Chapter Text
The chill of the outside air seeped in through the worn wooden beams of the old house, wrapping around the four figures nestled in the cozy kitchen. They sat close together, their fingers curled around steaming mugs, the warmth of the beverages contrasting with the coolness of the room. Three voices danced around the table like cheerful birds doing tricks, each expressing unique quirks and laughter that filled the space with a vibrant energy. But amidst this lively conversation sat Clémente, unmoving yet watching.
Clémente’s clammy digits grasped the Leveret's hand beneath the table, a silent anchor in a sea of jovial chatter they couldn’t quite catch up with. Their silvery mirrors, usually sparkling with a luminous sheen, appeared sickly dimmer as they dazed their gaze on the three new friends they had met just days before.
The words of their companions were swirling in the air, while Clémente struggled to find their own thread to weave into the tapestry of conversation. It wasn’t as if they could sit and listen properly— their mind was pounding and foggy. They pulled the mug to their lips, allowing the liquid to trickle into their mouth, to soothe their sore throat and let their head float. Their silvers slip below the rim of the cup, eyelashes fluttering from the steam that wafted at their pupils.
As they sat there, an old thread tugged at their heart, drawing their thoughts past the lovely three kids, out the door they traveled. Past swaying trees, over weathered bridges, and beyond a fence and dead plants to the memory of their old bedroom, to the house. Though that place remained locked away, they swore they could still feel their mother’s hand on their shoulder. Her thumb rubbing their shoulder numb, leaning her head upon their crown, and her eyes adjusting to follow each small movement. While her eyes shone with love and curiosity, they couldn’t deny how it still made their chest feel heavy.
But that could also simply be their sickness, no? They couldn’t tell the difference anyhow.
They couldn’t sense another gaze, one that was true, from across the table. Two earthy-toned orbs couldn’t help but furrow as Dearworth’s silvers turned. Clémente seemed unnervingly still, distant from the other three. It was as if the conversation didn’t concern them. How hard was it to listen? To reply? How rude, really. The calf tried to make up for the kid’s disinterest, showing extra enthusiasm as Kingsley exclaimed a ruckus about favorite parts of their day with Peregrine, showing interest as Cole mentioned a new book they had borrowed from the library. Anything to distract the other two from the weight Dearworth’s presence added.
Soon, the chatter had dulled down to yawns as the three children disposed of their cups in the sink. Peregrine lingered at the sink, glancing down at the used plates and utensils. Cole tiptoed over, placing a hesitant hand on their shoulder. Peregrine’s gaze softened as they turned to the shy leveret.
“Yeah?” Peregrine whispered.
“A-are you sure you don’t want me to help?” Cole uttered, “I don’t mind helping with Clémente.” Peregrine shook their head as they opened the cabinet.
“No, you don't exactly know your way around medicine. Just go to bed, Coleman. I’ll take care of Clémente,” Peregrine responded.
“Ah, alright, yeah– goodnight then, Peregrine. Thanks for uhm, helping.” Cole stammered with a flimsy smile.
“And actually go to bed this time. No all-nighters, ya hear? …Wright won’t be happy if you stay up too late,” Peregrine mandated.
The youngest abruptly sprang to the calf. Nudging their shoulder, they cleared their throat with an immense smile.
“Farewell and goodnight!” Kingsley announced with a dramatic bow, colliding their crown into Cole’s chin with a “oof!” Peregrine cracked a breathy chuckle as Cole rubbed their chin with a pout.
“Sweet dreams, weirdos,” Peregrine warmly spun a reply, watching the beloved silhouettes slip away into the dim hallway for the night.
The child’s gaze turned back to the glass vials, moving purely by instinct as they crafted a simple tincture– cherry tart syrup to lull the stubborn bones to sleep. A fruity smell swirls just below Perry’s nose as they crush leaves and honeyed fruit. Steam twirled with the aroma as Peregrine poured hot water into a small drinking bowl; the soft swirl of liquid lapping against its edges with every spin of a spoon. The mixture wove itself a deeper, sweet color– But Peregrine’s thoughts flowed to a hesitant, bitter direction… To the still figure at the table, an empty mug was hugged by pale, freckled hands.
Peregrine's gaze was neither sharp nor kind, merely watching. Appraising. It didn't hold anything close to the warmth it held for Cole and Kingsley. It held wariness, as if staring too long would invite something akin to a curse to crawl between flesh and bone. But just as quickly, they snatched their gaze away– their nose subtly scrunched.
There was something about that child that put them on edge. There was a wrongness. An uncanny and porcelain-like stillness. Their movements were rigid, too poised. A child shouldn't sit nor stare like that. They’ve seen dolls sitting in windows of toy shops before. Perfect faces, painted glassy eyes and skin, and yet Clémente somehow was worse– because Clémente was real, yet they were just as lifeless, just as hollow.
“Is it almost ready?” Clémente’s voice sliced through the air suddenly. Peregrine paused, letting a hum of consideration out between teeth.
“Ah…yeah, it’s almost done.”
Peregrine's eyes then landed on the sink, seeing the mugs stacked upon dirty plates from earlier that day. They’d clean that themselves, but they let out a huff at the idea of more labor tonight. Even if it wasn’t much. Peregrine sighed, looking up and unnaturally smiling. “You…mind helping me out with the dishes?” They asked stiffly.
Clémente's eyes widened subtly at the uneasy request. They've never done a chore like this before. Usually, Enaïs would be the one to take care of the ‘tedious’ job. They were unsure how to express their lack of experience. Instead, they stood up rather quickly, making Peregrine jump in their skin.
“Yes, I can,” Clémente agreed with a firm nod. They thought it would be for the best if they took this opportunity. Not only since the calf’s hands were already full, but it was also a chance to learn. Peregrine hummed, pleased enough with the kid’s compliance as they walked to the sink.
“Here,” Peregrine mumbled, kicking a nearby stepstool for them to boost themselves up. Clémente took their footing on the creaky stool and gazed down at the dirtied tableware. They thought of the memories of glimpses they caught of Enaïs; washcloth in hand, scrubbing at stains of fragile, hand-painted plates as the two spoke. Fuzzy memories of steam, dim light from a chandelier that glowed with flamed candlelight and shiny gems…
Clémente's hand instinctively turned the faucet on, running water slowly steaming as Peregrine busied themselves with tidying the space. It was a breath of fresh air to have one less task on the list before bed. It was satisfying, folding away tea towels and tucking away tins of dried herb leaves. Water and the clinking of glass made fine white noise as Peregrine’s mind wandered. And then—
CRACK!
A loud shattering noise and a whimper, a sound that split clean in two.
Peregrine’s voice caught in their throat, startled and alert. Their body turned around to see Clémente holding their hand to their mouth, shards on the floor.
“Are you okay??” Peregrine asked on instinct, stepping forward to the curly-haired kid. “Are you hurt?” They were relieved to see no blood, just wet hands and subtly irritated skin. And that eerily impassive expression…
“Step back up on the stool, you’ll get cut. And run your hand under cold water for a while,” Peregrine commanded. The child obeyed as the calf observed the damage. Colorful shards scattered on the floor, making Peregrine exhale sharply. They bent down, unexpectedly shaky under their own weight.
“What happened…?” Peregrine questioned in a newly steadier, unreadable tone as they carefully scooped bigger shards in their hands
“It was too hot, and…” Clémente tried to explain in a mumble, but they trailed off as they gazed at the cold water dripping down its hand. Peregrine clicked their tongue at the explanation, a slice of displeasure. Their fingers curled around the shards as their jaw tensed, staring at the floor.
Excuses.
Irritation twitched and pricked at Peregrine as they heard Clémente speak up again; “It was a pretty mug,” they whispered as the water shut off. They swallowed, closing their eyes. ‘Remember, be nice, Peregrine,’ they reminded themselves. But they acted before that truth sank in.
“If it was too hot,” They murmured while turning their head with furrowed brows, “why didn’t you just wait for it to cool down?”
The question hung in the air, awkwardly unanswered. Clémente looked away at something Peregrine couldn’t see. Perhaps they did answer, but they simply didn’t want to hear it at this point. They exhaled quietly, making Clémente perk up again to hang a question in the air.
“Can it be fixed?”
Peregrine placed the shards into a trinket dish on the counter, their expression downturned as Clém gazed at their back. “It…can be fixed,” Peregrine sighed with little conviction in their voice. They reached for the broom, letting the kid watch them sweep away the smaller pieces. They focused on the texture of the broom, old and worn, to take a breather. “But it won’t be the same, pieces will be missing, and…” Peregrine paused as they felt frustration nearly get the better of them. With a light pause, they finally sighed.
“It’ll make a better flower pot than a mug.”
Clémente’s face lit up, a smile on their face. A real, unexpected crinkle to their eyes.
“It’ll make a pretty flower pot, then!”
Peregrine bit their tongue. Their nails dug into the wooden broom handle as Clémente’s smile dropped. They let silence linger as they threw away the rest of the rubble, hoping that the tense silence would convey Peregrine’s thoughts. However, Clémente seemed unmoved.
“Maybe just…take your medicine and get ready for bed,” Peregrine bluntly suggested, “make sure you change, don’t want your bed getting dirty.” They didn’t even dare to look as they heard shuffling of Clémente behind them, grabbing their medicine.
“Goodnight, Peregrine,” the child’s voice floated in the air almost. Peregrine’s shoulders tightened as they remained silent, pretending as if their voice were just a breeze passing by.
Peregrine let out a breath as they heard Clémente’s footsteps wander further into the house. Their hand rested on the table, fingers twitched as they scowled. They were acting immature, sure, but knells… Their frown deepened, refusing to smooth out despite their freehand rubbing the corners of their mouth. Cole wouldn’t care about something as simple as a mug; they knew that. Especially if they learned who broke it. It would be swept under the rug without another word.
But it wasn’t merely the material that was precious; it was the memory they held.
The memory of Cole sitting down, the woven picture of Cole’s shaky fingers holding a paint brush and painting childish, flowery sceneries and yellow dots meant to resemble bumblebees, played in Peregrine’s mind as they held their temple. How panicked Cole became when they had pointed out an error- “Flowers aren’t naturally green.” How Kingsley had swooped in when seeing Cole stutter, “So what? It’s just for fun!” How the flowers got more clumsily inaccurate to nature as the other two gave decorating a try.
Now it was gone, shattered by a stranger’s clumsy fingers.
How badly Peregrine wanted to scold it. To firmly snarl that they knew nothing when they dared remark that it would make a ‘pretty flower pot’. That’s not what it was supposed to be, darn it! It was too precious to become something so…
Their breath hitched as they barely caught themselves. Shaking away the need for tears, they turned to the dishes with an achy, clenched jaw. As much as they didn’t want to, they knew the chore wouldn’t exactly get up and do itself. It would provide a good distraction anyway.