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Things would never last—Everything in this world was fleeting.
Célia had tried to tell her.
Brume had already known long ago that Felicienne wasn’t what she said she was.
She knew, yet she had still continued to drive the woman around Paris for whatever she needed.
She knew, yet she still spent time with her, even outside of work.
She knew.
And maybe, beyond eating sweet macarons in the car they were in, causing a sweet scent to comb through the air, and Felicienne’s complaints about her work; they had seen each other.
It began slowly, like a candle slowly melting down its wax from the ember it had carried.
There were glances slightly too long to be normal towards the other, faces gentler than they usually were and eyes soft.
Something about the way Felicienne would always rant her heart out with that frustrated tone of hers, always finding something new to complain about; Brume was content like this, listening to her passenger talk while she just drove her to her destination. She’d even argue it was what she preferred in her rides—better than the ones who don’t talk, at least.
Brume would hum in agreement or even just an acknowledging nod to her passenger’s complaints, a few “mhm”s slipping to prove she was paying attention.
It had felt all too natural—the way water droplets had slid down tinted glass, translucent beads flowing and leaving a trail of itself behind as if to remind beings that it had existed. It was still there, even if the main source was far away from it. An existence stubborn enough to persevere through everything it experienced before its eventual fall, a show to be noticed.
The way the slow music had faded away from one song to another, the muffled sound of the lyrics old-timey and cozy. The windshield wipers would make soft squeaking noises that became a placeholder for Felicienne’s rants when she preferred to look outside to observe Paris during the evening hours, which Brume couldn't blame her for.
“It’s a real sight, isn’t it?” Brume spoke up, her voice calm while her eyes stayed on the road, briefly glancing to her side to look at Felicienne’s form, amethyst eyes fixated on the blurry lights outside, covered by raindrops that slid their way down the car window. “The city during the evening is always a sight to behold, with all the streetlights and soothing night air flowing through the streets.”
She took a moment to look at Felicienne—Was she listening?
Brume took another breath, making a turn to the left before her eyes went back to her passenger. “You should come around Paris more often.” The words had slipped from her mouth before she had time to process them, and she was much too late to realize what she had just said.
“Are you leaving soon?” She asked. Silently, she had dreaded the answer. “We haven’t even tried the macarons at Mr. Calloway’s store, or visited that big museum over the hill.”
She tried to mask her emotions with a laugh, but she failed to hide the slight desperation in her tone.
“I will be staying for a while longer.” Felicienne responded, right as her driver’s cheeks had started to flush the slightest bit—barely noticeable. “In the meantime, you will still be driving me around, won’t you?”
She turned to face her.
Her voice didn’t mean to sound so small.
But it did. And Brume’s hands tightened around the wheel, knuckles turning whiter at the pressure. She knew she shouldn’t get attached to someone who was going to leave sooner or later anyway.
“Of course I will.” She forced out, a smile plastering itself on her face.
She felt like she was drowning.
Her breaths were slightly heavier than usual, her chest tight with what could only be described as anticipated grief.
She was suffocating.
Brume sat by a bench, a bit worse for wear yet still tolerable, considering the fact it hasn’t been changed yet. She was waiting for Felicienne to return from her trip to a store she had bugged the driver to go to, leaning back on her seat.
The summer winds weren’t as strong as they usually were, and the air was a bit humid but nonetheless fresh.
Soft lights had graced Brume’s face, painting it in a warm color.
She thought about their conversations together when in the car. Sometimes one-sided, with only her passenger talking about things that seemed to blur in her mind.
She couldn’t remember what Felicienne had said.
All she remembered was that she was looking at her, listening to her.
It felt strange to her.
Brume knew that she couldn’t stay. She wasn’t going to stay, she had “things to do” outside of Paris, and no matter how much she wanted to ask her to stay—
She couldn’t.
She knew that what they had together, their bond—even if it’s just as driver and passenger or maybe even friends—was special to her. It felt weird, knowing that something so constant in her life as it was right now was going to disappear in the near future.
And she couldn’t help but clench her fists a little tighter.
Then the subtle clicks of heels hitting the cobble ground made its way to Brume’s ears, and promptly, Felicienne sat down beside her, a blank expression on her face—but her eyes said it all, she was content—as she glanced at the woman beside her.
“You look certainly out of it,” She started, gloved hands putting aside her bags and focusing her gaze on Brume. “Did something happen while I was away?”
She held her breath, one hand raising to rub one of her eyes before looking back at Felicienne.
“No.” Brume mumbled back. No, except for the fact I’m slowly forgetting you.
Felicienne thinned her lips into a line, before moving her head back to her lap. “Then, how’s your little friend doing? Célia, if I’m not wrong.”
The other had flinched almost instantly, yet instantly straightened up her posture, realizing that she hadn’t visited Célia all day. She’d been driving Felicienne around Paris the entire time— she was forgetting everything that mattered to her.
“She- she’s fine,” Brume responded, a hand coming up to rub the back of her head. “Focusing on her studies… unlike myself.”
Felicienne’s brows furrowed.
“Well, I jest. You speak about her so highly.” She commented, her face looking bored. “You should look at your own achievements more.”
Brume’s eyes widened, hands dropping to her sides with a perplexed expression on her face. Asking for an explanation that would never come.
The woman took a few more seconds before closing her eyes and reopening them, standing up from her seat. “But that isn’t the point. Let us depart, Adèle, for I still have many things and places I want to visit.”
Brume hadn’t a second to think before her hand was taken by Felicienne’s, fingers intertwined together and held tight.
Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to remind her that this was never going to last.
She held on a little tighter at that thought— barely enough added pressure for Felicienne to notice, and she hoped she never would.
She was laying on Célia’s cabinet, smaller than she remembered it was. They were only children back then, after all. Doing whatever in the world they could while those days still lasted.
But they didn’t know that at the time.
Her eyes looked at the trinkets they had hung up above the cabinet, and the poorly-drawn pictures of fire sprites. Their color had washed out by now, all those years having sucked them dry of childhood joy and passion.
Yet her mind was drifting off again. Back to the tight grip that Felicienne’s hand had on hers—as if it was a silent promise to stay just a little bit longer.
Back to the way her voice would soften the slightest bit with fondness when talking with her.
Subconsciously, her hand reached out to chase something far; maybe a future where Felicienne would stay.
And then Célia’s voice rang out from beside her.
“Adèle.” Her voice was firm, and when Brume lazily turned her head to face her, Célia’s expression was stern. “I have been calling for you for the past five minutes! What are you so distracted about?”
Célia’s face softened a few seconds after, her shoulders slumping. “You never blank out this much. It’s like you’re not even here with me.”
She couldn’t find the right words to speak anymore.
Brume wanted to say something, tell her why she’s been so out of it recently; because of her passenger.
Because of just one woman that she was tasked to drive around Paris for her trip.
Her expression fell, eyes drifting down to the ground.
“Some things have just been weighing on my mind recently,” She reassured, sitting up straight. “It’s not a big deal.”
Except for the way the sunset had wrapped Felicienne’s form in warmth and golden lights.
Her heart had beat faster and faster back then, nearly painful on how heavy the thudding was against her ribcage, as if each beat was her heart trying to scream out words that her mouth couldn’t.
Célia took a deep breath, sighing. “You’ve been outside at work much longer these days. Has your client been keeping you?”
A breath. She knew Célia would have gotten suspicious of her work hours— she was always worried for her.
“Yeah,” Brume mustered up, before exhaling through her nose. “She has a lot of places to visit in Paris before she has to go.”
She couldn’t hide the pain her voice held when she said those last words.
She didn’t want Felicienne to leave, no matter how much she wouldn’t admit it.
And later, curled up into a fetal position on the couch when she was supposed to be sleeping, she thought about her.
The way her eyes would bore into her, as if trying to read everything she felt just by a glance or two. The way she’d hold her hand so tightly, like how Célia and her used to hold hands when they were children and they were out in the city, exploring their world to the fullest. The way she would rant so passionately and sassily—and how her mouth had moved in tune with her expressions.
God, she could have stared at her for hours.
She couldn’t say it at the time.
Her throat had burned so painfully that day, embers scraping against every ounce of flesh that held her emotions back.
She wanted to say “I love you,” yet the words didn’t come out.
Her eyes welled with tears, and she curled in tighter to herself, her arms wrapping around her knees that were brought up to her chest.
She cried that day, tears flowing freely down her cheeks in silent sobs and tremors of her body underneath the covers of a blanket that was given to her by Célia back when they were kids. It nearly didn’t fit her form anymore, she’d grown.
Right. She was grown.
Brume shouldn’t be crying; but here she was. Just like when she was fourteen again.
Between each of her sniffles and tear-streaked hiccups, she whispered to the dim lighting of Célia’s living room.
“I love you,”
A sob that nobody would hear.
“Please don’t leave.”
Every day after that, Brume’s heart felt heavier and heavier with burdens of words she couldn’t bring herself to say.
Felicienne noticed, of course. Her driver wasn’t usually so reserved or quiet—or more like unreactive.
She had already quieted down, not ranting as much as usual when she realized it.
It was like a slow fuse of a bomb, sizzling and burning before it eventually would explode. And even after the weeks she had known Brume, she knew something was off today.
“I’m especially craving some macarons right now, could we stop by and—”
“They’re in the backseats.” Brume cut her off, voice more solemn than usual. Felicienne deflated almost instantly.
She took a glance at her driver, before shaking her head. She didn’t make a move to grab the macarons; she didn’t even tilt her head to the backseats.
Felicienne’s hands clenched in her lap, before she looked back up at the woman beside her. “You’re not acting like you usually do.” She said, somewhat as a less-upset complaint. “What happened?”
“I haven’t been able to get enough sleep lately,” Brume responded back, her tone loose and devoid of any usual emotion or hidden feelings in them. It felt wrong. “Sorry if it’s affecting you, Madame Felicienne.”
Her name felt bitter on her tongue.
She couldn’t say much in return. Despite the fact Felicienne wanted to tell her that she wanted her to be like the usual self she was, to notice and acknowledge every small rant she talked about for hours on end.
Instead, the bridge of her nose crinkled, and she exhaled silently.
“I won’t be keeping you too long today.” She muttered.
Brume’s head snapped to the side, immediately looking at Felicienne with wide eyes. Her stomach churned with an uneasy feeling.
Felicienne’s eyes closed for a few seconds before she opened them again, pupils downcasted to her own lap. “There are things that I need to finish for the work part of my trip.”
No, I can take you there. I can accompany you.
She wanted to argue back, yet she didn’t. Brume held her tongue and with a barely noticeable furrow of her eyebrows, she forced her head to focus on the road, while her mind ran rampant.
“Just in case. Can I know where you’re… going?” Brume asked hesitantly. “In case you need me to pick you up, or…”
Felicienne’s eyes widened fractionally, her hesitant behavior instantly relaxing.
She wiped the expression off her face, and looked out the window, avoiding Brume’s gaze.
“That street above the avenue. Close to the market.”
Brume could’ve sworn she heard the slightest bit of relief in her tone.
Felicienne’s eyes shifted back to her driver. Her posture was more stiff than usual, she noticed. “And I’ll be sure to contact you if I need to be brought somewhere, Adèle—”
“Your work.”
She froze, eyes wide at Brume.
“Are you truly… just staying here for work, Madame?” She strained out, her voice more forced than she would’ve liked it to be.
Brume’s breaths got heavier. Barely noticeable, but to Felicienne, it was like a priceless glass vase shattering upon the ground.
Loud, and it cut through the air like a knife.
“I’m just saying, you seem to enjoy it here,” She laughed, a bitter sound. “You could find work here too, you don’t have to leave.”
Felicienne took a moment to breathe, disbelief etching itself on her face.
She hadn’t ever seen Brume like that. Eyes slimmed the slightest bit from the usual way it was, the edges creasing and a crinkle upon the bridge of her nose painting her face as if she was hurt.
And God, she was.
“I suppose I could,” Felicienne’s words came out dry. “After all, nothing could truly compare to the macarons they sell here.”
“Is that all you’re looking forward to?”
Brume’s responses came out harsher, sharper. She didn’t believe she was ticked off, rather that she was burdened by an emotional weight that had gotten too heavy for her to manage.
They remained in silence, just the sounds of their breathing filling the air and a quiet remorse that would never be spoken.
She parked the car into one of the free spots by the side of the road, and she lifted her hand from the wheel up to the bridge of her nose, pinching it while her eyes closed and taking deep breaths to steady herself.
“On that note,” Her passenger suddenly spoke, causing her to snap her eyes open. “Let me take you out shopping this time. You’ve had quite the long hours with myself, no? It’s only right that you get something as compensation for it!”
“You’re already paying me, Madame—”
But Felicienne had already exited the car, opening Brume’s side of the car doors and clasping her wrist, tugging her out.
“Payment should not be nearly enough, Adèle.”
Brume’s breath hitched in her throat. She hadn’t seen Felicienne in proper lighting in a while.
And she held her breath, letting herself be pulled along by her passenger over to any sort of stall or shop she wanted.
Yet there was a hesitance in the way she carried herself. Something about the way she held Brume’s hand this time was strange, not like a promise, but rather like a desperate attempt to keep someone close.
Her eyes started feeling heavy, and she closed her eyes for a moment—just a few seconds, before hearing a voice.
“Please don’t forget me.”
Instantly, Brume’s arm reached out and hooked itself around Felicienne’s waist.
When her ears started to be able to hear properly again, previously muffled by the sudden voice she had heard—a false daydream, she’d say to herself—she heard the woman in front of her ranting angrily again.
“You should look where you’re going!” She shouted, a fist raised and held close to her chest. Her gritted teeth and wide eyes spoke volumes. “Almost hitting a lady, how dense can one be?!”
Brume’s grip faltered slightly, but steadied herself and quickly took a glance at the large, burly man that had nearly crashed into Felicienne while she was walking through the store. A small nod of her head was enough, a silent apology for her passenger’s crass actions.
She took a deep breath, before tugging Felicienne back. “Madame Felicienne, it’s okay. I am sure the monsieur did not mean it,” She reassured, before letting go of the woman in her arms. “Let us go visit other stalls, hm? You said you wanted to go shopping, let us not have this small issue ruin your joys.”
Joys. She’d forgotten.
Her heart had felt lighter since she went shopping with Felicienne.
Even when the woman was petulantly complaining about how “These ones were on stock yesterday! What do you mean they sold out?!” or something about “This color would suit you, wouldn’t it, Adèle?” while she held up a dark blue dress with a big smile on her face.
Brume took a deep breath before speaking again, gently placing her hand over Felicienne’s.
“We have to take advantage of this time,” She said, a fondness in her eyes. “It’s not every day you take me out to do something together, non?”
Felicienne’s eyes softened, and she huffed mock-upsettedly. “I am still angry at that fellow.”
“Of course, Madame.” A small laugh from Brume, and her shoulders instantly sagged from the warmth that filled her heart at the sound of her laughter.
Her heart had never felt so full.
“Hast thou accomplished thine mission yet?”
A voice from behind her, and Felicienne froze. A cold sweat rolled down the side of her face, which she tried to ignore. Arcana.
The room was dim, and she couldn’t see much behind her except from her small desklight.
Yet she could feel the dangerous presence of the woman behind her. She’d wished not to fear her so much, but her body always seemed to tremble subtly around her.
“No,” She croaked. “Things have been… complicated, for me.”
Her black gloves sat limp, useless on the desk she was using to clean them on.
“—However! I’ll be sure to make progress further from today, after all, my task is already halfway done.”
“And so it better be,” Arcana’s voice sliced through the air, sending a shiver up Felicienne’s spine. “Otherwise there shall not be a fair reason why we should keep thou here.”
A pause, and then she added.
“Or existing, for that fact.”
Felicienne’s eyes immediately widened, her mouth opening as if to say something in protest, yet nothing came out.
She struggled to find her words. It felt like her tongue was burning from the inside of her mouth.
“That—! Will not be necessary.” Felicienne strained out, her voice stammering in its syllables.
Arcana’s eyes stared blankly at the woman before her, gaze fixed on her trembling form. She knew her weaknesses, and how to exploit them. A small, imperceptible smile grazed her face.
Her hand raised to take Felicienne’s white hat off of her hair, and the pressure from the touch alone had her shaking the slightest bit harsher.
She stroked the fabric of the hat, eyeing it with a sick sort of fascination. “Won’t it be?”
“Thou do understand that one such as I has the ability to have everyone forget thee,”
Arcana leant closer to Felicienne, her lips grazing the shell of her ear. Felicienne’s breaths got heavier under the sudden closeness, and her heart beat faster.
“If I so wanted, thou could disappear so easily from this world.”
She swallowed deeply, trying to hide her apparent fear. “Of- of course.”
A gloved hand placed itself onto Felicienne’s shoulder, cold and biting in its wake. She flinched, and her head lowered instinctively to avoid Arcana’s gaze. She already felt vulnerable enough by the woman’s presence, and being under her watch would only spike her nervousness further.
“With that said,” Arcana begins again. “I do hope thou understands the importance thy mission holds for us.”
Her hand squeezed Felicienne’s shoulder, before retracting and taking a step back away from her.
A dim smile, barely visible in the dark, yet to her, it was as clear as day.
As soon as the door clicked shut, a strangled sob tore its way out of Felicienne’s throat, her knees buckling under her and making her fall to the ground, gasping for air.
“Fils de putain,” She panted, son of a bitch. “That woman…”
Tears sprouted from her eyes, flowing freely as trembles wracked through her body.
She hadn’t felt so terrified in a while.
And she usually wouldn’t feel that way; yet when her own existence was on the line, she couldn’t help but shut down.
Felicienne’s hands scrambled to her chest, gripping the fabric of her clothes tightly as if she was trying to will her heart to be still. To calm down.
But she was too deep into her own panic.
She needed something—someone—to anchor herself back to her normal self again.
Her hands clumsy, she took out her phone from her dress pocket and shakily pressed the call button on a number she had saved as “Adèle”. Not formal like she usually would, but rather a certain fondness that she held for the woman mentioned to be able to call her by her first name without any formalities.
And secretly, she enjoyed that closeness she could share with her.
Felicienne’s thumb pressed the call button, and the line rang. Loud, in the silence of her dim room. Almost as loud as her own heartbeat.
Then the other side of the call picked up.
“Hello? Madame Felicienne?” Brume’s voice echoed through her ears, and she nearly sobbed in relief.
She cleared her throat before speaking, trying to hide the shake in her voice. “Yes, Adèle—could you come and pick me up? I’ll send you my location after this call.”
On the other side of the phone, Brume’s eyes narrowed slightly. Felicienne sounded more shaken-up than usual, and it seemed worrisome.
Yet she didn’t comment on it.
“Of course, Madame. I will be there in a few minutes or less.”
Her reassuring tone made Felicienne’s breathing steady. She took more calm breaths, and then she huffed. “Very well. I’ll wait for you.”
Felicienne’s hand shook a little more violently as she hung up the call, feeling the cold gaze of Arcana fall over her again, even if she wasn’t in the room.
She huffed, her breath coming out in a white puff of cold air. Her shivers had lessened.
She’d felt weaker than ever at that moment. More than just vulnerable; utterly torn down to what she truly was. A myth, just a name wandering around rumours and passed-on speech. Nothing real, nothing a true manifest.
“Adèle…” Felicienne husked, her voice shaky and hoarse.
She realized the truth, as harsh as it was.
Without someone to remember her, she was going to disappear into nothing like she was before all of this.
Before the Manus Vindictae.
Before her mission in Paris.
Before Brume.
A part of her had already accepted the fact she might not be able to finish what she came here for, to break those barriers between the Archive of Imageries and the real world.
Yet another part of her just wanted to be remembered.
She wanted to be remembered. She wanted to live.
And something within the way Brume’s eyes hadn’t looked at hers since she entered the car, the way she seemed to stiffen when she first saw her come around the corner, how her hand held Felicienne’s with so much carefulness while the other held the steering wheel—
“I’m sorry,” She suddenly spoke up.
Brume took a moment to tilt her head slightly towards her passenger.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on. In truth, I…”
“I want to stay.”
Her eyes burned with tears, before shaking her head and inhaling a soft breath.
She met eyes with the other woman, and she had already parked the car somewhere discreet under a deserted streetlight; just enough to keep them illuminated in the late evening.
Brume didn’t say a word. Didn’t even attempt. Her voice was stuck in her throat, and she didn't even dare to breathe.
“I want to stay here in Paris. I want to be able to talk all the time with you,” Felicienne continued, her eyes darted around anxiously before looking back up at Brume. “I want you to remember me as Felicienne, Adèle.”
Her gloved hands clasped Brume’s, and for a moment she wanted to pull back. Worried that she was being too much.
But a subtle movement into the hold by the other woman made Felicienne reassured just the slightest bit more.
She took in a shaky breath, eyes locking with Brume’s. “I want to be a part of your days,” A shallow huff, and she trembled. “I want to stay with you.”
“Madame—”
“Felicienne.” She corrected, hands grasping the other woman’s tighter, a desperate need to be noticed and understood after all those days of loneliness and a hollow feeling in her chest that was finally filled when she met Brume.
And she knew this would be dangerous. It was dangerous, but the way their breaths mingled with each other’s a little too closely, the way they were able to simply sit in silence if they only needed each other’s company at the time—
Brume knew she’d already fallen since the day she met her.
“And I’m pleading with you, Adèle,” Felicienne whispered.
Her voice sounded lighter, like she was going to disappear right after this conversation ended. As if it was just a dream.
“All I want is to be by your side.”
And, like all those times before, their company with each other was enough.
Felicienne leant forward and Brume had caught her in her arms, holding her tight even in the space that was her car.
She let out a shuddering sob, and no words needed to be exchanged.
Brume’s hands ran through Felicienne’s short hair, while her white hat had slid off her head and onto somewhere in the car that she wouldn’t care to look for until this moment was over.
“Je t’aime,” She whispered. I love you.
Maybe Felicienne didn’t hear it.
She would be patient enough to wait until she did.
Weeks later since that day, they had gotten much more warm around each other.
Soft, discreet glances had become gazes full of fondness and affection for the other.
Subtle hand-holding would turn into more brave, public holds, hands and fingers interlocked with each other like a silent promise to stay.
And sometimes, in the silence of her car or behind buildings where nobody would see them, they would hold each other. Maybe even kiss.
They were only fleeting touches, however— none of them brave enough to try and be more selfish, to try and get more than what they had gotten.
At most, a soft smile after they had kissed. Regular conversations they would have in the comfort of Brume’s car would end up mixed between breaths and touches that seemed to be longer than the last.
They’d known how to keep things simpler than they actually were. Their confessions of love towards each other would be whispered, just hoping the other would have heard it. And the lingering fact that they would have been alright with it if they didn’t.
No matter how close they would be—when their bodies nearly molded together, held tight by each other and arms and hands intertwined like a dance that was never meant to be. Gazes locked in a mixture of fondness and affection that struggled to be expressed through words.
Later in the day she’d visit Célia. Talk with her like usual, as if nothing happened.
As if she had never kissed Felicienne, behind those alleys or in the car where she could still taste the sweet macarons on her lips.
“Your father sent you a letter,” A voice called out from above her.
Brume’s gaze looked upward to meet the eyes of the person who had spoken—Célia.
Her hand had been held outstretched, holding a neatly-folded white envelope with a red wax seal on its fold. It looks too well-made to have actually been my parents’ work, Brume thought.
Célia’s eyes looked downcasted, a little more solemn than Brume would have liked her to be.
Like those days in their childhood when she would be upset over a flower wilting or a stray animal by the road. All natural processes in life, yet she had gotten more emotional than Brume had expected her to be back then.
“Is something wrong?” She asked, taking the letter from Célia’s hands.
The girl in front of her only shook her head no. Silence—something she wasn’t exactly used to with Célia, knowing her long enough to expect her to be talking her ear off about her studies or psychology.
Brume’s eyes lingered a bit longer on her old friend, before she opened the letter to read.
Dear Adèle.
I hope you receive this letter well! Your mother and I have been travelling France looking for the shiniest and brightest new jewels, unheard of before. You should join us sometime, rather than doing whatever it is you’re doing nowadays all stuck in Paris.
Otherwise, we could always pick you up and get you back on the road our ancestors have brought us down all this time! You could help us bring back these jewels, they are truly getting heavy. We can have all the wealth in the world we want after we get these home, Adèle! Is that not wonderful? We will be back shortly, possibly in a few weeks or so.
Love, Papa and Maman.
Her lip twitched in distaste, eyes narrowing into a glare as if she was trying to project her anger and frustration directly onto her parents from just the letter alone, acting as if it was a voodoo doll tying their souls into the very ink written onto the worn paper.
“And they sent this when exactly?” She muttered bitterly, below her breath. Célia had already expected the reaction from her.
The brunette shook her head. “I don’t know. The letter was just there at my doorstep when I got home from the library,” She explained, pausing to glance warily at Brume’s frustrated expression. “I’m guessing by your reaction they do not have good news?”
Brume scoffed.
“They couldn’t be better.”
Her tone was sarcastic, and Célia could almost hear her eyeroll.
“Not coming back for a while, I presume?” She asked, sitting down in front of the other girl on the carpet. The jewels hung up on the ceiling illuminating their faces in subtle colors, a cruel reminder that they were the path that was laid out for her at the time.
Brume groaned, slumping down onto the carpet and laying down, palms to her face and eyes closed tightly as if she was trying to will the mental image that plastered itself into her mind away. “Of course. Like they always do,” She huffed. “Out somewhere chasing “shiny jewels” and promising a world of wealth and fame for our family once they get back.”
Her hands slowly lowered from her face, before they turned downcast. “If they ever do.” She solemnly added, voice melancholic and contemplating.
“My maman has been asking about you, Adèle.” Célia suddenly spoke up, gazing at Brume’s sprawled out form on the carpet.
She lifted her head slightly to turn it towards the other girl.
“She’s been asking if you’ve found a partner yet,” She continued, more hesitant now as she fiddled with the rim of her glasses. “A boyfriend. Husband maybe.”
Brume instantly flinched back, her heart dropping into her stomach, and just stared up at Célia, wide-eyed and shaken like a cat dunked in water.
She sputtered, before speaking again. “She’s—what?!”
“She is just worried about you, Adèle. You’ve been working so hard, and she sees you as her own already, almost.” Célia strained, trying to explain as clearly as she could. “If you had a partner, you could lessen your workload.”
The other girl only stared at her in horror, as if she’d just told her that Feufeu—her pet or companion crimson crystal dragon—-had suddenly disappeared and now everything in her room was burnt to a crisp.
Brume’s stomach churned, throat tight.
“I—I understand, but…” She paused. Felicienne… “I’m not interested in a relationship right now, Célia. There’s things and priorities I have to focus on.”
Priorities.
Did she even have any anymore?
She felt dizzy, a horrible ache slamming into her head as it always would whenever she had to lie to Célia.
Brume’s breath shuddered just the slightest bit before she spoke again, voice quieter and posture more straight again. “I just… I don’t want to think about that right now.”
The idea of being with a man—being with somebody other than Felicienne—had begun to sicken her.
She wanted to be the one to hold Felicienne’s hand tightly.
She wanted to be the one who got to taste the leftover sweets on her lips.
She wanted to be the one to hear I love you from her.
“I know, you’re busy.” Célia spoke up, taking a deep breath and fixing her gaze someplace else before directing it back to Brume. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Sorry.”
The look in Célia’s eyes didn’t convince the other girl a single bit. The thought was still present and repeating itself in her head, and Brume felt suffocated.
She hadn’t felt that way in a while.
Not since she first found out that Felicienne had to leave.
Her arms wrapped around her body slightly, an instinctive reaction to try and erase the thought from her mind.
She was falling into those delusions again. Hallucinations. Daydreams.
They’re not real. They’re not real.
Brume could ignore the thoughts in her head—the loud voices in her mind telling her and trying to convince her of a future that would never come. And she’d be able to ignore it.
But she couldn’t ignore the ache in her heart that worsened just the slightest bit more whenever she considered those situations to be an actual, real possibility.
She held Felicienne’s hand a bit tighter than usual that day.
Under foggy skies and dimly-lit roads, humid in the air outside and golden streetlights blurred from the mist that swept through the city.
“Adèle?” Felicienne called out, her gloved hand squeezing the other’s. “Adèle, what’s wrong?”
Brume sighed, her eyes still trained on the wet road in front of them. She kicked a few stray pebbles out of her way. “It’s nothing.”
Her voice sounded dry, strange and unfamiliar to Felicienne.
She suddenly froze in her tracks, urging Brume to stop with her as she stopped walking. Felicienne’s eyes carried a certain unspoken concern that she just couldn’t find the words to speak about towards the other woman.
“Adèle. You never act like this, please, talk to me.” She whispered, as she attempted to tug Brume back by her side.
Brume stiffened, hand stuck and tangled in Felicienne’s grip. Her tight grip reminded her of that day, where they sat in her car and simply basked in each other’s presence, nothing more and nothing less needed within the confined space.
Her heart beat faster. Chest ached with a pain that never seemed to subside since Célia told her in the afternoon about what her mother had suggested for her.
A husband.
“What am I missing?” The woman behind her spoke, and Brume instantly snapped her head back with wide eyes to stare back at her.
She took a moment. “What?”
“What am I missing from you today? Ever since you saw me today, you haven’t been acting like your usual self, and it’s killing me, Adèle,” Felicienne’s eyes pleaded with her, words she couldn’t manage to speak aloud indirectly screaming at Brume. “It gets to a point where your silence hurts more than anything.”
Brume’s breath hitched, and words couldn’t escape her mouth. Her tongue felt numb.
“Talk to me. Talk to me like you always do, or just look at me in that way of yours that always makes me go insane—” She shuddered, a sob nearly tearing its way out of her throat. “I thought we’d agreed we would talk to each other.”
She struggled to find words, eyes strained and narrowed like a thousand unspoken pleas.
Brume faltered, taking a small step back. The slight gap caused by the step in their hands intertwined had felt like a chasm, a wall larger than it should have been between the two.
Through the strain she felt to find words, she managed to croak something out.
“I want to talk to you.”
Felicienne’s eye twitched. “Then why aren’t you?”
She couldn’t tell her she was expected to have a man in her life.
Someone significant to her, to be married to and to help with work as if she wasn’t capable of doing all of those tasks by herself.
“Célia was talking to me about my parents,” A half-truth, but better than nothing. “People I don’t want involved in my life.”
Felicienne held her tongue, swallowing softly like an effort to accept those words as the full truth. “And what about them?”
“Something about wanting me to join them in finding jewels and all of that.”
Her words sounded off. Forced, like her expression. Felicienne had learned how to read her like an open book ever since she first started working with her.
The coldness of the evening air had started to seep into her clothes, digging itself into her skin. Felicienne almost shivered, if it weren’t for her focus being on Brume more than anything. She knew she should’ve let it go. Just continued walking on the still yet to dry pavement of the sidewalk, littered with wet tree leaves that Brume had once gently brushed out of her hair during those slower days where they would sit beside each other on a bench somewhere where the rest of the world wouldn’t see them.
Somewhere where it was just them.
Just them, and their hearts trying to claw out of their chests to reach the other, a desperate effort to scream out sentences that they couldn’t manage to say in fear of themselves ruining whatever bond they had carefully constructed together.
Brume’s heart felt heavier than ever, watching Felicienne’s eyes express all the emotions she couldn’t with words. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Felicienne had known. It was stupid, to feel so deeply affected by the slight changes and differences in Brume’s behavior that made her seem much colder and further than she should have been.
But wasn’t that what love was all about?
What is love, if not to notice?
Like how she would gently touch the daisies tied onto Brume’s hat in the car. Ask about everything that seemed niche and silly to the outside ear, but all of those conversations were more intimate than any simple movie kiss.
Brume’s lips opened to say something, but she only mouthed a soft “I love you.”
Her vision got blurry, maybe from tears or something else. Maybe the same reason why her ears started to ring when she looked down at the wet sidewalk they stood on.
Felicienne’s face seemed to blur in her mind again. Like how all of their conversations seemed to slowly disappear in her head, all the words and whispered confessions turning into muffled sounds that she couldn’t seem to recall no matter how hard she’d tried.
She was slowly forgetting her.
And for a moment, those thoughts that burdened her—Spending time with Célia, her parents, finding a husband, and later on the possibility of Felicienne leaving—disappeared.
The change wasn’t one of relief, or rather acceptance that came after those numb days, turned into a blur of intertwined fingers and gentle promises within places nobody else would ever see them. It was like a bucket of cold water splashed onto her, a bitter realization that she would have been better off to never have figured out in the first place.
I don’t want to forget you.
You mean everything to me.
She couldn’t understand the world around her then.
Everything had turned into a dizzy mess of scents that were too strong, lights that had burned too bright, and voices that had seemed to appear and disappear from her mind as if they were taunting her.
It was a silent torment that she’d been fighting, like a war, and losing.
How could someone mean “everything” to me if I forget them?
If I forget her?
Felicienne.
Please believe me when I say I love you.
But she had always known pleas never worked out in the end.
No matter how much she begged and cried, nobody could save her from a situation she had placed herself in.
The words lodged in her throat.
And the rest of the world slid by.
Her memories had begun to frequently wane in and out of existence in her mind, as if they had never existed, but still left a missing part in her mind that she would always be looking for. A fragment in her thoughts that she couldn’t seem to remember no matter how many hours she spent trying.
Brume’s phone hadn’t buzzed with a single message from Felicienne since that day.
She’d forgotten what happened after that dizzy blur. Maybe she passed out, or maybe something else had happened.
I don’t want to forget.
“Adèle, breakfast is ready.” Célia’s voice from downstairs. She could hear her socked feet padding across the floorboards, wood groaning under the pressure.
Is this grief? I don’t want to lose you.
Brume took a deep breath, rubbing her still sore eyes and got up wearily from her makeshift bed on the sofa in the attic, climbing down the ladder and down another set of stairs that always seemed to make her dizzy back when she was a child to the dinner table.
A small glance at Célia’s mother, faceless in her eyes. She never could seem to remember her face.
Who are you?
Célia waved at her with that same fond smile she carried all those years ago, unbothered and freely living her life. She wouldn’t admit it easily, but she was always jealous of how Célia could live life without any ancestral curses burdening her everyday life.
The food didn’t feel like anything in her mouth. The textures and flavours that she’d always compliment and adore disappeared, and she couldn’t help but mourn the sudden difference of her daily breakfast.
The absence of Felicienne in her life didn’t happen all of the sudden.
It was like slowly sinking into an ocean she didn’t know she stepped into.
And she didn’t know how to swim.
Her heart still carried that same, monotonous ache in its core. As if it was a stubborn stain on a counter that just couldn’t be erased no matter how hard she tried.
But it had started to lose its purpose. Like a song slowly distorting into its ending, she had started to forget why it was aching in the first place. What, or who caused it. The entire thing was unclear to her at that point, and she found herself staring at her own reflection in the mirror.
Tired, eyes weary and red from tears that seemed to sink into her skin, the trails long dry from a night that seemed to blur in her head.
She raised a hand to scratch the back of her head.
Her movements felt dull; every slight lift of her hand felt like something she had to put in all her effort to do.
Brume inhaled, watching the slow way her chest rose and deflated again, before her eyes swept over her cup of water—the one she was supposed to use to brush her teeth.
She’d forgotten to grab her toothbrush.
There was something else she was forgetting, but she couldn’t remember.
The toothbrush scrubbed her teeth, messy but guided by her own hand. She usually put in more effort to keep herself clean, but something about her mind being so fuzzy—like TV static—-since she woke up bothered her.
She threw on her usual clothes; nothing new. She hadn’t brushed her hair, and she still looked like a mess.
Brume opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, words to herself or someone she couldn’t remember by the mirror.
“...Je t’aime.” She muttered. I love you. Her face was blank. A warm feeling rose up her chest, subtly replacing the dull ache in her chest with something she couldn’t name, but had felt before.
She didn’t know who she was saying it to.
There was someone. Someone that meant something to her, and her very core felt like it had been carving itself out in the shape of that very someone.
But she felt like even if she tore her chest open, she wouldn’t recognize the silhouette shaped out by her own heart.
Brume stared at her phone when she went back upstairs, basking in the spare time she had before she had to go and drive her clients around Paris again, like her usual day-to-day routine. She was missing something.
She scrolled through her contacts.
At the top of her list—Madame Felicienne.
A thought bubbled itself up into her mind, like a distant memory she couldn’t access.
“Felicienne,” Brume whispered to herself. She tested the name on her tongue—it felt familiar, like she’d said it a thousand times before.
She took a few deep breaths, trying to steady her thoughts and remember.
But something held her back. Something that refused to let her remember or recognize who the name was.
She knew whoever Felicienne was had mattered in her life.
Brume looked down to her wrist. A white band, decorated by a single white butterfly. She didn’t remember when she put it on. Maybe it was simply instinct that had told her to put it on.
She huffed, a voice creeping into her mind just like a time she couldn’t seem to remember.
“Keep this with you.”
She blinked. Once, twice.
“In order for you to not forget me. In case I am busy somewhere or gone for the while,”
“This will help you. Think of it as myself.”
Where had she heard that voice before?
It was sweet, like a melody that carried passion and such burning emotions in its voice. She felt warm, her heart beating slightly faster when she heard that voice in her ears.
Brume glanced around, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from if it came from within the attic.
Silence. Near deafening silence.
She wondered if that voice had ever felt silence so quiet. So quiet that it would burn in someone’s heart, to shatter someone’s soul so painfully and thoroughly that that someone wouldn’t ever recover easily from it. If that quiet had made someone cry, just for noticing the fact that someone was acting different than they usually were.
Her eyes stung with tears that felt numb.
They were thick, glossing her vision in water and blurring her sight more than she was used to.
Brume curled in on herself, and she shuddered. Her body trembled in its place, subtle but noticeable. She felt lucky she was alone, for once. She weakly lifted her wrist, and a few tears dripped onto her knuckles, trailing down like snowfall on mountains. Her eyes focused on the white butterfly band given to her by someone she couldn’t name, and her chest ached with a soreness that she hadn’t felt since she first got into a fight with Célia when they were teenagers.
Her lips gently landed on the small butterfly charm on the band, before pulling away and keeping her hand close to her chest. She couldn’t explain nor understand why she did it—-It just felt right.
“I don’t remember you,” She sobbed into her knees, pulled up close to her chest. “I don’t remember who you are. I forgot—Dieu, I forgot.”
A silent choke upon her words, and she tried again. Pleas to whoever that was listening to help her remember. “I can’t remember who you are. Please, please. I don’t want to forget you,”
“Say something. I love you.”
The room was dim, just as she had left it.
Quiet, dark. Nothing special, and somewhere she wouldn’t have wanted to have her last moments in.
The desk by the edge of her room still had the lamp turned on. Dust had collected on the papers that were left there, meant to be letters that never got sent.
Felicienne had laid by her bed, face pale and sweating. She hadn’t fallen ill. She was not sick.
She was slowly being forgotten by the only person that had the capability to keep her here.
Her breaths came in short, soft pants. Harsh, like every intake of breath had burned in her chest and left it hollower than ever when that very breath had left her lungs.
She could still feel Brume’s lips on hers. She could still feel the warmth of her hand that had seeped into her skin, even through her gloves. She could still feel and remember everything.
Every subtle glance, every small conversation. Every kiss and touch that seemed too good to be true, every word that they exchanged with each other, every time Brume would act the slightest bit different than she usually would and every time she had quietly begged into her pillows for her to not forget her at night.
Slowly, the truth sunk in.
Like an anchor docking a ship to the bay, it dug itself into the sand.
For her, it dug straight into her heart like a dagger.
What was the meaning of all of those quiet, intimate moments if she was going to be forgotten in the end?
She wondered if it was all false from the beginning, and her heart had ached harsher than ever that day.
Even worse than when she saw Brume’s pain-filled eyes whenever she brought up the fact she had to leave Paris soon due to her work needing her elsewhere. Worse than when she had begged Brume to be honest with her, to talk to her like they usually would—-like they had promised to since the beginning.
Brume’s presence in her life had left a permanent mark on her that she couldn’t get rid of. And even though she knew that Arcana wouldn’t have let her stay in Paris for longer than she should’ve, the promises she made to Brume—all of that burned under her skin, reminding her of the things she said and the consequences of each and every one that she hadn’t considered.
Humans were selfish.
The only thing she ever truly wanted to be was human.
A proper being, more than just a myth, a name passed around amongst rumours that wasn’t even proven to have existed.
Felicienne supposed the only thing she had in common with humans in that sense were their selfishness.
A bitter emotion, feelings that lingered longer than they should’ve and festered into something toxic and horrible.
“How is it selfish?” She breathed out into the silence of her room. Nobody was going to be there to hum and nod their head like she was used to now. She didn’t know what she expected. “When I just… wanted to be with you.”
Her chest burned, forcing a violent cough from her throat that left a feeling of despair in her mouth.
“I only want you to remember me.”
She raised a hand to her chest, grasping the clothes over it tightly, as if it could anchor her to keep existing, to keep living right as she should have.
Felicienne closed her eyes, body shivering with a coldness that she hadn’t felt in a while.
“Please don’t tell me you stayed around knowing that you would have forgotten me anyway.”
She sobbed into herself, curling up into something of a fetal position that she could muster with the minimal energy she had. “If you could just tell me otherwise,”
“Why else?” Felicienne sobbed, her voice cracking into something high-pitched and hysterical, ugly in a way that she would never have let herself be if it weren’t for how painful the ache in her heart was. “Why did you hold me like that?”
A tear-filled gasp, and she strained to say anything else. “Why did you kiss me like you meant it, why did you hold my hand so tightly like it was a promise, why did you look at me like I was something precious?”
It was getting harder to breathe. Her head was spinning, and her lungs burned with every small intake of breath.
“S’il te plait,” She begged. Please. “At least tell me why you did all of that.”
Only to forget me in the end, she wanted to sob out, her arm instinctively reaching out to grasp whatever lingering memory of Brume she had close to her. “You let me love you,” A cough, and a deep intake of breath as if her next words wanted to be her last, no matter how much she didn’t want them to be. “And you made me believe I could be more than just a name.”
“I hate you for that.” Felicienne croaked, her voice cracking into a bitter tone that, despite all of her emotions, still held a note of affection.
She mustered the last bits of her energy, and spoke.
“Adèle, I love you.”
And then a piercing silence.
Nothing came easy for Brume after that day in the attic.
She felt a slight discomfort that she couldn’t understand the reasoning behind, a strange, sickening feeling that never seemed to disappear.
Like something was missing.
She’d drive her clients around the city like she usually does. Followed her daily routine to the T, making sure everything is right. She knows it’s not, it hasn’t been since days ago.
There were other factors. Some she noticed, some she didn’t. Like the way her smiles would never quite reach her eyes anymore, the way her body would stiffen whenever any of her clients got mildly close to her. A sharp pain would always stab its way through her head that she couldn’t ever explain.
Like the way she felt wrong when Célia had held her hand while they walked through the city.
They were childhood friends, weren’t they? Célia was a sister to her.
But someone’s hand was supposed to be there, not Célia’s.
The hand would be cold under the glove it wore, a biting chill that never seemed to disappear even under the warmth of the car heater.
There was something about the thought that seemed familiar to her.
Her voice would never hold the same amount of emotion it did back then. Célia had told her, and she only solemnly nodded. Said it was due to thoughts of her parents. But the truth was, she hadn’t thought about her parents a single time since she received that letter from them all those days ago.
Brume’s world seemed to tilt ever since then. Or maybe a few days after that, she couldn’t remember.
Colors would mix and blend into a warped reality, ears ringing harsher and harsher, songs would be too loud, and lights would shine too bright. Her breathing would thin every time she saw the world shift and distort in her eyes, and she couldn’t seem to find a proper reason behind it.
She wished she could explain every vision, every voice and every pain that went through her head, but she couldn’t.
She rushed into the attic that day.
Grabbed her phone, held it with shaking hands like she was running away from something.
Her heart beat fast, a large grin on her face as she could still hear Célia laughing from downstairs, something about “I’ll get you next time!” just like they were kids slipping past her mind.
She opened her gallery, swiping through all of the pictures she and Célia shared today, and yesterday, and—
In her favorites folder. A picture of her and a faceless woman. Short haired, eyes sharp, gaze confident, and beautiful. She couldn’t remember who she was. But she couldn’t have forgotten such a stunning woman in her life. Her white hat had perfectly framed her face that day, the photo taken during summer a few weeks ago.
It was recent. And she couldn’t remember who the woman in the picture was.
Even as the sunset lighting had streaked her face in ways that she could only have ever dreamed of. She could remember the scene, she could feel the warm gusts of the evening winds breezing past her face.
Brume’s thumb swiped left, and she saw more and more pictures of that woman.
Her. Taken on an evening a few weeks ago, the sidewalk was a bit muddy that day.
Her again. Taken on a particularly sunny morning outside a macaron shop.
Her.
Again, and again, and again.
She had once mattered a significant amount in her life, she guessed. But she couldn’t remember anything about her.
Every photo sunk into her memory, making her head spin harsher than she’d ever felt it before. But she felt a harsh ache in her heart, one that wanted her to keep looking. Keep searching—that woman had mattered. And she felt a burning need to remember her.
Brume opened her notes app. Checked her schedules to see if she had any clients that seemed to fit the criteria of the times she was with the woman in the photos.
A name kept showing up. Madame Felicienne. Her work with her would usually last from 8:30 AM to 7:45 PM or even later.
What kind of person was she, that she’d make so much time to drive her around the city? She never did that with other clients. She kept seeing subnotes marked under the name. “Collect macarons at the stall Madame Felicienne likes before 8:30!” and then “I wonder what stories she has to share today.”
Every schedule marked had its own little added tidbit. Until just a few days ago, when they had stopped.
Not just a simple break, and then continued like usual—radio silence. There was no mention of her name anymore, nor those little added sentences about her daily routine with “Madam Felicienne.”
Brume felt a dull ache in her heart, right in her core. She breathed heavily, and then she opened her messages.
Nothing much; no new updates. Just her most recent clients, like Monsieur Lucas, Madame Clara, Madame Lucia—-And underneath all of them, a discarded name, one that used to matter the world to her, she could only assume.
Madame Felicienne. Again.
And she tapped the icon on her profile, only to be met with an array of messages.
Adèle, I know you might not see this once you wake up, but you worried me.
You suddenly fainted right there by the sidewalk.
Your hand was still stuck in mine, and even when you went limp, your hand didn’t let go.
I feel like there was a part of you that still wanted to be with me.
Even when you were unconscious, which I think was incredibly concerning.
Please get some rest.
I have work to finish tomorrow, so you won’t need to drive me around.
Take care of yourself, and I hope you’ll still have my favorite macarons in the backseat of your car when I get back.
Je t’aime.
And then, nothing.
It was like a story left on a cliffhanger. One that she’d been much too engrossed in to have noticed it was slowly ending right before her eyes.
Felicienne ended her messages with “I love you.”
She didn’t have to drive her around the next day, she said.
It’d been three days.
A deep, sinking feeling of despair settled heavily within her chest, and her eyes widened.
In an instant, the memories flooded back into her head. Each one like a pointed arrow piercing itself through her skull. She fought with the dizziness, shaking her head and resisting the nauseous feeling that overtook her entire body, attempting to immobilize her.
Brume stumbled down the ladder, rushing down the stairs to see Célia sitting by the dinner table.
“Adèle?” She called out, immediately standing up and moving to put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder, which quickly got deflected. “You’re pale, and sweating. What happened? You look like you saw a ghost.”
She gasped, her mouth opening and closing to find words, before she managed to stammer out some semblance of comprehensible speech. “The- I- Felicienne—” Brume struggled to find her voice again, but persisted through the strain her throat was experiencing. “Do you know who she is?”
Célia blinked, before looking to the side, eyes glancing back up at Brume. “No,” She muttered. “But you’ve told me about her a few times. Some client of yours that takes up all of your time.” She tilted her head slightly, fixing her glasses with a small push up from her index finger. “Why?”
Brume felt like she could hurl.
She shook her head, rushing out of the house and out into the open streets, going to every landmark she had written down in her notes—places she’d visited with Felicienne.
In the macaron store she’d visited nearly every day to pick up a box for her.
“That’s the madame you always get these macarons for, isn’t she?” The store owner asked. Brume had only nodded, ears ringing loudly in her head and eyes desperate for an answer on who she was.
A heavy sigh, and the store owner shook his head. “Sorry, Adèle. Don’t know her more than that. Must be a nice lady, though, that you’d get her something from my shop every day.”
To the museum they had visited together.
To the same muddy sidewalk that was all cleaned up now.
Up to the worn-down bench that they had sat side-by-side together on, one sunset evening during a spring day, with orange-yellow lights shining on both of their faces.
They couldn’t say it to each other that day, but they wanted to tell the other they loved them.
And Brume cursed herself for not being brave enough to tell her that day.
The memories had finally settled down in her head, and she sat. Alone, quiet, in the dark of the night, illuminated by a few streetlights, the golden lights that used to bring comfort to the both of them now lonely and standing tall just for the sake of bringing light to the oncoming cars or motorcycles through the city during the night.
She wished the ache in her chest would settle down.
But a wish was a wish. And she’d learned the hard way that people don’t get what they want, even when they try so hard to get it.
Brume looked down at her hands. Pale, clammy from that rush of adrenaline she had gotten to run around the city and ask about Felicienne to everyone she’d remembered from those locations marked in her notes, as if they were the most important things in the world. And maybe they were.
Her world was silent now. Colors violently mixing together had turned into a muddy mix of colors that seemed to blur in her mind.
She didn’t know if she hated it or loved it.
In the past, she would have loved the silence even for just a day.
But now, the quiet hurts.
Clear drops of water had fallen onto her hands without her even realizing.
She was crying. And in an instant, she moved her hands to wipe the tears off of her eyes, but they kept coming. They streamed down her face, and she remembered all the times she’d cried just like this before.
They say when you’re an adult, you grow a lot and mature.
You get prepared for all the little things that your younger self wouldn’t have been able to handle.
But nobody tells you how to handle grief.
Losing someone you’d sworn to never forget, someone you promised you’d remember.
Those memories felt distant yet all too close to her now. A blessing or a curse, she didn’t know. Her throat felt strained and her eyes swollen and puffy. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d cried so much.
Brume mustered up the energy to get up, and walk home. Like she usually did.
And she couldn’t help but sob the entire way.
Felicienne’s voice was still fresh in her mind, no matter how much she wanted it to disappear now. When all her efforts were meant to remember her, and she had failed—she couldn’t help but want those memories to erase themselves from her mind like they had all those days ago.
You said you wouldn’t forget me.
“And I haven’t.” Brume whispered out, through her tears, into the cold night.
Then who are you still searching for?
Where am I now, Adèle?
And her head spun just like all those times ago. The voice in her head became louder and clearer than ever, and there was an array of sounds before there was dead silence.
One that she had wished would never come again.