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The stars used to sing to her at night.
It had been so long since then, hadn't it? She hoped so. The days were hard to track now, the guilt she harbored rendering her useless. Far more useless than before. Before, she had a purpose. The purpose she now harbored resent to. The purpose that begged her to join the others in death.
Just remembering what happened that day made her shiver. Had Menthol not held her, perhaps she would have joined the others. Their Eminence had allowed it, had known about it. Their Eminence would have told her to join it— no, they did tell her to.
The stars pulsed as she stared up at them.
Menthol had been working so diligently. He would barely rest, forcing himself to do nothing but keep that demon at bay. It was a demon, she thought. A soul-snatching fiend. He worked so hard, she found herself admiring him even now. Not the same way as before, never would she see anything the same way as before.
He was resting his head on her lap as he slept, the little bit of reprieve he could achieve. They both knew they were undeserving of comforts, so they did not allow themselves near the plush comfort the survivors got. Survivors. The word felt bitter in her mind, sour on her tongue.
Menthol was so beautiful, even after everything. The bags under his eyes were as dark as the frames of his glasses. He had lost weight, which she narrowed to the over-usage of magic. Perhaps the lack of nutrition as well.
She would feed him like she fed the others. Often times, neither would want to eat. He would have to drag her away from all the others as she weakly hit him just so that he could feed her. She slept just as little as he, but she couldn't let herself.
"Sist—" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Seltzer, are you alright?"
Menthol's voice was gentle, as he knew not to frighten her. If it was too loud, he would start shaking. If it was too quiet, she would start sobbing. He hadn't moved his head away, as if knowing what she needed.
"Ah… yes, I'm okay. I hope you slept well." She sighed, looking down at him.
They both knew that he didn't. He never did. Sometimes he would thrash about, and she would have to pull him closer just to calm him down. She was thankful that such didn't happen tonight. Perhaps his body learnt that thrashing would not let him escape it all.
His thumb pressed against her cheek, wiping away the tears she forgot she could produce. It seemed as if she could never stop crying. How often she wished she wouldn't have to burden him with those tears.
The night sang a low hum as the two stared up at the sky. They were looking for the red. Any drop of red seemed to send them into the fear all over again. Menthol handled it better, as he had to see it much more than she did. She couldn't look at it much.
"Menthol."
He glanced back at her, quietly waiting for her to continue. Sometimes he wouldn't reply to her, as if he was scared of speaking. She used to think he was fearless, invincible. So very smart and brave. And he was, but now she knew he was almost just like her. The thought didn't comfort her like she thought it would.
"The stars are beautiful tonight." He sat up, not daring to initiate contact. Sometimes, when he touched her, she would flinch away.
Her hand scoot closer to his, too scared to touch him. He was so brave, so much better than her. She pushed herself as often and hard as she could. Mostly to earn forgiveness for the deaths and sin that reeked around the church. But a small part of her wanted to do it for him, to prove that she too was capable like him.
"Do you think that… that they all reincarnated into a star?" Her voice was almost hushed as she spoke.
Sighing, he placed one finger on her hand. Attempting to ground her, as they could both tell she was going to cry again. "They may have," He paused, looking down in shame for a moment. "The stars are beautiful tonight."
"They are."
He looked up at the stars with her.
"I admire you, you know."
She looked over at him, almost alarmed.
"You make sure everyone is up to health. You hold them when they cry. You feed them and sing to them when they shake. I admire it all. Your kindness is what keeps me going."
His hand moved on top of hers, covering it like a shield. She didn't move, and she heard him chuckle. Her hair was bubbling for the first time in a while.
"I'm undeserving of your praise, Menthol." She bowed her head, as if mimicking how humble he was. "You're wonderful! I— gosh, I can't word it. I admire your strength and bravery, your intelligence and– and– and everything!"
He smiled at how flustered she was. His fingers pressed against her cheek, turning her head to look at him. His eyes were beautiful, like ice beginning to sculpt itself into a beautiful sculpture.
"I prefer you being like this." He mumbled, staring into her eyes as if she were the only soul around.
She felt guilty all over again. Her hand flipped over, and his fingers quickly found their way to take her hand into his. He cleared his throat, his free hand moving away from her face to hold her shoulder. "Perhaps tomorrow we can try gathering some of the others for some fun activities. They could use the joy."
He was so good with calming her down. He knew what to say, as it was the same thing he wanted to hear. Staring at him, she could only give a small nod. Menthol never failed to bring her joy.
"I want to be you."
Whatever emotion he felt to her words, he concealed. It didn't feel like a compliment. "I prefer you as yourself, Seltzer."
She fought the urge to look away. She was scared that if she did, that demon may be behind her, ready to suck her in as it did with so many others. "I'm so weak, Menthol. I want to help you, to help others. I want to make things okay again."
The tears fell freely, despite her attempts to hold them back. Menthol released her hand, pulling her into an embrace as she sobbed. "Gosh, I just— I can hear it whispering. I want to go over to it, Menthol. What else am I to— gosh, what can I do? Was my purpose in this church to die?"
She buried her face into the stole that draped over his shoulders, hands frantically moving to hold him— his back, his neck, anything. She didn't want it to take him, too. He was all she had left.
"Your purpose was the same as mine." He spoke after a moment, trying to find the words. He was never the best with comforting, but he tried for her. "To guide people to salvation. The method may have changed, but we're still helping people. Without you, they may have gone insane. I would have gone insane without you."
His words only seemed to make her cry more. "I don't deserve your words, Brother Menthol." He stiffened slightly at the honorific. "Gosh, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."
His fingers drew small circles on her back, trying to soothe her. She was mad at herself for the fact it worked. She deserved to cry, to show remorse for her sins. She had to cry, to be upset, or else her despair didn't feel real.
Her knees ached, and it reminded her of the countless hours she spent on her knees, praying to the witches. Were they even real? No god would allow all her subjects to feel this pain. Her religion, the thing she devoted her life to, it was all so fake. Was suffering truly the divines will?
Menthol started humming. His voice was never perfect, off-pitch and always cracking. But he never cared, as he knew what she needed. She didn't need it to sound good, she just needed it to have sound.
And slowly, she found herself humming along, not moving from her spot as he rubbed her back. It was rare that they would sit so peacefully like this. Not when they had so much to do, so much to save. But, in an almost selfish way, she could not pull away.
So he held her as the stars glimmered and shone, making way for the cookie dressed in green.