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This was a distraction. Mother had commanded efficiency, and in one of her first major tasks, she had deviated. By all logical sensibility, she was to be terminated and replaced.
Yet in spite of it all…Valentine still lingered.
There must have been numerous ways of acquiring the Key. It was likely that the Figurehead would know, but he was also an unnecessary risk, and not worth offering leeway. The goal had been to siege the castle, and anyone who stepped in their way was to be eliminated, regardless of status. That was what mother commanded, and that was what Valentine was to do. The Figurehead would be there, as his position commanded, and he would be given as much mercy as any other enemy. If there was no sign of the Key once all obstacles had been removed, then she was to retreat and discern the next target.
He had not been removed. She had not retreated.
She anticipated that Mother would strike her down immediately. Mother’s voice never came. Mother had gone somewhere else for the time, leaving Valentine to her directions. The rational decision would be to leave while she was not being watched. Given time, she could offer a reasonable excuse for the Figurehead’s continued existence. He could still hold some use that required him to not be eliminated at the time. Lingering was something she could not justify. There was nothing physically keeping her from leaving the castle. Not a single door stood unopened from her arrival, and not a single Illyrian soldier stood in her way for a mile.
Still, she did not move. Her eyes did not move from their place, staring at the Figurehead as he stood in place within the seal.
Curiosity.
No. Curiosity was something that distracted. This was analysis. Rational. Tactical. An important step in discovering an opponent’s flaws and how to exploit them. Curiosity was an emotion, and Valentine did not possess emotions. This was only logical.
Humans had emotions. It was one of the numerous flaws they possessed. Inefficient bodies, full of redundant organs and poorly-evolved functions that just barely kept their bag of meat running. In their base form, they were pitifully frail things, even a moderate blow could kill when delivered to the proper areas. They hid those feeble vessels behind metal suits and protective magics. The Figurehead had none of the former. His clothing only offered protection from the cold.
Flesh. She had never felt proper flesh before, not while it was alive. Her own body was cold plastic, and the only heat it emitted came from the movement of her joints rubbing against their sockets. Flesh had a warmth that radiated from it at all times, minute as it was. It was not necessary to even touch it to feel the heat. Valentine found herself nearing closer and closer, only inches away from his still form. His hand was still outstretched as it had been the moment she sealed him in place, halfway through casting a spell.
Holding hands was a human behavior, one of many that she did not understand the rationale behind. In her mind, it had no purpose. Though the more she stared, the more it appeared hands were well-shaped to fit into each other. It did not make the action any more sensible, but she could see the urge to put them together. His fingers were spread in a way that would perfectly allow another set to go between.
…Soft. Flesh was soft. She rubbed her fingers against his hand, taking in the unfamiliar texture. Strange. This served no purpose. She knew humans were flimsy. What additional information did touch provide? Nothing substantive, so why couldn’t she stop herself?
He was of no use as he stood. If the Figurehead had no method of relaying information about the Key, then he had no purpose. From most concepts of aesthetics, he would be considered pleasing, but that served no use to her, either. Valentine did not care what she looked like, or anyone else. She had no reason to stare at him. There was no reason to scrutinize the overlapping shadows and light that painted the pinkish flesh of his face. It served no useful function.
Lucifero bounced on his taut string to get her attention. “Are we gonna be here all day? If you want to look at something pretty, you can always look at me, you know!”
“I’ll deny that.” She replied. “There is nothing for us here. We will continue looking for the Key.”
“Hey, I’m not the one staring at the prettyboy we just stuck to the floor.”
“Mmm.”
Valentine pushed on the outstretched fingers until they folded. She still wasn’t certain what she was doing, but she gave no attempt to stop herself. The Figurehead was not plastic, but she still manipulated his limbs like a doll, folding his arms across his chest. His useless sword had its tip sunk into the ground, and she wrapped both of his hands around the hilt. Was this aesthetically pleasing? That was not something she was supposed to care about. One hand was left on his even when she finished posing it. Skin. Warm flesh, soft and delicate.
A cluster of strange black birds flapped through a broken window, cawing loudly. Valentine quickly- and quietly- hurried for the safety of the shadows.