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Verso does not remember how long ago he has been truly alive — the years merge together, the years turn into a stream that flows and rages, never ending. Verso remembers — fire was everywhere, fire consumed everything, and he just watched. Only one thought crossed his mind — Alicia; There was no more fear, there was nothing else, and all sounds fell silent with the last cry of the birds outside.
Their house was rich — not only on the outside, but also on the inside. It was always filled with the sounds of piano music and was always a refuge for all kinds of people, from poets to senators. Their house was the facade of a happy family, but nothing more. Verso knew this — the Dessendre family was just a farce, just a painted ideal of how things could be.
Alicia was the last to be born. His dear, little sister - she smiled, grabbed his finger, and never let go. Renoir always looked at Verso with a barely noticeable smile, but all the love always went to Clea — she was the oldest, she had to be the best. He didn't want to. He looked at the drawings and was only able to touch the canvas once — on the day when everything fell into place and he realized that he wanted to play.
His fingers moved across the keys, producing sound in the same way as they gripped the hilt of a rapier, and he smiled to himself:
“Keep your back straight, Maelle, your opponent will never show you mercy.” He smiled as he watched his dear little princess, who resembled a little ruffled sparrow, take up her stance. She learned quickly, she grasped everything on the fly, and so Verso did not worry about her. He worried about himself — as she grew and became more and more beautiful, his feelings ceased to be... right.
Clea was often away from home, and people said she had fallen in love with a man named Simon, but no one knew if it was true. Renoir didn't care as long as she was useful and a dutiful daughter. They no longer asked this of Alicia; she was allowed to practice fencing with Verso and spend all her free time there. His sister's drawings became brighter and clearer, revealing a talent that she had inherited from their parents. But at the same time, they seemed to be noticing something.
He doesn't remember how it happened — one breath, and now his lungs are burning just like the house. One breath — Alicia's scream subsides, and he feels nothing anymore. Everything fell silent.
He doesn't know how many years have passed. Winters turned into summers and back again, and then he felt that something was wrong. The first thing he did was tear open the ground, crawl out of it, and set off. His head was empty, filled only with the desire to get home, to return there; but there was nowhere to return to. The Dessendre home had long since fallen, and no one remained there. No one except Alicia, who could no longer speak. Her face, scarred by fire, was now more frightening than any bird scarer.
Everything he kept repeating at night boiled down to one simple word: ma-el. It was the first and last word he whispered when he fell into a sleep-like state.
And so it went on for a long time. Too long, before the door opened and he was told that he was being taken away. Home, not somewhere else.
“Verso...” She couldn't say anything else as she sat down on a chair and looked at the doctor standing next to her. “I'll take him. Where do I sign?”
And even though they told her it was dangerous, that he was dangerous, she didn't care.
“ Maelle .”
His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in hundreds of years. Then a cough started in his throat, and he just grimaced a little; the shackles, even if illusory, were removed. He was allowed to go home, he was allowed to hold his little princess's hand, even if she was tense. At first, Verso thought it was because of him, because he was not normal, undead, but it continued at home.
Alicia had never been shy around him before — she smiled like a little sunshine she was, looked at him with wide eyes, and always called him Verso so sincerely, but now...
“My dear sister... are you afraid of me?” he asks, sitting at the table next to Maelle. He asks this as gently as he can, not daring to look at her. The doctors said it was a miracle that Verso remembered her.
But Maelle couldn't answer him, not then, not now. And only when the sun had set below the horizon, and Verso laid motionless in his bed, did his sister appear in the doorway, pausing awkwardly. His discomfort was impossible to miss, even in the dim light, and catching his gaze, she asked:
“Are you afraid to sleep in this room?” Her voice was quiet, her steps cautious as she approached his bed, sitting on the side.
“Something like that. I'm afraid of enclosed spaces now and... the dark.” His voice suddenly broke, his fingers clenched the fabric beneath him and ripped. Verso had been afraid of this ever since he found himself above ground. He could smile, he could copy emotions, but he was... scared. And now that fear was breaking through.
“And I'm afraid of the light. What a pair we are, huh?” Alicia's laughter is quiet, barely audible, but when she sees Verso's confusion, she just shakes her head slightly and removes her veil. Underneath it is skin that has been melted and disfigured by scars — not from a blade, but from flames.
“The doctors did everything they could, but they will never go away.” She gestures with her hand, and her nose wrinkles slightly, as if to say, “Look, brother. There is nothing beautiful under the veil at all!”
But Verso...
He touches her shoulder and cheekbones with his barely warm fingers, running them over the scars as only lovers can touch their beloved — with the feeling that Alicia was the most beautiful person in the whole goddamn world.
“It does not matter if you have scars or not. It really doesn't. I have never stopped loving you and I never will, my dear Maelle.”
Alicia's body tensed at the sound of his voice. The nickname he had given her as a child — Princess — made her heart skip a beat, a blush spread across her cheeks, and she looked away.
“After your death, mamman went mad and died, and papa didn't live long without her. Clea left for Simon, and they say she now hunts those who don't want to... return, like you did.” Her voice is quiet, she fiddles with the fabric of the sheet in her hands, and she wants to say something else, she wants to know that all this is not a dream. But she is afraid.
“Can you... repeat what you just said? Please?”
She should not ask him. Really shouldn't.
A small nightlight burns on the table, illuminating only part of her and the room's furnishings, plunging everything else into semi-darkness. But Alicia looks at her brother, looks at Verso, and tilts her head slightly, as if close to begging.
But, she didn't have to.
“I have always loved you and will always love you, my little Maelle .”
He is ready to repeat it as many times as necessary.
They say the undead cannot feel anything, but Verso feels the warmth of her scarred lips, her breath on his, the tears on his shoulder when Maelle buries her face in it. Her hair is soft, curly, and longer than he remembers. But all Verso can do is pull her close. Pull her into bed with him, letting her cry it all out.
They fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, when Maelle could no longer keep her eyes open. Verso swore again and again that he would never let her go and that they would be happy.