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Let it be known that Anadil is not known to make mistakes. Her handwriting is impeccable, her hands are always still, hair always straight, words always carefully chosen. But in inviting her friend Agatha home for the winter break, she may be breaking her streak. After all, Anadil forgot she lives with her mother. She acted pleased to have guests the night they arrived, but conveyed no such emotion the next morning.
After their disaster of a breakfast, in which Anadil’s mother interrogated Agatha seven ways to Sunday, she's isn’t particularly surprised Agatha avoiding her. She doesn’t want to talk about it either, apologize for something she knew was going to happen.
You could have had a decency to say something, Anadil thinks nastily to herself, shutting the library door behind her. Her mother always reduces her to a shell, void of any substance. Unlike Agatha. Agatha took her mother's passive aggressive comments like someone who’s never heard anything else, the comments rolling off her bony shoulders. Anadil has the sense that it was her silence that made it worse.
Thus, her hunting Agatha.
Agatha’s mother had grown up in Bloodbrook herself. Anadil doesn’t really know what resulted in her inviting Agatha to her house during their break- she just knows that she didn’t like the idea of Agatha spending their winter break alone. She’d become something of a close friend to Anadil, the one who’s eyes she seeks when Hester or Sophie are fighting, when their little group is being ridiculous. The one she seeks out when she needs someone who won’t ask or demand something she doesn’t want to give. Agatha is easy, and Anadil doesn't have to give her anything to be wanted by her.
Usually, that would be dangerous. If it wasn't for the one thing about Agatha Anadil can't understand and possibly never will- her goodness.
It’s at the last door of the hallway, farthest from the stairs that Anadil finds Agatha, fingers sliding through sheet paper, sitting with her legs open on the piano bench. She doesn’t look up when Anadil clears her throat.
“You have ancient music. Really, I don’t even think this chord exists anymore.”
Anadil’s mouth pulls.“I didn’t invite you into my home to insult the paper.”
“Why did you?”
Anadil doesn’t know herself. “Why do you think I did?”
Agatha sighs. “I don’t know,” she examines a stained yellow sheet. “Not to be... insulted by your mom, I hope.”
“She doesn’t understand good things, or people.”
Agatha rolls her eyes, looking up at her. “That's cute. You don’t have to apologize for her.”
“I wasn’t,” Anadil says, drifting closer to the piano. “But… I do.” She can’t say it. She can’t admit it.
Agatha nods, and turns. “It’s not your fault. Is this thing tuned?”
“You know how to play?” Anadil asks Agatha idly, running her long fingers against the intricately detailed trim.
Agatha shrugs. “Couldn’t remember a full piece for the life of me, but I remember bits and pieces.”
Anadil selects a sheet from the pile. “Did you ever learn Blood Moon, ursa minor?”
Agatha nods. “I think that was one of the last pieces I learned.”
Anadil nods her head in affirmation. “Go ahead then.”
Agatha raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure your mother won't plot our deaths?”
She would, she absolutely would. Her mother is inconsistent with what she treasures and doesn’t, and if Anadil was to take interest in her piano, so would she. Anadil snorts at the thought, a flare of anger flitting over her. She’s spent most of her school career separating herself from her mother, and here she is, flitting like a fly in a box. “Frankly, I don’t care. I’ll take any responsibility. Say I forced you, if she demands.”
“Jesus” Agatha mutters, but obliges, leaving her skirt draped uncouthly on the piano bench. “It’s not like I’m stealing her sheet music.”
“To her, you might as well have,” Anadil sits herself up the bench, shifting Agatha’s skirts so that they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Go ahead.”
Agatha smirks and thumbs between the two starting keys and starts unsteadily, positioning her fingers. A nice mirage of notes fills the previously dank air. When Agatha meets the second line, Anadil begins to sing, making Agatha falter.
Anadil doesn’t sing light and breathy like Sophie does, she has a lower, fuller voice. Her raspy voice makes the turns of the song much smoother. Her voice shakes in a way that’s unbelievably appealing to Agatha.
Agatha balances between two hands, leaning over into Anadil’s space to hit at the higher keys. Her wrist brushes against the lace of Anadil’s chemisette. Anadil keeps her eyes composed when Agatha peeks at her, but lowers her voice in accordance with Agatha’s bar rearrangement.
The song ends and Agatha finishes the notes off, jamming the keys when they hear a sudden disturbance from the high doorway. Anadil’s mother claps, silhouetted darkly from the pale sun coming from the hallway window behind her.
“That was lovely,” she says. “Anabella, I didn’t know you were a musician.”
Agatha colors. “I’m actually not-” Anadil elbows her- “Thank you madam,” She amends.
“And while Anadil’s voice has never been the most pleasing, you both make a good duo,” Her mother continues. “I never guessed you two were so close.” Her expression is flat and unimpressed.
They both say nothing, caught.
“There’s no need to be ashamed. I have some dinner guests coming over, and I’d like it if you played for them tonight,” The countess says.
There is no disagreement. Only another thing for Anadil’s mother to take away.
Two hours later, Anadil knocks on Agatha’s door. Agatha sits on her messy bed in her petticoat, jaw in her palms. “I get the feeling your mother doesn’t like me.” She says as a greeting.
Anadil shuts the door carefully. “She doesn’t like any of my college friends.”
“It’s different. Something in how she surveys me, like I’m some- I don’t know. Something to survey.”
“Imagine growing up with her.”
“Well, I’m used to people not liking me, just based off my looks,” Agatha says, then pins on- “That’s not a pity thing, I just know-”
“They’re fools,” Anadil says. “And so are you, if you believe it.”
“I don’t,” Agatha says.
“Then don’t listen to the rabble, Agatha. I liked you from the moment I saw you.”
"Because I was tormenting Sophie," Agatha says.
"Therefore," Anadil says. Agatha finally turns to look at her. “We have to get ready. And you sent the servants away.”
Agatha huffs in defense. “I didn’t want them poking around my body.”
“Well now I have to do it,” Anadil scolds.
“Rather you,” Agatha mutters.
“What? Don't mumble.”
“I’d rather it was you,” Agatha says louder, cheeks darkening.
They stare at each other for a beat.
“Come on,” Anadil says, throat dry. “Let’s get you laced up. My mother likes her servants pretty.”
She's a pretty picture. Anadil thinks she’ll die. Her clothing is a dark blue dress, with a white lace camisole underneath the neckline and a slim skirt like the ones they wear on campus. Anadil works deftly and silently, not letting her fingers linger for a second longer then they have to on Agatha’s wrists, neck. When she strings a thin black necklace around her throat, her eyes betray her, and meet Agatha’s.
Anadil jerks back and the necklace falls. “God,” she groans, covering her hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Agatha stares at her, stooping to pick up the necklace. “I’ve never heard you curse.”
“You’re not helping,” Anadil snaps.
“Then let me get it myself,” Agatha snaps right back, reaching around. “Why are you so tense? It’s just us playing piano for some stuffy old rich people.”
“It’s not,” Anadil says. “She sees anything I enjoy and has to ruin it. She’s manipulative, she’s never not in control, and she’d never admit it, but seeing me happy makes her bitter. It’s impossible to please her-”
The necklace falls again and Agatha curses. “Shit, sorry- continue, it’s good to get all of it out. Real emotional progress and all that.”
Anadil snorts, shaking her head. “I’ll get it, I have to fasten your bodice anyways.”
Agatha sighs, dreading the pull around her stomach. “You gotta?”
“It’s only for a while,” Anadil says, taking the necklace.
“I hate sitting in it.”
Anadil only grunts in agreement, becoming increasingly upset with her unsteady hands.
“I’m sorry,” She admits to Agatha’s back, grimacing around the words. “It really was lovely.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Agatha says again. “Moms are… hard. Especially yours.”
“She’s doing this because she knows,” Anadil says.
“Knows what?”
Anadil’s nimble fingers miss one of the fastenings and she doesn’t go to fix it.
“How I feel about you.” Just saying it makes the air in the room and between them so much lighter, smoother. Anadil's been holding air in since Agatha hurled a dead bird at her sister during orientation.
Something sparks in Agatha’s stomach. “Oh,” she mutters. “How would that be?”
Anadil sighs and rests her head on Agatha’s shoulder bone. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Then should we pretend it doesn’t exist?”
“Agatha…” Anadil begins. “I can’t- you know how hard this is for me.”
“If you don’t want to, I won’t,” Agatha says vaguely. “You make this harder than it has to be. I don’t want to push you but I’m not gonna let you push me.”
Anadil chews her cheek. “I know.”
“Then you have to know that it’s- well, that me too.”
“I know,” Anadil says. “I’ve known since Halloween. Don’t you see how that only makes it worse?”
Agatha leans her head back, frowning. “I know.”
Anadil straightens, unsteady fingers wrestling with Agatha’s fastening again. She fumbles again, and again. She grunts, flustered, and turns Agatha around forcibly. Agatha stares at her, eyes wide. Anadil doesn't pause, she doesn't think anymore about it. She's missed enough of what she's wanted from Agatha, enough of anything she's wanted in general. Anadil kisses her, finger’s finding Agatha’s jaw.
She doesn’t kiss anything like Agatha had thought she would- passively, indulgent. She kisses like she’s trying to say something but the words don’t exist, like she’s trying to fill Agatha.
And Agatha feels full.
She pulls Anadil closer, hands finding her waist and her flank. Someone steps on someone’s skirt but they’re not going anywhere anyways. Anadil kisses much better then any of the good college boys, in Agatha's limited experience.
Anadil breaks away, because of course she does. “Let’s go get dinner. Let’s go anywhere, anywhere you’d like to go. I’ve never been in a restaurant before but I’d do it for you.”
Agatha laughs.“Fed up, are you?”
Anadil kisses her again. “Don’t tease. I’ve never been more hungry.” This time, Agatha tilts her head so Anadil can kiss her more thoroughly, hands roaming her sides and back.
Agatha grins cockily, loops her arms around Anadil securely. “I have a place in mind, but…”
“But what?” Anadil asks, gripping her.
“What are the chances of us being able to take the piano with us?”
“There will be other pianos, Agatha.”
“Just the sheet music then?”
“I knew there was a reason I invited you all along.”
Let it be known Anadil is not known to make mistakes.