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Sylvanas’s ears pressed flat against her skull as she stared at the broken glass on the floor and the liquid seeping into the floorboards. How could someone with all the grace of the Quel’dorei and precision of the undead make a mistake like that? So stupid. So simple, too.
She knew she was being unnecessarily hard on herself. But, she was frustrated. It should have been inconsequential. It would be to most people. Oh, it’d be so simple to get another one. But she needed it immediately. And, yes, it was a need.
Sylvanas scrunched up her nose as she drew a breath in to take a steadying sigh. She gravitated towards men’s scents, specifically colognes that had a hint of spice, or paired well with leather, or had that difficult-to-describe quality to it that seemed to inexplicably attract women. Scents that were strong in large quantities, but perfect in smaller ones. And now their entire bathing quarters would reek of it.
“Sylv? I heard glass brea— Oh.” Jaina paused once she rounded the corner. To her credit, she barely flinched at the concentration of scent in the room. “Oh, honey,” she murmured, crossing the distance to draw Sylvanas into her arms.
Sylvanas had barely spared Jaina a glance. Her mind was a flood of thoughts — self-deprecation, anxiety, the usual suspects but running amok rather than under wraps. Her cologne served a purpose. And the purpose wasn’t attracting female attention or seducing her wife any further (though those were nice perks).
No, Sylvanas’s cologne served a far more practical use: to cover one of the more persistent and unavoidable reminders of her death. For whatever reason, her body or spirit or something had retained the scent of the very moment she died — cold steel like the blade plunged into her chest, and the field of flowers it all happened in. Maybe it was just another sick joke of that butcher’s, another way to torment her should she ever recover her body.
The steel didn’t bother her much — it was common enough to smell a variety of metals and magics in times of war and production. The flowers were the worst of it, and probably one of the main reasons she never even bothered with women’s scents. Covering it with a masculine scent that complimented it well enough while keeping it at bay was perfect — and she’d just managed to knock the vial off of the counter onto the floor below, where it promptly shattered.
Jaina’s hands were a warm, grounding balm on her stunned skin, easing her muscles down from the tense fight-or-flight response they’d jumped into. Her wife ran her hands firmly and slowly over her arms, her stomach, and her back before she wrapped them around Sylvanas’s upper chest from behind.
“We’ll get you another one,” Jaina murmured, her voice low and gentle. “Let’s get you settled, and I’ll go get it,” she offered. It was more of a statement, but she knew Sylvanas would push back. The offer in and of itself was enough for her to shake her head slightly, clearing the mental fog a bit. She turned in Jaina’s arms.
“No, don’t,” she protested weakly. “I— it’ll be okay, it’s fine. I can handle getting more with you, or even on my own. You have meetings.”
Jaina just gently guided Sylvanas by the shoulders away from the mess and to their bed in the other room. Sylvanas let it happen, not wanting to be rooted in place next to her mistake any longer.
“I can reschedule,” Jaina reassured her. “It’s just the one on tariffs, and I’d rather not have to go to it, anyways.” Sylvanas shook her head even as Jaina gently guided her to prop up in bed against the headboard.
“I appreciate it, and I appreciate you, but you should go to your meeting,” she tried to protest again. Her voice was a little more solid that time, but it still didn’t hold the confidence it usually seemed so full of. Even so, she could smell herself the slightest bit, and she could feel the thoughts and memories creeping at the edge of her awareness.
Jaina, of course, noticed. She could see the subtle coiling of muscles in Sylvanas’s jaw and legs. She cupped her cheek, guiding Sylvanas to make eye contact. Sylvanas blinked, doing her best to stay grounded and present, but only half-succeeding.
“Where did you put your clothes yesterday?” Jaina asked gently. Sylvanas blinked again, brow furrowing slightly. She looked around to Jaina’s left, checking her desk. Sure enough, her leathers and tunic were haphazardly draped over the seat of her chair still — she could see one pant leg on the armrest. She nodded her head in that direction.
Jaina went and collected the clothing, sniffing at the tunic gently. Nodding subtly to herself, she brought them back to Sylvanas and guided her to sit up straighter.
“Here. Let’s get these onto you,” she murmured. Sylvanas acquiesced, begrudgingly allowing Jaina to help her pull the tunic over her head.
Sylvanas had an order she preferred to get dressed in — bottom to top. It was more functional. There was no sense in wearing pauldrons to strap on legguards or lace boots. It bothered her to deviate from that order — but there were rare occasions where the need to do so could outweigh her near-ritualistic habit.
Jaina knew that getting Sylvanas wrapped in her chosen scent as soon as possible was key. So, she guided the tunic on immediately. The shift in Sylvanas was clearly visible, starting as soon as her head was through the neck hole.
Even the lingering smells of the day prior were enough to chase away the thoughts and memories Sylvanas could have gotten lost in. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and certainly didn’t need to hold on to, and looked at Jaina softly.
“Thank you,” she murmured as Jaina fussed with Sylvanas’s shirt and picked up her leathers. Maybe she could just let Jaina teleport and get her more cologne, returning to her side as soon as she could bring it back. Jaina smiled at her.
“Of course,” Jaina replied. “I love you,” she continued, as if that in and of itself explained her understanding, her generosity, her care. And, really, it did.
“I love you, too, dalah’surfal.”