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After the war, Lysithea’s hair comes out in chunks.
Most of it slips free of its own volition, long spills of silver falling to the ground when she shakes her head too sharply or moves too quickly.
At school, Edelgard had wanted to run her hands through that hair, to give it such a gentle touch that for a moment Lysithea forgot to think of it as a horror. She never did, and now, Edelgard doesn’t dare, for fear of her hand coming back up covered in hair bloodied at one end, with the roots still attached.
“It’s fine,” Lysithea tells her, grabbing her wrist with fingers as cold as a corpse’s. “Or, it’s not, but - I always knew I’d have whatever time I have.” She takes in a deep breath, as though testing if she still can. “I’m still alive. I’ve accomplished more than I thought I would. I’m not - I’m not ready - ”
And here her voice cracks, and Edelgard sees the vulnerability underneath, all the soft places of Lysithea that no one else is allowed to touch. But only for a moment, before Lysithea clears her throat and continues. “But I’m not done yet. I’m going to work harder, work faster. I’ll figure it out. For both of us.”
As she says this, she touches Edelgard’s hair, where a lock of it hangs free from her crown, draping over her shoulder.
Her touch is so gentle, but Edelgard feels it pulse through her whole body, and all of a sudden, she feels as if she might be sick. “Excuse me,” she says.
She shouldn’t leave Lysithea in the library, poring over royal tomes like there will be an answer for them there. Edelgard already knows there won’t be. But Edelgard feels ill-equipped for comfort. She spent years cutting her own path, and her hands which held that knife have not molded into a more gentle shape.
She could never have touched Lysithea’s hair. But her hand - Edelgard was so close, her wrist between Lysithea’s cold fingers. She could have turned her hand, and held Lysithea’s.
She still can.
Edelgard pauses at the exit of the library, hand on the doorknob. She thinks when she turns she’ll see Lysithea already busy at work, head bent over books, unwilling to waste even a single moment. But when she turns, Lysithea is staring right back at her, eyes wide and empty, like reflective pools.
When she sees Edelgard looking, she blinks, and life returns indignantly. “I - ” Lysithea splutters, blushing, and looks down at her books, casting about for something to hide her face behind.
But Edelgard has made a name for herself with swift, decisive action, and this situation is no different. With a few strides, she crosses right back to Lysithea’s side, and grabs her hand.
Lysithea breathes in sharply, and Edelgard loosens her hold, trying for gentleness. But Lysithea does not look pained as she stares at Edelgard, or at least the pain does not look physical as she raises her other hand, letting it hover in the air like a question.
Edelgard answers by embracing her.
It doesn’t fix anything. Lysithea’s body is cold and frail in her arms. As Edelgard’s hand meets Lysithea’s back, she feels soft spots where they shouldn’t be, places where Lysithea’s body has already started to go wrong.
Edelgard’s mind is already slipping to dark places, even as she is shocked by the warmth of Lysithea’s breath against her neck. She remembers the experiments that were performed on her, the dark rituals, the flashing of knives before they dug into her skin. If she could replicate some of them - what wouldn’t Edelgard sacrifice, to give Lysithea a chance to live in this new future they have created together?
Lysithea’s free arm closes around Edelgard’s back. “We’ll figure it out,” she says fiercely, though she cannot know the endless tombs to which Edelgard’s mind has wandered.
Something slides from Edelgard’s head as they embrace. She hardly notices, but between them, Edelgard’s hair comes out in chunks, lying to rest like silver needles at their feet.