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Klara, admittedly and with much shame, knew very little about Isolde, the real Isolde that was. It was not surprising that Isolde was not happy with the life she led as a noble woman, all the expectations and rules that governed her life left an empty husk of a woman, more so than her arcane ability did. What was a shock, however, was just how little of the Isolde she thought she knew was real. The Isolde from before was not someone the real girl liked, it was someone she hated even. Someone whom Klara had once called her closest and dearest friend, someone she had the pleasure to meet years ago and then once more, more honestly, not yet a year ago. She met Isolde again, shook and kissed her hand just like the first time, and got to know her once more - came to learn of her fear of the stage and dislike of ducks, her preference for American desserts over the intricacies she’d grown up with, and why her insistence to always keep a bucket next to their bed came to be.
It filled Klara with pride, and a little hurt, to watch Isolde’s pretty face openly morph into a displeased expression whenever Klara brought something she disliked when she returned from university. It did hurt a little too, though Klara would never dare voice that feeling, to know the person she so adored was not real, that all she thought she knew was nothing but a facade, or a soul which belonged not to Isolde. It brought great joy to Klara too - as a psychiatrist she wished for nothing more than for her patients to thrive, and as a friend, and now wife, her only desire was to watch Isolde smile that toothy grin she once kept hidden for fear of being looked down upon by her fellow nobles, or worse yet, by that poor excuse of a man Klara wished not to even utter the name of.
Since the trolley had no intentions of picking up speed and delivering her home quickly to her wife, Klara opted to simply look out the window and observe the passersby go on about their business. America wasn’t so bad; it definitely beat staying in the epicenter of a war, though Klara didn’t exactly love it. If it were up to her they would’ve stayed in Austria, moved to the countryside the very second they eloped instead of getting on a boat and coming to a whole different continent - at least they had Isolde’s family money to afford a home and put Klara through school for a second time, to completion this time. Marcus had insisted, begged more like, that they leave Europe altogether, which earned her a scolding from her mentor as she’d later come to learn through their correspondence - with the rising tensions in the empire and Isolde almost committing murder several times due to the manus influence, Klara opted to take little Miss foundation’s word for it and get them both out before it was too late.
Chicago was no Vienna, it became more and more evident the longer she stared out the window. It lacked its elegance and sophistication while maintaining a similar degree of inequality and corruption, but now Klara had none of the means she once did to fight back - she hardly even knew the language, and all her efforts back home did was make everything worse. Isolde, on the other hand, seemed to love their new home, and it wasn’t hard to see why. She was fluent in English and was acquainted with the country from previous visits; she had nothing left in Vienna, no family, nor friends, nor good memories, not like Klara did. There was nothing keeping Isolde emotionally hostage to the place. Isolde also did not have to stress over pharmacology or university exams or bills, her only worries were in regards to the delivery of her paint refills or yarn and the state of their garden - that was very much Klara’s intention, nobody deserved to be happy quite like Isolde did after everything she went through.
They had a nice little home by the middle of as much nowhere as they could get in the city, there was as much vegetation as they could get, and few neighbors, perfect for two close female friends to be more than what they presented themselves as without fear of being discovered. The advantage of privacy was also something of a downside, as soon as the trolley stopped Klara had to walk upwards of fifteen minutes just to get home, and god was Chicago so much less enjoyable to traverse than Vienna. She wasn’t sure if the war was responsible for the downer atmosphere of the streets or if it really was just this miserable all the time - their little plot of land was so colorful and vivid in comparison.
Isolde kept their garden pristine, learning much of the craft from one of the few neighbors they had - an older lady, recently widowed, who spent many evenings drinking tea at their home and teaching the younger woman how to sew and bake. Klara enjoyed her company too, she was a people person even now that she was left with little understanding of what was being said and even less of what to respond back with. She was no Isolde who held mastery over half a dozen languages, and her wife was as good a teacher as Klara was a singer, not good at all. Opening the door and quietly praying Isolde was home alone, Klara made her way inside. Usually, Isolde waited for her by the door - like a sad little puppy with separation anxiety - she’d kiss her lips when she was alone and her cheek when she was not, then help Klara do away with her coat and suitcase, but today she was nowhere to be seen. The smell that permeated the air gave her a hint as to Isolde’s whereabouts, and very quietly Klara made her way towards the kitchen.
It appeared Isolde was alone - no elderly neighbor to judge the slightest show of intimacy between them - she was singing to herself as she broke apart those blue tin American chocolate cookies Klara liked so much, sprinkling the small pieces on top of a cake by her side. Klara silently observed her for some time, smiling as she began to recognize bits and pieces of the song; Isolde looked beautiful, with her long black curls in a braid, a focused little pout on her lips, and her once pink apron almost fully white with flour stains. She did not talk to herself as often anymore, Klara’s mirrors scared the ghosts, and with that knowledge in mind she’d placed a dozen mirrors in each room of the house. They were a bit of an eyesore, especially in the morning when the sun hit the surface and somehow always ended up hitting Klara’s eyes, but she never once complained - Isolde was at peace for once, and that was all that mattered. With the amount of mirrors in place, it was surprising that it took Isolde so long to notice her presence.
Be it because Klara’s heart was beating so loudly or as a simple coincidence, Isolde looked up from her work and saw her through one of the mirrors, instantly discarding her rolling pin and making her way towards Klara. The young lovers took their time enjoying their kiss after a full day of being separated. Klara was tempted to dip Isolde back like in those cheesy romance novels they both enjoyed, but Isolde was more interested in enveloping her in a hug then promptly melting in her arms. Their height difference was minimal, with Klara being only two inches taller, yet Isolde claimed it was the optimal hugging gap - Klara had some suspicion that her claims were based on the fact that Isolde had better access to her breasts this way.
“You are finally home, I missed you dearly, Schatz.” Isolde said with a mix of breathlessness in her otherwise sweet and polite voice. From an early age she was taught to keep every emotion to herself, hidden behind a veil of politeness and grace, even the excitement and love she held towards her spouse - Klara kissed her again, just a peck on the lips this time, she could not make the past go away, but she could work towards a better future, undoing Isolde’s pain little by little, kiss by kiss.
“And I you, Isolde.” Klara said, holding Isolde close to her chest for a moment longer before letting go. Klara’s gaze turned towards the kitchen once more, towards Isolde’s now abandoned and possibly forgotten creation. Isolde was an amazing baker, taught by the likes of the elderly lady that lived next door and the recipes from the newspaper. Klara turned to look at Isolde with a mischievous smile. “Would you happen to have a surprise for me?”
“I don’t know, do you?” Isolde feigned ignorance, as did Klara for a moment as she pretended to think. Of course Isolde knew what this seemingly normal Monday meant for her; she’d prepared for this day once before, then again not too long ago. It was bittersweet in a way she couldn’t quite comprehend, the thought of Vienna and her little clinic had been on the forefront of her mind all day, as had been her former patients and what ailed each and every one of them. Isolde began toying with her tie, staring at her with those pretty yet sad blue eyes of hers. “Doctor?”
“The medical board would take away my license if they knew of you and me.” She did not stop Isolde’s hands as they wandered from her tie to the buttons of her vest, the girl’s delicate fingers stopped all by themselves, they moved upwards to cup Klara’s cheeks and pulled her down, pressing yet another kiss to her lips. Klara wasn’t quite sure what she would’ve done had she failed her exam - probably try again if Isolde pushed her hard enough, though starting another illegal practice did sound tempting. Isolde would sooner kill than allow her to enter the rooms of any of her patients, and knowing now what Isolde was capable of, Klara would rather just seek normal employment in a clinic.
“I knew you could do it, Klara. I never doubted you. See, I baked you your favorite.” Praised Isolde, the words more momentous than the one that accompanied the handshake at university. They were just words though, had she failed Isolde would’ve comforted her just as she now praised her, and the cake would’ve been more of a consolation than a reward, but Klara was still happy at the attention she was receiving. “How was it? As terribly difficult and tedious as you feared, or as simple as I said it would be?”
“It was fine, but the important part is that it’s over.” She muttered, allowing Isolde to drag her further inside the kitchen, sitting in their little nook by the window and observing as Isolde cut two big slices of cake. No doubt the younger girl wanted to hear all of the details, she was always so interested to learn of how her day went; she’d ask Isolde to accompany her before, the university held a large library she could spend her time in, or alternatively she could sit next to her in the lecture hall, but Isolde always declined. She did not enjoy going out much, the complete opposite to Klara who even now still enjoyed spending time outside and meeting new people - The only times she would leave their home were to the store or to the music club she frequented when feeling brave, never performing herself but enjoying the music from the ones that did. “They should have my certificate in about a week or so. But what about your day? Did anything interesting happen?”
“Some of Marcus’s letters arrived, she sent new books for you. Apart from that, no, my day has been perfectly mundane.” Isolde explained, and she did not sound bothered by the routine of her everyday life, if anything she appeared happier than ever now that her life had slowed down a little. She finally sat down next to Klara, eating small bites with a little fork and knife as was proper, while Klara displayed none of her decorum. With how frail and sickly Isolde was, and just how much worse she had been in the years prior, Klara was grateful the girl had begun eating more; Isolde often asked about her weight, insecure that she could no longer count the number of her ribs by sight alone, and no reassurance that she was beautiful beyond compare ever eased Isolde, but the flimsy explanation that her change in body shape was due to no longer wearing a corset did help ease her mind somewhat. “Will you be opening your own clinic again, Doctor?”
“I… I don’t know, I’d rather not think too much of it now, I feel drained from today. I don’t know what the future might bring, and I’d rather stay in the present with you a little longer.” Isolde’s family fortune was a bottomless pit, and added to the already ridiculous amount of money was the fact that Isolde had sold every last piece of furniture and whatever estates were in her name before moving here. There was truly no need for either of them to work a single day of their lives, yet Klara’s principles and ideals remained unshakable, even as the world as she knew it changed beyond recognition. “Did that little bird friend of yours show up again? The one you claim talks even more than me, though I have some serious doubts about that claim!”
Their conversation kept going from there, from the little bird and cat that sometimes visited to what new project Isolde started; nothing of much apparent importance was shared, yet Klara treasured these conversations more than any discussion about politics and philosophy. Her new life was oh so domestic - She felt the water against her hands as she washed the plates, humming an off-tune version of the song Isolde had been singing earlier. Isolde, ghostly white from the flour she somehow always ended up covered or covering Klara in, went off to take a bath. Were Klara dumber than she already was, or were she the same oblivious fool as she was last year, she would’ve just gone on about her day, not realizing Isolde wanted her in the bath with her. She was still oblivious, or more accurately described, she was as dense as a brick wall, but now she knew that Isolde’s obvious flirtations were, in fact, flirtations - now Klara had even learned how to knowingly fluster her back. Discarding her green blazer which now bore a faint white stain of dust from their earlier hug, Klara followed after Isolde.
“Doctor, may I move?”
Isolde’s question caused her to look up from the paper in her hands, her concentration now broken. Isolde was looking at her with the same gentle smile Klara had been trying to capture on paper for the last half an hour or so, there was a slight mirth to her gaze, not mocking nor teasing, merely amused. Klara fought off the impulse to hide her so called art inside the book she was using as a base, knowing it was pointless - Isolde collected her silly doodles and treasured them like they were something valuable, not particularly caring for Klara’s embarrassed whines when they ended up framed next to the actual masterpieces Isolde produced. She’d been painting less and less these days, more interested in making little outfits for her animal friends.
“Of course, of course! I did not notice you were keeping still, please continue with your work.” Klara said, looking up and down from her drawing to the girl it was sketched after. They never turned out very good, Isolde often comforted her with the notion that nobody was very good when starting any sort of creative hobby - she’d compared Klara’s drawing to the tiny clothes and placemats she made and while in the beginning they did ease her mind somewhat, as time went on Isolde continued to improve while Klara remained just as mediocre. “What are you making now? Is it for the little cat, or the deer?”
Isolde wordlessly showed it off to her, and if the small size was anything to go by it was likely for the cat. Klara did not know why she didn’t just take him in, she placed a bowl of milk outside every morning and evening and put clothes on the animal each time she managed to capture him - animals deserved to be free, was what Isolde always told her, usually while she made the most restrictive tiny garments she could manage. The twilight sun, or rather the lack of light that came from it, caused Isolde to misplace her needle each time she attempted one of those complex stitches she spoke of, her fingers were dotted with dried blood and bore as many holes as strainer; Klara made a mental note to herself to bring with her some source of light whenever the two held another late picnic.
Klara moved closer to Isolde under the guise of not being able to see, due to the darkness or her poor vision was of no importance, they both knew it was just an excuse to cuddle her. Isolde stopped her work, placing it down on her lap alongside her yarn and needles when Klara held her body closer to her own, pulling her closer to herself and resting her head on top of her shoulder. Everything was different now, Isolde had always been the one to initiate physical contact between them - she always found an excuse to touch the doctor, be it fixing her tie and glasses, asking to hold her hand when the spirits became too much, at times forgoing any excuse and hugging Klara when no one was looking. It had been foolish of her to believe Isolde was only being friendly, her true intentions had been obvious to anyone who paid attention. Klara was paying attention now, very close attention; she now knew Isolde enjoyed being held and pampered, she giggled with such joy each time Klara dipped her back during their kisses, and had hand tremors when referred to as a ‘good girl’. Isolde lived to make her happy, she’d declared many times now - the only way to make her heart ache less was by sharing the sentiment, she too only wished for her beloved’s happiness.
They’d set up their impromptu picnic where the thickets and foliage were most dense, giving her the ability to pepper Isolde’s neck and cheek with kisses with no unwanted eyes to gaze upon their private moment. Isolde flinched away from her touch at first, as she always did, then promptly melted into her arms. While Klara continued to touch and kiss, Isolde turned her attention to the side, picking some flowers from a nearby bush. Be they to incorporate in her next painting or to add to one of the many flower arrangements inside, Klara did not know. She momentarily stopped her affection when Isolde lightly pulled her ponytail, watching curiously as Isolde began to intertwine white bell-like flowers to her hair.
“What are you doing, Isolde? Don’t waste your flowers on me, darling, they’d look prettier on you.” Klara cooed, holding Isolde’s hands as they placed a second, then third, flower on her hair.
“Will you brush my hair tonight? You do such pretty braids, I believe it is only fair you allow me to tend to your hair as well as you do mine.”
“That’s different, your curls are so unruly when not tended - my hair is more simple to care for, I don’t have to do as much to maintain it as I have to with yours.”
“But you like playing with my hair, like a kitten with a ball of yarn. Braiding it, brushing it, washing it, pulling on it when we-”
“Isolde!” Klara spluttered, cheeks red and eyes wide, embarrassed from the other girl’s words. She let go of Isolde’s hands, and she continued to happily place more flowers on Klara’s hair. Isolde had no shame, she knew that much, yet it still shocked her when her sweet, darling Isolde said such naughty things, made such implications or stated with a sweet, singsong voice exactly what she wanted Klara to do to her in their marital bed. “Don’t say such things!”
“Ah, it is unbecoming of my station, is it not? My apologies.”
“No, Schatz, but because your words make me stammer and my heart cannot quite deal with that. What am I without my smart mouth, huh? Wouldn’t you rather have me talk your ear off instead of making me this flustered?” Klara chose not to mention how Isolde no longer had any sort of station to adhere to - Vienna as they both knew it was gone, and with it was any sort of status and power the Von Dittarsdorf family might have once held. For all Klara knew, Isolde was likely thought dead back in Austria, gone in the same way as the rest of her cursed family. “I have competition now after all, with that little bird that talks your other ear off.”
Isolde giggled but did not respond, more interested in her current ministrations of playing with Klara’s hair than in their conversation. That was how it always was, Isolde was a better listener than speaker - partly due to not believing herself interesting enough to add anything of value, though with the silences Klara added where she wished for Isolde to insert herself in the conversation, she’d slowly started to become more and more talkative. She’d yet to meet this bird Isolde was so enamoured by, it only showed up in the early hours of the morning when Isolde came out to water her plants, and Klara was never at home or awake to catch a glimpse of it. Marcus sent her a book of North American Avian Species not too long ago, it was yet to be written and the author was yet to be born, but she reckoned it would be of use regardless. It served to identify the bird as either a Nightingale or Carolina Wren, Isolde was not too sure which.
At the thought of Marcus, Klara began to speak once more, holding Isolde a little closer to her body, well acquainted with the jealousy that filled Isolde at the mere mention of a woman’s name coming from her lips. She mentioned the contents of the latest letter, and while it did not say much of what awaited them in the near future, they never did as clearly Marcus learned her lesson after Hoffman’s scolding, it did mention her newest mission, she was now paired with a so-called ‘timekeeper’ of the St. Pavlov foundation. Isolde hummed along, Klara had hoped she’d had more of an idea of who this enigmatic figure was, seeing as her family had connections with the Vienna branch of the foundation, but Isolde appeared just as ignorant as she was. It was getting late, and Chicago was so much hotter than Vienna in every season of the year, she’d start sweating and needing a second bath if they did not go back inside soon; Isolde did not have the same problem, she ran as cold as a corpse due to her connection with the dead.
She allowed Isolde to play with her hair a while longer, not having the heart to move away, not when Isolde looked so peaceful in her arms. Eventually she did have to, she helped Isolde gather her supplies and placed them in the handmade knitted bag Isolde made for them. She swiftly hid her drawing in her pocket, a hopeless endeavor seeing as Isolde would find a way to get her hands on it, but the girl was more preoccupied with gathering their wine glasses and dinner plates than in paying attention to Klara - a ghost, likely her annoying big little sister, would tell Isolde of the paper’s whereabouts, apparently the girl could not stand her for reasons still unknown to her, even though Klara was so nice to her. Careful not to step over the still budding flowers, the young lovers walked home side by side.
The warm light of the candle on Isolde’s bedside table did very little in terms of providing readable light, but it excelled in creating an intimate, romantic atmosphere for the two of them. Isolde read aloud for them both while Klara brushed the girl’s long curls in a vain effort to prevent them from getting tangled in her sleep. Their current book was another which belonged not to this era, another gift from Marcus, Isolde seemed mildly interested in the mystery that surrounded the plot, though Klara could tell her poor wife was about to doze off any moment now. After fixing Isolde’s hair in a lazy ponytail, Klara placed the brush aside and held onto her, squinting as she tried to make out the words in the pages of the book. It was all a blur to her, as had been the last hour or so - from the moment they re-entered the house and Isolde pushed her against their bedroom door to now, Klara was too euphoric to make out a clear picture of what went down.
“Doctor, do you ever miss our old life?” Isolde asked, looking up from the pages of the book and making eye contact through the mirror by the door. Isolde was watching her, her usually cold and pale gaze made warm with drowsiness and the soft glow of the candle. Klara could not, or rather would not, lie through the mirror - Isolde could not see what she could through the reflective surface, but much like many other situations, and often to her own detriment, it was a matter of principles for Klara.
“At times, yes.” Klara confessed, watching as Isolde’s eyes became a little sadder than they were before. “I miss Illich throwing rocks at my window in the morning, and being chased by the cops at noon - god, I never thought I’d say that. I miss the heat of the Mensur basement and the Klimt pieces in the secession building, and our cafe in Ring road.”
“Would you wish to return? To walk me home from the Opera House just like we did before, and challenge any and all crooked doctors to a duel?”
“That only happened once, I think you are reading too many novels, Isolde.” Klara pouted, trying to mask the feeling of dread that crept into her body at the memory of Isolde strapped to a chair, shaking and convulsing and so, so scared. She was of course grateful to Marcus for saving her life that day, yet a part of Klara wished their duel had been proper, if just so the memory of that so-called Doctor cranking the levers would be replaced with his punishment for hurting Isolde. “I… I am more grateful than nostalgic, my only regret is not having known the real you sooner, for letting the chance pass by and breaking your heart. I’d prefer to stay right here, in our little piece of heaven, where I get to see your joy and discontent, than return to Vienna and not see your smile again.”
Isolde’s eyes remained locked on hers for a moment longer, as if searching for an ounce of dishonesty in her confession, but after finding only a viridescent sea of longing and adoration, she turned to face Klara. The warm golden light of the candle made her appear even more lovely than she usually did, and at the sight of full, plump lips turning upwards into the same smile Klara would give up her everything for, Klara felt even more certain of her answer. Ring Road was not as she remembered it, it might even be no longer, most of her old life was as such - all there was left was the promise of a better future as promised by her to Isolde during her vows, impromptu as they had been she meant them with her whole heart.
“You are so sweet, I fear my heart might not be able to bear any more of your words, dear.” Isolde blushed, coquettishly fanning her face with the now forgotten book. Her words were only half joking, she very much had tremors and nosebleeds if she became too excited, too anxious or stressed - there was little to worry about these days, they were too tranquil to garner extreme tremors or seizures as the ones she’d experienced under the limelight, the only thing able to make Isolde’s heart race these days were Klara’s flirtations when the doctor got over her shyness and made it her mission to talk with purpose. “I am only here because of you, I do not even wish to imagine what would be of me had it not been for you - I will be happy no matter where we are, as long as you remain by my side, sleep next to me each night and help me hang our clothes for the sun to dry.”
“I know… Ah, I’m just feeling nostalgic, it has not even been so long since we left. Just know there is no other place I would wish to be but here, none. Now, are you going to continue reading, or call it a night?”
Isolde continued to read, picking up from where they’d left off prior to her frankly unexpected question, halting her reading only to signal to Klara when she was to turn the page, waiting patiently for the doctor to do so before continuing once more. She’d end up draped over Klara’s body not too long from now, holding her tightly and almost afraid, like a child holding onto a stuffed animal in an attempt to fight off monsters and nightmares alike. Klara placed the book to the side once Isolde’s eyes closed, careful not to disturb the other girl’s peace, knowing well just how hard it was to come by for Isolde. It would hopefully be just them tomorrow as well, doing laundry as they did every Tuesday and trying to dissuade Isolde from cooking - the sizzling, smoke and oil burns that always resulted from her wife’s poor attempts at cooking sounded almost enticing, though such thoughts were likely produced as a result of her brain being fried from today’s stress. With a kiss to the top of Isolde’s head, Klara held her ever so slightly closer to herself and closed her eyes.
“Mäuschen, I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to fry an egg.” Klara watched with mild horror as Isolde attempted to make them breakfast - her own task was to sweep the floor and dust the shelves, but much like with a trainwreck she found herself unable to look away from the kitchen. Isolde was a good baker, the chocolate cake from yesterday was divine, and her bread pudding was to die for though Klara reckoned it would taste better with german bread, but she was atrocious when it came to cooking real food. The sizzling sound the egg made when it hit the too hot oil alongside the sight of tiny pieces of the shell falling inside the pan made Klara cringe, unsure if she should run the risk of a moody Isolde if she tried to take over the cooking. “Oh Mein Gott.”
“You worry too much, Schatz, I know what I’m doing.” Isolde dismissed her with a wave of the hand, promptly jumping back when the oil splashed everywhere. Thankfully it did not look like Isolde was seriously hurt though unfortunately her pretty lavender dress was likely ruined. Klara dropped the broom and hurried towards Isolde, taking the pan off the hot stove and placing it on the counter. She comforted Isolde with light pats to her back, ready to reassure her it was not her fault - for a girl raised with maids and chefs, she was doing a fantastic job in taking care of their home, it was understandable that she was experiencing difficulties in this area, Isolde had likely never stepped foot inside a kitchen prior to last year. “I… I don’t know what happened, what did I do wrong, Doctor?”
“It’s okay, Isolde, don’t blame yourself - let’s try that again, this time don’t let the oil get too hot, or better yet, how about I make us breakfast and you clean?”
“I see… Of course, doctor.” Isolde mumbled, taking a step back and taking a glance at the broom formerly in Klara’s hands. Oh, she looked so sad, it wouldn’t been preferable to eat burnt or raw eggs to this. All Isolde wanted was to please, to feel useful and wanted and be praised for it, deriving her self worth entirely off how she was perceived by others, by Klara most notably. She had to be very careful when speaking with Isolde, if the events of last year had taught her anything it was how easily and drastically the younger girl could misinterpret her words.
“Actually, you should stay and watch me, no better way to learn that from watching a master at work, yes?” Klara said quickly, her words made Isolde halt her steps towards the broom and other cleaning supplies, and almost instantly Isolde was back at her side, following Klara around the kitchen, first to the larder to retrieve more food then back towards the stove. Klara was a significantly better cook than Isolde, but she was by no means good, she knew enough to know when it was time to add and remove the eggs - scrambled for her and over easy for Isolde - when the bacon and sausage were crispy but not burnt and the hash was done. She sent Isolde off to brew her some coffee, well aware of her need to do something, anything, of use.
She’d woken them both extra early today to meet what Klara had decisively established was a nightingale, small and light in color and indeed, it did not stop chirping the entire time it rested perched atop the clothing lines nor did it presumably stop once it left. She finally managed to convince Isolde to allow the cat inside, the very moment the fluffy thing entered it claimed their sofa as his and with a belly full of milk it fell asleep, and still was to this very moment. Placing the plates in their nook by the window, Klara drank her coffee while reading her newest book, occasionally looking up to watch Isolde eat tiny, lady-like portions of their breakfast.
“We should go out some time, maybe to that music club you like so much?”
“Klara…”
“You don’t have to perform, not unless you want to of course, but I quite enjoyed this so-called Jazz from last time, it’s so different from anything I ever heard in Vienna.” Klara said, watching as Isolde’s face fell then picked itself back up in a matter of seconds. Isolde belonged to the stage no longer, not to the limelight nor the adoring audience who tried to claim any and all pieces of the woman for themselves; she had made it clear she no longer wished to perform opera nor seances, yet Isolde seemed to have no qualms about singing while she cleaned, and dueting Klara’s horrible singing, nor was she too against communicating with the ghosts - only a little upset when it came to her sister, she liked to mock and tease was what Isolde claimed. “We can go somewhere else too, wherever you wish.”
“Anywhere I wish, you say? I don’t know, I need to think about it.” Isolde said, pondering the question in her mind yet producing not a single answer to it. Klara allowed her the time to think, taking a bite out of her own food while Isolde was lost in thought.
“You don’t have to decide right now, we have the whole day ahead of us after all, you can decide later.” She said, reaching to the other side of the table and taking one of Isolde’s hands in hers, effectively drawing her out of her thoughts, Isolde looked at her curiously. “We have time, we are certainly not lacking in it, to decide what to do and what comes next.”
“Could we walk around the city? Later during the night, we have many chores to finish before we leave, but perhaps we can find a restaurant with candles and a gramophone, and I know we cannot dance together like other couples can, but I don’t mind sitting and listening to the songs go by.”
“We will do just that then, it sounds lovely Isolde! But do we really have to finish all the house work before leaving? There is so much to do!” She whined with faux displeasure, earning a giggle from Isolde. Much like the cat they'd taken in, Isolde was a naturally clean person - she could spend hours in the bath and despite the clutter of their home she enjoyed maintaining a certain cleanliness in the space they occupied. It was relaxing, if a little embarrassing, to sing alongside Isolde while dusting the shelves and washing dishes, and oftentimes those were the moments she looked forward to the most, be it while sat in the lecture hall or in a trolley taking her home.
This was not the life Klara, or Isolde she was willing to bet, ever thought would belong to her. It certainly had been a near impossibility in Vienna, yet everything had started falling into places, exactly where they should be, once she took the first step to make this a reality - it had been as simple as she wanted things to be, and hopefully would remain like this, just as blissful, for the years to come.