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Ingrid’s back is smooth.
Mercedes thinks she could stay this way forever.
The blonde sleeps peacefully, her breaths even and smooth.
Was this what her mother felt for her father and stepfather? Mercedes wonders, as she gazes at Ingrid’s back through half-open eyes. This all-consuming love for someone, this love that threatened to burn her from the inside out.
And Mercedes wondered if much like her mother, she would be thrown away after her purpose was fulfilled.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in Ingrid, but Mercedes was a woman, a commoner. Her family name held no worth past being abolished. She shuddered at the thought of Ingrid abandoning her, what would it feel like?
Or perhaps like her mother, she would have enough of being pushed mistreated, and she’d run, far far away from nobility, far away from the grips of crests. Far far away from Ingrid, who would get married to a nobleman to pass on her crest, maybe Sylvain or god forbid Lorenz- her teeth ground at the idea.
Lorenz, Lorenz, Lorenz who cared only about his nobility. Lorenz, who would never treat Ingrid the way Mercedes did. Would never treat Ingrid like a woman, but as a means to an end. Lorenz, who would treat Ingrid the way her stepfather treated her mother.
“Mercie? What’s wrong?”
“Hmm? Oh Ingrid I didn’t realise you were awake! Do you want anything? You can stay in bed, I’ll go get us some snacks-”
“Mercie what? No, you’re crying,” Ingrid reaches out, brows furrowed in concern. As her fingers gently wipe at her cheek with the quilt, Mercedes realises she was indeed crying. “Oh sorry, this is embarrassing,” she laughs, awkward and forced, “I’ll wash up in the bathroom, it’s nothing you did Ingrid, it was me really, don’t feel bad.”
She shouldn’t be a burden to Ingrid. Her mother had cried in front of her stepfather once, and it had resulted in nothing but screaming and shouting.
“I’ll be back before you know it, I’ll get us some snacks too,” she slides out of bed, reaching for her clothes, “You must be tired after just now-”
“Mercedes-!” Ingrid grabs her wrist, “stay. Please.” Reluctantly, Mercedes slides back in, not meeting her lover’s gaze. “What’s wrong? Did you-” Ingrid hesitates, “was I not good enough last night? I- I-” Ingrid flushes, and Mercedes remembers that Ingrid is so different from her, she didn’t have to say it, but Mercedes knows it was her first night, from the stutters in her moans, the shyness of her gaze as Mercedes devoured her.
“What? No Ingrid you did wonderfully!” She grabs Ingrid’s hands, warm and callused from years of handling the weight of her lance and her family’s expectations.
The problem is that I love you too much. I don’t want to make the wrong move. Am I doing this right? Will you leave me? Does your love for me run deeper than your nobility does? I love you so much I think my heart could burst. I love you I love you I love you I love I love you-
Ingrid lets her lay her head on her shoulder. “I love you so much I think it hurts, I think I could die,” Mercedes murmurs. “Is that a bad thing?” Ingrid asks.
Mercedes does not respond.
For now, she will not speak of how she has been thrown away, she will not speak of how nobility and crests and everything Ingrid’s parents expect of her was her family’s undoing. Instead, she leans in for a kiss, and Ingrid allows it.
Again and again.