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Corrosion was dreadful. It was a slow, painful process that forced you to feel the darkest corners of your subconscious fuse with the abomination that is an abnormality. It felt like losing your sense of self to your own flaws as your mind slipped away before you, powerless against the downward spiral that was E.G.O. induced insanity. Dante did what they could to protect the sinners from such pain, but they were only human.
The latest corrosion incident occurred at the end of a mirror dungeon. In the last moments of a fight against the Headless Ichtys, Dante instructed Faust to use her Hex Nail E.G.O. Upon summoning it, she corroded almost immediately. While she was luckily still conscious enough to land the finishing blow on the abnormality, the consequences of corrosion had already set in. Large, rusted nails pierced through each limb as she began to tear apart at the seams. Yet, the physical pain could not come close to the overwhelming sensation taking over her body: The desire to be loved.
It was a feeling Faust had suppressed well before joining the company. Emotions distracted from her goal of endless knowledge, especially those as intensely personal as love. While vague due to the passage of time and her own refusal to look back, the memories of her first love lived on in the back of her mind.
Pleas for affection looped in her mind. How desperately she missed the sound of sweet nothings whispered into her ear, and the feeling of hands running along her back. How Gretchen, her dear partner, used to smile so brightly that she could have rivaled the sun’s radiance.
It was agonizing. She couldn’t take it anymore. The combination of physical and emotional pain had taken far too great of a toll on her body. She began to lose her balance and stumble with each step. She didn’t know where she was trying to go, but she didn’t get far before collapsing on the ground and losing consciousness.
When she woke up, her surroundings were no longer that of the mirror dungeon’s. She was once again aboard Mephistopheles with the other sinners. Some asked if she was alright, which she dismissed with simple nods. Truthfully, she had a rather intense headache alongside the lingering feelings of her corrosion. But she would never confess such tedious inconveniences to them. She had an image to maintain, and even the slightest fracture in its presentation could send it crashing down.
Thankfully, the mirror dungeon was the last assignment of the day. After Dante commenced off-hours, Faust left for her room as quickly as she could without drawing anyone’s attention.
Shutting the door behind her, she let out a sigh. Her room rarely suffered from any shifts in state due to her consistent mental stability, but when it did, the shadows of those she tried to forget lurked on the walls. They seemed to mock her in how elusive they behaved. Always visible in her peripheral vision, but disappearing the second she made direct eye contact. This time, a woman’s shadow strolled along the length of the wall, as though she were taking a casual walk through a park. The finer details were unclear, but Faust could recognize the silhouette anywhere.
Faust’s hands trembled, but she didn’t say a word. She knew it was merely a product of her imagination. She herself designed each room in Mephistopheles to resonate with its inhabitant’s mental state. She knew better. She simply needed to calm down, and it would go away.
But she couldn’t calm down. The trembling in her hands only grew more severe, as did her breathing. She needed to find something to ground herself. She glanced at the equations written on the wall across from her bed. The black ink of her pen was forever stained into the white wall as a reminder of her genius. Gretchen hated how she used to write on the wall when she ran out of space on her chalkboard.
Faust swore under her breath. The shadow on the wall grew larger. It began to contort and bend into bizarre figures unrecognizable as any sort of living creature. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest. She couldn’t stay in the room any longer. After practically sprinting for the door, she took a breath to regain her composure before opening it as though nothing had happened. It wouldn’t have mattered how she left the room, as all of the sinners had already retreated to their own quarters by then, but she wasn’t willing to take any chances.
Quietly, she walked in front of Ishmael’s door before knocking twice. The sound of bedsheets rustling and footsteps growing closer towards the door emanated from within.
The door opened slowly. Ishmael’s freckled face peered through the gap to glare at whoever interrupted her sleep before softening at the sight of Faust. “Faust? Do you need something from me?”
“Not necessarily. Faust simply has a request to make of you. However, it is one that I must make with confidentiality, so I ask that you allow me to enter your room to discuss the matter.”
The way Faust said everything with the same flat voice put Ishmael at ease as it did in distress. Why on Earth would Faust be knocking on her door at almost eleven at night? There was no telling if it was for something good or bad because of how little she expressed in both facial expressions and tone. For all Ishmael knew, she could be about to hear the worst news of her life.
“Uh, okay. It isn’t anything bad, is it?”
“Not necessarily. Faust would like to ask if she may rest in your bed for the evening, similar to how you make arrangements with myself to do so.” She spoke plainly, as though she was merely asking a coworker a favor.
“Oh.”
Ishmael looked baffled for a moment. It’s true, she had been going to Faust’s room pretty often. It beat sleeping in a freezing cold bed covered in salt water any day. She doesn’t remember how or why it started, but it became a habit. Faust’s presence made her feel safe, and she was always so warm to the touch. It surprised Ishmael the first time they slept together. She figured someone like Faust would’ve felt much colder.
“I don’t mind, come in. It might get a little wet though.”
“That is not a problem for Faust.”
Despite this pattern going on for several months, they never really put a label on what exactly they were. Was sleeping in the same bed as someone enough to constitute a relationship? Ishmael didn’t know. It’s not like Queequeg ever referred to her as her girlfriend. Whatever Faust thought of them was lost on her entirely. She hadn’t even acknowledged it once. No matter what they did in her room the night prior, she would always come out the next morning as though nothing happened.
As she led the taller woman to the bed, Ishmael asked, “Can I ask why you want to spend your night here?”
Faust’s expressionless disposition faltered for a moment. While rare, there were times that she could not restrain herself from reacting. She was certain that Ishmael noticed, but for whatever reason, the sailor chose not to comment on it. Opting to obfuscate the truth rather than outright lie, she answered, “Faust is experiencing the after effects of E.G.O. corrosion. Due to the nature of Hex Nail, it is better to spend the evening with another.”
Her answer seemed to make enough sense to Ishmael, who gestured for her to take her place under the covers. Nestling against the crook of the other woman’s neck, she allowed herself to be enveloped in the body heat of another. Ishmael was comfortable to lay on. She was muscular, but husky enough that she struck a perfect balance between soft and firm. She felt her heartbeat hasten alongside her breathing. She had an overwhelming urge to cling to the sailor as though she could drift away at any moment. Ishmael flushed at the sudden movement, but remained silent.
An indescribable amount of time passed with them like this. Faust held on to Ishmael tighter than she ever had, unable to fall asleep even with the added support of another. Ishmael didn’t fare much better. She always struggled to go back to sleep after being woken up. It was a lingering trait from spending so long at sea. The situation reminded her of her life back then. How after waking up from ear piercing thunder and waves slamming against the Pequod, Queequeg would hold her in her arms and reassure her with such gentleness that she could sleep through any bangs and crashes coming from the outside.
For no particular reason, Ishmael asked, “What did it feel like?”
“Faust does not know what you are referring to.”
“When you corroded, I mean.”
“It was as unpleasant of an experience as it would be for anyone else.” Faust hid behind vague wording. It was a lifeline whenever she found herself backed against a corner.
Ishmael sighed. “No shit. You were the last of us to wake up and were practically stumbling back to the bus. I was asking more about how it felt” - she paused, searching for the right word - “mentally.”
Continuing the thought, she remarked, “You never come to my room unprompted, especially not to do this. What did it make you feel?”
Embarrassment flared inside Faust’s chest. Mentally, she prayed that the darkness of the room masked any traces of it that may have shown on her face. “Corrosion can lead to an assortment of symptoms ranging from negative emotions, physical altercations of the body, and the resurfacing of trauma. On occasion, they may last longer than expected, which is why Faust is now present in your quarters. There is little else to it.” She fell back on her knowledge. It was all she could think to do to avoid answering directly, but she knew Ishmael was not one to fall for such a diversion.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, you can just say so. I won’t ask anymore.” There was a slight hurt in Ishmael’s voice that made Faust feel guilty, but she had no response. Thus, the silence returned, not as comfortable as it was mere minutes prior. It didn’t last as long as it felt before Faust broke it once more.
“Corroding with such an E.G.O. resurfaced memories of a person Faust would rather forget. To put it simply, they are painful.” Her voice grew quieter and quieter with each word, as though admitting weakness was something too grotesque to say out loud. Yet, the desperation to be heard overwhelmed any sense she had left. For once, she swallowed her pride. Whether it was because of Hex Nail or her own desperation was blurred.
Ishmael took a moment to respond to consider what she would say. She didn’t expect that Faust would ever admit something like that to her. She wondered if it was another effect of corrosion.
“What were they like?”
Faust’s grasp on Ishmael tightened. “A person far too kind for the fate she was dealt.”
It didn’t take Ishmael long to figure out what happened. Everyone in the City has lost someone important to them. Whether it was a family member, a close friend, or a partner, it all hurt the same. Once again, images of Queequeg flashed in her mind. It was strange thinking about her lost love while in bed with another. Though neither she nor Faust were ready to confront the nature of their relationship. Not that either would in the current situation anyway.
Ishmael didn’t want to give condolences or sympathize. No one wants to hear empty words of kindness after losing the most important person in their life. Grief is a pain that clings to you like broken glass. Trying to pick it out only makes it hurt more. Instead, she offered silent, steady support. She held Faust close, gently tracing shapes onto her back. It was the only way she knew how to comfort someone. To Ishmael, a reassuring presence was the most important thing anyone could have when they’re going through a dark time.
If it was possible for Faust to press any closer against the sailor, she would have. A part of her felt humiliated to have her most deep seated emotions so rawly on display before another, but another melted at finally having a forgotten need met. Whatever was to come of this wasn't a concern. It would be dealt with in the morning.