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Emboldened by her anger, Maelle thought it wise to confront her mother. She doesn’t know what she thought she might get from Aline- an apology? Love? An admission to doing something wrong, even? Maybe a hug, or maybe just a spark of recognition.
But when her fingers grasped for her mother’s arm and she turned her to- finally- face her, it was not gentleness she saw.
Disgust was the first emotion Maelle picked up as the older woman ripped her arm away as though she was the fire that consumed the manor and her precious brother. Disgust, that only worsened when Aline inevitably was forced to look her daughter in the face for what felt like the first time in decades. It hasn’t been that long, really, though to Maelle it certainly felt like it.
Then, hatred. Not a trace of maternal love left, as though the fire consumed that, too.
Maelle couldn’t breathe, sobs wrecking through her body as her mother backed away as though she was a threat.
Is she so horrid to look at?
Is she so unworthy of love?
She ran to the only place she feels she knows these days.
The Canvas.
And more specifically, Sciel’s.
The woman opening the door wears a surprised, shocked expression as she takes in the sobbing teen. Ordinarily Maelle might come to Gustave. Now her body and brain are working on autopilot, bringing her here. She doesn’t look around, but senses Clea is not here. She’s silently thankful for it, not wanting her sister to see her in such a state.
Despite herself she can’t help but immediately throw herself against the woman, her arms coming around her as sobs wreck through her body. Her vision is blurry with tears face completely wet with sticky, salty tears. She can’t stop crying, the rejection fresh on her mind. She doesn’t notice herself being pulled inside the home but allows it, until she’s sat down on the sofa. Sciel kneels in front of the distressed girl, attempting to hear what happened. But her words don’t reach the teen and Maelle’s words come out only in slurred sobs that are hardly coherent enough for Sciel to make any of it out.
Feeling hands cup her cheek, she suddenly jerks away, the motion so violent it automatically has Sciel flinch back, hands hovering in the air. Normally, she would lean into it hungrily. Now, it burns. She’s convinced, Sciel would never touch her the way she does if she saw the real her. She’s sure, she would lose another mother if she didn’t keep up her face and beauty as Maelle.
She imagines Sciel flinching away from her like Aline has, her soft, green eyes losing every trace of gentleness. Her mother’s eyes were so sharp, so much harsher than even Clea’s. Maelle can’t recall having ever seen her mother look so disgusted and angry, as if the sight of her returned the memories of that night. She now wishes she had never confronted her, had never found out what she feared for long already.
She’s a monster.
As such, she flinches away and lashes out when Sciel’s hands attempt to set on her shoulders. She immediately regrets it when her angry outburst has her shove the woman back. Green eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows furrowed. Not anger. Worry. It almost hurts as much as she anger would, Maelle thinks. She’s sure she would lose the woman’s care and worry the moment her facade slips.
Aline flinched away from her, even when she tried so hard to be gentle. Sciel, despite having been shoved back once already, moves back in, her hands hovering by Maelle’s arms. The younger one is sure she would lose the proximity her mother friend is trying to create the second soft skin turns scarred.
Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of all children. Her mother made clear, however, that she is nothing.
Worse than nothing. Worse than insignificant. A monster. A mistake. The words were never uttered but have been on Maelle’s mind heavily since the fire; it should have been her who was claimed by the fire. Aline has only ever silently confirmed this, even as even the harsh woman would not dare utter it. Maybe, just because she can’t stand being close enough to her to have a conversation.
Another shove at gentle arms. She doesn’t notice she’s moved forwards, sobbing angrily as she pushes against Sciel over and over until she’s on top of the woman, fists weakly coming down against her arm, fingers clenched to prevent her from reaching out and accepting the comfort she so desperately yearns for. To her, monsters deserve to comfort. She wonders how much longer until the woman strikes back. She’s sure Aline would have, by now. Even as she has never raised her hands against her, Maelle remembers seeing Clea’s face painted pink by a handprint, once. Her sister would not tell her what happened. Her cold demeanour forwards her parents and their mother and icy independence spoke for her.
But Sciel does not harm her. She wraps her arms around her instead, holding the sobbing girl close to her. She feels tears sting at her eyes as she catches Maelle cry out the words “I’m a monster” over and over again against her throat. She does not let go, arms tightening as she feels fists rest against her sides, then feels the fingers uncurl gently and clutch her black tank top, instead. Maelle feels herself tremble, her tears soaking Sciel’s neck. She bites her lip until she bleeds, desperately trying to keep herself together. Instead, she only crumbles more, sobbing loudly and clutching the woman beneath her like she’s all who can fix her. She’s not strong like Clea. She needs her mother.
She should know Sciel is not that. Aline was not kind enough to give her one when she painted over her. Was she not so cruel, would she have perhaps allowed Maelle to be Sciel’s? The thought feels so beautiful it almost calms her until another crashes down in her mind; she is not lovable. Sciel would have left her even in such a scenario upon learning the truth about what a monster she is, uglier and more scarred and evil than any nevron they have encountered.
She shakes as she pulls herself away. She’s coughing already, her face red. Her tears make it difficult to breathe. In the back of her mind she notes Sciel sit them both up, her fingers gently running through her hair as she coos, helping her as she hyperventilates.
She doesn’t deserve it.
“Y-You don’t- understa-and!”, she cries out. Her body tenses and trembles as her cheeks are cupped again and Sciel begins to wipe away her tears with such motherly love it almost overwhelms the teen. She desperately wants to lean into it. Instead, she forces to tug herself away, head pulling back from the warm hands. She sobs, missing the touch immediately and regretting the action when Sciel’s hands drop again, as though to respect a decision Maelle never truly wanted to make.
“I’m r-ruined!”, she forces herself to explain between sobs. The memory of Aline’s harsh eyes is burned into her mind. She flinches as she sees her mother yank her arm away from her, as though on fire.
Will her fire consume Sciel, too?
Will it take Verso a second time?
Will it take Gustave, again?
It’s all her fault.
She’s convinced, Sciel only still holds her because she does not see the proof of her ugliness and monstrosity.
Gone.
Maman, gone.
Sciel will be, too.
Just wait and see, her sinister thoughts mock. She sobs, wheezing out a breath between her cries and coughing until her body shakes and face almost matches her hair and more, red as a tomato.
“You don’t understand...”, she sobs, fingers lifting and clumsily summoning Chroma around her. It isn’t elegant, isn’t easy. She can’t control it like Clea and her parents can. She feels Sciel’s and the Chroma of the world around her, locked far beyond her reach. She winces as she forces her face to change, revealing the ugly truth hidden beneath paint.
Sciel’s surprised gasp when scarred tissue is revealed feels like rejection. She doesn’t dare open her eye, thick tears running down her face. She can’t speak, can only croak out something quiet as she lowers her hand again. She’s trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her fingers dig into Sciel’s top harshly, clenching the fabric in her fist. She expects rejection.
“Maellle...”
The words are soft. Almost a coo, gentle as a blanket lifted above her cool body.
Instead of rejection, Maelle feels the same gentle hands rise to her face. Her eye snaps open wide as her cheeks are cupped with gentleness she is not used to. Sciel’s hold on her is sure, her palms warm against her skin. Both her cheeks are cupped, her mind echoes again. Both. Sciel is not avoiding the scarring on her face and throat. Where Aline had flinched away, Sciel leans closer, her touches gentle but firm enough to confirm she is not afraid to touch her, that nothing has changed in that regard. The teacher’s heart breaks as she feels Maelle tremble. The girl is terrified, expecting rejection and now looking utterly lost that it isn’t coming. She feels gentle cheeks heat up beneath her as her fingers gently rub along them, one soft, the other scarred. Both receive equal amounts of motherly love that Maelle did not dare dream of receiving still. She sobs, praying no other has received such a touch from Sciel. She couldn’t bear being seen as something other than a monster only for it to be insignificant.
Only for another to receive the same...
The thought turns ugly, her mind sharp. She feels shame and disgust at her own thoughts, her selfish desires to be special.
Her fingers move down automatically, hesitant fingertips tracing the spot through the shirt where she knows a large scar lays against tanned skin. She’s sure, Sciel feels it, even as the woman doesn’t comment on it. Maelle thinks back- she has seen the scar stretching across Sciel’s skin often enough and, having heard her and Lune one night at camp, she knows the story behind it. Her heart aches as she realizes this; how could she so selfishly wish for her to be a mother to any girl than the one she has lost?
How dare she wish she was hers.
Maelle wonders whether her thoughts would wound the other woman, given she could understand, given she knew the thoughts of Mama and I need you and please don’t leave me in her head. She’s suddenly thankful- prideful she has managed to keep quiet, thankful Gustave has never told Sciel about the nights she would wake up crying, the word “Maman” a quiet plea from her lips after a nightmare. Once, in a state of exhaustion and fear, she pleaded with him to get the woman. Despite the implication of her request he never held it against her and never told Sciel why he asked her over for company in the middle of the night, blaming his own nightmares rather than expose Maelle’s desperation.
She shivers with disgust at her own thoughts, a deep shame rooted inside of her. She was not enough for Aline. How could she be enough for Sciel? How dare she reach for a woman whose heart likely still belongs to the girl she never got to have?
She bites her tongue, not allowing the call, the quiet mama...! to fall from her lips.
Would her own calls for her scare Sciel off?
Would the word Mama turn her cold towards her?
Another sob makes her body shake, her back stroked lovingly as she coughs, desperate to get air back in her lungs. She notes how close they are, how gently she is held. A touch so foreign she knows it only from Sciel, Gustave and Verso now. Still, this is different from Gustave’s hugs and the playful piggyback rides Verso offers when they play with Esquie. She desperately wants to lean into the other woman’s body, feeling the warmth radiating from her. She feels cold.
Shivers run up and down her spine as her scarred cheek is caressed again, fingers gentle and firm. Malle thought she might prove to herself and Sciel that she is worthy of nothingness. Given how that night and her lasting appearance changed it all, she was sure the same would happen here, now.
Instead she is sobbing helplessly as she is the one proven wrong, her tears wiped from her, her fingers tugging the black tank top sharply, a silent plea for more that she does not dare ask for. Maman Sciel understands. Her body melts against a taller one when the older woman wraps one arm around her and pulls her closer, lips pressing to her forehead to help calm her down. She feels the girl tremble against her, terrified like she has rarely seen her before. Maelle can only let out a small sound, more of a croak than anything else, as those lips kiss her nose too and the hand at her back rubs gentle circles against her.
Calm, almost, despite the tears and sobs. Like she’s in the eye of the hurricane, saved just because Sciel has her arms around her and keeps her close to her. She wonders- if things were a little different, would this be normal? Would her heart not race so much every time Sciel pulls her into a hug? Would she not feel fierce jealousy whenever Sciel praises one of her students, so desperately wishing it was her instead making her proud enough to be called out on it?
Calm- a dangerous emotion when she is still so emotional.
“Ngn-nhna”
Mama.
Her eye snaps open wide, terrified, but calms soon as the realizes Sciel does not react. The words come out unintelligible, mere croaks- all her scarred throat can produce after the fire. Sciel has no hope of understanding the word, and a part of the teen is thankful for it. Another wonders what her reaction would be, what the word would change.
Aline did not grant her the mercy of painting her as Sciel’s daughter. Can it be changed? Could Sciel want her? A dangerous thought, reminding her of the few times she almost begged Clea to consider repainting what Maman did. Clea...could. But Maelle did not dare ask, disgust and shame flooding her every time she selfishly thinks of asking her sister to paint over Sciel.
She doesn’t dare think about the possibility of being wanted as a daughter without her sister’s meddling, even as proof stares right at her with the way Sciel holds her as though she is the most precious girl in the world to her. Perhaps, given she asked, Clea would confirm this. Perhaps, she would merely roll her eyes, annoyed and certainly not blind to the maternal bond her girlfriend shares with her little sister.
She doesn’t notice when she has stopped sobbing, her tears silent now and wiped away by gentle fingers. Her scarred cheek is kissed after, the touch taking her breath away and pulling another quiet sound from the back of her throat. The first kiss she has received on scarred flesh, Maelle realizes. Papa has not kissed her. Maman has not even looked at her. Clea? Maelle almost laughs at the idea of asking her sister for a kiss on to the head, much less her scarred flesh- frankly, given Clea’s rather cold nature, she still finds herself mildly surprised when she shows even a hint of affection towards Sciel or- rarely- her. She’s sure her face is burning now, only this time she doesn’t mind it. It’s not the flames of the fire that consumed her and her bother now, but the warmth of a mother’s affection.
Her mother?
The thought stirs hope in her chest as she looks up a little, her wide, bright eye finding Sciel’s green ones. Her gaze is gentle, reassuring. She doesn’t talk, does not call her out on it. Maelle is sure she is staring, taking in green, loving eyes, then the scar across Sciel’s nose. She feels a hint of jealousy, briefly, reminded her own scars are much different looking.
She allows it this time when she’s pulled closer, her cheek smudged against the woman’s shoulder. She’s hugged close, her hair stroked gently. The light touch is enough for her to rest her eye, a shuddering sigh passing her lips. She hears Sciel whisper something reassuring and almost cries again, her tears only now coming to an end properly. She’s called beautiful, and it makes her wrap her arms around the woman at last. If the position is awkward for Sciel, still on the hard ground with the teen somehow curled up against her, it matters nothing.
The notes that Sciel does not flinch away when she quietly moves closer, her arms tightening around her and legs wrapping around her waist and resting against the ground behind her. Even like this, she is no monster to her, it seems. Even like this, she still receives gentle touches and is allowed to touch Sciel in return. She does not pull away like Aline has, does not yank herself free from her.
She’s cradled gently, held against Sciel like someone precious to her. The position is almost similar to the times she falls asleep against Sciel’s side, often being arranged to rest comfortably against her front instead. She wants to pull back to see the woman’s green eyes again, desperate and hopeful to see the gentleness in place of Aline’s harshness. Doing just that, she can’t help the small smile that stretches across her face when she catches the one Sciel shoots her. It’s reassuring, and light. Almost as if to tell her it will be alright. That her face really does change nothing. That the scars are more than mere reminders of the worst day in her life. She almost expected harshness. Instead, she feels comfortable at last, the silent question of whether Sciel would treat her any differently was she outside at last answered.
No.
She is still cradled close to her.
Sciel still strokes her hair.
Sciel still leans down to kiss her forehead, then her nose, laughing as Maelle automatically tugs at her top, as if to secretly ask for another. Sciel does not call her out on it, allowing the girl her false subtlety. All that matters to the teacher is the little smile she receives when she leans down to kiss Maelle’s cheek again.
She makes a sound, the Mama slipping from her lips automatically. Maelle supposes she feels grateful now that no words can form from her lips and again, only a sound leaves her. She feels herself be pulled in one last time, head tucked beneath Sciel’s chin and back stroked gently. She doesn’t know when exactly the last of her anxious thoughts have stopped, but she’s eagerly holding onto the woman now, feeling much braver than she thought she could be.
She doesn’t want to go, she thinks almost dreamily.
Can she convince Clea to let her stay in the Canvas indefinitely? No, she cannot. And neither Clea, Sciel, Lune, Gustave, or Verso would allow her to stay inside longer than she should, to share the fate many painters do, too enticed by a Canvas to leave.
She cuddles closer, chasing the warmth coming from her Maman friend.
She thinks; she would die happy, if it meant getting to die Sciel’s daughter.