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It seems so small in the palm of her hand. So malleable.
Gold glints under the light of the windowsill when she fidgets with it. The ring was created specifically for her finger size, but it now innocuously hangs on a golden chain around her neck instead of the preferred placement. She rereads the engraving for the millionth time, her canines sinking into her bottom lip.
‘My home is you.’
The tiefling pauses momentarily to read it again. Once, twice, five times, before smoothly lifting it to her mouth and placing her lips against the fragile metal. It is intimate, but not what she yearns for. It is not warm at all, despite her having held it for quite a while — the shock of the cold might as well have been mocking her. If only it were an actual wedding ring and not an empty promise for one that never came to be. The news, when it was delivered, was on a day so sunny and warm it should have been impossible for tragedy to strike, and yet… her whole world crumbled away when one of her crewmates had told her.
Aloefair is dead.
That fact will never change. She has no idea where Aloe is buried, so even if she has the money to resurrect her, she’s sure it wouldn’t work. They told her months after her death. Sure, she had gone missing for a while (she did that sometimes to go on random jobs to save up money and always came back with a little sack and a winning smile), but Vyltia never thought she would outright die. How could Aloe’s teammates have known where to find Vyltia, or even that she had a fiancé in the first place? Aloefair wasn’t one to ramble about her love for Vyltia to any stranger she met, she understands that. It is not their fault for not knowing, but damn them to hell, Vyltia scorns them vehemently for it every fucking day. She had spent entire months thinking Aloefair was fine, ignorant to her love buried deep in the earth. She wasn’t searching, wasn’t helping. She did absolutely nothing in all of that time. That tears her up inside. If only she’d heard the news sooner, she could have saved her. If only she knew where to find her, she could have saved her. If only Aloe had off-handedly informed her teammates about her, she could have saved her. There are so many if’s that she is unlucky enough to obsess over; spending hours in her room staring at the ring, wondering. If only this, if only that… Honestly she recognizes it does her no good to do so, but what else can she do?
There are so many things she would say to Aloefair if she were here right now.
She would tell her how much she loved when her nose scrunched when she concentrated, or the way her tail curled bashfully when Vyltia kissed her forehead — god, even that infuriating habit where she left crumbs of food on her desk. She misses every single detail. Vyltia doesn’t know if she had ever voiced those thoughts out loud to her, but oh, how she would sing with it if she were present.
She does not allow herself to cry about it anymore. If one of her crewmates walked in on her blotchy cheeks muddied with tears, she is fairly certain they would use it against her. Call her weak. Accuse her of being too unstable to lead them. Overthrow her.
All bullshit. But it would work. Vyltia knows that well.
A knock on her door leads her to releasing the ring. It falls down gently onto her chest as a familiar lizardfolk peeks in.
“Vyltia, there’s some — oh.” Unawyn says, but cuts off abruptly upon noticing her expression.
Vyltia is not sure what sort of face she’s making right now, but it is obvious enough to make Unawyn hesitant about continuing. “Come in.” She speaks, her voice confident as if she hasn’t been on the cusp of crying for the past half hour. “What do you need?”
Unawyn coughs and closes the door behind her, bowing once she is in the center of the room. Vyltia frowns at the display. “The crew are running out of rations, we should head for a nearby town to stock up.”
“Already?” She says, annoyed. “Who’s been pigging?”
Unawyn’s mouth quirks at least. “I don’t want to point fingers — wait fuck yes I do. Hah. I’d say Dorona is likely the culprit.”
Vyltia groans and scratches her scalp. “I knew we shouldn’t have hired them. Right fucking twat.”
“Right? Hate that we need them for the healing,” Unawyn grumbles, suddenly cutting off her train of thought.
...Why? Because Aloefair used to be their discount cleric, and even the mention of her would make Vyltia spiral. That is what Unawyn must be thinking, to bite her tongue so quickly like that.
“...Unawyn.”
“Yeah?”
“You can say her name. I won’t blow up.”
Unawyn appears sheepish for a moment before her brows knit. “It’s not that! You just get so… I mean, your face, it…” She raises a brow, waiting for the lizardfolk to spit it out. Unawyn lets out a frustrated sigh. “You get so sad, thinking about her. And you do it a lot — don’t make that face at me, you do! Don’t fuckin’ deny it! I can’t say the crew has picked up on it, good luck to you if they do, but with the way you spend hours in here not talking to anyone it’s getting pretty easy to figure out. Someone is going to fuckin’ notice.”
Vyltia stares up at the ceiling during Unawyn’s explanation. She’s right, of course. Unawyn is the only one that has the gaul to tell her she’s fucking up to her face, and on some occasions, Vyltia appreciates that quality. Though right now, it makes her unease grow. She already knows what Unawyn is telling her, but hearing it said out loud helps her really internalize it all.
“What do you suggest I do?”
“Talk to someone.” Vyltia stares at her, and Unawyn gives an intense look back. “I’m fuckin’ serious. This could really screw with you if you let it fester.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She asks. “You think I don’t see Gerard or Thames giving me passing glances when I walk by? I know that they’re just waiting for me to show some sign that I’m not in control, that I’m just some pathetic orphaned woman off of the street who can’t think straight. I know what they want me to crumble.”
“Then why the fuck are you?” Unawyn barks.
“BECAUSE SHE’S DEAD!” Vyltia yells and stands abruptly, hitting the desk so hard with her fist that she feels the wood bend under her knuckles.
They both still, tension charging the room as the silence deafens. Then Vyltia backs down, sitting back in her chair with an exhale that sounds suspiciously like a sob.
Unawyn’s anger flashes before she reigns herself in. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides. “Vyltia, you’re not the only one that misses her. Stop pretending you are.”
Vyltia startles a bit. “I… I didn’t mean… ”
“I know you didn’t. But even if it isn’t intentional, it still fuckin’ hurts. The whole team misses her. Just because you were engaged doesn’t make you special.” She says, guttural. “We have to deal with it just like you do. We carry that shit with us every day. At least share what you’re feeling instead of pretending it doesn’t fuckin’ bother you. It makes me so mad, and sad, and just — “ She growls, digging her claws into her arm. “I’m tired of making excuses for you. You’re supposed to lean on us. Trust your team. Leaders do that, yeah? So fuckin’ act like one.”
The tiefling blinks, taken aback by Unawyn’s honesty. She’s never one to just say what she feels, so it must be really bad if she’s having to resort to this. The silence returns, though not unwelcome this time. Vyltia takes a deep breath in, then out, and reaches up to slide off the scarf from her head. The material rests in her palm, a reminder of what she used to be. She vaguely wonders if her parents had another child after abandoning her. Maybe they had. That didn’t matter. What mattered now is that she is powerful with enough people behind her to overrun a country. She can do anything she wants. Vyltia looks up at her friend, noticing Unawyn is already watching her to see what she’ll say.
“You’re right.” She asserts, and Unawyn’s shoulders subtly slump in relief. “I’ll make sure to open up more. Just know it won’t be pleasant.”
“Wasn’t expecting it to be,” Unawyn guffawed. “Anyway. Fuck Dorona.”
“Yeah.” Vyltia laughs, a weight lifting from her chest. “You want to throw them overboard once we reach the town?”
Unawyn brightens, then immediately scowls. “Why can’t we do it now?!”
“Because people would notice if Dorona was dead, my dear. They aren’t exactly a random sellsword. Clerics with their kind of spells are hard to come by.”
Unawyn scoffs. “Fuckin’ Dorona.”
Vyltia hums, reveling in their shared hatred.
… If only indeed.