Work Text:
Business as usual? Accusations, laid in whispers at the edge of earshot, followed her down the streets. Can't even bother to shed a tear? Poor Lyney, he was such a devoted brother.Through their gossip, they demanded a show. They required proof of the weightiness of her heart to judge against her love for Lyney upon the scales. Thus they viewed her dry eyes and blank face as an expression of its absence.
A sludge, bitter and hateful, ran down the back of her throat. They had no foothold to stand against her in this trial of grief. Among the whole of Fontaine, not one soul understood her own in the way that Lyney did - and she of his. What did they know of either twin, other than the performance they gave to Fontaine?
Lynette carried her brother's casket to its internment. Others of their family helped. She held her handle tight enough to blanch her knuckles and her fingernails left behind blood half-moons upon her palms. Her brother's weight was doubled by the casket's wooden material, then quadrupled by her heart. She didn't breathe through the whole service - didn't remember doing so - and her pulse only began again at Father's still hand upon her shoulder.
The Knave didn't speak words of condolence, but her presence at Lynette's side was an emotional guard against those who came to offer theirs for who they saw as a talented magician who had taken Fontaine by storm.
That was the least of who Lyney had been.
A private wake among family, and a public service. By the end, Lynette had grown thoroughly numb. When she returned to her room, she didn't sleep, didn't move, and the hours passed her blindly.
At times, the claws rent through Lynette's chest, and agony would twist her, screaming into her pillow. Her voice echoed back painfully into her ears. She would yank, tear, and twist at her blankets, and scratch long furrows into the headboard until her nails broke. Then she would lie on her back and gasp for air, sucking away the pain of her bleeding nailbeds.
And then it would vanish. An unreadable slate, she would do what had to be done that day. She made her rounds on the Court of Fontaine. Fully aware in the moment, her memories vanished the moment the door to Hotel Bouffes d'ete swung shut behind her. Only in numbness and memory loss could she ever function without Lyney.
Because they only had half a story, maybe those whispers were still half-right. If they asked her how she felt in the moment, it would be "nothing at all". If they said that Lyney deserved a better sister, she couldn't deny. Now that the twins had forever parted, she remembered every flaw she had, every misstep she took. Each one would only ever be flaws and mistakes that troubled him. Any growth in the future came too late.
She doubted her own heart. It sat like a leaden ball in the depths of her chest, but she understood the vivid, maddened displays of grief, emotions demanding they claw out. Alone, at times, she wept and descended into hysterics, yet so much more of the time she spent unfeeling and unthinking. Perhaps she might be a monster; she did not recognize the weight as grief, saddness, or mourning… no, she couldn't feel anything. And were her private fits not a performance themselves? Once they passed, she did not understand what had overcome her.
Or she did, but she didn't know if it were the correct emotion. Lynette felt… heavy. Gone.
Lyney would know, if Lyney were there. He always guided her thoughts when she struggled with decisions, when she didn't understand. Without him, it seemed like she had been bisected, her left side discard.
Lynette closed her eyes. Not a single tear stirred beneath her lids.
If only she could will the time undone, and open her eyes to Lyney's return.