Chapter Text
Leaning against the frame of the door, Abigail sank into the scene she was watching, forgetting about the outside world for a second.
She was looking at Adil, who was gently caressing one of the girls' hair, trying to calm her down after she had had another bad dream about the men with the white masks. All of them suffered from nightmares and, honestly, after being kept in cages like that for who knows how long, who could ever blame these poor things? By the delicacy he applied to every stroke, Abigail could tell that Adil had done it a thousand times, probably to his sister. In an instant she found herself wondering what life must have meant for him, what it have must felt like to him before their paths had crossed all those months ago.
The almost imperceptible vibration of the song he was humming to make the girls sleep was lightly buzzing on her skin, like the sound of a distant bumblebee. The woman felt how her muscles were slowly starting to loosen up while her eyelids became heavier and heavier.
The sight of Adil's softness around the children would normally have made Abigail feel like melting away. She wasn't exactly the motherly type, but the way he had around people, his natural kindness and respect for every living thing he met, was the one thing that made her fall for him, every time a little more, every time she witnessed it. That night however, was different, as she could sense that inside his heart, underneath all that shooting warmth he was trying to convey, was creeping an ice cold grip of sadness. He had barely spoken since he had broken his vow of nonviolence and was desperately trying to deal with it in the most discreet way possible - but Abigail could almost physically feel his inner struggle.
"Are you okay?" she whispered, as soon the girl was asleep. He didn't bother to answer, but gave her an intense look full of grief that definitely meant "no".
"I'm going to bed" he said with a little crack in his voice. Abigail nodded and headed absently towards the kitchen, wondering in how many of these little girls he had seen Khalida's face and in how many of the murderers lying on the floor in the compound he had seen his own.
She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't notice at first the other person in the room, but as soon as she did, her whole body jerked automatically, and in less of an instant, she was ready to attack.
"At ease, soldier" scoffed Scylla, putting lazily her hands in the air.
"What are you doing here?" growled Abigail with disdain, releasing all of her tension with a huff.
"Scarying people apparently" remarked the other one with a dry and sarcastic tone. Abigail rolled her eyes and decided not to dignify this useless conversation with a further contribution. She had had too much shit to deal with already.
"How are the girls?" asked Scylla. She was standing next to her, holding a cup with both of her hands while rhythmically tapping her fingertips on its surface. She looked lost and uneasy, as if she didn't know what to do with herself. There was sincere concern in her voice, but that didn't move Abigail in her mistrust one bit.
"They're finally asleep" she declared, and decided for herself that this was the end of the conversation. She then took a glass from a cupboard, filled it with water from the tap and decided to make herself scarce. But before she left the room completely, she stopped.
"Go to sleep, necro" she said, without turning around "and stop creeping around Raelle." Then she left at once, leaving Scylla alone in the kitchen with her tea in her hands.
The blue-eyed girl stood there, unaffected by the threat in Abigail's voice, yet unable to move. She was feeling heavy, a knot tied around her throat, burning inside at the thought of being in the same house as Raelle again and paralyzed by the fear of talking to her for the first time since she had disappeared from Fort Salem. Everything was broken, nothing was it should have been: Willa was dead and the Camarilla was out for witch blood.The world had revealed itself as a terrifying mess. But Raelle was alive, and that was the one precious thing Scylla was holding onto.