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When Jean was five, she picked up her first sword. It was made of the finest wood she had ever found, almost as if it was created for her and her alone. Perhaps it is better to say that it had found her, when a large branch had broken off a cedar tree on the outskirts of the city wall, above where she had been playing, and nearly crashed upon her head by mere centimeters. She remembered feeling startled, a scream, and then curiosity. Upon closer inspection, the tree branch was strangely beautiful. She had looked at the dark and toughened skin, felt the way it scratched her hands, and counted the smaller twigs growing from it. Seven — a lucky number.
Jean took it home right away, lugging it with as much sophisticated grace as she could for a small child dragging an object twice her height and weight.
After a brisk inspection for potential injuries (Jean distinctly recalled how pale her mother turned when she described how the branch came into her possession), the elder Gunnhildr led Jean to the family's weapon forge and showed her how she could carve a wooden sword, smooth and tamed, unlike but still the wild, raw material it came from.
The sword was completed the next day. She waved it around in excitement, delighting Barbara, who had recently turned one, with her pretend fights and over-exaggerated tales of heroism. The task was swiftly accomplished, but another soon began. Jean started her first day of training the next morning.
Three years of swordsmanship, history lessons, and etiquette classes blurred together in her adolescence.
There had been various specialized tutors hired to lecture her, but most of her training was taught by her mother. Even classes with those tutors were supplemented by readings and stories placed into her arms by Frederica, and by hours of recitations and practice, and commitment with her.
She saw less and less of the carefree childhood bliss granted to others and to her early years, and in the beginning, she regretted bringing that tree branch home. Not that it would have really mattered, Jean would come to realize later on, for her training would have commenced, regardless. But she had seen the way the other children played, out gathering flowers, running and shrieking in joy from whatever game they had devised in the warm afternoon sun, and she envied them.
There were no rebellious acts or sullen silence. Her discontentment translated into wistful looks toward the windows, where Jean would dream of the endless adventures and excitement within and beyond Mondstadt's walls, accompanied by other children of her age… maybe some of whom she could have called friends.
Her longings would be abated by the stern reminders of her tutors or the kinder yet still firm voice of her mother. Back to the pages and ink and powdery hands on chalkboards.
In the early age of the Aristocrats, three prominent clans wielded immense power and influence over the city of the winds: The Lawrence, the Imunlauker, and the Gunnhildr…
Perhaps her mother had eventually realized there was a certain restlessness to Jean. One afternoon, she was dismissed early from her lesson, and, seizing the opportunity, Jean calmly walked out of the manor, only allowing herself to sprint with abandonment once she passed the Gunnhildr gate. She played with some of the other children for a while just outside of Mondstadt City where the guards could still keep watch, running along the shoreline and picking calla lilies and snapdragons, and trying to catch the blue-fin basses and crystalfish to her heart's content. The cool waters swirling around her bare feet were a balm to the hot powdery sand.
With the setting sun and the reminder of her curfew ringing in her head, Jean waved goodbye to her new friends and made her way back home. Her arrival, however, was delayed by an escalation in one of the smaller Mondstadt’s streets, and she returned home an hour later than expected, marred with a bruise just under her eye from an unexpected strike and a new-found desire to uphold the values of the Gunnhildr clan.
The stories and lessons and training were taken more seriously from that day on. She thought, in another afternoon, her gaze towards the pinwheels and laughter of the other children outside, a book in her hands, about how she wanted to preserve this peace with all that she could.
Another two years would pass. Two years of more training and more lessons and more practice. Recite pages this and raise your arms higher that, until —
Jean looked on solemnly, her hand gripping her mother tightly as she watched her sister and her father leave, silhouettes that would eventually fade into not-so-distant memories, creating hollowed spaces that were left empty until half a year later when they visited the Church for a service. There had been few memories of her and her father, and even fewer with Barbara.
As the Seneschal, Seamus Pegg was often at the Church or away on administrative duties during the day while Jean was conducting her training, raining blows upon blows on straw dummies and wooden enemies, or demonstrating proper self-conduct when meeting those in various rungs of Mondstadt's social ladder. When — if he was home, it was for dinner. He would tell her about his adventures long ago before he met her mother. He showed her the gifts and souvenirs he brought home and recounted his journey across the seven nations. About the dizzying array of people he met, and his extraordinary escapes from countless traps and dangerous foes.
And his voice would soften and grow in adoration when he got to the part about his arrival in Mondstadt, and his first meeting with Frederica, who always smiled amusedly as she listened with them. Jean would sit wide-eyed as he spun his memories into these tales, by herself at first, and later on with a younger sister pressed against her side.
But most evenings, he wasn’t home, and she was content among his keepsakes, whispering the stories to herself and to Barbara.
Dearest, Barbara.
Jean instantly adored her when she first set gaze on her sister, born in the early summer with tiny wisps of hair curled messily on her head like playful rays of sunlight on water. She had cooed in her sleep, a tiny hand wrapped around one of Jean’s fingers, and the not-yet Dandelion Knight vowed to protect her with her life. To be there, always.
She said so out loud and her parents laughed good-naturedly.
In the first few months, Jean was able to keep her promise. She helped feed Barbara, played with her, told her fairy tales and Mondstadt’s history and their father’s adventures, and sang lullabies until she slept.
Then her training pulled her away. Tried to, at the start. She would spend most of her free time after and between her busy schedule with her sister. Jean even suggested that Barbara join her, and that had been approved. But as more lessons were included or prolonged, it was clear to her that Barbara did not share the same interest as she did, nor was she placed with the same expectations. So Barbara would be whisked away with her father to help and learn about his duties. Jean had looked forward to when they returned.
Until they wouldn’t.
When her parents made their announcement, calm and collected as if it was always meant to be, Jean felt anything but. There was an angry, confusing storm in her, bottled up until they left her alone to sleep.
She did not sleep.
She could not understand why her parents could not just love each other again as the characters did in the stories she sometimes read late at night (secretly), reunited in a whirlwind of heartfelt confessions about their undying devotion. Everything was fine. What happened? Was it her?
And Barbara. Why is she being taken away?
She tossed and turned and woke up in the late morning after falling asleep hours before the sun peaked above the horizon. There was no training or lectures. They had been canceled. Instead, servants milled around, rearranging and clearing the presence of her family, halved and packed neatly into boxes to be carried out.
A week later, only two remained at the doorstep. Jean gazed at the retreating figures: One, a father that would grow less so not in name but in nature, and the other, a sister who she still vowed to protect, even if it is from a place longer than an arm’s reach away.
For Mondstadt, always.
Jean filled the emptiness of her home with even more tasks to complete in her already busy schedule.
Frederica helped, pointing out half-hours and quarter-hours, down to minutes of where she could have something to do. Breakfast, lectures, strength-building, fighting lessons, lunch, lectures…
It sufficed.
At one point, she was integrated into the Knights of Favonius. Her training slowly transferred to their hands, and she saw her mother less often. It was freeing, in a way. And she found friends amongst her comrades.
Jean excelled. At the age of fifteen, she was bestowed the title "Dandelion Knight" and made Captain of her squad.
There was a celebration for her conferment. Half of the city was there, drunk on Dandelion Wine, spirits raised high above their heads. She let herself enjoy the noise, the ceaseless chatter and loud laughter and playful music, and admired the late afternoon skies that contrasted beautifully with the decorative lights and flowers around Barbatos’s statue. She shook hands with familiar citizens and was clamped in fierce hugs by her squad. Even Frederica’s hand perched on her shoulder was firm and proud.
In the midst of the crowd, she saw Barbara and her father, and the merriness faded just a bit.
They approached and her parents exchanged pleasantries, cordial and respectful, and she took the time to observe Barbara with a queasiness in her stomach that she mourned over later. Barbara observed her with a similar expression.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Barbara. How are you?”
“I’m doing good. And you?”
“I am well. It is nice to see you again.”
They gracefully retreated and she lost them in the crowd once more. She did not know if they left or stayed.
Her mother then nudged her, subtly, to the waves of people and she went to mingle. She greeted Kaeya and Diluc first, familiar faces that provided her some relief. They both congratulated her and, in their small group, conversed more about fighting techniques, their duties as Knights, and personal day-to-day interests. Then she noticed the whispers and looks.
There have always been, of course, talks of her and the young but distinguished eldest son of Crepus Ragnvindr. Teasing whispers of their friendship… and the possibility of more. Her mother didn’t look opposed to it. If anything, considerate was befitting to describe Frederica’s expression. Jean saw the way the other girls swooned over him, vying for his attention. But where there should have been interest, Jean mostly felt… awkward, for the lack of better words. She admired his accomplishments, yes, but there was no intense desire for his attention or romantic affection. On worst days, she felt repulsed, though it is always masked with polite deflections as taught by her. Not of Diluc himself, mostly, but of the talks.
Sometimes she thinks she sees the same in his eyes.
There was another meaning underlying some of their whispers, she knows, from years under subtle scrutiny. A child of divorce. A Gunnhildr marriage ending in a mutual parting of the two parties… or did it?
All rubbish and nonsense. In a desperate attempt to escape the prickly rumors, the phantom flitting eyes of a sister she barely knew, and the stifling excitement of the crowd paired with their encroaching expectations, Jean smoothly excused herself and fled to Windrise.
It is something she found herself doing more often when her schedule tired her out, wore down her mental barriers until doubt to trickle through. She would relay her worries to the tremendous Windrise tree as Barbatos’s statue guarded her back, and allowed the history of the first Dandelion Knight to wash over her: Vanessa's courage, wisdom, and strength.
A gentle breeze surrounded her then. Jean did not see how the Anemo archon’s statue shone just a lightwave brighter behind her, but she did let the wind carry away the heavy burden off her shoulders, if only for that moment.
Jean gets her first kiss a week later.
It was with a servant girl a year older that hailed from Fontaine. She had been in the Gunnhildr household for about three years, and Jean had always admired her.
“Amelia. It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Jean.” She had given a friendly smile and a friendlier wink with her introduction, and flustered, Jean stammered out a greeting in return, adding, “Just Jean is fine.”
She was a hard worker, meticulous and prepared, always there when needed. She was more… extroverted than Jean expected, a bright flame that drew her in with her easy-going smile and almost boundless energy. She also was one of Jean’s first friends before she joined the Knights. A shoulder to lean on when it was too much, drained to the point where she couldn’t even make it to the Windrise tree.
Amelia was also blunt, but not unkind. Jean could tell Frederica admired that part of her, and where others would have enacted disciplinary actions, she was promoted to head of the servants just a couple weeks before Jean’s ceremony.
After her conferment celebration had dwindled to a small afterparty before eventually coming to an end, with citizens sent home buzzed with alcohol and excitement, Jean returned to the estate.
Amelia was busy preparing for the celebration, so much so that she had been unable to offer her own congratulations, but there she was, by the front door with a lantern in hand, waiting for Jean.
They sat and talked throughout that night in Jean’s room, a mug of hot chocolate Amelia made for them, carving precious moments for themselves in the quiet corners of endless hallways and busy schedules.
Seven nights later, when she kissed Amelia, she couldn't help but think it was all rather ironic — that despite the number of hours she had spent devoted to her swords, she had found there is one type she hated the most.
That moment, she found, was only a temporary relief.
It took her by surprise—the memories and old reminders doubling as rumors that discreetly reappeared and clamped down on her tight. Jean felt them most keenly in the hands that grasped her own, in the words she could not say back, caged like a pretty bird in her throat.
And her role as Captain only served to drive them further apart, eating away their time spent together.
She was not ready. Not yet.
Jean told her, guilty and relieved, so as to not string her along. That would have weighed on her mind heavily. They parted as friends. Amelia eventually left their household to return to her family in Fontaine. Before she crossed the threshold and beyond Mondstadt’s peaks, she placed a gentle kiss on Jean’s right cheek and told her she hoped that one day, Jean would love wholly and unguarded, even despite the possibility of a broken heart.
Jean only allowed herself to cry when they were finally a mountain apart.
Chaos seeped between Mondstadt’s walls. She welcomed the distraction before it blew up in her face.
Disaster followed after being promoted to Master of the Knights two years after being Captain. There was a complicated trail of corruption and bribery from forces outside and within, and she had her hands filled trying to keep Varka from leaving on another expedition while the undercurrents of Mondstadt’s political and economic tides were shifting with uncertainty.
Dear Barbatos. She admired the man and all that he’s done, and though she understood his character and his position, Jean sometimes had to keep away the frustration that always threatened to overtake her whenever he dumped another situation in her hand before taking off.
Nothing she couldn’t handle. She always persevered.
Of course, it went from bad to worse, when news of Crepus’s death pierced the city. And it goes from worse to devastating when Diluc stormed into the office soon after, resigning without an explanation, and when Enoch claimed Crepes’s sacrifice for himself. Jean was forced to rush after Diluc, catching him just in time before he vanished to uncover the truth. She remembered the flames flickering in his eyes, hiding the grief and shame swelling behind those burning walls, and her heart broke for her friend. There was no stopping him.
Instead, she squeezed his arm and offered a small prayer. “May the Anemo Archon protect you.”
He left and she reported her findings to Varka.
Enoch and his followers were forced out of the Knights of Favonius and out of Mondstadt. She didn't see Diluc for the next four years. Jean was left to tend to the last remaining ties of his small family. With Varka’s approval, she later promoted Kaeya to Calvary Captain.
Her eighteenth birthday passed without her notice. She was reminded only by a card and fresh coffee beans from Barbara a few days after, and a bottle of red wine from Kaeya.
Chaos, forced into the shadows and underground, triangulated around Mondstadt. Despite uprooting the ex-Investigator and his followers, there were still those that slipped through their investigation and plotted to overthrow the current Knights of Favonius. Sensing the political turmoil, the oppressive presence of the Fatui closed in, threatening to choke out Mondstadt’s control. And, of course, the Abyss. They still were no closer to understanding the goals of the sinister, monstrous group.
With most of her days either out on investigations or combing through reports, Jean couldn’t visit her Windrise tree as much. But on one day in particular when Varka, seeing how stressed and exhausted Jean was, dismissed her on a mandatory hour break. She talked to the towering oak tree and felt the breeze answer like always.
But this time, it was different.
The statue behind her pulsed in white and aquamarine lights, brighter and brighter with each wave, then luminous enough that Jean turned around in confusion before shielding herself as a blinding wave of white light washed over everything.
She opened her eyes to find an Anemo vision twinkling on the grass, surrounded by freshly bloomed dandelions.
The winds urged her forward. For Mondstadt, always.
Vision tucked safely into her pocket, she returned to her city.
A few days later, she was introduced to Lisa Minci.
When Jean was younger and only a Captain, she had only seen the Librarian a handful of times from a distance before Lisa left for Sumeru for her studies. It was strange for her to return so soon, for Sumeru scholars tend to stay there for at least a decade for their research. Jean asked about her early departure out of curiosity.
“My interests changed and the Academy no longer suited me.”
And that was that. Their attention and energy were redirected by Varka as they dove headfirst into their efforts to keep Mondstadt safe. Leaving Jean once more with the responsibility to protect the city, Varka and a handful of experienced Knights trekked to the outskirts of their nation and beyond for their own necessary expeditions. There were more investigations and scouting teams and patrols. Jean and the others worked tirelessly, leaving frequently to destroy Abyss camps and untangle plots from the Fatui and Epoch sympathizers.
Lisa had been especially helpful on the latter two issues, often returning with whispers of betrayal and dangerous plans. When Jean asked about Lisa’s sources, the Librarian only shared a secretive smile and asked Jean to trust her.
She did. And they succeeded. The Abyss was beaten further back, Fatui diplomats and soldiers eased off, and Epoch’s followers were slowly but surely detained.
Jean knew it would not last, that sooner or later, these problems would return. For now, though, she was content with their victory.
The next two years passed by relatively peacefully. And in two years, her relationship with Lisa strengthened in a way that took Jean by surprise.
The older woman had insisted on breakfast with her every day, and reluctant at first, afraid that Lisa would be bored with her, Jean began to look forward to mornings with her. She also continued to provide necessary information to maintain Mondstadt's safety and peace (with reassurances that she had been ethical… well, as ethical as she can be with enemies and traitors.) In turn, Jean helped to collect overdue books and found texts for Lisa through her connection with the other nations, and ordered expensive potion ingredients and supplies. Lisa had been particularly grateful to Jean for smashing up a pumpkin for an experimental potion.
Lisa had, inexorably, become one of her closest allies and friends.
And, somewhere down the line, her view on their relationship changed again.
When she heard the way Lisa called everyone “cutie” and “sweetie” and “dear,” when she watched citizens and even Knights approach Lisa to talk…or to hand her gifts, some shyly and others boldly, Jean couldn’t help but feel…something. Jealousy, she realized later, and then guilt. Guilt for thinking that Lisa could only be her companion as if she was an object or pet that only Jean was allowed to have. But a part of her was afraid that Lisa would be pulled away from her side.
And she hated the way she felt relieved when Lisa would reject their advances and keep most of them at a friendly distance away, and hated how it hurts in a way that Jean couldn’t understand why.
One night, while Lisa set down a cup of tea for her, a revelation was planted in her mind. She dismissed the foolish thought, hoping her neglect would prevent it from growing out of hand.
But there was no stopping it.
It was an ordinary day when Jean realized she was in love.
A headache was forming from the ungodly amount of paperwork and the lack of proper sleep trying to untangle a problem that was slowly becoming a bigger problem on top of other problems. As a remedy, Lisa peeled and offered her a slice of tangerine.
"My dearest, Jean. You know you can always tell me what's on your mind."
And how she very much wanted to. Jean wanted a moment in that pleasant evening to curl up against the couch with Lisa next to her, perhaps a book on the mage’s lap, momentarily forgotten, as she listens to Jean unlock the words from her thoughts and let them tumble out without too much judgment or criticism.
If she was selfish, Jean would tell her about the heavy burdens weighing on her shoulders and the doubts gnawing away at her, and the little annoyances that she needs to vent out with only a little bit of heat behind her words.
She would tell Lisa how breakfast with her rights all the wrongs in the world. That their tea breaks and city patrols together were the much-needed pause on the ever-rushing tide of time, and how she feels at home under the blankets Lisa sometimes placed on her shoulders whenever Jean fell asleep on top of her paperwork, deep in slumber until morning when eggs on toast and a freshly brewed cup of coffee would greet her like old friends.
And when she is done, Jean would listen to Lisa in return, soaking up all that she has to say like roses in sunlight.
Jean is sure Lisa knows all this already by the way her smile gently curves into understanding when Jean could only thank her in that professional, off-kilter way despite the genuineness she tried to instill into her appreciation, and when Jean repaid her kindness with helpful, acknowledging actions. But that only fueled her desire to voice them, to solidify them in a way that is different, but just as meaningful.
Jean stared at the piece of tangerine in her outstretched hand.
And if she was selfish, she would kiss the palm of that altar and pour all the rolling, tumultuous, and overwhelming affection for Lisa upon it. It pushed at her that very moment, tore at her very being, wanting like a dandelion in the wind to be carried up, up, up. To make their desires known.
A sudden thought surged. You are the arrow on weathervanes that have caught the winds of my affection, all poised to strike me, to maim. Will it hurt? Would you notice? It does not matter. I would let you pierce me anyway.
But even if the arrow did fly and strike true, there would be nothing but a puff of dandelion seeds, only a romantic notion that amounts to nothing after the wind scatters away the illusion.
What could she offer, other than her title and her work? There are grander people out there. Better, more deserving of Lisa’s attention and affection. Jean will not deceive her so she will do none of that.
"Everything's fine, Lisa. Thank you."
She took the tangerine offering and found comfort in the sweet tartness bursting under her tongue.
“I’m tired of your lovesick expressions. When are you going to tell her?”
Jean started, taken aback by the bluntness, and tried not to choke on her water. If it was anyone else, Jean would calmly and professionally tell them to mind their own business. But it’s Eula, so she didn’t.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She pursed her lips and prayed the Reconnaissance Captain would leave it at that. She doesn’t need her team to gossip about her love life.
“Don’t play dumb. You have been clearly distracted during our sparring sessions.” Eula harrumphed instead, wiping off sweat and grime before inspecting her claymore. “And anyone with eyes can see the Librarian ogling you in that get-up.”
Jean looked down at her plain, sweaty beige shirt and black pants and it was all so absurd. “She doesn’t find me attractive.”
Eula rolled her eyes. “Barbatos help me. You are so oblivious.”
“Eula! I'm serious.”
“And I’m being serious. Anyone with eyes can see you are attractive. You’re not my type, though. Lisa doesn’t have to worry about me. In case she is. I don’t want to cross her.” Eula shuddered.
Ears burning, she wanted to deny it all. But all that comes out is a desperate, “Please don’t give me hope.”
That made the Captain pause. She tilted her head slightly as though rerunning some sort of ridiculous calculations with this new piece of information and her expression softened. “I see.”
Refusing to take the bait, Jean threw out, “And what about you and a certain Outrider?”
“Hmph. That’s the end of this conversation. You will pay for wasting my time.”
“You brought it up first.”
They raised their weapons and readied themselves for another round.
The Knights returned from the battle victorious, but there were still the injured to be cared for and the dead to be laid to rest. Jean pressed a hand to her head and rubbed away the tension there. Whatever the Abyss lector did, its effect seemed to linger.
Barbara approached where she was seated on one of the benches inside the infirmary.
“Eula will be fine. She is recovering swiftly and Amber refuses to leave her side. Now hold still so I can look over you.”
Instead, Jean brushed aside Barbara’s frantic inspection, earning her a scowl in return that was smoothed out in an instant.
“I am well, Barbara. I suffered no major injuries. Please, tend to the others first.”
Barbara furrowed her brows and Jean wished she wasn’t the source of it but it couldn't be helped. Before her sister could respond, one of the other healers called for Barbara. She left with a reluctant goodbye, making Jean promise that she would come back once the mayhem died down.
She slipped out of the building and briskly walked into the Favonius Headquarters, ignoring her aching feet and the dull pain radiating from the bruises and scratches, especially the one on her right upper arm where an arrow had clipped her. That was the only injury Barbra had time to clean and bandage.
When Jean opened the door to the office, Lisa, seated at the Acting Grand Master chair, declared that Jean would not be doing any paperwork… or any type of work for that matter.
“Lisa, I appreciate your concern but these are urgent. There are more supplies to be ordered as well and I have to send correspondence to Varka as soon as possible. More reports so we can be prepared for another attack.”
The Librarian stood and moved to stand in front of the desk, not unlike a guard refusing entry. “I have already ordered the inventory we needed. The letter is completed and we just need your approval. Strategizing can be done after your rest.”
“I cannot.” Jean needed her to understand. The faces of the deceased and injured flashed in front of her. “I was not prepared enough. It is my job to ensure there will be fewer casualties in the future. What good am I if I cannot do this one thing?
“You’re not just a tool to be used!” She did not expect the expression on Lisa's face. Solemn, incredibly so, and almost… angry. The air around them bristled with Electro energy and Jean nearly took a step back in surprise. Lisa must have realized the intensity of her reaction and schooled her features into something less severe. The Electro field faded.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa murmured. “I just—my dear, we'll talk about that later. I understand the urgency of the situation, I really do, but you cannot run yourself into the ground like this. You’ve just come back from a battle. The city is safe. So please.”
There was a moment of silence as Jean swayed slightly, partly from exhaustion and partly from Lisa’s words, from her tone.
She nodded and allowed Lisa to guide her to the couch, noticing the blanket folded on one side of it, prepared by Lisa for her. She carefully removed her boots and cloak while Lisa retrieved the med kit. Jean allowed herself to be taken care of and worried over, trying to ignore the gentle ache in her chest by it all, and how Lisa looked at her as she brushed back her hair to clean the thin scratches on her cheeks. When all her injuries were finally treated, Jean laid her head on one of the pillows and Lisa wrapped the blanket around her.
Satisfied, Lisa reseated herself behind the desk and immediately continued on the report she was writing before Jean arrived. Jean listened to the soft scratching of the quill on paper as she watched Lisa work, drinking in the sight of her from this angle, too tired to be embarrassed if she was caught looking.
You’re not just a tool to be used. The words and the touch of Lisa’s steady hand echoed in her mind.
“Thank you, Lisa,” Jean whispered and finally let herself drift off to sleep.
There's no way this isn't a coincidence, Jean thought as she flipped to the last page. When Jean asked where Klee had gotten the book, she said Kaeya had given it to her. Jean's only blessing is that they were seated at the lower area of the library, hopefully far away enough that Lisa had not heard any of this.
Utterly ridiculous, this whole thing. Jean took a deep breath before continuing. "Reunited with their daughter, the witch and her knight spent the rest of their days traveling the continent, living—"
"—happily ever after," Klee finished sleepily, yawning contentedly, and further leaned against Jean, who gently tucked a hair behind her ear and wrapped an arm around the child.
"They're kind of like you and Ms. Lisa…"
Jean froze, but Klee was already asleep, her breathing even and soft. Dazed, Jean's gaze fell on the illustration in the book: one woman in armor and another in a simple but fine-fitted suit, each grasping one of the little girl's hands to lift her in the air between them.
She shut the book and tucked it under her arm before gingerly lifting Klee up, careful not to disturb her.
The library had long been closed and deserted, but Lisa allowed them to stay a little longer than usual. Jean made a note to order another jar of her favorite jam and a box of expensive Liyue tea recommended by the Tianquan herself.
She reached the top of the stairs to see Lisa still there at her desk, the large potion book opened but no longer being read. The Librarian had fallen asleep, chin in hand and elbow propped on the table. A small smile tugged at Jean's lips at the serene scene before her.
"Lisa," she whispered.
The Librarian slowly opened her eyes, blinking the sleep away. "Hmm? Finished, dear?"
"Y-yes." Jean shifted Klee in her arms, still not used to the nicknames after all this time. "We're leaving now. Thank you for letting us stay."
"Of course… my brave Knight," Lisa smiled knowingly and Jean felt her cheeks burn.
"Ah…" Jean fumbled for words while Lisa grinned. "Oh hush, you. I'll take Klee back to her room. Take care and goodnight Lisa."
Lisa laughed softly. "Goodnight Jean. By the way, your order arrived. I placed it in your office."
"Thank you. I'll go get it after. I'll see you tomorrow."
After Jean snugly tucked the blankets around Klee and said her goodnights, Jean went to the office to collect her books.
The package sat on her desk, as promised, and Jean opened the delivery, embarrassment flooding through her for a millisecond before it was replaced with delight when she saw the covers. She dutifully discarded the brown paper packaging and saved the ribbon that held the stack together. For another use.
As she shuffled through the books, a thin one fell out from the middle of the pile. She bent down to pick it up and frowned.
Confessions Without Sound by Mira.
This wasn’t on her list. Or was it? Maybe it was a recommendation she had forgotten about. Unlikely, but…
Inside, the acknowledgment read: From the ocean, to the moon. There is a love I hope to return to you tenfold.
Jean looked over it again with a pang in her chest. She delicately thumbed through the pages and saw that it was a collection of poems. Her eyes caught the tip of a bookmark between the pages. Curious, she flipped to it.
The bookmark had a slight gold outline and the center was laminated and clear, where dried purple rose petals were artfully decorated around a pressed dandelion. There was also a note written in familiar handwriting.
To my dearest one. You are more than what you believe yourself to be and I will have every part of you. Take your time but please, consider.
Breath caught in her throat, Jean silently read the poem.
"Again, Always."
There is a tick in Her arms.
It slows, it speeds, and sometimes, rarely, it stops.
But the last possibility can only be found
At your doorstep, again, with flowers in hand…
Whose petals fall around our feet,
As you speak while I do not, here,
Know why I am always mesmerized
By the juxtaposition of us.
Jean stumbled, slowly, word by word. Line by line. Then, after realizations and post-realizations, she gently closed the book and tried not to fall apart.
She did not give her answer immediately. Instead, she asked for time, and Lisa, ever so patient, did not push.
They talked. Worked out the complicated knots in themselves and laid what untangled out in the open.
If you would still have me?
I would. And… you?
Yes.
A month later, when Jean brought the jam and tea, she could taste them on her own lips when Lisa kissed her.