to stay with Mama when I had bad dreams, n’ I couldn’t sleep, so…”
And that was when his expression melted into one of his signature comforting smiles. “Of course, Coco.”
Master Qifrey’s bedroom was warm, warmer than Coco’s by a country mile. He kept himself bundled up, but Coco realised that even her autumn sleepclothes would keep her plenty warm in here. She could see his workstation, papers strewn over the surface similarly to her own which she had faced Agott’s ire for many a time; his cloak hung on a rack by the drawn curtains, a tiny drying seal etched into the wood slowly melting the snow from their outing just before the girls had gone to bed — all lit softly by the gentle glow of a lamp at his bedside.
”Apologies for the mess,” he told her quietly, smiling. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
Coco tensed. Had she disturbed him? She honestly couldn’t tell — but Qifrey didn’t seem particularly concerned as he busied himself with tucking an extra snugstone under the sheets.
His bed was bigger than Coco’s, bigger even than Mama’s had been, but pushed up into a corner instead of square in the middle of any walls. She supposed that made sense; Mama had left her bed where it was before Coco’s father had died, but nobody else slept in Qifrey’s bed, so there’d be no reason to have two sides free.
Well, except Coco, tonight.
Master Qifrey had tucked himself back against the stone wall, leaving the open side free with plenty of space for Coco to crawl in beside him. It warmed Coco’s heart; like the mechanical, room-side locks on their own bedroom doors, the extra seals he’d taught them to make them doubly secure if they so wished; the one-way seals on the windows to stop any glances in from the outside, no matter if their curtains were drawn or not; the bolt on the atelier door that he’d made sure every single one of them could open with ease if they wished to leave — all of it was so they’d feel safe.
She dragged her own thin blanket over herself before Qifrey tossed another over her. A thick, soft, knitted one; just like the ones she’d huddled under with Mama when she was little, she realised with a start, but a soft sky blue instead of the cream Mama had owned.
Qifrey smiled as she ran her hands over it. “Do you like it? Olly makes them.”
Coco’s head whipped up. ”Master Olruggio knits?!”
It didn’t seem a very Olruggio-like hobby to have; she worried for a moment that her surprise may offend before Qifrey burst into laughter. “I know — I was rather surprised when he presented me with this just a few days into our first winter here! I expect he could make one for you, as well.”
She drew the blanket up to her chin. “…Do you think he would?”
”I can ask him,” Qifrey said, scratching out the seal on the lamp as the room delved into darkness. “Though I think you’d be hard-pressed to find anything he wouldn’t do for you girls.”
He kept his space but didn’t mind, once they laid down, as Coco inched closer to curl up by his chest. He draped an arm over her, hesitant at first but more securely as Coco burrowed into his warm sweater and warmer embrace.
”So, Coco… what happened?”
”Just a bad dream.” Her words came out muffled from where they were buried, but Qifrey hummed in acknowledgement all the same. “About Mama. But it’s okay.”
She meant that. A simple hug couldn’t fix everything magically but it went a very long way. The shadows stopped looking like they’d sprout crystals any moment; her heart stopped hammering quite so hard against her ribcage and the slightest glint of light; she no longer saw Mama’s shattered body when she closed her eyes but instead saw Master Qifrey’s comforting smile and the faces of her friends.
”And you’d tell me if it wasn’t okay, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded fiercely.
Master Qifrey chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Alright.” A kiss was pressed to the crown of her head, buried in her messy hair. ”Goodnight, Coco, dear.”
Coco would sleep better that night than she had in the entirety of her year spent at the atelier; soundly, deeply, unplagued by nightmares or even dreams. She would wake up still tucked safely into Master Qifrey’s arms, still warm despite the snowstorm still raging outside the window, the slight spice of rocklodge ginger in the air from the teapot that had suddenly appeared on Qifrey’s desk.
Two weeks later, on another particularly bitterly cold night, she would find a knitted blanket folded up on the end of her bed, a beautiful shade of soft pink, the sandvanilla scent of Master Olly’s perfume clinging to the fibres. On top lay a note:
‘Qifrey told me you liked his. I hope you like this one.’
And Coco would cherish it forever.