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The first drop of rain crashed on the atelier’s roof. It was a late spring afternoon, not too chilly but not too warm either, in which the girls were absent from the atelier with a lot of matters to attend to in Carn. Kieffrey decided to sit this outing out, putting them in Alaira’s expert care.
The water witch carefully listened to the soft chaotic rhythm created by the water on the tiles above his head. Until very recently Kieffrey, at best, did not care for the sound of it, never really understanding why some might find it soothing. It was just noise, something to tune out in order to concentrate, not enough to write home about. Much like the sound the hearth made, or the howling of the wind, the laughter in the city or the breaths of a close friend.
These days though, sounds were his first way to decipher his surroundings. The chirpings of birds in the morning, the clatter of plates in the kitchen, the voices of his apprentices chatting, the buzzing of insects at night, or the howls of owls and beasts. Kieffrey could make sense of that easily. For the rest, Olruggio adapted: most of the doors of the atelier were equipped with bells to inform if someone opened a door, replaced the tiles surrounding the bed with light and sound tiles, adapting his spell so that it would produce a soft sound each time he stepped on a tile, all the way to the one spot Kieffrey would leave his clothes and the whole atelier’s new masterful contraption: a pair of shoes equipped with soles on which were carved a new spell allowing Kieffrey to feel the objects surrounding him though vibrations. Each step he would take would produce a disruption like a drop on the surface of water, allowing Kieffrey to locate other objects surrounding him. Working on this contraption was hard, the sigil being particularly complex, hence why it was a five person project, the girls begging Olruggio to help when they’d heard of it. They had tried and tested said shoes for months, as Kieffrey’s vision declined dramatically, so much that he could now only distinguish bright lights, colours and some shapes.
This was a likely collateral side effect of the lifting of the silverwood curse, the right eye was lost forever and the left eye’s fate simply followed its course, gradually losing sight as the years went on. Sinocia had emitted the hypothesis that Kieffrey’s sight could eventually change for the better, by sheer luck or with great exercise but so far, nothing had changed. So they made it as they went; Kieffrey started teaching alongside Olruggio or Alaira, they proofed their atelier, changed their routines, explained the girls that they would need to be patient with Kieffrey. Life had changed but not for the worst. Having to rely on his other senses was a trial at first but the white haired witch was getting the hang of it. Of course, drawing spells was out of the question, unfortunately for now, although Olruggio had secretly been working on carving spells on various thin materials with the help of a tweaked searneedle. Kieffrey used his hearing, his smell, his touch, to make sense of the world he had to live in now, trying to decipher when Coco would bake a cake, or when Agott would turn up with fingers covered in ink, feeling the Tetia’s soft, pink hair when she asked for a braid, examining the physical properties of the materialisation of one of Richeh’s spell. All was not lost, as he could - on sunny days - make sense of who was who thanks to the colour of their hair. But his heart often weeped as he felt he’d lost the ability to see their faces, to see anyone’s face, to draw, to look at the variations of colours in the sky, in the water, the rows and rows of magical supplies of Mr. Nolnoa’s shops, the subtle lights emitted by the fires Olruggio placed in their home.
Home. As a consolation prize, the atelier had become his home. A refuge for him to inhabit without the fear of turning into a tree, a place to feel relaxed. Lifting the curse had been the best thing that happened to him; now he could enjoy naps with the girls, drink until he felt merry enough to laugh at everything, long evenings with his students where they would all read him his book taking turns and liberties in narration and interpretation, he could rely on other people, lean on them, for the first time in his life. The four girls had held on to him until their arms hurt once the horrifying curse was lifted, all five of them crying with huge sobs; sobs of pain, anguish and relief. Decades of pain and solitary crying spells lifted from his shoulders, blown away by his dear pupils and the hope they put in the world. His sight was a small price to pay to finally grasp this life, albeit the idea that all of this could have been avoided, had he been treated with humanity in his younger years, left a sour taste in his mouth on bad days. And there was Olruggio.
The confession of the horror of their promise was not an easy one, as Kieffrey saw firsthand the same anguish he had seen a hundred times before without the necessity to erase it this time. The weight of the guilt on his shoulders only worsened when Olruggio decided to stay and take care of the girls, subsequently forgiving Kieffrey. He had never deserved him, deserved his kindness, his forgiveness, his love. Much like the light always finds a way to infiltrate the openings to chase the darkness away, Olruggio’s kindness always found a way to make Kieffrey’s despair disappear. Discrete, but ever glowing, like starlight.
Olruggio’s love for Kieffrey was utterly conscious, chosen. It radiated through his actions, his spells, the way he would go out of his way to help him as his vision waned. In the way he waited as well, again, to feel Kieffrey at ease enough to try to be intimate. Oftentimes, Kieffrey would try to initiate physical contact behind closed doors and wound up crying on Olruggio’s shoulder, sometimes heaving and tugging at his shirt, sometimes silently weeping, whispering that he did not deserve this. And other times, Kieffrey would learn to map Olruggio’s body as they shared a moment; the texture of his hair, the shape of his skull, the bridge of his nose and the micro scar on it, the way his undereye’s skin felt fragile. He learned the placement of each and every raised beauty mark on his back, the curve of his lips, the contours of his stomach, so that he may “not miss his figure too much” once he’d lost the ability to see. And sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, Kieffrey learned the rhythm of Olruggio’s heart, an ear against his chest, their bodies pressed and intertwined. Their relationship had very naturally changed into what people would consider to be romantic love, but such was an expected development, they had loved each other for decades. Sometimes Kieffrey felt that his vision was the price to have him by his side.
Kieffrey listened to the sound of the rain on the roof, as he was training for another eye exam. A prototype of glasses could help him see shapes better and Sinocia had requested him to try them. Maybe it was time for a pause after all. He very carefully grabbed the teapot to pour a cup and stood up, going for the door. The light was too low for him to see anything clearly outside, and stepping out of the porch’s protection was out of the question, but he did smell the flowers’ aroma, enhanced by the rain, a pleasant note of lilac. The tiles rang behind him as the smell of smoke announced Olruggio’s presence.
“It’s me”
“I know” Kieffrey said, turning around to try to distinguish him.
Olruggio extended his hand to put it in Kieffrey’s, then placed it on his hip.
“How’s the contraption going?” The white haired witch asked
“I’ve finished my commission in time, I’m quite proud of myself for that, other than that it’s…. We’ll see what the client says.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Olruggio? Finishing on time? I’m impressed.”
Olruggio scoffed.
Kieffey smiled, as he finished his cup of tea, carefully giving it to Olruggio so that he would put it inside. The latter’s hand quickly found its way back to Kieffrey, who decided to make this moment an opportunity for intimacy.
His middle finger traced the outline of his forehead, then trailed to his eyebrows, the skin under his eyes.
He placed a hand on Olruggio’s cheek, feeling its warmth, its curve. His thumb brushed his nose, feeling the asperities, imagining the shape of it under his fingertip, which then brushed his lips.
“They’re a bit dry…”
“I know” Olruggio responded.
He breathed in the smell of smoke and a faint aroma of soap. Kieffrey closed his eyes, pressing his lips to Olruggio’s in a kiss, and a second, maybe a bit more passionate than the first. He felt safe, relieved, as he felt Olruggio’s arms wrap around him.
Their lips parted and Kieffrey pressed his forehead against Olruggio’s shoulder. In the rare moments they could have each other to themselves, Kieffrey showered his love with affection, trying to make up for all these years, despite Olruggio repeatedly telling him he’d never ask for retribution, nor could he offer some form of absolution.
“I love you. Thank you for being here” Kieffrey said, face buried in Olruggio’s shirt. Despite thinking he did not deserve him, he had decided he would not tell him this time.
Olruggio pressed a kiss on his temple. Kieffrey did not need to thank him.
“I love you too.”
They stood like this for a minute or so, comfortable in the silence.
“The girls will return soon, Kieffrey. We should start making dinner”
Kieffrey very reluctantly let go of Olruggio.
“Of course. Would you help me?”
“Sure, anything you want.”
Olruggio placed his hand in Kieffrey’s, guiding him back inside.
Maybe the price to have this wasn’t this expensive after all.