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A blanket covered the sky, winter chill chipping away at the windows of the cabin. Heat radiated inside however, the slow encompass of comfort wrapping around the air. The crackle of the fire blending into the soft hum of silence. The claws of the world had no place here, it was just them, finding themselves where the world had gone quiet.
Home brought itself to the tips of their tongues. As if they had been travelling so long that now they see land. Is that what home meant? To feel safe? Every bad thing had faded into nothing more than events that led them to here, now.
Raelle never knew that there would be such pleasure in being forgotten. To climb into the bed of a quiet life. To look into a mirror and finally being able to recognize herself again. The cabin wasn’t near perfect — the doors rusted, the carpet worn in places, the floorboards creaking — but in it, tranquility at last, could have a it’s breath. It had been woven together from a dream.
However, nightmares were just as much an accomplice to sleep as dreams were, war was grooved into the back of her eyes, the light of eternal unrest keeping her up at hours condemned to just the opposite. She didn’t know how much more she had to scrub before her mind realized that the sirens didn’t need to be on anymore.
Scylla sat on the sofa, her hands wrapped around a book that not in a million years Raelle would ever recognise. She watched as Scylla’s eyebrow quirked, how her lips pressed together. It was the same expression Raelle remembered from Fort Salem, from through early morning haze she opened her eyes to find Scylla studying at her desk. Raelle didn’t know how it was possible that Scylla was as beautiful as the first time she saw her, perhaps even more so.
She wore age with a soothing grace, laugh lines becoming that little more pronounced. The same sophistication rumbling under her fingertips.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m admiring.”
Scylla huffed, setting the book down and opening her arms. Raelle trugged over, eventually wrapping herself around her and laying her head on her chest. From where Raelle’s shirt rode up, Scylla drew inchorent patterns. It didn’t take long before their breaths synchronized.
She was becoming more and more convinced that this is what she was born to do. That lying in the arms of the girl who she loves most was enough, that the world didn’t need them to be anything else than idiots in love. This is what they fought for.