Chapter Text
Chapter I
The River That Learned Their Names
The river lay a little further out below the Painters estate, like a ribbon of flowing clear skies. Fiery-red tousled hair bobbed excitedly around the shoulders of a young girl, paint box tucked under one arm, her boots kicking up little stones and dried leaves. Her older brother was meant to walk beside her - like he always did - but their mother's voice had stopped him at the door.
"A moment Verso. There is something I need your help with."
The black-haired young man had turned to his sister apologetically, already almost out of the manor. He lay his hand on her little head, messing up her hair.
"Go on ahead, I'll meet you there. We'll paint the ripples like we planned."
He had lowered his voice so their mother would not hear. His sister nodded energetically, imaginary flares coming out her nose, unbothered. The river was hers as much as it was Verso's. Though she liked the idea of arriving first, choosing the pebbles and envision the waves unfold on the canvas. She eagerly went on by herself until the trees became less and the river opened in front of her.
On that exact moment she saw her.
Her clear blue eyes had spotted a figure, almost hidden by tall reeds. A girl, about her own age. She wore a simple but expensive looking beige-yellow dress with long sleeves, swallowing up her trembling hands. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as though holding herself together, keeping the pieces from scattering, afraid of falling apart. Her dirty-blonde hair, wavy like the rivers curves, cascading around her. Hiding her crying face effectively.
The Painters girl stopped in her tracks. She was not reluctant by nature, but something in the other girl felt delicate, like a piece of paper threatening to tear by a simple gust of the wind. Crouching down near the waters edge she slowly took out her brushes, preparing for the painting session. The river flowed, shallow but hasty, whispering secrets to the stones.
After a moment the other girl lifted her head. Hazel met blue. Earth collided with hot blue fire and shattered. The girl was taken aback, not having expected anyone to show up. She straightened, as if preparing to flee but the redhead smiled. An easy smile, effortless, welcoming. Warm, most like her.
"Hello.", she called, her light, steady voice carrying easily over the ripples. "I didn't know anyone else came here."
Hesitantly, the other girl carefully formed her sentence.
"I didn't think Painters came here, I'm sorry."
"You know who I am?"
"I figured..." She flushed, her hazel eyes darting towards the paint box, a slight smile forming on her lips.
The Painters girl stared too, at the girls ink-stained fingers curling anxiously into her dress. The click in her mind came with a flicker of something she could not quite name yet. She didn't care enough to.
"I wanted to paint the ripples. My brother says water is tricky to control with a brush." She notices the way the other girl slowly relaxes her body, easing into conversation.
"The same goes for pens. It's impossible to write down how the river makes me feel...father doesn't understand. He makes me find words that don't exist in my mind."
Blue eyes blinked, once, twice. The answer felt far too heavy for a young girl. The Painters girl soaked her black boots instantly, stepping into unknown territory. But she oh so loved the adrenaline creeping up her body, the coldness of the water only fueling her further until she stood on the opposite side, the world of the earth girl.
"You crossed...", she said in disbelief.
"It's not deep.", she shrugged, pretending she didn't understand the weight of what she had done.
She set her paint box down and sat beside the other girl, shoulders brushing. A calm quietness settled among them. Curious orbs studied the paint box as if it were the first time they've dared to look into something not meant for her eyes to witness. Dipping her brush into light-blue, she began to paint. Strokes much softer and drawn out than usual. She had a new perspective now, closer, shared awareness of the riverside with the more reeds. She notices the blonde exhale softly, a faint hum escaping her lips which she appears embarrassed by.
"I'm Alicia.", the Paintress says at last.
The girl swallowed. "Beatrice."
"It's a lovely name."
Beatrice shifts her gaze. "My father likes it. He says it means 'blessed'."
"Do you feel blessed by something?", Alicia asks bluntly.
An answer came moments later, carrying the weight of a hundred years. The blonde reached into the front pocket of the short cape around her shoulders, pulling out a folded scrap of paper, creased and worn out, like she had opened and closed it countless times wanting to add something she could never write with ink.
"I'm supposed to write brilliantly like my sister.", she starts quietly, her voice destroying itself. "All the time. Even when my headaches get unbearable. Even when there are no words left to write. It's like they refuse to get formed by my pen."
Alicia listened. Considered. Almost messes up the canvas.
"That's not fair."
"It's what is expected of me."
Alicia smirks. "They say it like it's a law set in stone. I hear it too. The calling of 'musts' made by ghosts that came before me. But I am not compelled to live as their echo."
A triumphant silence set in between them. Alicia knew Beatrice's mind was shaken up by her revelation and that was precisely her goal. The blonde giggled suddenly, breathy, delicate like the rest of her, and Alicia wished it to become a song she could play again and again.
"You have a flair for poetry.", Beatrice comments amused.
"I'm allowed to have hobbies.", Alicia retorts, instantly recognizing it would come across as a jab to the other girl.
"I'm sorry..."
"It's okay."
Ashamed, the redhead scratched the back of her neck and bit her lip. She dipped her brush again and continued with the canvas. They stayed like that for a long while. Beatrice watching, sometimes chiming in to point out how the light was shifting or where the ripples crashed against the little stones. Alicia took her hand gently and dipped Beatrice's index finger like a brush into color and encouraged her to try tracing over her blue lines. They laughed together, losing themselves in the canvas. The sun hid lower, turning gold, then copper. The river memorized their voices. By the time footsteps thundered through the trees, the sky was already beginning to fall asleep.
"Alicia!"
Verso emerged from the forest, breathless. Relief set on his face the moment he spotted his sister, replaced by immediate surprise. He froze when he saw Beatrice sitting so close to Alicia, almost leaning her head on her shoulder, not quite daring enough to fully commit to such an act. He came to a halt in front of them, easily jumping over the river.
"You're the Writers younger daughter."
Beatrice jumped up at once, fear returning. Alicia stood up too, unconsciously taking a step in front of the blonde girl, eyebrows furrowed.
"I'm sorry I'm late." Verso said quickly to Alicia first. "Mother wouldn't stop talking, you know how she is. I didn't mean to be gone for so long." He placed his hand on Alicia's shoulder, then turned to adress Beatrice.
"It's already late, you shouldn't be out here alone."
They started hearing faint voices in the distance, guards already on the lookout for the young Writers girl. Verso made a decision just as quickly as Alicia had earlier.
"We'll walk you home. It's safer.", he said, more calmly this time.
Beatrice nodded, unsure but grateful. "Thank you.", she managed under all the nervousness.
Alicia came to walk beside her with a reassuring smile. Beatrice reciprocated. When they reached the Writers manor gates, Beatrice's mother was already there, summoned by the guards. She anxiously rushed forward, wrapping her daughter in her arms, checking her face, her hands.
"Oh love...", she whispered.
Then her eyes found Verso's. Her shock was easily readable in her wide eyes. The Painters children. Here. Fearlessly standing their ground on territory that rejected their existence, ideals clashing in every way.
"Thank you.", the mother said carefully, sincerely. Squeezing her daughter's cape she added, "I did not expect such kindness."
Verso closed his eyes in acknowledgement, nodding respectfully. Graceful strength mirrored in his body language, straightened back, alert head moving with his broadened chest, deliberately preparing for any possible danger. Alicia tried mimicking his stance, wanting to impress the older Writers woman who took notice.
"She was not alone. We simply brought her back home." His words were chosen with careful vigilance.
Bowing his head slightly, he turned on his heel and began walking out the gates, not minding any of the guards, knowing they wouldn't dare touch him or his sister. Not after he showed there was no threat upon their lands.
Alicia caught Beatrice's eyes in a deadlock. There were no words either of them could utter, not anymore. Only a dreadful stillness in body and in mind. The redhead collected all her courage and offered a hand up in an unwilling goodbye, fingers shyly closing in on themselves, her paint box getting crushed under her arm by tensed up muscles. The Writers girl wanted to take a step forward, a yearning look on her pale face, but felt her mother's worried pull on her cape, anchoring her to the ground. A warning. Seeing this, Alicia smiled at her one of those warm, affectionate smiles, understanding the situation they're in. She did not wait for Beatrice to reciprocate this time, turning to leave with her brother.
On the walk home Verso finally spoke against the sounds of nature.
"What did you do with her by the river?", he asked Alicia, never accusing, only curious.
"We painted. Well, I did, she watched. I think she needed that." Alicia seemed distant, like she was intentionally cutting out fragile details. Verso sighed softly. 'Here we go, it's beginning', he thought. He rolled his eyes amusedly. 'Puberty'. Then he felt responsibility hitting him again like a snowball to the face. He cleared his throat, demanding attention from his sister.
"Its better if Father and Mother don't know. If they don't find out. At least not from you. Let me handle them. The families..." He desperately searched for the right words. "They remember old things."
Alicia nodded. "I know."
The rest of the walk was spent in mutual silence. She understood. She had known since she saw those ink marks on soft, pale skin.
And yet, as she lay in bed that night, watching the moonlight dance across the glistening rooftop of her bedroom, she could only think about the river. About how she would go there again tomorrow and find Beatrice on that exact same spot, at exactly the same time. Her dreams that night were warm and fuzzy and for the first time she didn't mind her stomach aching from anticipation.