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The blood on Albedo’s skin has dried, crumbling off in patches as he scratches at it with a dull fingernail. He stands in front of his bathroom sink and watches the blood flake onto the porcelain.
Slowly, he raises his gaze to the mirror. Red spatters across his cheeks, forehead, and even his hair. He reaches for the cloth that hangs nearby, ripping it from its place with more force than intended. With extra awareness this time, he turns the sink on, wetting the cloth beneath the warm water.
As he wipes the blood away, he cannot seem to break eye-contact with himself in the mirror. Is this… is it truly…? He closes his eyes, a throbbing pain just behind them.
Suddenly, a knock at the door. He has half a mind to just ignore it, let them wait until they get sick of it and leave, but considering the time of night…
It’s likely Rosaria.
He tosses the cloth into the sink and makes way to the door, not bothering to finish cleaning up. She’ll have seen worse, probably even tonight.
He catches a glimpse of her long, red habit through one of his windows, so he doesn’t bother checking further before he swings open the door.
“Hello, Sister Rosaria,” he says as he beckons her inside.
She looks him up and down before stepping into his place, shutting the door behind. “You look like shit,” she says, and in the same breath: “I won’t stay long.”
“You’re welcome as long as you like.”
At this, Rosaria lets out an amused huff. “Still hospitable as ever, even when covered in someone else’s blood. Hell, you haven’t even changed your clothes yet.”
Albedo just looks at her. “Did you need something?”
“I don’t know what you did, Albedo—didn’t have the good fortune of seeing it. But there are murmurs around town already. I’m here to warn you.”
“I don’t need a warning,” Albedo replies calmly. “Everyone will know soon enough.”
Still, Rosaria doesn’t ask. Albedo doesn’t know if that bothers him or not. Then again, she’s shown up at his doorstep covered in blood and he’s asked nothing more than if she needed help cleaning up, to which the answer has always been no.
“So you’re just going to let them arrest you?” Rosaria cocks her head, “Put you on trial in front of your coworkers and the citizens of Mondstadt?”
“I’m guilty.”
Rosaria eyes him. “Are you?”
Is he?
“It’ll be better for everyone if I’m contained—”
“Stop that,” Rosaria takes a step closer to him. “Whatever you’ve done tonight, I’m hard-pressed to believe I haven’t done worse.”
Still, Albedo insists, “I’m letting them arrest me.”
“Listen, alright? I’ve had my suspicions surrounding you. But the conclusion I reached: you wouldn’t hurt this place, even if pressed.” Rosaria holds Albedo’s gaze steadily. “I’ve seen it in our conversations, in the way that you skirt around the people here like too much exposure to you will taint them. It’s—” She clears her throat. “Familiar, to me.”
“You don’t know what happened,” Albedo responds, wringing his hands together in front of him. “What could happen.”
“Do I have to know?”
They stare at each other for a few long moments.
“I’m dangerous,” Albedo says finally.
“That makes two of us,” Rosaria replies, “And I’m not getting locked up for it.”
“We’re not the same—”
“Of course not,” Rosaria interrupts. “Of course we’re not, Albedo. But don’t you have people to count on? People who will stop you if you go too far?”
His mind flickers to questions asked, promises made. Still, even still, he cannot trust himself. What has happened tonight—and what has happened? The memory itself floats hazily inside his mind—is hardly consequential to what may happen if he is left unchecked.
“Surely, the things you’ve done for Mondstadt, the discoveries made, the art skillfully crafted, show the love you have for this place.”
“It’s not a matter of what I want or love.”
Rosaria stares. “You’re stubborn.”
“As are you,” Albedo replies, “Staunch in believing in me, despite my current appearance and everything I’ve implied.”
“Perhaps I just find it harder to believe that you could be reduced to some kind of machine.”
“The nature of—”
“Quit it,” Rosaria spits. “I don’t want to hear any more. I’ll see you on trial, Albedo. May the jury see you as I do.”
She has stepped out the door and closed it behind her before Albedo can muster a response. He looks down at his hands, still caked with red, and he curls his fingers into fists, nails digging into his palms.