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There is a curse that follows Elizabeth ever since Advent’s escape. It presents itself in small, insidious ways. The pain starts slow and muted. It’s manageable, but enough to make Elizabeth wince and pray that neither of her partners notice. Living with it is something that she’s come to accept. It’s always there, no matter how much she tries to convince herself it isn’t.
The existence of the scar grasps at the corners of her consciousness with shadowy tendrils. It reminds her of chains and smooth, cold stone; of blood crusted fingernails with crimson trailing the crevices where cement meets brick; of pained howling and agonizing screams.
It’s there again when she wakes up in the early morning; when the sky is violet and the sun dares to peek past the horizon. She feels her left arm buckle and a hiss leave her lungs as she untangles herself from the pile of limbs that snake around her.
It has been months now, but it never goes away. Always lurking in her mind and seeping deep into the marrow of her bones.
She tries not to use her sleeve as often. Shiori has been getting suspicious. Elizabeth wishes she had it, though, when a sharp sting travels up her left arm as she tries to flip an egg in the pan. She fumbles horribly. The egg pathetically lands onto the cold floor.
“Liz?”
A sleepy murmur. Elizabeth turns, startling when a pair of yellow eyes stare at her from beyond the door frame of their bedroom. Shiori steps forward slowly, watchful gaze never straying far from her. “You okay? Heard something coming from here.”
Elizabeth kicks the failed blotch of egg behind her. It barely manages to slide across the floor, leaving a slimy residue in its wake. She’ll clean it up later.
“Everything is fine, my love,” Elizabeth smiles. “Now, go back to bed, you know how Nerissa gets when she wakes up alone.”
Shiori chuckles at that, but she doesn’t seem to listen. Instead, she drags a chair out from the dining table and makes herself cozy in it. She’s wearing a puffy, oversized blue sweater that she sinks into with a pleased sigh. Nerissa’s color, Elizabeth notes with an amused hum.
“She’ll live. I’ll snuggle up in bed when she’s about to wake up.”
“You know I always appreciate your company, but the sun isn’t even up yet and—”
“You need help cleaning that messed up egg?” Shiori states simply, and Elizabeth’s mind stutters to a halt.
“... You saw.”
Shiori taps below her eye with a grin, “Lizzie, my girl. Didn’t you have files on us? You should know my capabilities by now.” The Archiver ends with a wink. Elizabeth flushes.
Her initial embarrassment is washed over with cold realization. Yes, she did indeed have files on them. She was their warden, their persecutor. Months of their domestic living doesn’t erase the pain that Elizabeth has yet to atone for.
Sensing the miasma overcoming her, Shiori abruptly stands from her chair. It scrapes loudly against the floor. Elizabeth hopes Nerissa didn’t hear it.
The Archiver says nothing, instead she takes a napkin from the dining table and nudges Elizabeth’s foot out of the way. Obliging, she awkwardly shuffles to the side while Shiori wipes up the mess on the floor.
“You’re thinking of something sad again. It’s all over your face.”
“Does it upset you?”
Shiori scoffs, dumping the tarnished napkin into their trash bin, “You’re the one who looks like you’re about to cry, but you ask how I’m feeling? I know you’re a chivalrous woman Liz, but jeez—” She pauses, as if contemplating her next few lines.
A grimace does eventually grace her features, and Elizabeth begins to shrink away, “You’ve been acting funny. Rissa noticed too, but she didn’t want to bring it up. What’s wrong, Erb?”
The pet name, if it can be called that, does little to lighten the mood. Elizabeth scratches at her left arm. Her nerves thrum, the pain never ceases.
“It’s… nothing.” She lies.
Shiori stares past her. Elizabeth should know better than to think she could slip anything past that watchful gaze. Her partner reaches towards her arm. Elizabeth instinctively flinches away.
“For how long?”
Elizabeth doesn’t dare answer. Her breath is caught in her lungs. Shiori moves closer, her footsteps sound impossibly loud in the stillness of the morning.
“Liz. How long?”
“...Since your escape.”
“Who?”
It’s a simple question. Elizabeth doesn’t want to answer. She has no choice when Shiori pulls her closer. Her hand fluttering around that treasonous flame.
“The Gods,” she whispers eventually, swallowing lead. It’s heavy, disgusting, it scratches her throat raw on its way down. She croaks, “It was a deal I made.”
“It was us, wasn’t it?” Shiori doesn’t ask. It’s more of a statement. Her voice is unreadable to her, as always. For a moment, Elizabeth braces for anger or disappointment— but then Shiori’s gaze softens, “They punished you because they could no longer take it out on Advent.”
Elizabeth says nothing. Her eyes shift away, preferring to look at anything besides the archiver’s knowing gaze.
When cold hands cup her cheeks, Elizabeth does not hesitate to lean into the touch. Shiori hums, “You’re a big ol’ softie, aren’t you? And you keep telling yourself that you’re a sigma wolf.”
“A wunny,” Elizabeth corrects, unfazed by Shiori’s interpretation of her animal alignment, “Still soft and fluffy. I’m powerful though.”
“Mm. Sure you are.” Shiori says airily. “You really should’ve told us sooner.”
Elizabeth’s head drops onto Shiori’s shoulder with a groan, “I know. I apologize.”
Hands roam across her back, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. For once, her arm doesn’t seem to bother her as much. She takes the chance to wrap herself around Shiori, a pleased sigh escaping her.
“Does it hurt a lot?” Shiori murmurs against her ear, the action akin to Nerissa lulling her to sleep. Her hold on Elizabeth tightens ever so slightly. “Maybe there’s something I can use in my library.”
“It’s manageable with my sleeve…”
The answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Shiori. If anything, she seems even more displeased that a running theory of hers was proven correct. Silence blankets them for a few impossibly long seconds. Within the rare serenity found only in the morning, Elizabeth can hear every faint breath the archiver takes. It’s comforting, like a metronome she syncs her own breathing to.
“You’re a bit reckless— what would Rissa say?” Shiori tuts, and Elizabeth already hears the grin in her voice, “Spending a bit too much time with Fuwawa and Mococo?”
Elizabeth laughs at that, her eyes fluttering shut when she nuzzles into the cotton of Nerissa’s sweater. Shiori looks good in it, even if it’s a few sizes too large for her.
“Yes, I suppose they’ve been a bit of an influence on me. I blame you two the most, though. Charming little buggers, the two of you.”
“Oh, I know. Everyone wants me, so I don’t blame you.”
Morning comes and goes as it always does. Contrary to her previous statement, Shiori does not manage to slip back into bed before Nerissa awakens.
They spend the next few minutes tending to a pouty Nerissa. Elizabeth ends up cuddling with her to make up for it. Shiori finishes breakfast in her stead. Her arms hold onto Elizabeth like a vice grip and her legs wrap firmly around her waist— Shiori offhandedly mentions that the demon looks like a koala. Elizabeth laughs at the offended squeak that comes out of her.
Shiori doesn’t say anything about her condition to Nerissa— not that she knows of— but she knows that the archiver expects Elizabeth to tell her sooner rather than later. It’s evident in the glances she sneaks when the three of them wriggle their way under a quilted blanket. They’re watching Nerissa’s favorite musical. It's one that they’ve seen at least a dozen times already. It never gets old, Elizabeth thinks. Not when Shiori and Nerissa are beside her.
The demon sits between them, her head resting on Shiori’s while her eyes remain completely glued onto the flickering television screen. Under the covers, she traces the calloused lines of Elizabeth’s palms, featherlight touches worshipping her skin.
Their beloved demon drifts to sleep before either of them. She always does, and leaves it to Elizabeth to carry her to their bed.
Shiori looks at her then, the dim yellow glow more enrapturing than anything else in the moment.
Elizabeth feels guilty. Of course she does. She feels it when Nerissa tangles their fingers together underneath the fuzzy blanket, when Shiori plants a kiss on her cheek after they settle into bed.
She feels spikes crawling up her spine the next morning when Shiori sends a concerned look her way after she fails to flip the pan again , or when Nerissa starts questioning if she’s feeling alright after Elizabeth unknowingly whimpers in pain.
The knight decides to come clean several days later. The sinking feeling she has would cave her ribs in and tear apart her lungs otherwise.
“Nerissa,” she calls. Shiori’s head perks up from the demon’s shoulder, the contents of her book currently forgotten. Elizabeth fidgets with the pads of her fingers, “I need to talk to you about something.”
“You’re scaring me,” Nerissa says immediately, though there’s a grin spread across her face, “Did I do something that warrants me going to jail again? I thought I was being such a good girl!”
The raven winks. Elizabeth’s cheeks flush red. Shiori’s book lands on Nerissa’s head with a thud, the latter squeaking out an apology through a pained hiss.
“Do you want me to leave?” Shiori asks. It’s a simple question, but Elizabeth finds that she struggles to answer it in the moment. The Archiver’s gaze is enough to reel Nerissa in from a playful grin to a concerned frown.
“No, I— I’d prefer it if you were here.”
“Liz,” Nerissa presses hesitantly, “What’s going on?”
Elizabeth shuffles closer to the two. The bed sinks as it now supports the weight of three. Her heart spills over as soon as the raven intertwines their fingers together. The blue pyre of her soul withers with each betrayed expression that flashes in Nerissa’s eyes as Elizabeth confesses her sins.
The atmosphere is heavy. Nails affix themselves to her heart with each moment that passes by with no response from Nerissa.
“You made that decision,” the demon begins, “Without asking us what we’d have thought?”
Elizabeth huffs a dry laugh. It’s a pitiful attempt, more like a wheeze than anything else. “I knew what you would have said.”
Nerissa’s expression is nothing but anguish, and Elizabeth wants nothing more than to wipe it from her face. “You’ve been hurting all this time. How are we supposed to be okay with that?”
“My love,” she whispers. It’s a prayer, pure devotion slipping past her lips, “I would do it again a thousand times if I had to, if only to save you from any further suffering.”
“You—” Nerissa’s mouth opens, then closes. She laughs, past the curtain of tears and the momentary hiccups, “You just can’t help but be your handsome, loving self, can you?”
Unbeknownst to her, Shiori has already found her place behind Elizabeth. Her eerily cold hands wrap around her waist.
The Archiver chuckles softly, “You’re also very cute. You know that?”
Suddenly, Elizabeth feels quite small, shoved between her two partners. Nerissa’s tears have stopped by now, the only trace of them a drying trail down her cheeks.
The demon moves closer, finding her solace within the crevices of Elizabeth’s body.
Elizabeth coughs awkwardly, “Girls, I feel like I’m the one who’s supposed to be consoling you…”
“Oh, shut up,” Nerissa responds.
Shiori laughs again, bright and airy and full of mirth. Elizabeth has long found herself addicted to the sound.