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As far as the rules set by the painter’s council go and the restrictions set in place for one’s well-being, the Dessendre family has already gone well above and beyond in ignoring most of them. Whether that be painting real people into the Canvas the way Aline has done with her family, their prolonged stay in the Canvas or the attachment the family has grown for it by now.
Wrong, but more than that: it can easily turn to something dangerous.
As such, Clea is not exactly thrilled to see Alicia push against another of those boundaries, insisting she wants to stay within their late brother’s Canvas even as sickness weakens her body.
Starting with only a cough Clea was willing to ignore so long as Alicia stayed away from her this quickly developed into a harsh case of bronchitis which the younger sister seemed content to ignore. Clea can’t exactly blame her, with the young woman still stuck in the mindset of the young Maelle it has been particular difficult for her to feel independent as she must- and with this Aline’s detachment from her in particular has been feeling particularly punishing since the fire.
Upon being confronted the younger sister only claimed to be fine, her face twisted in pain, face reddened from coughing non-stop, lips dry and bitten from anxiety. Clea does not doubt her sister’s throat and chest hurts even more with the scars and soreness stretching across her body, something Alicia still is not completely used to- not that she can ever get used to it in Clea’s opinion, as her sister much prefers to hide out in the Canvas and ignore her problems.
Maelle shivers, another wave of nausea coming over her. She staggers briefly, arms quickly coming up and fingers grasping the edge of Lune’s kitchen counter. Getting a glass of water like she said she would suddenly proves far more difficult with her vision swimming and legs feeling like jelly even when she doesn’t move. She knows her body outside of the Canvas is weak, and while she feels much better here, the effects don’t leave her entirely healthy. Another sneeze reminds her of this, accompanied with a cough that makes her wince and has her hand raise to her head. She’s burning up, even inside of the Canvas, now.
This isn’t good.
She shakily raises her arm, the movement almost proving too much with how heavy her limbs feel. Maybe Gustave or Verso know what to do. She wanted to ask Maman on the outside to take care of her, or maybe just ask her what to do to make her feel better. Instead, only the familiar sight of her mother’s back greeted her when she stepped into her atelier.
Aline, unlike Clea, at least did not scold her for coughing so much. But, unlike her sister, she did not speak at all, as though Alicia was nothing but a ghost roaming the halls and haunting her since the fire. She winces at the thought. She’s been feeling like a ghost a lot lately, outside of the Canvas.
Clea’s warning rings in her head, to get out and get rest.
Rest?
Alone in a room to big, surrounded by stuffed animals stolen from Verso’s room, some of them ashen from the fire? Alone in her room with no one to look after her or even look at her? She shakes the thought from her mind, already feeling more at ease hearing Lune laugh by the sofa, sharing some joke with Sciel and Sophie. No, she doesn’t feel like being alone, especially now that she isn’t feeling well.
Looking over at the women sitting together discussing their journey for what must be the seventh time at least- Sophie never gets tired of the stories- Maelle feels a surge of pain in her heart as her bright eyes land on Sciel. Would she know what to do? A silly thought, she almost immediately corrects herself. Surely Sciel would.
She allows her thoughts to wander as she lifts her glass to the counter with a shaky hand. If Sciel had a daughter she would take care of her when she’s sick, surely. Maybe she would sit next to her bed and read her stories like Maman used to back when she was very little- too little to remember, now. Would she get her medicine? Would she make her daughter feel better when pain and discomfort make her cry?
Maelle clenches her fist, not daring explore the thought further. Thinking of herself like that suddenly feels too exposed, as though the women around her could read her mind and expose the yearning desires she has been hoarding inside. She coughs again, her chest dry and painful, her face burning warmer. A part of her desperately wants to lay down with Sciel there. Maybe she doesn’t need to be her daughter for her to take care of her, she dares hope. She knows she can’t be. The thought itself makes her feel so ashamed she tears her eyes away, not daring to look at the brunette that has been holding her heart in a vine for so long.
Sciel is not her mother.
Maelle knows that.
Still, in her sick and exhausted state her mind clings to the idea of it. She thinks of their expedition, of Sciel’s arms around her. She thinks of the woman’s fond, proud smile when Maelle tells her of her achievements and shows her the art she has been working on. Her heart tugs at her as she thinks of the few paintings hung up on Sciel’s walls, some of them created by her.
She thinks of the times she has visited friends as a child and saw their art hung up by their mothers. She thinks of the paintings hung up in the manor. Only one of hers. Pity. Maman made it clear she didn’t actually think it was any good and upon asking Clea, she received the brutally honest answer that no, it was not good enough for the wall, though does a fine job at lifting the beauty of the other paintings up.
She shakes the thought away. She doesn’t want to think of Maman now. She doesn’t want pain. She just wants to be among the people she loves. She doesn’t want to be alone.
Another cough.
It hurts.
She trembles, her vision blurry. For a moment she thinks she will pass out, though after a moment or so the black spots disappear and she sees clearly again. Another cough wrecks her body. This time she’s sure her legs give out and she prepares herself for the fall when she instead feels strong, gentle arms beneath her armpits, holding her up.
Sciel, seeing the girl wobble by the kitchen counter and blink away her dizziness, was up in an instant. Maelle whimpers quietly as the glass is taken from her before it is dropped to the ground, her vision slightly blurry as she’s turned. She isn’t sure whether it’s her legs holding her up or Sciel but clings to the woman anyway. In the back of her mind she tries to scream at herself, the ugly parts within her beckoning her to feel shame with the way she grips at Sciel’s purple top desperately, her face pushing against her throat with force as she chases the coolness of her skin.
The brunette mutters something to Lune and Sophie, but she can’t make it out. She tries to focus on not passing out and accidentally leaving the Canvass.
She doesn’t want to be alone now.
She wants Sciel.
She needs Sciel.
Her vision flickers and she blinks away the discomfort, throat and chest burning as she coughs again. In the back of her mind she notes she’s coughing right into Sciel’s throat. It must be uncomfortable, she thinks, but the older woman doesn’t pull away. If anything her grip on her tightens as she notes how every cough has Maelle’s body shake. She’s wheezing weakly as she breathes.
A few minutes pass, she doesn’t quite know how long it’s been. When her vision clears again Maelle notices she’s sat on the ground, her head rested against Sciel’s neck, her hair stroked so gently she almost thinks this is some fever dream. Aline would not dare touch her after the fire and has not been overly affectionate prior to it, too. She should be ashamed of herself for leaning into Sciel’s touches so hungrily. Alas, Maelle can only muster up pride at herself for not letting the quiet whine of “Mama” slip from her lips. She likes to think it’s control. Really, she feels to exhausted to make a sound.
Her head is pulled back gently, guided by the hand on her cheek. She sighs quietly, her eyes slipping shut at the comfortable feeling. Sciel’s hand is cool against her cheek. She didn’t notice the woman press it into the cool kitchen counter before cupping her cheek- if she did, she would likely not be able to contain the confused whimper, unused to the attention.
“It’s okay”
The words make her relax a little, even as her body protests: no, it is not okay. She shouldn’t be in the Canvas like this. Clea is right, and her body is paying the price of her stubbornness.
She makes a small sound at the back of her throat, not too different from the (only-) ones she makes outside. Sciel seems to understand, however, and Maelle’s heart flutters as the woman lifts her hand and mutters something to Lune about filling the glass with some fresh water. Maman did not look after her after the fire. Papa only did so once or twice before disappearing too. He could not make sense of the small noises she made. Clea, the only one left and forced to look after her and take care of her, quickly became annoyed with her inability to answer even as to her credit, she very quickly began to understand what every little sound meant.
Sciel understands.
Maybe Sciel would still hold her like this if her face was scarred ugly, Maelle thinks. Maman never said it, but the mask her painted double was made to wear was enough to confirm her fears: she’s broken. She’s ugly.
In the back of her mind Maelle wonders: would Sciel put a mask on her, too? Would she make her tuck her ugliness away? Would she tell her it isn’t so bad? Would she help her understand she’s still worth something even with the visible reminders of that horrible day?
She snuggles a little closer automatically, her body weak and small against Sciel. She’s thankful the woman doesn’t pull away, so much so she feels thick tears run down her cheeks. There is no one to hug her anymore aside from Sciel, Verso and Gustave.
A glass is pressed to her lips and she drinks greedily. Her throat is so dry. Everything hurts. She finishes the glass quickly, and the one that comes after. With no one to remind her she forgot to drink something, having been too distracted by the pain. Another half of a glass before she turns her head and presses it weakly against Sciel’s throat again, eyes pressing shut. She lifts her hand tiredly and it slips back to the ground immediately. She didn’t dare hold onto the fabric of the woman’s shirt even as she desperately wants to.
Arms tighten around her and she squeals hoarsely when she’s suddenly picked up, carried easily in the arms of the former farmer. Her legs dangle weakly, her eyes struggling to stay open. She hears Lune, Sophie and Sciel talk but can’t make out the words they’re saying. Her ears feel slightly blocked. Is she getting worse? Again, she thinks of Clea. Clea, who has told her things would get worse if she continues being so stubborn.
She whimpers, holding onto Sciel as tight as her weak body allows it.
She doesn’t want to go.
With her body burning up and coughs getting worse rational thoughts leave her quickly. Shame slips from her and she curls against the woman as best as she can, content in her arms. More content than she has been in a long, long while. She loves hugging Verso and Gustave and melts into the touch every time Sciel hugs her. But this is new, and even though she can’t quite enjoy it the way she would like Maelle still leans into it all. Her hair is kissed, the touch impossibly motherly. Not that she thinks she knows what that feels like, anymore.
No. She does.
It feels like Sciel, she decides.
A few minutes go by, but she’s barely aware of it. The woman has begun shifting her in her arms a little. Likely only to adjust her grip, but it feels like being rocked to sleep nonetheless and has just that type of effect, too. Sciel can’t help the gentle smile stretching across her lips as she feels the teen relax against her fully, breaths heavy, each breath through her stuffy nose coming with a small, high note. Alas, at least the girl is getting some rest, even as the position is less than ideal for both of them. Of course, having worked as a farmer from a young age on Sciel is not too unused to the weight in her arms, despite her change of careers, though knows it’s unsustainable.
Maelle stirs quietly as a kiss is pressed to her forehead, barely aware of being moved as Sciel exits the apartment. She’s sure, the fresh air on the way home will do the sleeping girl some good, too.
Awakening what she can only assume are a few hours later, Maelle is shocked to find herself tucked in a large bed. She sits up with a groan, her wide eyes immediately finding Sciel, slumped in a chair by the bed, sleeping soundly. She looks to the windows, spotting the moon and stars. How long has it been since they left Lune’s? When did they leave hers, even? She knows this is Sciel’s apartment, recognizing her bedroom and the pictures- photographs and paintings from Clea and her- hung up on the walls.
She makes a small sound at the back of her throat, then shakes her head and clears her throat, reminding herself she can talk, here.
“Sciel?”
The words come out quiet, rough. Her throat and chest hurt. She reaches out, her fingertip tapping the woman’s arm. She feels a little more at ease when Sciel wakes up, her green eyes gentle. Papa had looked at her alarmed when she woke up after the fire, then didn’t look at her again for a long time.
It made her feel more scared, knowing something was wrong.
But Sciel smiles at her as though everything really will be alright, her expression gentle as she slowly lifts her hand to the teenager’s forehead. Maelle tracks the movement, certain she must look silly when her eyes nearly cross trying to look at the hand settling against her skin. Again, it’s much cooler than her flushed one and she leans into the touch hungrily, letting out an embarrassing whimper when Sciel pulls away.
She wants to ask if everything is alright. Whether she will take care of her. She doesn’t dare to, but her tense posture and wide, hopeful eyes are enough for the brunette to understand. Maelle can only hope she doesn’t see all of her desires in her eyes, shame already flooding her again as she thinks of how lovely this is.
Sciel’s bed. Under Sciel’s blankets. She thinks; would this be a common thing, had things been different? Had Maman not been so cruel and painted her as an orphan, but as Sciel’s daughter? Would this feel even more natural as it already does?, slipping into her Maman’s bed when she doesn’t feel well.
Lost in her thoughts, she only snaps out of it when the woman leans down to kiss her forehead to calm her. To her credit it works, Maelle’s nerves calming slightly.
“It’s okay, you need to rest though, okay? I’ve called Gustave a few hours ago and told him you’re here”, Sciel explains gently, unsure how much the girl recalls. She seemed so out of it before, barely awake as they stepped into her apartment, only whining about being too hot when she was set down on the freshly made bed. Removing her shoes and socks helped, though Sciel searches the back of her mind for comfortable clothing that might fit the shorter girl and help her cool down a little. She doesn’t know a lot about painters, but given that Clea stayed completely outside the Canvas that time she caught a cold Sciel feels safe to assume Maelle has no business being here, health-wise.
Maelle eagerly accepts the cup of tea she’s given. She doesn’t like the warmth of it but drinks it anyway, trusting Sciel blindly. She already feels her dry throat ease up a little. She tastes honey in the tea and smiles quietly.
“Can you stay?”
The words slip out of her without thinking and suddenly she wishes she just kept her mouth shut the way she does outside of the Canvas. Her cheeks burn, tears immediately welling up in her eyes as she expects rejection.
Even grander is her surprise when Sciel agrees with a kind smile, retrieving only a cool towel from the kitchens before she climbs into the bed as well, instinctively pulling the sick teen towards her until Maelle can rest comfortably against her. She’s stiff for a moment, aware this is likely the closest she has ever been to the woman. She suddenly worries whether she smells, feeling how warm she is, then shoves the thought from her mind. Sciel has hugged her during the expedition while she was covered in blood and dirt. She doubts the woman cares for a little sweat. If she does, she doesn’t show it. If anything she only pulls her closer.
The wet towel gently presses to her hot forehead and she sighs, her tense posture quickly melting away by the minute. She slumps against the woman, her head resting on her chest and ear pressed to her skin. She can faintly hear and feel Sciel’s calm heartbeat and tries to mirror her breaths, though her own come out more as a wheeze than anything else.
She feels better like this, even as her blurry, darkening vision and heavy limbs and the rough coughs wrecking her body are indication enough that she is not.
Minutes pass by comfortably, with Sciel’s hand back in her hair gently combing through the ginger strands. Maelle shivers from the touch, but tries her best to lean into it. Occaisonally she is made to drink a little more tea before she slumps back down, content to enjoy the peace she has found within the Canvas and Sciel’s company.
Her chest tightens slightly.
She is not her daughter.
But she takes care of her, nonetheless.
A part of her hopes it isn’t random. That Sciel wouldn’t do this out of the kindness of her heart to just anyone. That Maelle is significant to her, somehow.
She doesn’t expect to be seen as a daughter. But the thought of Sciel being so caring and motherly towards just anyone is almost too much to bear.
Her eyes almost slip shut again after a little while, her body utterly exhausted from the coughing, face red, chest tight and sore. Her nose is stuffy and her entire body has begun to ache. She feels as though every part of her is protesting against her stay in the Canvas and tries her best to hold firm, trying to focus on Sciel’s body beneath her head.
Then, a sound.
Her head jerks up as she hears Clea clear her throat, her arms crossed and lips pulled into a scowl. Clearly, she’s not impressed with what she’s seeing, and while Maelle briefly fears the woman will confront her about how she has been craving Sciel like a stray kitten seeking out a home and a moth drawn to a flame, the woman’s heavy sigh and fingers against her cheek tell a different story.
Clea scowls at the sticky feeling of her sister’s face, sweat that now sticks to her fingertips, too. She cringes, already looking forward to taking a bath.
“I told you to get out of here. You need to rest, Alicia”, she snarls none too kindly, quite frankly done with the way her girlfriend is babying her sister and Alicia’s own stubbornness. She may have been fine leaving their parents in the Canvas, but will not let Alicia succumb to some poor fate after already failing to protect her siblings once.
“Get up and out, now. I’ve made your bed. Go to sleep”
The words- commands- leave no room to complain. Maelle tries, anyway.
She makes a small sound at the back of her throat, a small protest her sister does not care for. A roll of icy blue eyes and suddenly the teen feels Chroma- her Chroma- swirl around Clea’s fingers.
No!
NO!
“Cl-e-aa! Please no!”, she struggles out, tears streaming down her cheeks instantly as she feels her sister begin to push her from the Canvas. Even at her full strength she knows she would stand no chance against Clea. Now, it’s almost pitiful how easily her Chroma is manipulated by the more powerful paintress, torn from her and weakening her until she has less and less to keep herself here. She clings to Sciel tightly, lifting her head. Wet, terrified eyes find green ones that try to look encouraging. Sciel, despite knowing this is for the best, feels her heart break as the little thing clings to her and cries, desperately trying to stay within the Canvas. All three of them know it’s a losing battle. Clea’s word is law.
Every passing moment, more slips from her. She can’t feel the pain for a moment, but cries bitterly as she loses the sensation of Sciel’s fingers against her hair. Yellow-golden flower petals bloom from her and surround her. She pushes herself against Sciel as tight as she can, sobbing quietly as she feels the woman slip from beneath her fingers.
Mama!
She doesn’t dare scream the words that pop into her head.
Then, darkness.
She comes to in a bed again- her own, this time.
To her surprise, she is not alone, however. Clea is by her bed, sketching absently in her sketchbook. She only lifts her head when Alicia sits up, rubbing at her eyes and lifting her hand to her throat. She winces, pulling her fingers away when they meet scarred flesh.
Sciel...
She wants to utter the woman’s name. Instead only a croak comes out. Clea seems to understand, though, rolling her eyes as she assures her; “it’s just for a few days, Alicia. Get better, rest up, then we can go back”
We?
Clea doesn’t answer the silent question Maelle knows she understood. She doesn’t give her little sister the satisfaction of hearing how Sciel pleaded with her to stay outside too to look after her. An annoying task, really, and one Clea is more than sick of. Though, at the very least this time she will be rewarded for it.
Alicia shoots her a wide-eyed stare as a glass of water is held out to her, but drinks eagerly. She even takes the medicine given to her without making much of a fuss, rendered completely silent. Her anger at being pushed from the Canvas has faded away, instead she feels stuck in the surprise coursing through her at the fact that Clea is here, taking care of her.
She doesn’t hold her or kiss her head like Sciel has. She doesn’t stroke her hair and she doesn’t make an effort to tell her all will be alright because- of course- it will be. When exhaustion becomes too much to handle Maelle lets her eyes slip shut, hand quietly reaching out. Clea feels her sister’s fingers curl against her skirt as if scared without the touch she will leave the moment she falls asleep, but allows it. It’s not like she has anywhere to go.
Cracking her eyes open one last time Maelle looks at Clea, sketching idly. The scratch of the charcoal pencil against the paper relaxes her a little.
She sighs, trying to calm herself.
She’s not alone.