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Stelle only notices it because she’s bored, really.
Dan Heng hasn’t been talking to her much lately because he’s busy, Mydei and Phainon can only spar with her so much in a day and Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon have their duties to attend to despite offering to go catch bugs with her later, which means she has time to spend just walking about because she’s not allowed to go out and fight titankin.
It’s in this meandering that she notices a thing or two, uncommon as it is for her to just stop and look at things.
Castorice shakes, a lot.
She doesn’t seem to realize it as she does so, going on about her day as normal, but once Stelle has taken notice it suddenly becomes impossible to forget about. Like she’s cold or even scared, she’s constantly quivering.
“Um, Cas?”
The young woman doesn’t even turn from her task at hand, palming at the book as she reads.
“Yes, Miss Stelle?”
“Are you cold?”
The question gives Castorice pause, her eyes lifting up from the book in what seems to be momentary shock. Stelle wonders, if only for a moment, whether anyone else has ever asked the same thing in all the time Castorice has been around – she tries not to think about the bouts of jealousy that climb up her chest as she does so, but it's a… questionable effort at best.
Then, Castorice turns slightly and looks up at her companion.
“...I’m not, no.” She hesitates. “Is there a reason for the question?”
Stelle shrugs, nonchalant as she moves to sit beside her friend. Their shoulders brush slightly as she does so and Castorice jumps a bit at the contact, before the realization that it won’t do anything settles fully – Titans have mercy, her heart can’t take this.
“Miss Stelle…”
“You’re shaking.” The woman says, pointing at Castorice’s hand as it holds tightly onto the book between her palms. “See? It’s like you’re cold.
Effortlessly, she escapes a scolding Castorice wouldn't have had the courage to say anyway.
But she does, at least, give Stelle an answer.
“I have been shaking for a long time, miss. It's just… how my body reacts.”
Stelle looks confused, which isn't exactly a new emotion when it comes to Okhema and Castorice in general.
“Reacts to what? Your temperature is very normal.” Fully undeterred by the many years of real fear of death, Stelle reaches out and places a palm against Castorice's forehead, who jerks back as if burned and almost falls off the bench they're sharing. “Hey, stay still.”
“Miss Stelle!”
The woman huffs, “Calm down. Immune, remember?”
Castorice will not calm down any time soon, but she does relax a little bit as Stelle helps her sit down properly once more.
“See? Your temperature is normal. I'd say you're a bit warmer than my hand, even.”
Castorice sighs quietly, attempting to slow her racing heart. “I don't… think so, your hand is much hotter.”
Which is weird, mind you, considering Stelle isn't feverish and Castorice has a very normal body temperature, last time she checked. She may be from Aidonia of course, where a blanket of snow welcomed those on the way to the River of Souls, but she is still somewhat human in what remains of her true self – of that humanity, so endures the warmth she was given as a half living being, she believes.
Which goes to show, indeed, that the weird one out of the two of them is not her.
She doesn't reach out, never will for as long as she may choose, but it's as if Stelle can read her mind the moment their eyes meet. The woman smiles widely, that wicked grin that has made Castorice's heart skip way too many beats for it to be natural, before her hand wraps around that of death and brings it to her forehead.
“This is normal, see? I'm just a bit warmer.” Stelle chuckles, before it falls apart as she holds onto Castorice's hand a bit tighter. “...You're still shaking, though.”
Not from cold, not from fear. To Stelle's obvious confusion, Castorice has nothing but a discomforting shrug to offer – she doesn't know either.
It just is.
“You seem to be reacting instinctively to the idea of the cold.” Lady Aglaea would answer much later on, a finger to her chin. “You are not cold in any way, correct? Then it's merely a perceived reaction. You imagine your body would be cold to the touch because it's death's nature to be cold, therefore your body begins attempting to warm you up.”
“...Do you want me to let go?” Stelle asks after a long moment of silence and Castorice almost says yes, before she hesitates considerably.
Long enough for it to become the answer in itself.
“No?”
She shakes her head as softly as she can, almost scared to admit that it does feel somewhat nice.
Someone else's touch that is under no threat of disappearing, someone who is warm and remains so even as she begins to feel their warmth seep into her skin. If she has ever felt this, continuous as it is, then she doesn't remember it clearly and it makes her chest feel tighter.
Her breath hitches for but a moment as she looks at their joined hands.
“Stelle…”
From afar, or perhaps closer than she should be, Stelle grins widely, before it softens into something mellow and understanding. She shifts in place, adjusting them into a comfortable sitting position that sees only their hands joined and nothing else touching.
“Here, why don't you tell me what you were reading about?”
And though Castorice has never had a knack for conversation, she does understand that it's a distraction. She does understand that her breathing has gotten way too quick, her eyes stinging too much, her voice hoarse and uncharacteristically shaky – if Stelle can distract her, though, she won't complain.
“Well… there is this story here about the time Zagreus stole Phagousa's favorite wine glass…”
It's amidst that conversation, warm and inviting as it is, that Castorice finally stops quivering for the first time in many, many years.