Work Text:
“Don’t you wish for a home?”
Sigma knew she couldn’t trust those words, however she didn’t have much of an option. It was that woman or death. Looking back on it, choosing death seems much more desirable. To die in the desert would’ve been much more dignified than being played with like putty in that woman’s hand.
Sigma didn’t entirely regret the short life she lived, however. She was given the casino to manage, which she grew to love and see as home. Fyodor fulfilled that one promise.
Only naturally Sigma fell in love, even she had no idea why it had to be Fyodor Dostoevskaya. Perhaps the pickings were just slim, or perhaps she just had terrible taste. The people she was closest to and people that knew her best were that psycho clown Gogol that always put her on edge and that horribly cunning woman Dostoevskaya.
Sigma hated herself for loving her so; it was frustrating and pathetic. She couldn’t help the way she felt and acted, though. Her feelings like a parasite taking control of her without her say. Even so, she couldn’t bear to love without being loved in return. It sickened her, she felt like a stray dog scouring for scraps of Fyodor’s attention and love. Sigma was sure that was how she looked to Fyodor anyways. If only Fyodor wasn’t so stingy with her affection; she was praising and being affectionate with Sigma one moment but was unbelievably cold and cruel the next. Sigma was always on edge, trying to decipher which side of Fyodor she’d get that day and trying to keep the callous version away with submission and softness. It never worked, but a girl can dream, can’t she?
It might be true that, over time, Sigma grew to see Fyodor as home. The walls that were built as a result of her previous abductors slowly cracked and crumbled from Fyodor’s careful tactics. Sigma was used to brutality and force, you see. While others kept her captive with chains, Fyodor kept her captive with sweet words and promises. Just to turn away and watch Sigma chase her, hoping for something more, something she would never get.
Sigma knew she couldn’t let her guard down, that Fyodor would betray her and it was all a facade. However… she almost longed for the kind moments to be true, so much that she became delusional in a way. The desperation of wanting to be able to love and be loved-by Fyodor specifically-made her unable to believe it wasn’t true.
Of course, that incredibly intelligent woman Fyodor caught on to Sigma’s infatuation with her, despite Sigma’s attempts to hide it and deny it. She didn’t hesitate to use it to her advantage, though she did feel somewhat similarly. Sigma was loyal and desperate, like a dog. Perfect for demons like her, it was inevitable for her to feel some sort of fondness for Sigma.
To call it love would be a stretch; Sigma was more of a muse to her, an object of fascination and someone that’s pure and simple, easy to mold like putty. A relationship was never something Fyodor felt she needed to pursue—not with another woman anyways—so she simply decided to use Sigma’s feelings to achieve her goals.
Meanwhile, Sigma was truly longing for her, wishing she could hold her hand, be held by her, feel her warmth, and spend time with her—she wanted to do everything with her. However, she knew she could never touch her. Fyodor was a secretive woman. Sigma’s ability and Fyodor’s just couldn’t come into contact; Fyodor would surely believe Sigma would try to collect some information from her and kill her in an instant.
The only person Fyodor could truly trust was herself and her puppets with no free will—that wasn’t Sigma. Despite her infatuation and blind obedience she still wasn’t trusted entirely by Fyodor. No matter how hard she could try to win over Fyodor, it was simply never possible to earn her trust.
-
Sigma laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling listening to the faint sounds of the Sky Casino. She always had a hard time sleeping, though she was utterly exhausted. She groaned as she sluggishly got up from her bed, turning the light on and making her way to her small desk.
She pulled out the chair and sat down, her gaze turning to the piles of paperwork she’s got stacked neatly for the time being. Her leg bounced up and down as she was sat in her chair. She gingerly picked up a paper from one of the piles, one she’d organized to be prioritized.
She glanced at the paper, trying to focus her blurry sleep deprived eyes. She could tell it was a letter, and the sender was…
Fyodor Dostoevskaya.
Sigma sighed seeing the name on the letter and she hesitantly opened it, though she felt an excited flutter in her chest that she found so incredibly annoying.
To say Sigma read the letter would be an understatement, she devoured it despite her exhaustion, as she usually did with Fyodor’s letters. She kept them organized in a file in her personal desk, which she was sat at in that moment, rather than her office desk.
Though, she devoured every document. Which was how she justified her behavior—which she despised. However, other work related documents she kept organized in her office instead of her personal desk, other documents she seldom looked back over, and absolutely never memorized the handwriting, the faint scent of the one who wrote it, imagined their voice speaking the words…
It was shameful and pathetic the way she yearned for that woman.
The letter was a request, or rather a message informing her for an upcoming meeting—there’s no choice. Her heart fluttered at the prospect of seeing Fyodor in person again. She slammed her fist against her chest as if clearing her throat at the feeling.
Sigma sighed and leaned forward over her desk, resting her head in the crook of her elbow, her other hand holding the letter as she reread it over and over. The bounce in her leg slowed to a stop and her grip on the paper slowly faded, the paper itself slipping as her eyes slowly closed and Sigma slipped into unconsciousness. Imagining Fyodor’s voice always lulled her to sleep, for some reason she didn’t want to put any thought into. Unfortunately it also made her ache to be held by Fyodor as she fell asleep, she scolded herself for having such “childish” desires.
An unhealthy number of nights were spent over her desk, sometimes asleep if she’s lucky like she was that night, most nights awake though, scanning papers, writing back, signing documents, etc.. It was certainly the cause of a great deal of her physical problems which had been seeping into her work life at the casino.
That night, Sigma slept quite soundly until her alarm woke her up. Which, though her back ached and a few stacks of papers were knocked off her desk scattered around and she couldn’t find the letter from Fyodor, she was quite grateful for.