Work Text:
It was just over a month before the next extermination, but instead of preparing herself and her daughters for what was to come, Carmilla was on her way to Zestial's house alone.
It was Zestial who had started this tradition of theirs, and had been him that sustained it for the most part, as it took her several decades to catch onto what he was doing and several more to begin to see it as something more than just one of her friend's odd quirks. In recent years, and she wished she had told him as much, she had even begun to remember this date and attempted to ensure she had the evening off rather than needing to settle for a cup of tea between meetings or sharing a lunch in her office. This wasn't to say that she didn't enjoy simply sharing a snack with him; indeed, he always ensured the best quality, and even something as simple as a pot of tea would be supplemented with baked goods, enough for her to keep a couple to nibble on throughout the rest of the day, however the opportunity to spend an entire evening with the man she loved was something she wouldn't ever pass up. She knew that there was seldom anything more special to him than time, and simply knowing that he took so much care just to spend it with her was almost worth more to her than the actual time spent with him.
Just a year ago he had been here with her, knocking on her door out of politeness rather than obligation—for only he and her daughters had her permission to interrupt her work—and she had opened her office to him to see him arrive with a paper bag containing a small number of baked goods for the two of them to share, as well as a doughnut each for her to deliver to her daughters at the end of the day. Zestial had sent her a message with his expected arrival time, so she already had water prepared for their tea. Had it not been for Zestial's fondness of the drink, Carmilla doubted she would have ever tried it, let alone begun to cherish it. That fondness, she realized, was mostly in association with her friend, with how the smell of his favourite blends reminded her of him, and the warmth reminding her of relaxing beside him in the evenings as opposed to how the warmth of coffee made her think of mornings.
Unlike Zestial, Carmilla didn't bother knocking as she used the key he gave her to let herself in and was greeted by the familiar smell of dry wood and cobwebs. His home was distinctly him; dark and imposing, everything was built tall and made of handcrafted materials which showed their age, wear and repair both worn proudly on ornately carved wood and wrought iron. In another place, these details would have been a far more subtle show of power than the Vee tower, or even her own office with it's multitude of angelic weapons decorating the walls, but no one who was allowed to enter his home was anyone who would be affected by a display of wealth, as only his closest companions were gifted access. Instead, the intricate details in places which were designed to be overlooked were simply chosen for Zestial's own tastes, and Carmilla would be lying if she said she hadn't considered how the look of her home would change if it were Zestial's as well.
In the stale air, nothing had changed, and Carmilla made her way to the kitchen, placing the small paper bag on the counter. In the cupboards sat his copper kettle, placed there by her own hands from the last time she spent the night here and used it for herself.
She paused as she held the kettle in her hands. The knowledge that it was she who last used the kettle rather than her friend, particularly knowing also that the last time she had been here was months ago, made her feel ill. The only thing preventing this place from being a haunted house was the lack of spirits, though she could certainly have counted as one last year.
She had asked him, once, why he only took this day with her and not her daughters as well, to which he had informed her that he set aside days for each of them alone, though he would be more than willing to spend time with the three of them if that was what Carmilla wanted.
Surprising Zestial, Carmilla had elected to keep this tradition solely between the two of them. Comforted and endeared by the knowledge that Zestial had not only remembered an anniversary for her but other dates that both Clara and Odette could share with him, she chose to keep these days with him private. Though she hadn't realized it at the time, these days were special to her.
As Carmilla waited for the kettle to boil, she made her way to the living room, avoiding the light switch in favour of heading to the fireplace.
The pile of logs had a thin layer of dust over them as well as several spiders having made webs in the angles, though this second part was less unusual for this home.
“Hola arañitas,” she said to the webs softly, “I'll be needing some of these.”
In any other situation she would have felt foolish talking to creatures which hadn't the capacity to understand her, but these spiders were his. Not only did they deserve far more respect than any other common creature but she couldn't be certain that they didn't understand her. For all she knew, Zestial would be able to hear her through them, wherever he was. She had tried to listen to them in the hopes that he would send her a message, or to speak to them in the hopes that he would hear her to no avail.
Carmilla didn't need the fire for heat, but Zestial would often put one on for light rather than use a lantern or electric lighting, preferring the ambiance of the fire, and so she put the fire on for him. She sat on the chair she used most regularly and stared at the flames as the fire began to flicker to life.
The first instance of this day had begun with a letter from Zestial asking if she was willing to share a spot of tea with him between her meetings, and despite the mild apprehensions she still had with the ancient overlord, she had agreed. It was a pleasant affair, possibly for the reason that it had been so simple. Zestial had brought tea and scones to share while Carmilla supplied the cutlery. Their meeting hadn't lasted longer than a half hour, and they didn't say much between them, but Carmilla was surprised at how nice it was to simply spend time with him. When a similar message from Zestial appeared the following year, Carmilla didn't even need to consider the message before she was writing back her agreement.
Carmilla hadn't caught onto the pattern for an embarrassing few decades, as it hadn't occurred to her that Zestial had been choosing this specific date until she had caught onto the fact that he always requested to spend some time with her one month before the annual extermination. She had initially assumed it was the old Overlord's own way of ensuring she took some time to relax before the most difficult time of the year, but when she had thanked him for his generosity during their meeting he had been surprised by her deduction.
The purpose of the annual meetups, as admitted by Zestial, was that this day was the anniversary of when they first met. Not quite the first time they had seen each other, but the first time they had given formal introductions, and thus the start of their friendship.
Carmilla hadn't realized that he had memorized that date, and had been surprised but charmed that Zestial had deemed meeting her important enough to make an anniversary out of, though it took her far longer to begin to see it with a similar importance as him.
Initially, it had simply been a day to spend with her friend, but as time grew on and they grew closer, as her platonic affection for the spider demon blossomed into something different, she began to see the date as something more than just a way to spend time with him. It was, after all, the day she had met the man who would one day own her heart. It was the day she'd met her closest friend.
The whistle of the kettle threw Carmilla from her revelry, and she nearly leapt from the chair in surprise before walking over to finish making the tea.
She picked out a mug for herself then paused at the sets of teacups. She didn't want to become just another woman in grief, always making a place for someone not there, but it felt wrong to celebrate this day without him. She wished she were able to feed his spiders, for then she would have been able to gift them something in his steed, but most of them were too small for commercial spider food and any of the larger ones had made their homes in less conspicuous areas.
She was going to close the cupboards before changing her mind and picking up a red-rimmed teacup for Zestial. She didn't know if setting a place for him would make her feel more or less lonely, but better to make a place and not need it than not have a place and need it.
She prepared a teabag for hers and loose leaves for his before opening the bag she had brought with herself, containing two scones from a bakery Zestial spoke fondly of. Carmilla had at least managed to secure that part of his territory when news of his disappearance spread, and she hoped that what she had managed to protect from prying eyes and greedy hands would be enough. Carmilla took two plates from the cupboards and placed one scone on each, before taking them to the table by the fireplace and sitting in her chair again.
Across from her chair was his own, and like his house, like him, it was tall and dark. It was a nearly throne-like design made of intricately carved wood—a custom design evident by the skulls and spider motifs found in the arms and legs, covered in dark fabric—even the fabric was commissioned. Her own chair almost looked out of place in a house as dark as his, with metalwork that was far more polished than the blackened iron of his house and fabric of an off-white which he only ever used as an accent colour. Just as the dark and imposing armchair was his, this silver one was hers.
In the seat of his chair, a spider innocently sat in its spun web, and had Carmilla not been so sick with worry over her friend she would almost be able to delude herself into thinking that the spider was him, silently watching over her in his own way.
She nearly prayed that her theory about his location was right, for if it wasn't they had run out of options, and even knowing he was alive she might be forced to give up on him. She didn't know where he was, but to be gone for this long without so much as a note and with his territory falling into anarchy could only mean that he hadn't left of his own will, and to stay gone for so long without news only meant that he was incapable of returning for whatever reason. Carmilla and her daughters were perhaps the only ones willing to look for him, and she knew that abandoning him would only lead to his death. If that were to happen, Carmilla didn't know if she would ever manage to forgive herself, or if she would even care to forgive herself knowing how horrifically she had failed her friend.
Carmilla raised the tea to her lips and breathed in the steam to soothe her pained throat before abruptly remembering she had forgotten the sugar. She didn't tend to use any, but Zestial did, and she flipped between getting the sugar jar for someone who wasn't with her or just drinking her own tea before deciding that if she was going to set a place for Zestial, she would rather have it be complete. Zestial would bring out a creamer for the two of them despite neither of them tending to use it, and so Carmilla felt comfortable not getting that.
With the sugar in the centre of the table, Carmilla looked back to the empty chair beside her. The empty seat with a full plate didn't make her feel better or worse, just empty, and neither the tea nor scone made her feel any different. She barely even registered the taste of the hibiscus and honey as she sipped from the warm mug.
“Happy anniversary, Zestial,” Carmilla said to the empty seat, and despite her efforts she wasn't able to keep the hollow tone from her voice.
She wondered if he knew what day it was, and if he was thinking of her in the same way she thought of him.