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I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.
Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.
- Sylvia Plath, Elm
-
Agott is no stranger to exhaustion.
This morning, it overwhelms her. Buries its claws into her, threatens to pull her into the thick grass and through the damp earth underneath - a feeling not helped as she sinks down onto the too-wet, too-soft soil.
Perhaps it's because she'd stayed up till the crack of dawn again. Till faint, watery sunlight dapples the stone floor, till she's left with her hands shaking and her head swimming, barely able to hold her wand. Yet she's still powered through. Agott has spent many a night like this. No longer is it a break in routine, but a way of life - especially since joining the atelier, which was when sleep had stopped coming easily. Or, sometimes, at all.
Considering Silver Eve isn't far off, this doesn't bode well. She's sure she'll be allowed to take part in the Procession. After all, she's the best candidate Master Olly and Master Qifrey have on their hands. Hopefully, she'll come up with something in time. Agott's been thinking about this for far too long - about how she'll finally make her mark. About how she'll finally be… something to them.
To her.
As the sun beats down on Agott's face, it all comes back to her.
Forgetting how she'd been cast aside like a crumpled sheet of parchment, like one of her own failed attempts at a perfect seal, is easier said than done. Especially when she sees the same face as Adina's - Mama's - staring back up at herself in the mirror. The same cloud of dark hair, so black it's almost purple; the same small, full red mouth; the same heart-shaped face, although her own has yet to grow into its bones. The same quietly thoughtful look, the same straight brows emphasising the air of pensiveness she'd once been told they share.
Pale and sour, like a glass of milk that's turned. Those were some of the nicer words she'd heard whispered by one of many onlookers in the street when her back had been turned. And on her very first day out as an apprentice, too. Nothing like her mother in any way.
The irony.
It's in her magic as much as it's in her face.
Anyone to doubt she's her mother's daughter is a fool through and through.
As much as part of her aches to be back, aches to be folded into an incense-scented hug, how Mama could just… let her go escapes another part of her. A part of her she likes to keep buried as if it were a milk tooth of hers pressed into soil. She still remembers the day she'd covered the very last one up - the dirt beneath her nails, the air against her face crisp as a Mountain Apple, twigs crunching beneath her boots as she stood to dust off her skirts. And most of all, a childish satisfaction that the last of her old self, so different from the one she still wishes to embody, was under the ground.
That very part of her, though?
As if still dormant, still lying in wait, it still aches. A dull, persistent sort of pain spreading through her chest like a soupy fog, the sort that chokes her, fills her vision until everything goes grey.
Aches for what, she still doesn't know.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, the problem is her. If she isn't, why has almost everyone - her family, even strangers in the streets, even Mama herself - said so? Or so that's how it feels.
She doesn't know anymore.
No matter how hard Agott tries, thoughts about how she's simply incapable of better creep up like tendrils of Guard Briar over the wall she's built to block out the noise.
And this morning, the odds are less in her favour than usual. Nothing's been right. Every line, every stroke is the slightest bit off-kilter, and maddeningly enough, stays the slightest bit off-kilter. Every glyph she tries to fix only results in more dark, uneven slashes of ink standing out starkly against the page.
It's been the same since yesterday.
Even then, she'd tried and tried and tried. Tried until she was ripping out fistfuls of grass and earth, dirt crusting her fingers and lodging itself beneath her nails; flinging her palm quire to the ground every time she got it wrong. Until she'd stabbed at the page with her wand again and again and again and again and again and again, overtaken by that gnawing frustration, leaving ink spots like spatters of blood everywhere.
Like a damn massacre on the page, as Master Olly had said. That's what had taken place. The hell's this, Agott?
Despite herself, she'd laughed through her tears.
Taking it easy?
Now that's something easier said than done. Some days, Agott doubts she deserves even the few minutes of rest she allows herself every hour.
The others won't understand. That is why she's shouldered the shame, the burden, the lingering weight of her own expectations alone even now.
Part of Agott wants to let go.
Part of her doesn't.
She's trying. She really is.
Working outside helps clear her head. It was Coco who'd asked if she wanted to go on a walk upon seeing her awake, who'd taken her hand and bounded out onto the dew-dampened grass as soon as Agott had half-grumbled a tired alright, I guess so. Coco, the colour in her cheeks and that unmistakable sparkle in her eye having returned, had rushed back to the atelier half an hour ago to wash up and work on her seals.
But Agott stays, sitting beneath the gnarled tree near the entrance, spellbook open in her lap. The sun is out again, dappling the sky pink and grey like the belly of a trout. She picks up her wand and begins to draw. There's the scritch of metal against parchment, her own unsteady breathing, the low whoosh of the wind that further tousles her hair. Then, the calm that overtakes her as she shuts out all else.
Losing herself in the process is what Agott relishes. It's only when the result is revealed that it becomes her personal hell. Afterwards, she notices all that she'd rather not have: a stray spot of ink here, a crooked line there, a sigil that's not quite what she wanted. I'd have expected better of another Arklaum, that's what one of them would've said, the disappointment clear as day in their eyes.
More reminders she's not quite there yet.
That, if they're right, she'll possibly never be in time.
No, they won't be.
Focus, Agott, focus.
She continues, adding another line to the seal with a deft stroke of her wand - short, sharp, smooth. Just as it's meant to be according to the last spellbook she'd picked up.
Maybe if…
"Awake already?"
The crunch of fallen leaves beneath a pair of feet makes her glance up.
"Master Olly?"
He steps into view beside her, leaning against the tree's twisting trunk. "Wonder what you're doin' out here. And at this hour, too."
Sans hat, with his hair disheveled by the wind and the shadows beneath his eyes deeper than usual, Master Olly doesn't seem like he got much sleep either. If any at all.
"I could ask you - or Coco, for that matter - the same." Agott presses her lips together, attempting to suppress a smile. And failing.
That's Master Olly for you.
He clicks his tongue, raking a hand through his already rumpled hair.
Not best pleased at her staying up again, is he?
She hopes he'll understand, though.
Maybe.
"How long's it been, eh?"
Scratch that.
"Don't know."
"What're you workin' on?"
"…something." Agott itches to show him what she has - but she can't. Not yet. "Something I was… something I was hoping you'd look at for me later, if it isn't trouble."
"I'd be glad to."
Her vision fuzzes at the edges, drowsiness gripping her. Agott attempts to steady her unsteady hands, but they shake, shake, shake. Shake until she drops her wand, until she's left leaning against the trunk, rubbing at her burning eyes.
Master Olly reaches down to fetch it for her, but she scrabbles for it in the still-wet grass, beating him to it.
"'S alright, I got it."
"Agott." He shakes his head, gives her a look that's somewhere between vexation and concern. "What was it I said about pullin' all-nighters again?"
"I'm… I'm fine," Agott manages, swallowing the tickle in her throat as she sits up again.
Agott recalls the concern written all over Coco's face, eyes wide as dinner plates as she'd heard her attempt to stifle a cough this morning. I worry for you, I really do - if you aren't careful, you're gonna fall ill like I did. Oh, Agott, that'd be awful! Do look after yourself, please, won't you?
Again, easier said than done.
Inhaling deeply, she steadies herself. Draws in lungful after lungful of cool air, her head clearing a tad already. "…and not like you don't, either."
"We've been over this already: you don't wanna do everythin' I do." With a wry, fond chuckle, he scrubs a hand over his face. Well, she can't just do nothing.
"Even if it's what got you where you are?"
There is a pause, and Master Olly's shoulders slump. He sighs, pulling his cloak tighter against the chill, giving her a sardonic half-smile. "Where I am's much better. Y'know what got me where I was, kid? Punishin' myself."
"Am I, now?"
…is she, now?
No, only doing what she ought to.
The knowing look he gives her and the worry lining his brow say it all. "You can't even sit up, but you're still holdin' onto that wand as if for dear life."
"I need to get something - what I've been wanting to show you - done. It's for… for Silver Eve." She swallows, throat so dry it hurts.
Master Olly falls silent, appraising her with a quiet sort of knowing scrutiny, something she can't quite place in his gaze. And that's what makes annoyance flare within her.
"Seems like somethin' to discuss closer to the time."
What does he…
He's treating her like a child again. Saying and doing things that evade her.
Agott wants to bite back that he doesn't get it, that he never will. Heck, he'll never fully understand what it's like to be her. Never understand what it's like to never be enough for those she ought to be enough for. She's sure he already knows, though - the silent understanding in his weary gaze says it all. With Master Olly giving her that look, it's impossible to stay as incensed as she is - and that gets under her skin even more.
"You oughta get some rest, kid."
Not anytime soon.
Agott reckons she's the sort who knows - and fears - more than she wishes to. The sort who knows what she ought not to, the sort who fears what she never expects to. Knowing more than she wishes to against her own will has been one of Agott's many miseries since she could hold a wand - even if she says so herself.
Heck, Master Olly's the last person she'd anticipated knowing this much about.
As for what she fears, it hasn't become any easier finding out what brings those feelings on. Feelings that have her fighting to breathe, although not for lack of physical capability. When it's as though her throat's closing up, as though her heart's about to hammer out of her chest, she tries to push it all down, down, down. How successfully she does so, however, remains another question she hasn't a concrete answer to. And there's little she hates more than not having a concrete answer.
No wonder she can't help mulling over what happened again right now. She can't help remember a time she'd been left without one.
The day before, that's when it'd happened. Agott had been on the way back home from buying more, more, more notebooks for practice. Burned through all your other ones, haven't ya? Master Olly's right - that she has. Pun intended.
She'd passed what appeared to be a tea house by the roadside, would've done so without stopping. But a flash of white in the corner - right behind the wall away from prying eyes - had caught her attention. Made her stop to look.
The sleeve of Master Olly's tunic, that's what it was; passing around a woman's back, drawing her closer. Sure enough, it was him indeed: tall black hat, matching cloak, a good few days' worth of beard. The woman's face had been hidden from view, bright hair the same gold as his signet ring where the light hit it. She'd leaned in to whisper something unintelligible to Master Olly, with him pausing, wrinkling his brow, looking as if he were chuckling - then pulling her in for a kiss.
Gross.
Agott had turned away, face burning.
Never did she more wish to be on the receiving end of the Memory Erasure spell.
A sudden hoot of laughter, one followed by a rather unladylike snort, had jolted her from her thoughts. The woman's. Then, their voices.
"Us? A couple? C'mon."
"Dunno what they were thinkin' when they assumed that." Him.
Agott is old enough to know that there's worse things than just kissing grown-ups do - things she'd rather not contemplate. But that day, she still couldn’t shake the feeling she'd seen more than she was supposed to. More than she'd ever wish to. Besides, it's Master Olly, for crying out loud - the very last person she wishes to envision in this particular situation.
Why's she remembering this, anyway? She's got more important things to worry about. Breakfast. Buying more ink.
The streets, as always, are an oddly comforting blend of sights and smells and sounds. Spiralling staircases leading up, up, up to shops with their neat wooden doors, to homes with leaded-glass windows in tones purple and green, to half-timbered buildings with dark beams and sloping roofs. Glowing light emanating from a window here, the sound of a bell there. The waft of freshly baked Glowrose Tart Bouquets, of rain-damp soil. The faint winter sunlight dappling the flagstone paths with lacelike patterns as it filters through the trees.
It's a tad quieter today, though - a relief in itself. Agott likes to think she's good at concealing her dislike of crowds, at brushing off the unease of feeling strangers' gazes upon her - but that doesn't make it any less exhausting. The stares, the whispers, the hushed murmurs that still follow her - they're only a little less frequent now. Memories of them still cling to her, much like how the smell of burnt bread clings to her hair right now. Letting what would've been her breakfast sit for a second too long was all it'd taken - yet another thing she can't fix.
Agott's stomach growls.
She'll have something later - what's more pressing is that she's fresh out of ink. At the worst time possible, too. Thankfully, the Starry Sword's not far off - and Master Olly had told her to meet him right outside after she'd finished picking Horncaps to make lunch.
There's… something else Agott reckons she's forgetting.
Not sure what that is, though. Most unlike her to not recall. Perhaps she's written it down somewhere. She rummages through her bag, fingers finding her wand first. And sure enough, there's the little notebook she jots down her lists in.
But...
No.
Agott fumbles in there some more, pats her bag down a second, third, fourth, fifth time.
Her spellbook.
It's gone.
Panic starts creeping in. How'd she let this happen? But - but Master Olly's most probably seen it. He'll know. Once he's around, she'll ask. Still no sign of him near Mr. Nolnoa's, though. Hopefully, he's just around the corner. Hopefully, he -
"Did you drop this?"
Agott turns at the sound of the voice - a woman's. Gentle, with a peculiar accent - like Master Olly’s - rounding out the vowels, tone the sort of chipper that would've grated on her if the speaker didn't have such kind eyes. Blue-grey, like the sky after it rains. The cloaked stranger holds out what appears to be Agott's spellbook - bound in deep purple leather, embossed in gold.
“Yes. That’s mine.”
Something, something Agott can't quite put a finger on, is familiar about her. Pretty in a windblown sort of way, freckles, fair hair… sure enough, it's that hair. That long yellow hair, matching the tassel on her hat as it catches the light.
Is that -
"Here you go."
It's her.
That woman.
The woman Master Olly was kissing.
Stars, if only she'd done a better job at purging the image from her mind. Agott seldom finds herself lost for words, but there is an agonisingly long pause as she opens her mouth to speak, ultimately unable to respond.
And she hates it.
Agott's thoughts are awhirl, her mind the eye of an oncoming storm.
Who is she, anyway? Whatever does she want from him? And not a couple? But before that, the kiss… Grown-ups are a strange breed. They'd had to be playing it cool.
Who knows what else Master Olly's hiding from them?
From her?
No wonder Agott sees him less in the evenings. He's usually holed up in his room, working on something or other, almost always around so she can knock if she needs him. However, he's been oddly quick to retire after dinner on some days, unbolting his door unusually early on others - she should've known, should've known all along. Master Olly's already got other priorities.
Does he?
Panic rises within her like a tide - unmoors her with a jolt. If it carries on like this, she knows what's going to happen.
She reckons she knows already.
Her head hurts. What'll this strange woman do with him? Will he keep at it until they only see him once a week if they're lucky? Maybe even a month? If that woman's as important a part of Master Olly's life as Agott thinks, she's surely going to be around a heck lot more, perhaps even be moving in next thing she knows - or he’ll leave, and they'll hardly ever see him, if at all, and -
"You alright, miss?"
The woman's brow furrows, that strangely accented voice tinged with concern. For a second, Agott is gripped by the urge to send an unfairly poisonous look her way. Then again, they've only just met - and she's only trying to help.
"I am." She gives her a brisk nod, attempts to school her features into neutrality. "And… thank you."
Plucking her spellbook from the woman's outstretched hand, she nods again by means of farewell, turning to leave - then colliding into a tall, solid, black shape, getting a faceful of velvet cloak.
"Agott?"
Master Olly.
Explains the smell of burnt matches.
"Huh?"
"Been lookin' for ya for the past ten minutes, kid. I was…" He trails off as he spots the woman, raising his eyebrows. "Ilma?"
So that's her name.
"Olly?"
Olly?
The surprise hasn't quite left Master Olly's face. "What're you doin' here?"
"Could ask you the same."
There's something Agott can't put her finger to in Ilma's gaze as she looks his way. Something Agott isn't sure she understands - or wants to. It’s in how Master Olly looks back at her, too.
"And…" Ilma inclines her head towards Agott. "Just met this lovely young woman. She yours?"
"Yep. Could say that."
He doesn't correct her. Agott's chest tightens, a lump forming in her throat. She swallows it back down.
"Bless, she's the very spit of you! How come you never told me you had a kid, eh?"
Agott's stomach drops. Why - why didn't he? Why'd he wanted to deny her - their - very existence? Had he?
That all-too-familar anger begins rising to the surface, threatening to spill over like water boiling in a kettle for too long. Breathing in deep, she wills it back down.
Ilma turns back to Agott, eyes bright with newfound intrigue. Then to Master Olly, who looks at her for a second too long as he remains too, too, too quiet. Then to Agott again.
Awkward doesn't even begin to describe the lingering silence, the collective loss for words that has confusion flickering across Ilma's face and Master Olly reaching up to rub the back of his neck and her own tongue heavy and leaden in her mouth.
Agott fights the urge to crawl - no, tear - her way out of her skin, through the ground, into a hole big enough for herself alone.
Just when it can't get any worse, Master Olly takes another step forward, clearing his throat. "Agott, this is… this is Ilma. A friend. Ilma, this is Agott."
"Hi again." Ilma's freckled face splits into a too-warm smile - one Agott swears she almost has to squint against. As if seeing something she feels she shouldn't, Ilma lowers her eyes.
And the momentary flash of discomfort in her gaze? Agott can't help but give Ilma a look she hopes says, I know, I know in solidarity.
That all-encompassing silence stretches on. And on. And on. And on.
As if sensing her wish for this to be over, Ilma clears her throat. "Well… as lovely as it was running into you both, I've got to get goin'. Got a deadline." She raises a hand. "See you around sometime. And nice meetin' you, Agott." She gives them a crooked half-smile, a dimple flashing in her left cheek.
A smile Master Olly returns, locking eyes with her for a second too long.
"See ya 'round, lass," he murmurs, so softly Agott almost misses the words.
Almost.
That ache in her skull returns. And so does the noise.
Ilma walks away, dark cloak flapping at her ankles like the wings of some enormous bat.
☽☽☽☽☽
Agott doesn't know why the very idea makes her blood run cold. Why the thought of Master Olly being plucked away - she can't find a better word, she can't! - from them makes her break into a cold sweat. Not as if that woman from yesterday seems capable of it, but… but if there's one thing Agott has learned, it's impossible to know when one may leave for good - when life will no longer be as she knows it.
When Agott doesn't have the answers, she seeks them.
Heck, hunts for them. And that's exactly what she'd done after chancing upon Master Olly not too long ago. Sitting under the same tree, notebook still open in her lap, she'd been nowhere near ready to call it an evening.
"Who is she?"
The question had come tumbling forth, faster than she could hold herself back.
"She?"
Master Olly'd been thrown, confusion furrowing his brow.
What did she expect?
That’s when she could no longer hold back.
"You're - you're not gonna leave. Or are you?"
Master Olly had looked at her as if she'd spoken another language altogether. "Leave? The hell are you talkin' about, kid?" Something told her he wasn't playing dumb. Heck, isn't like him to. Or so she thinks.
"So things aren't going to change?"
That childish, childish fear had already taken hold of her, refusing to release her from its iron grip. Had she not already known what it's like to be completely alone, would it have still done so?
Agott remains grateful for his honesty - one of the few constants in a world that changes too fast for her liking. Sometimes, she's sure he understands where she's coming from. Sometimes, not so much. She may still be a child to him, as much as the thought stings, but he respects her intelligence. She hopes so.
Master Olly's patient, that he is. He still stands facing her, arms crossed over his chest, the beginnings of the crow's feet around his eyes all the more prominent today.
"Listen here. I… I do spend some time with her. But not as I would with a partner." He heaves a great big sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears bright red.
"You were out with her, though." The words escape Agott before she knows it. Nothing to be done now, though. And if that wasn't a date, she'd be damned.
"Eh? And where, pray tell, would that have been?"
"The tea house."
She isn't stupid.
Confusion, realisation, and panic flit across Master Olly's face within the span of a millisecond. He looks as if it pains him to be having this conversation.
Good.
"Happened to bump into her there. That's all." He crosses his arms over his chest, gives her a look that says and what am I to do, kid?
Agott responds with an affronted little noise - one milder than she'd intended. Somehow, something in his tone eases some of that worry, then some more. More than she'd like.
"There's… different kinds of friendships. Ones where you meet as often as ya can, ones where you pick up where ya left off. Ones where you do... different things with different people.”
The kiss - all she can remember is that damned kiss.
And something tells her that's not all there is to it.
"Spare me the details. Please."
Master Olly seems all too relieved to. "But… I don't care for her that way. Or vice versa, for that matter. We're friends, she and I, alright? Jus' friends."
Agott fights the childish urge to wrinkle her nose.
They may be just friends, alright.
The sort who do disgusting things together.
"Now, don't you be gettin' any more ideas," he says with an undeniable sense of finality, the undercurrent of, let's not speak about this again, shall we? all too obvious. Agott's more than happy not to. "And not another word about this, kid. At all."
It's Master Olly, after all - she'll take his word for it.
For now.
"Right."
Besides, that look of Ilma's she'd seen tells her she'd want no part of any trouble.
"And I ain't goin' anywhere, just so ya know," Master Olly continues, matter-of-fact as ever.
That lump, that damned lump, returns to Agott's throat as she's left unable to suppress a smile.
"Hold on." He pauses, holding a box out. Carved from pine, about half the size of her spellbook. "Been wantin' to give this to you for a while."
"It's…" Warmth glows in Agott's chest.
He nods. "Go on. Open it."
And so she does, careful as can be whilst prying open layer upon layer of powder-blue tissue paper.
A new wand. Carved mahogany, gold nib - the sort fine enough for the narrowest lines, yet with enough of a slant for glyphs with thicker edges. More nibs - four of them, an even finer one too. As they say, the devil's in the details.
"Th… thank you." Her smile is so wide it hurts.
"You’re wearin’ your old one out. Don’t mention it.”
"Wait." Setting the box down next to her, she turns back to Master Olly.
"Hm?"
"It… it gets better, doesn't it?"
Agott doesn't have to tell him what she means.
The doubt, the fear, crumbling underneath it all.
His eyes crinkle fondly at the corners. "That it does, kid."
She sure hopes so.
Agott isn't sure if she's the sort who can wholly let go.
She's still trying, though.
Coco's toes are cold. Little nubs of ice against the side of Agott's foot as she stretches her legs out on the crimson rug next to her, her own spellbook open in her lap. Even through the wool, the chill of the stone floor still seeps through Agott's nightgown and into her skin. The glow of the fire in the grate sets the atelier's living room awash in pale gold, the heat beginning to warm her own freezing feet.
"Hey." Agott moves her leg out of the way. This evening, it's been the sort of cold that’d set her teeth chattering, that’d had her shivering despite the warmth of her new winter cloak when they’d been outside. Miserable, that's what it is.
She’s never liked being too cold - or too hot. Thankfully, Coco had shut the windows against the wind's merciless bite, grabbing them a spare blanket from her cupboard before asking Agott to practice with her.
"Sorry." Coco giggles, only to look all the more apologetic. This makes the corner of Agott's own mouth quirk up.
Easy, that's what it is to let go around Coco.
Too easy.
"You're not helping." Agott doesn't let her tone of mock seriousness - or her deadpan expression - slip. "How will I see whether you understood it right if you won't let me focus?"
However, Agott doesn't hold back her smile.
For a moment, Coco hesitates - but neither does she.