Archive of Our Own

“You should tell her.” Alleria says.

But Vereesa ignores her. Spins a brush in her fingers instead, stares at the painting she is working on. A mountain this time, something tall and imposing, only just lit by a scattered dusk. A looming giant set against an ashen sky. Something quiet, something dark, something a lot more pleasant to focus on than the woman invading her private workspace to pester her.

Alleria leans against the doorframe, a step off entering this room entirely. But her presence fills the room regardless. Out of the corner of her eye, Vereesa can see her fold her arms.

“You should tell her.” Alleria insists. “It has been months since this all started. It is beyond time.”

“She doesn’t need to know.” Vereesa replies, soft and unfocused. Her attention still remains on her work, and she draws back away from it for a moment, frowns at the piece as a whole. There’s a problem here, some fault in the composition, or the lighting, or the colours. Some issue she knows intrinsically is there, but can’t consciously discover, and so can’t fix.

It bothers her, but even she is aware of how thin an excuse it is, the smallest of chances to ignore Alleria’s words and remain just as she was before, entrenched in secrets.

“She doesn’t need to know. Really? I know she works in a gallery. She could help you. You’ve been painting again for months, and for what?”

Vereesa doesn’t answer, not at first. She stares still, at a half-finished painted mountain, some indominable foe she doesn’t know how to vanquish. There’s an answer hidden somewhere, some lucky stroke of paint, some unthought of colour to introduce, that would solve this problem. Even if no answer comes after all the time spent waiting for inspiration to strike, even if she is left adrift, focus melting away, this problem is so much smaller, so much easier to fix than that which Alleria insists on reminding her of.

But no answer comes, and Vereesa steps away, still holding a brush in her hands, like a lifeline to protect her from this conversation.

But it is an awful shield, and only ever betrays her, shaking enough that tiny droplets of paint flick away from it and onto her clothes. The grey of a dim, depressing mountain, one trapped inside a painting she likely will never finish. She thought the colour right, only moments ago, but now that she sees it splattered across her hands she doubts it. Now she doubts a lot of things.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” She asks. She turns to face Alleria, and the judgement in her sister’s expression makes her hands restless. She spins the brush in her fingers, the movement wild and too aggressive, and paint flies off it once more, landing somewhere on the ground. Another mess for her to clean up later. Somehow Vereesa doesn’t quite care.

Alleria raises a single eyebrow, but when Vereesa doesn’t react, she sighs heavily, takes a single step inside her studio. “If you actually need me to tell you, you’re far too gone.” She says. “But what I want you to do is just… something. Anything. As long as it isn’t you moping in here with all the depressing paintings you’ve been making lately.”

“I am not moping.”

Alleria laughs, loud and clear. It isn’t mocking, but only just. “I swear, if I see you put any more grey on a canvas I will lose it.” She says, and walks closer in, pushes past Vereesa with her shoulder to grab at some of the tubes of her oil paints.

“Don’t you dare steal any of those, they’re expensive-”

But Alleria ignores her, breaks her off by handing her one tube of paint, one of her more heavily used ones, with only the barest amount of paint left. “Grey.” She says.

“Really?”

She hands Vereesa another tube. “Also grey.”

Another. “Grey.”

And one more. “Black.”

Vereesa can feel herself flush, knows it is only getting worse by the smile on Alleria’s face. Her arms are full of paint now, that and the paint brush she hadn’t managed to put down before Alleria started assaulting her with her own art supplies. One of the tubes hadn’t been closed properly, and Vereesa regrets that mistake now, convinced it is seconds from spilling entirely. Because maybe she is wearing her painting clothes, maybe she can clean the mess up easily enough, but that paint is expensive.

“You could be right.” Vereesa says, through gritted teeth.

Alleria laughs again. But it’s genuine now, and Vereesa can feel some of her irritation fade. But only some. Alleria is still too proud, she thinks. Too smug about this. Vereesa is all too tempted to think of ways to set Sylvanas on her later.

Not that it’s needed, really. Those two fight often enough as it is.

“I’m always right.” Alleria tells her, and Vereesa rolls her eyes. But she doesn’t argue. “About this, and about you telling Jaina.”

And Vereesa flushes brighter. It’s a personal weakness, and not one she knows how to stop. “She-”

“Doesn’t need to know? Sure. Convince yourself of that. But I’m still right. And you know it.”

Vereesa looks away from her, focuses instead on trying to awkwardly unload the pile of paint tubes from her arms. She fumbles more than once, has a heart stopping moment where she almost has the entire pile splatter to the ground, but slowly she manages to set them down. Alleria doesn’t stop her at least, or laugh at her awkward motions. There’s relief in that, at least.

But when Vereesa finally looks up, she finds Alleria still in the room, shuffling through her selection of paints with wild abandon, uncovering some of the brighter colours that had admittedly lain buried, untouched, for some weeks. So yes. Maybe Alleria does have a point.

Finally, she seems to find something, and stalks back to Vereesa, hands her one last tube of paint. A green this time. A colour like fresh leaves under a bright morning sunlight, warm enough to almost radiate its own light. This paint Vereesa has barely used since she bought it, backing away from its undiluted brightness every time she had been tempted to do so.

“Here.” Alleria says. “Put some colour into your paintings for once.”

“I’m not…” Vereesa starts, but she trails off, stares at the colour in her hands once more. And then she opens the lid, squeezes a tiny amount of this new paint onto her colour palette, considers the idea seriously.

She could just agree with Alleria for the sake of it, she thinks. To get her off her back this once. Free her from the judgement of her sister.

Or she could try it.

She moves to wash her brush of the miserable grey that had been staining it, fills it with that bright green instead. It’s a warm colour. The colour of fresh forests, summer days, quiet peace. It doesn’t quite match the painting she had been making, but then again, she needed change.

She brings her hand up, starts adding broad strokes onto the once dark landscape. The change is immediate, and she adds more, and more, adds a touch of bright colour all along the sides of her mountain, starts carving up trees, grasses, mosses. Then she pauses, mixes it with some of her other paints, and adds more. Flowers, and slow running streams, the slow conquer of nature across a once empty field.

Her painting was far too dark, she realises now, and she pauses once more, finds another tube of paint, a rich gold, breaks up the heavy grey clouds she had already painted. Her movements flow now, steady like a mountain stream, and she adds gold and green and light to almost every feature she had crafted.

And where her painting had been dark, a looming mountain at dusk, now it is something else. A dawn. An early dawn, where the bright gold of the morning is only just at the horizon, but where the light is already splitting the oppressive dark sky, filling a quiet mountain with light and fresh life. The light breaks the quiet morning, even in paint. Slices through like a sword through cloth.

Vereesa taps her brush against her hand mindlessly, gets paint splattered all across her hands, a mess she will surely regret later. But for now, she doesn’t care.

She is just leaning back in, possessed once more, when she feels Alleria’s hand touch her shoulder.

“Think on it.” Alleria whispers, and then she sweeps back out, leaves Vereesa to the quiet of her studio, to the mad obsession of her painting.

Vereesa uncovers more and more of her old painting equipment, easels and old half-dried tubes of paints, a colour palette Sylvanas had given her on her birthday half a decade ago. It brings the memories back, both the good and the bad. But she forges through, somehow. Finds a peace in the slow spin of a brush, the piecework construction of a painting. A thousand strokes, a hundred shifts in colour, all spinning together into something whole, something beautiful.

Some days she forgets the past. Loses herself in the thrill of painting, in letting go of her conscious mind, to be nothing more than a hand holding a brush. To forget about any thought, and fear, of anything other than a newfound love of the shifting seas of colour.

Other days she remembers too much. She raises a brush to canvas, tries to remember all her knowledge of colour theory, of composition, every single thing she has learnt. But all that echoes inside her head are memories. Of another life, years and years ago. A fleeting happiness. A love stolen away by the cruel twists of time. How grief and loss had stolen her focus from her for years, threatened to break her entirely.

How she had stopped painting for so many years because of it, had spent so long spinning red into her paintings that trying to continue her old style felt like agony, and trying anything new felt like a betrayal. Giving up had felt easier, then.

Those days, when the past returns like a physical weight on her shoulders, an anchor threatening to wrap chains around her heart and sink her into the very depths, she has to step away. Leave her house entirely, sneak away from Alleria’s too curious gaze and out onto their grounds.

This property had been beautiful once. When their parents still lived, when Lirath… When their family was whole. But time broke her, broke Sylvanas, threatened to break Alleria too. Stole half their family, ruined their fortunes. The land itself seemed to reflect that, got colder, sharper, harsher.

But it survived. And there is a beauty to its harshness, if anyone cares to linger.

Vereesa retreats to the cliffside, close enough to their house that her sisters will not worry, but far enough away that she can feel alone, can indulge in her misery even if she is only allowed an hour. She sits too close to the edge, on the very stone that she still remembers her mother warning her to stay away from.

The ocean below is hungry, laps up at her from hundreds of metres below. But from here it can do nothing but reach up, grasping but never quite reaching for what it desires. A distance, a thousand degrees of separation.

There’s a path down to the ocean that Vereesa could take, if she wanted too. Long, and winding, reaching down to a narrow beach, a freezing ocean. But Vereesa just wants to sit here, let the ceaseless wind freeze her down to the very bone.

But she’s not left alone for long.

Sylvanas slips by, swings her legs over the edge with one smooth motion. Silent as ever, but Vereesa doesn’t flinch. She glances at her from the corner of her eye, finds Sylvanas staring out at the horizon, paying as little attention to Vereesa as is possible. There’s a bow in her hands, one of the wooden ones Sylvanas carved herself, and she plays with it, drums her fingers along its curve.

It’s still strung, Vereesa notices. A strange oversight for Sylvanas to make.

“I have some new arrows.” Sylvanas says finally, breaking the silence. “Carbon fibre. They’re nice.”

“I might test them later, if that’s alright.” Vereesa tries to keep her voice level, but she fails. She knows she does. And Sylvanas has always been sharp.

“If I’ll let you, you mean.” The drumming lingers, noiseless but constant. “But I’m feeling generous, so you may.”

And silence reigns. Swallows voices, swallows thought, until all that is left is the quiet distant crash of waves, the soft call of birds. And in ways it’s soothing. But the cold still bites her skin, and all her failures still loom in the back of her mind, threaten to break over her like ocean waves, drag her back down to where she once was. Even Sylvanas’ company does little to wash that away.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing.” Vereesa says, quietly. Just audible over the wind. “The painting, the… All of it. I feel like I’m going mad, some days. Just… I wonder why I bother wasting time. It’ll never be the same as it once was. And I’ll only go mad trying to make it so.”

Sylvanas manages to hold her tongue for a minute, stares out into the horizon, not sparing Vereesa a single glance. But for all her masks, she still has tells, and Vereesa has known her all her life. A small tilt of her head, a tension in her shoulders, that constant small drumbeat her fingers follow. Small things, but as obvious as a storm cloud to anyone who cares to look.

“Nothing will ever be the same as it was.” Sylvanas says finally, her voice quiet but strong. “Because that’s not how it works. I’m sure you know that.”

“I do. But that doesn’t stop it hurting.”

Sylvanas glances at her. Like all her movements, it’s subtle and smooth, gone fast enough that Vereesa can barely register the movement at all before it’s gone. And Sylvanas is looking away once more, down into the cold and hungry ocean far below. The sea reaches up for her too, just as futile, and falls back on itself long before it reaches her.

“I know it doesn’t.” Sylvanas tells her. “But you have a second chance. I would kill for a second chance. It might not be the same, but nothing ever stays constant.”

Vereesa breathes in, and out, grounds herself with the taste of salt in her lungs. “And Alleria thinks I have to tell Jaina, that I’m hiding or lying or…”

Sylvanas glances back again, longer this time. Catches Vereesa’s gaze and holds it, anchors it in place. “She’s wrong. It’s not about Jaina. It’s never been about her. It’s about you. Maybe you tell her, maybe you don’t. But it’s never been about anyone but you.”

She doesn’t speak loud. But she has never had to. Sylvanas could bring a storm to heed, if she felt the desire to.

“You might be right.” Vereesa concedes.

"I'm always right."

"You know Alleria says that exact same thing."

Sylvanas smiles. It’s small, barely more than a flicker, but it’s there. "Alleria is lying.” She says. “She just can’t admit to the truth.”

Some of that harsh, wiry tension has begun to melt from Sylvanas’ frame, and Vereesa dares to move closer to her, lean her head against one bony shoulder. Just like she used to, all those years ago. Sylvanas had been there for her then. She had always seemed so strong, so unbreakable. But time wears down many things, it seems. Even her strength is different now, something more stubborn, more resilient than even steel.

And Sylvanas lets her, even if she doesn’t comment on it. Just keeps staring out at that cold, cruel sea.

“She’ll admit to it one day.” Sylvanas says. Her voice drops in volume, but not dangerously so. Just quiet. Almost peaceful, if that’s even possible anymore. “That I’m the smart one. And the strong one.” She pauses for a moment, then continues on, her voice louder. As if she now wants Alleria to hear. “And the pretty one.”

“All three of those? That is… impressive.”

“It is.”

“You might need to consider adding that you’re also the narcissistic one.”

Sylvanas jabs her in the side, sudden but vicious. “I will throw you off this cliff.”

Vereesa winces in pain, rubs her side with one hand. Sylvanas has never been one to hold back, no matter how playful a fight it may be. But if nothing else, she doesn’t pull away from Vereesa, lets her stay here, breaks up her misery even for a moment. It’s something. It’s progress, albeit small.

The fact that Sylvanas is willing to speak to her at all is progress, really.

“At least admit that I’m your favourite sister.” Vereesa says. It almost makes Sylvanas laugh, has her shoulders shake slightly before she maintains control.

“Fine. But that won’t save you. I’ll throw both of you off if that’s what it takes.”

Eventually Sylvanas slips away again, bow in hand. And Vereesa withdraws to her studio once more, burns an afternoon away painting an ocean cliff, with a lone archer in the distance, shooting with her back turned to a brilliant sapphire ocean.

Sylvanas smiles when she sees it.

It takes weeks. Weeks and a begged favour from Alleria, but Vereesa manages to find a day both she and Jaina are free, and holds her to a promise of a day in Dalaran. Where Vereesa used to live, before moving home with her sisters. Where Jaina still works, in the same gallery that hired her after she graduated. It’s a city she still misses sometimes, especially so when she recognises every street, has to slow down when she remembers just who this city still reminds her of.

It’s Autumn now. Most of the trees are evergreen, steady and unchanging. But there’s enough deciduous trees to fill the streets with colour, bright red and golds, colours magnetising enough that she wishes she had brought her painting equipment, almost wishes Jaina weren’t here so she could waste today away painting these old familiar streets. But then again, she’s not sure she’d trade today for anything.

Jaina hugs her on sight. Rises from her seat at a café, and envelops her, wraps both arms around her back and squeezes. And for a second there’s nothing but Jaina and her tight embrace, her warm arms, and as Vereesa feels her face press into Jaina’s hair, all she can smell is the ocean. Like Jaina has stolen the sea breeze and carried it with her in her wake, until no one can forget who she is, where she comes from.

She didn’t smell like that, years ago. But it suits her still. Settles on her like a second skin.

Unconsciously, she hugs her back. Tries to let her conscious mind slip away, just enjoy Jaina’s fleeting presence while she has it, not let her feelings ruin what little time she has.

“It’s been so long!” Jaina says, her mouth right next to Vereesa’s ear, her breath warm enough that Vereesa has to suppress any reaction. “Tides, it’s been- what, months?”

“Four months.” Vereesa says. She’d know. And even if now she knows the time has long since passed for them to step apart, she can’t bear to make herself break this. It’s nice to be held, just for a moment, one too brief minute. Makes the loneliness fade, even if the tides will inevitably wash her back to shore.

And Vereesa is far too old for pining, for letting herself fall for a woman oceans away. But the years have proved her wrong many times, and for now she just lets herself indulge in the feeling of an old friend’s embrace, and tries not to think of how long it has been since anyone held her like this.

Four months, probably.

Jaina pulls away, and sits down, still smiling at her. There’s already a cup of coffee in her hands, but she doesn’t even attempt to drink it until Vereesa has ordered for herself, and sat down opposite her.

But then her smile fades. “Hold still.” Jaina tells her, reaching out. And then her hand is brushing through Vereesa’s hair, glancing against Vereesa’s cheek. And maybe Vereesa is a love-struck fool, but she lets herself believe, just for a single deluded second, that Jaina will cup her cheek and pull her in closer, across tables and across oceans.

But she doesn’t. Jaina pulls away, twirls a small leaf in her hands. “You had this stuck in your hair.” She says as means of explanation, and smiles again as she drops the leaf down on their table. “I know you like trees but this is a bit extreme.”

“I am not growing leaves.” Vereesa says, but the scowl she tries to paint on her face barely lasts a second when Jaina laughs, bright and clear and unburdened.

Vereesa pulls the leaf closer to her, picks it up the stem and spins it between her fingers absentmindedly. It’s a deep, rich gold, dropped from one of the last deciduous trees to notice the changing season.

“How has your work been?” She asks.

“Busy. It’s mainly been busy.” She plays with her coffee, spins the cup around in its place before lifting it up and drinking. “They’ve offered me a promotion, actually.”

“That’s good! Congratulations.”

Jaina’s restless movements don’t stop, and the coffee comes dangerously close to spilling several times.

“It is good.” Jaina says. “But part of me doesn’t want to take it?” She sighs, and sets her cup down finally. “It might be a bit mad to even consider it, but I’ve been considering leaving my job entirely.”

“And what, galivant in Suramar for a year?”

Jaina laughs. “No, not at all. I just…” She stops, and leans across the table, takes Vereesa’s hand in hers. “I’ve always wanted to start a gallery. And in the last few months, everything has just started to… fall into place. I know how to run one, I know how to manage all the finances, tides, that’s all I’ve been doing for the past few years. But I found some sponsors, and I finally found a market for a new gallery to open in. You know there hasn’t been a gallery open in Kul Tiras for over ten years? And it’s home and it just… Maybe I am mad. Throwing away security for a dream like that.”

“You are not mad.” Vereesa tells her firmly. Wraps Jaina’s hand in both of hers, holds it tight and makes Jaina focus on her. “It’s a brilliant idea. You should do it.”

It’s the right moment. The right time, the right place. Vereesa could tell her. Maybe just a fraction, or maybe everything. Maybe she could be brave, for once. If not for Jaina, even if it’s just for herself.

But she doesn’t.

“If anyone could do it, you can.” Vereesa says instead.

“Thank you.” Jaina says, squeezing her hand. “That really means a lot.” Her phone vibrates on the table, but Jaina ignores it. “What have you been up to? You always send me photos from these amazing places, mountains and rivers and… Are you still hiking?”

“Yes. There’s a few elves from Silvermoon that go out.” She swallows. “Actually, I-”

Jaina’s phone vibrates again, ceaselessly. Vereesa bites down on her words, crushes them back down her throat. “You should take that.”

Jaina’s hand hovers over her phone, but her eyes flicker between it and Vereesa. “This was meant to be our day. Just… one day out of months.”

“Take it.” Vereesa insists.

Jaina’s mouth twists downwards, but she still snatches her phone up, has it pressed against her ear before she has even stood up. She hurries outside, leaving before Vereesa can hear any more than a handful of words.

But she hears enough.

The leaf is still trapped in her hands, and Vereesa starts fiddling with it again, spinning it more violently this time. Jaina’s work is important. Vereesa knows that. And she’d never ask her to put her job, her livelihood, her opportunities at risk for Vereesa’s sake. But no rational thought can quell the rotten feeling in her gut.

Just one day, Vereesa thinks. She never asked for anything more than that.

Jaina returns, sits back down without a word. She doesn’t have to speak. Not when her phone is still clutched in her hands, not with frustration so clear on her face.

“I told them weeks ago.” She says quietly. “I said I couldn’t do today, but there’s an emergency that blindsided everyone… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. If you have to go then you have to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Vereesa says, forces a brief smile to flash on her face. “You’d better go.”

Jaina hesitates a moment longer, conflicted by a decision they both know she will make. It’s not a surprise in the end, when she stands. Nor when she gathers her things, hesitates a long moment longer by their table before brushing past Vereesa for the door. It’s an inevitability, that whatever orbits the two of them have are doomed to do little more than brush past each other, and never truly meet.

But it is a surprise when Jaina returns to Vereesa’s side, draws her into one last hug. But this one is at an awkward angle, and too brief to be much of a comfort.

“I’ll call tonight.” Jaina tells her, before she breaks her hold. “If that’s alright.”

“Please do.” Vereesa says, and this time she’s honest.

But Jaina still leaves.

And Vereesa sits there by herself for a few minutes more. Watches over the handful of things Jaina left in her wake. A half-drunk cup of coffee, a dying leaf dyed gold, and a single lonely woman. It’s cruel to feel bitter, feel abandoned, and she squashes down every ugly thought that threatens to raise its head.

In the end she stands, retreats from this place. She has her own work to finish, her own life to resume. And the ever-twisting disappointment of a day wasted can do little to halt that ever-hanging responsibility.

Jaina calls on the drive home. The drive until then had been quiet but pleasant, even if she saw it all in reverse on the way down. Jaina breaks that peace, even if she surely never meant to.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay.” Jaina tells her. She’s hard to hear, outside somewhere where the wind is strong, fighting hard to steal her voice away before it can even begin to travel across the miles between them. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Vereesa tells her.

“It’s not, I said I would be there and then it all just-”

“I mean it Jaina, it’s ok. There’ll be another day. Another chance.”

“It’s not ok. It’s really- It’s really not. I’m just… Are you busy, right now?”

“I’m driving.”

“Oh.”

“Which means no, I’m not busy. Why?”

Jaina is quiet, just for a moment. Long enough that Vereesa can hear the crackling echo of the wind on her end, transformed into static by a speaker too weak to hold onto its loose sound. Then Jaina sighs out, and that sound crackles too.

“Can we just… I don’t know. Just talk? For a bit? Not about anything in particular just… you know… Talk.”

Vereesa lets the question linger in the air, swirl around the empty space of her car. There’s an answer to this question, she knows. Jaina likely knows what her answer will be already. She’s predictable enough in that at least. Sometimes she wonders whether Jaina has already guessed. Whether she keeps her strung along like this, knowing Vereesa is too weak to do anything but follow.

But that is too cruel a guess to force on anyone she loves, and Vereesa cannot ever maintain that belief for long

In the end, Jaina breaks first.

“Please,” she says, so quiet it’s hard to hear her, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Vereesa lets herself admit. “And I will. But only if you tell me where you are. I can hear the wind, you know.”

Jaina laughs, but its soft this time. Just barely there. “I’m in Stormsong Valley. There’s a client up here I had to visit, some legal issue that I- Never mind. It was work. You know what work is like.”

“I do.” Vereesa says, keeping her voice soft, hoping beyond words that no bitterness is audible. But Jaina probably knows still. Maybe she feels guilty herself, for this.

“I found a lookout.” Jaina says. It’s hard to read her tone properly with the wind crackling behind her, fighting hard to steal Jaina away even now. “I can send a photo, if you’d like.”

“Again, I’m driving.” Vereesa says dryly. But it breaks the tension, relieves some of that deep sinking disappointment that had been winding its way through her.

“I’m an idiot.” Jaina says.

“You are.”

And her voice lingers.  It fills her car, fills up her mind with it. Banishes some of that inescapable loneliness. And she stays too, talks longer than she normally does, about nothing and about everything. But the sound of it sinks under Vereesa’s skin, makes her drum some strange rhythm on the wheel as she drives. And it sticks in her mind too, even after Vereesa arrives home, even after Jaina hangs up.

Sylvanas passes her on the stairs, stops when she sees Vereesa’s face. Whatever she reads is hard to guess, whether only a suspicion or the entire truth, it’s hard to know. But it is enough to make her pause, to press for answers Vereesa doesn’t want to give. But Sylvanas is stubborn, hunts down every single scrap of information she can, until Vereesa starts to admit things. That she hadn’t told Jaina, even though she had wanted to. Even that isn’t enough to satisfy her, and she blocks Vereesa’s path with her body, and Vereesa knows if she even tried to run Sylvanas would follow, tackle her to the ground and hold her there. She’s seen her do it before, usually to Alleria, usually for mundane things, angry at her for some miniscule slight. Still, she’d rather escape today without any broken bones.

Finally, she admits what happened. And Sylvanas’ expression hardens. Like cold steel, the tension in a bow before it releases.

“Give me your car keys.” She says. Vereesa isn’t even sure if it’s a joke. She’s half terrified it isn’t. “I’ll teach her what happens when you play with people’s emotions.”

“It’s not her fault. Please, just forget about it.”

“I’m leaving right now. Give me your keys.”

“Please.” Vereesa says. But her voice cracks, and she buries every half-attempted word.

Sylvanas’ expression softens slightly, and she holds her arms open, waiting until Vereesa falls into her, wraps her up tight. “Oh, little moon.” Sylvanas says. She doesn’t let Vereesa escape, even here. Keeps her chained up in an embrace that make Vereesa feel like a child again, running to her sister after some great childhood tragedy. Still, Vereesa needs it, hides her face in Sylvanas’ shoulder.

It’s not the same as it once was. They’re the same height now, and Sylvanas feels a lot smaller than she used to be. A lot thinner. But she holds Vereesa like she used to, strokes her hair and hums some soft melody under her breath until Vereesa calms.

“I’m this close to banning both you and Alleria from dating humans.” Sylvanas whispers, after a minute. “This is the third time. They’re not worth it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I am exactly as dramatic as I need to be.”

And Vereesa almost laughs. Or comes close to it anyway. But it’s enough for Sylvanas to release her, let her stand on her own. “You know Alleria would find a human girlfriend just to spite you?”

Sylvanas rolls her eyes. “She would. Forget that plan, then.” She moves aside, lets Vereesa pass by her, only to grab her arm just before she’s out of reach. Weighs her down with one more heavy look. “Promise me you won’t stop painting.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise.”

“I promise I won’t. I don’t paint for her. Just me.”

Sylvanas gives her the tiniest of nods, but she lets Vereesa go, stays watching as she climbs up the stairs.

And that same strange rhythm remains, shakes in her hands, lingers in the back of her thoughts, only beginning to calm when she holds a brush again. A song spun out of the sound of the wind, the gentle early morning sunlight, the lingering memory of Jaina’s distant voice. A song of loneliness, of the lies Vereesa never thought she’d tell. She slips back away into her studio. The light is bright now, afternoon sunlight invading in. Strong, familiar, and yet magnetising when she grants it even a fraction of her attention.

There’s a giant canvas lying under piles and piles of equipment, something she bought months ago for some project that she has forgotten now. But now, like a woman possessed, she uncovers it, brushes dust from its surface. She sets it up against the window, still watching the distant ocean.

Gold, she thinks as she gathers her paints, starts mixing colours together. A deep, endless gold, the colour of a sunrise fighting against the night. Vereesa doesn’t even have a plan, just an obsession, and gold covers her hands, her clothes, mixes into her silver hair as she starts to cover that stark white canvas with it.

Then she glances out at the ocean once more, at the dark depths lightened by sunlight, finds a blue she has missed, a blue she longs for like an end to the loneliness that still stabs deep within her. And she mixes that too. Careless still, for once unbound by self-doubt.

If painting made her feel a madwoman, this one is the peak of her madness. The endless depths from which she can’t escape. And somehow, madder still, she throws aside habit, throws aside sense, finds a shape appearing out of her wild strokes. Not a landscape this time. No ocean cliffs, no distant mountains. But a portrait. A woman.

That realisation makes her pause, just for a second. Makes her linger, brush held tight, staring at the tiny amount of progress she has done so far. This painting would take hours. Hours and hours. A goliath to be chipped away at, not a madwoman’s brief obsession.

But she can still hear Sylvanas. Still remembers that promise. And now, here, with some strange song twisting in her heart, with the ocean at the horizon and a brush in her hand, she feels stubborn still.

Maybe later there will be time. Another opportunity. But not now.

Now it is only her and her paint, and a gold that sinks under her skin.

Hours later, Vereesa steps back, examines the painting once more. It’s still unfinished, still more a framework of a painting than anything more, but what’s there is still enough to steal thought, steal time.

And then she frowns, steps back further still. Until she can see the whole canvas, see the ghost of the painting she is making. See the ghost of the woman she is painting.

Golden hair, blue eyes. Her heart stutters, and she steps back in, notes the curve of her jaw, the intelligence already visible in her eyes. One step more, and she is close enough to touch it, to smear her hand across its surface and ruin hours of work.

I am so screwed, Vereesa thinks to herself.

But she draws her hand away, picks the brush up once more.