Archive of Our Own

Soft coos of doves flew overhead, the sky blinding blue from the oceans tides. The sun is at full show today, so much so that all is under the shades of branches.

It was looking to be one vibrant morning.

A young knight stares above, a hand over her face, the gaps on her fingers letting the glowing presence of sunlight seep through smoothly. A bead of sweat runs down her neck.

She had been stationed today to help residents of a small yet lively village in the east. Despite being in the crossfire of war and bandits, their spirits never seemed to dissipate, still following the daily routine down to the footsteps.

The enthusiasm made it a sight to take in, one that Marsha could appreciate wholeheartedly.

Such a bright act of spirit could lift even the most iron clad soldier.

She takes in a breath, the scent of sun-baked soil and wormwood lingering on the blades of grass. The wind was still, but the soft gusts that do pass by momentarily are more than enough to wipe the aching knocks on the bones and sweat.

The soot of war has passed, peace will soon return.

"Miss Marsha!" A shout of her name takes the medic out of her short delusion and into the reality of her duties.

Her dream will come soon, but for now, she's needed elsewhere.

“Thank you, miss.” A young man rubs his shoulder, groaning as the final piece of gauze is wrapped on his wound.

“It's no problem, just remember to not overestimate your strength next time.” The medic by his side ties the gauze tightly, making sure no more blood seeps through. Her advice is hypocritical, though her patient doesn't need to know.

The poor guy had been fixing up a damaged stable and an unstable wooden beam had fallen down right on his back. He tried to push it off but his struggles made it worse and soon another fell hard onto his shoulder, finally pinning him down.

If it weren't for a passerby calling for help, he would've been stuck for ages.

She gives a light pat on his back, signaling that he is now freely discharged. The young man gives his thanks and Marsha begins to pack up her belongings.

Once all medical equipment has been placed back, she turns to walk away to her next duty, but another call halts her leave.

This time it comes from an elderly woman with a bright yellow shawl on her shoulders. 

“Leaving already? I haven't given you anything in return for saving my grandson yet.” she spoke with great despair, as if it would be so distasteful to not reward a savior.

Marsha shakes her head.

“It's alright madam, I'm happy to be of help in any way I can. There's no need to give me anything.”

But the old woman will not take her defenses, persistent to repay the medic.

“No please, I insist. While I may not be able to cook you a meal because of the famine, there is surely something I can give, even in little value.”

The knight couldn't try to disagree even if her heart wishes too; she wasn't the kind to receive materialistic rewards from her job, her patients' well-being was enough.

So Marsha stays, standing at the doorway with her hands gripping tightly on the medkit’s handle.

She listens as the old lady rummages through cabinets and drawers, hearing each click and clack of items being moved.

Soon the noise ends, and the elderly woman carries out a large basket.

“Here, take this with you.” She hands the basket to the medic who carries it with much ease.

She takes a peak at the contents, finding a stack of fabric. Each had a different color from the last, some she spots even having textile designs.

Brushing her hand through the outermost layer, she finds it incredibly soft and smooth to the touch.

She's not very educated on sewing or fabrics in general but to her own understanding, this could be incredibly valuable.

She hesitates to receive such a prized gift.

“This seems quite valuable, are you sure it's okay for me to take it?”

The woman could only laugh at her anxious questions. 

“Of course! I have little use for such fabrics anymore with my eyesight slowly getting worse. I'm sure you will find good use for it.”

“But I'm not a tailor, nor do I know anything about it..”

Her voice begins to trail off to more excuses to return her reward. Then, the bright light of the sun bounces off a shade on an edge of one of the fabrics, one that has a specific shade of blue.

One that she had engraved into her mind. 

Marsha struck with a wave of realization, realization of a certain gargoyle, a gargoyle with much more experience and knowledge than she'll ever have in this matter.

How long has it been since she last saw her dear friend? Her fingers unconsciously run through the blue fabric, her earlier doubts replaced with new found resolve.

She looks back at the old lady with a soft smile.

“Actually, no, this is more than enough. Thank you so much for your generosity, ma'am.”

Marsha placed a hand to her chest, giving a small bow of appreciation.

The old woman simply let out a chuckle, placing a hand on her red curls. Marsha froze almost instantly.

The woman spoke, this time with much maternal affection.

“You’re a good woman, may the Steppe protect you. 

Marsha stood still, letting the woman brush her hair as she gave three firm pats. She took in her words as if it were a new oath bestowed upon her shoulders.

It was again time to leave, this time the elderly woman waves her off as she walks away, watching as she disappears in the distance.

Once the medic was out of sight, she stopped in her tracks. She presses a hand on her head, swallowing a lump in her throat.

It had been awhile since she's received such an affectionate gesture. 

She looks down at the basket she now carries alongside her medkit, a basket filled with much softness and warmth of fabrics, one that came from an affectionate elderly woman.

And one that reminds her of her own dear Marianne.

What a lovely day it is.

“At this rate, we'll reach the Foundation headquarters tomorrow morning.” 

The grass sways gently in the wind's natural direction, creating a scenic view for the passengers of the jeep.

Three members of the XII have been told to return back to the foundation after finishing up their respective mission. Fortunately this time around, they've been given a viable mode of transportation.

A simple jeep.

Painted in the same checkered pattern of the foundation, it functioned relatively fine in the terrain, much more comfortable than horseback based on a particular blackbird.

Yermolai takes the wheel, being the only one with a full registered license out of all of them. Marsha sat at the passenger seat next to his, while Merel sat behind with certain belongings.

She's been eyeing the basket for awhile, taking a peak to quench her curiosity.

“Where'd you get these fabrics, Marsha?”

“Oh, a nice old lady gave them to me after I helped treat her grandson.”

“What are you planning to do with them?”

Before the medic could give an answer, the hound intervened with a teasing scoff.

“Let me guess, you're gonna give it to that gargoyle girl aren't you?”

Marsha stares at him, taken aback at the accuracy of his deduction.

"I- yes, how did you-”

“You’re way too obvious Marsha.”

Merel on the other hand eyes her with a peculiar look, trying to read more into what she and the terrifying sniper had going on.

As she was about to openly ask and tease the knight, the jeep came to a sudden stop, nearly launching the poor blackbird to the very front.

She catches herself with the back of Marsha's seat, letting out a terrified yelp.

“Hey! What happened? Why did we stop?”

She glances at her two companions, and with the expression on their faces, the situation suddenly turns grim.

“Manus Vindictae.”

A single name that immediately shoots fear to the young soldier. Yermolai grips the wheel, contemplating on running the soldiers over and their carriage.

“Of course they show up just right when we're about to go home. Bunch of pestering roaches.”

The knight notices something unusual in the wagon that their horses lead, a lump not meant to be their.

She leans closer, then it becomes clear.

Bodies. Slumped and tied but there was still little movement.

There's a chance they're alive.

Marsha grabs her medkit and trench club, detaching her seatbelt in a quick manner. The hound had already swung his door open, barking orders.

“Merel, stay here.”

The young soldier panic-stricken as she is still trying to ask what she could do. Yermolai only gives her one task.

“Stay here and call for back-up when I say so.”

She heaves a sigh of relief but also salutes out of duty. 

Yermolai and Marsha rushed out of the jeep, the Manus already made their way towards their location, guns blazing.

The hound made quick work of a few, his sniper shooting rounds of bullets through the enemy fire. The knight dealt with those that wielded sabers and arcanum, making sure that no projectile came to her teammate or the jeep.

As Marsha made another enemy fall, another one took his place. The soldier shouts an incantation whilst rushing towards her with a saber, sending a bright spark towards her but ending up sinking into the ground.

Thinking he had missed, the medic got ready to block his strike, so she took a step back.

But, the moment her heel stepped on the firm ground below, the dry grass in its vicinity erupted into flames, catching her off guard.

“Marsha!” 

As the enemy soldier was about to get a clean strike to the chest, a single shot pierced through his arm, and another to the head. He fell as quickly as he ran.

The medic got the fire quickly under control, stomping with her boots a couple times. Unfortunately the jacket she had brought for the mission had also caught on fire , leaving her to extinguish the flames on it as well.

Half of it no longer exists, only ashes in the ground.

She suppresses a complaint and disappointment, instead she runs towards the wagon where the hostages are.

Upon reaching the injured, she notices that both captives were unconscious. Checking their pulses, it seemed both were still alive even if barely.

Deep purple bruises, serious laceration and burn marks. It seemed the Manus were still not done with their tyranny.

Marsha hastily opens her medkit and begins to perform first-aid to not let the wounds get worse.

After a while, Yermolai approaches from behind.

“How’s their condition?”

"Breathing but barely, they need to see medical attention immediately. They won't survive for long like this.”

The hound lets out a heavy sigh, already regretting how his earlier words turned on them.

Merel arrives last after getting the signal of safety and permission to exit the vehicle. She brings out a map and points to a mark.

“There's a small town not too far from here. I'm certain they have a hospital.”

Now armed with the information, the three members of the XII don't waste any time getting the injured into the jeep and hitting the gas as hard as it could possibly go. Going so fast to the point of leaving deep tire marks within the earth.

Thankfully, there's no speeding law in the Steppes.

“Thank goodness you arrived just in time, both patients are now in surgery.”

Marsha and Merel give an evident sight of relief as the nurse states the hostages' status. 

“Though next time, maybe don't give us a scare by nearly crashing into our building.”

The nurse gives a passive-aggressive statement to the hound, who seemed to have averted away to staring to the side, not wanting to come to terms with his mistake.

Turns out that only having your foot on the gas means that stopping a moving vehicle would be much harder.

Blackbird now pokes fun every chance she gets, despite breaking the grab handle and crying throughout the entire ride.

Marsha doesn't comment on her behavior, or more like she couldn't, as she too broke the grab handle, and presumably the top area of the door but that's not important now.

The nurse rolls her eyes at Yermolai’s immature act and turns to Marsha with a more serious tone.

“Miss Marsha, you are a medic, yes? Could you provide your assistance to us for the moment? The hospital is currently understaffed and we could use all the help we could get.”

Even before the nurse had finished her request, the medic had already made her choice.

“Of course.”

The nurse's eyes lighten and her brows eased, she guides Marsha inside the building and the knight obediently follows.

Before she got too far, Yermolai shouted.

“Don't over rely on your arcanum!”

She turns her head back and gives a resolute nod.

Meanwhile both the blackbird and the hound knew the truth behind that confident approval.

“You know she's not following that advice even if she wanted to”

Yermolai sighs, punching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, for someone meant to be our medic, she sure is reckless.”

Merel gave a hum in agreement, her mind slowly wandering back into her last question before the entire ordeal with the Manus happened.

Without the receiver of her question, she turns to the closest one she could get an answer to.

“Hey Yermolai, about Marsha and Sentinel, what's going on with them?”

Instead of a straightforward or even cocky answer she expects, she's met with a rough pat on the head and a taunting smile.

“You'll learn when you're older.”

Merel is soon dragged off by the hound outside of the hospital, leaving with more questions than answers.

Just what is going on with those two?

On the other side, Marsha had gotten a sudden chill down her spine, perhaps it was from the halls of the hospital, it was colder than what she had anticipated.

Her hand unconsciously reaches for her shoulder, only to be met with air. Right. Her jacket had to be left behind as it got severely burnt.

She grips her right shoulder, the nurse looks back in concern.

"Are you alright?”

The medic quickly regains her composure, flashing a polite smile.

“I am, don't worry. Just a bit cold.”

“Hm, winter is nearing, I'll check if there's a spare coat around.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Once the attention was off of her, she released a stuttering sigh, tightening the hold on her arm to stop it from shivering.

Winter is coming. How dreadful.

Her arcanum drowns any negative emotions that are starting to boil, instead she concentrates on the task at hand. 

And maybe, even think of what Marianne would be doing in this hour.

Her chest feels lighter. 

Soon. She'll come home to see Marianne soon.

The single thought is enough to warm her skin. 

The gleaming afternoon glow filters through the windowsills, the holiness of God and the blessing of another promised day. 

The suitcase has grown quiet, and in its many chambers lies a gargoyle who found refuge in its solace.

No longer bombarded with the rhythm of bullets but rather the occasional chatter outside the wooden door. She takes their sound, and hums it in prayer.

A rare day of leisure. Sentinel is left to do all she wills; gun maintenance, prayer, and the sketches of design that are passed through past and present.

Letters and loose paper are scattered throughout the office table, some edging to fall from a single exhale, but the owner is quick to grab hold. The slight roughness of stone mixes with the smooth paper. 

Some mail is from her family, word of worry and slight disappointment, still the care lingered in each crease of the envelope, down to the very signature. 

Most are from a certain medic who grew fond and dear to her heart, a rose with thorns but none dared spike her hands. She spoke of travels, discoveries and littered quests that she partakes at the side.

One was when she had found an injured hawk, filled with nostalgia, she took it in to heal until its wings grew strong for flight and together, she chased it with her newly acquainted steed to a riverside where she caught a nice carp to roast over a campfire. Even shared it with the hawk before returning to catch more to the camp she's stationed in.

The soldier on the other side couldn't help but let out a quiet chortle of her knightly endeavours. It sounded like a fairy-tale, how chivalrous, her mind muses.

Oh how a younger version of herself would have soared at such a tale. A more innocent, simple soul.

But alas, she was a Sentinel, no longer so innocent, nor free from the stains lingering deep in the structure of stone and bone.

Sentinel shakes her head, her regrets will not plague her at such a time, not when the weather is near perfection.

Though, the air did grow quite chilly these days. Winter was approaching.

The tip of the charcoaled pencil tapped in rhythm of her heartbeat, leaving a faint mark on the empty space of the paper. 

She had sketched out mannequins as placeholder for designs that she can now freely express, yet, only a simple dress is what filled the page. One that she had erased for its lack of creativity.

Such a cruel twist of fate to give her mind no pictures of endearing garments when her heart desires it more. Her fingers twitched in slight irritation and impatience.

A subtle glance at the ticking grandfather clock to her right made it clear that she had lamented over such a task for long. It's shorthand nearing to three. 

She had sat down at 12:45 pm.

Perhaps the gunpowder truly seeped into her brain, now collecting dust to the passion she held dear.

"Patience, Marianne." A mumble of reassurances.

"There is no need to rush." It was the undeniable truth, there are no deadlines to meet, this was simply a hobby of enjoyment.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease racing in her mind, as if the steady bell of a cathedral was ready to strike once both hands hit the middle hour.

Sentinel lets out a disgruntled groan.

A knock on the door saves the pencil within her grasp from being thrown. 

"Hallo?" A familiar German greeting comes through the wooden exterior. One that Marianne has learned to expect and await for.

The soldier's mouth hangs in the air for a few breaths, unsure and in slight surprise. She had not expected a visitor, let alone the knight to come home earlier than she originally expected.

Her silence draws out for another call, one with a hint of concern.

"Marie? Are you in there?"

Her tongue seemed to regain its function to speak again, albeit stumbling clumsy.

"Qui, I'm..here, the door is unlocked."

The doorknob rattles with clear struggle but soon the door swings open with a gentle push. A vibrant red is what first comes into view, followed by a nurse's uniform.

Marsha enters a few centimeters away from the entrance, until she is faced with the darling Marianne herself.

She beams a smile.

"It's good seeing you again, Marie."

Her hair is much more ruffled from the long journey, strands curling in all kinds of directions. Her uniform bore some slight tears, indication of her responsibility as a combat medic fulfilled.

Despite it, she seemed to glow with the luminescent sunlight, making her eyes near blinding to look at.

That is the young chevalier Sentinel knew.

"Likewise. I'm glad you returned safely."

The gargoyle's gaze soon makes its way on a large basket in her arms, a cloth draped over its rim, as if it was made as a picnic surprise.

Her curiosity immediately peaked.

"What do you carry with you?"

The medic gleams brighter, her smile near squeezing her eyes shut with glee. Her excitement was clear but she clears her throat with an exaggerated high tilt of her chin.

Her thumbs twirl with one another, her breaths composing that of a messenger sharing good news.

"This, my dear Marianne, is a treasure that has been granted to me by a kind old lady! One that has been sacred for generations."

She spoke highly, almost if it had been filled with doubloons of gold and silver, perhaps even jewelry. 

Well, for it to be put in such a simple basket would have greatly done the "scared treasure" injustice. 

Sentinel chuckles at her theatrics of a grand tale. Despite its childishness, her mind couldn't help but wander to the knight actually gaining such treasure from a quest trusted upon her.

"Alright, do speaketh such grandeur of this "treasure" bestowed upon thee."

A part of her still had to indulge into her fantasies, even for a moment.

Marsha's facade falls into something softer, her hand coming up to play with the edge fabric. 

Her eyes are tender, not towards anything but Marianne's own. She could feel her heart skip a beat or two.

"I believe that a fair lady like you would appreciate this treasure more than I ever could with my heart."

She spoke softly, so soft that the wind barely carried it through her ears.

Marsha hands the basket to her. The moment it made contact with her palm, there was a considerable amount of weight upon it, not as heavy as gold coins or jewelry but not as light as apples either.

She glanced at Marsha with a raised brow and she in turn gave a nod, encouraging to see what's inside.

A bit too eager in hindsight.

Sentinel tugs at the cloth covering what's inside, a peak inside makes her stop for a moment, a moment's hesitation before she pulls it all the way off, her earlier thoughts are made true.

Inside were rolls of fabric, some vibrant with color that mimicked the lilies and poppies that grew over the distant lands, while some were more diluted to ease the eyes and mind.

A slight graze with her fingers determined that it was impeccably soft, not smooth like silk but that of wool. Wool fabrics.

She takes in the sight of what's in her arms, while others may see it as a gesture of kindness, to Sentinel- no, to Marianne it was far deeper.

A gift that knocked to her inner heart, she could hear a quiet squeal of a once passionate student still residing in her stony body.

The quality may not be that of actual tailors but it was far enough, more than enough.

She stares back to Marsha, who had been watching her with anticipation and curiosity of her reaction. As she took notice, her stance shifted back slightly with a faint rosiness of her cheeks, embarrassed like a child who was caught stealing a jar of cookies.

"This...Marsha, you really shouldn't have. This was given to thee, it, it would be wrong-"

"Nein, I insist. I would have no idea what to do with them and it would be a shame for such fabrics to go to waste no? They're more fitting to be in your hands, Marie."

Her defense came in quickly before she could persuade her to take it back. A genuine response that made her throat close more than she realized.

Sentinel opened her mouth to protest but she couldn't, so the line on her lips curved into a small smile, one filled with care and slight tears.

The medic walked closer, stopping mere inches away so as to not intrude the personal boundary of the soldier. 

"I was hesitant to accept at first, but I remembered someone who would make great use of them."

Her tone alone made Sentinel's heart swell, swell to where it felt suffocated within her ribs. 

The knight stared at the basket, at the fabrics given to her out of kindness. Then she shifts to the calloused palms of a gargoyle, observing the stone patches as if she's seeing them again for the first time.

Her eyes tend to carry an unreadable expression; a mix of tenderness, sympathy and one that Sentinel hasn't quite guessed yet.

Such a serene expression that is varnished with the external light from her window. A projection of pure holiness.

They sat in silence, staring at features that are inadequate in everyday life where each blink feels like a fleeting moment. Yet, here it all but slowed.

The presence of her unconscious staring soon comes into effect as Marsha brings a hand in front of her lips, clearing a sudden lump on her throat.

Her eyes sheepishly away from her now, and for an unknown reason, it felt...not good.

Before Sentinel could ponder even longer over that foreign feeling, she was smacked with social awareness and how staring at someone could be seen as rude.

She should not push boundaries. 

The atmosphere soon turned awkward as both ladies seemed to be at a loss for words, and for whatever reason is laughable.

Giving a gift should not be this difficult, and here they are fumbling.

"D-Do you..like it Marianne?"

The knight's attempt to clear the air was effective enough for both their thoughts to shift into another conversation.

Sentinel focused back to the fabric, grounding herself before she made another embarrassing action.

"Qui, more than simply like. I lo-"

She bites her tongue, hard.

"It's lovely, like.."

She scrambled to find another simile, a quick peek up met her with Marsha once more, this time her head slightly tilted. 

Blissfully unaware, curious- a puppy in true form.

Arrête ça, Marianne, n'utilise pas de termes aussi scandaleux!

Her throat trembles to finalize the end of her sentence.

"Roses."

How absolutely original, Marianne.

"Like roses. They're lovely." The words fell heavy, her tongue near weightless when they're uttered out.

A gargoyle defeated by mere words, how grand the fall was. 

Sentinel could feel the blood run through her cheeks, surging life through their paleness. 

She tore her attention away from Marsha, who had somehow become a beacon too bright for the soldier. Her ears picked up a slight whine but it could just be a trick of the wind, she would never.

"I'm glad you like them." A response given seconds later, the hesitation was felt but it was far from disingenuous.

The messy exchange of words had finally ceased. Sentinel half expected to slowly back away towards the door, to say goodbye, perhaps even forget of this interaction.

That would be wise.

Instead, she hears the light steps of white boots approach closer, until it passed her left ear and halted at the right. 

She turns to see the medic now taking interest in her sketchbook, peeking at the figures etched on the page. 

Sentinel could feel the warmth rising to worrying degrees, bashfully awaiting any awkward commentary thrown at her half minded sketches.

She watched carefully at Marsha's expression, waiting for any hint of judgement. 

Marsha simply stared, staring at each line like a dance she was made to follow. It was true that she had never taken any interest in any sort of arts, up until catching glimpses of the soldier's drafted designs.

It seemed to add fuel to a sense of wonder long hidden within metal.

"You draw so well Marie." 

Marianne chuckles softly at her comment, bashfully so. She managed to awestruck the knight with such small effort.

"It's a mere sketch Marsha, hardly a finished outcome; it is hardly pleasing."

Despite her self deprecating comment, the gargoyle couldn't help but feel the pride of a compliment. 

"Though, my thanks for such kind words."

Before Marsha could give a courtesy of a response, she continued.

"If you are willing, I will be more than glad to teach you to sketch."

She had seen the spark in her eyes, the curiosity of her first mentioning her once passion. Marianne had left it in the streets of Paris, when all was a day of waiting to pursue a higher education with only her dreams packed in her heart and bag.

She had left it in those unstained pavements, and Marsha had given it back to her, the hope of return.

Besides, the knight herself had been teaching her how to ride a horse without question at her odd request on a random day.

It was the least she could do.

The medic's tongue twists on itself, clumsy with a response.

"Oh, that would be nice, yes, I would like that."

 She rushes through her words, as if the request would fade if she answered a bit too late.

It seems all the bashfulness had passed onto her, despite the lack of touch from her arcane skill.

Marsha tries to save herself from a deeper fall by asking a new yet gnawing question.

"What are you planning to draw?"

Marianne is once again slapped with the reality of her unproductiveness, she looks back at the figures that are yet to be dressed.

She swallows back a groan.

"I had been unsure this entire afternoon; it is clear that my mind has been clouded with the remnants of gunfire to conjure a creation."

A complaint still escapes, though it felt rather freeing than it is shameful. 

The gargoyle stares back at the basket, now lowered to the ground. The fabrics inside indicated warmth, one most suitable for the current weather.

A simple shirt would not suffice, a scarf perhaps, a simple grey suit with a checkered inside or even a long sleeved dress.

The gears inside her head regained steam and soon began to visualize the fabrics being mended into some casual yet stunning clothing draped onto ordinary civilians.

Without a thought, Sentinel's voice speaks with resolve.

"But, with your grand gift, my mind is finally freed from the cages that withheld it."

She turns to finally meet Marsha's eyes, wishing to give her another appreciative gesture of words but the medic doesn't face her at all.

Instead she stared blankly at the sketches, her eyes seemingly captivated with the graphite markings.

Sure the soldier prided herself of her skills, but she was not at all that talented.

"Marsha?"

Sentinel calls out softly, her brows knitting each other with concern.

Despite their close range, it still took a few seconds for her call to register with the knight. Marsha blinks.

"Hm?"

She turns to look at her, the cold gray circles glaring at the warm skin. 

"You're tired, young chevalier."

Marsha forces a stiff smile, bringing her hand to squeeze her arm firmly. She knew that a gargoyle's eyesight would catch her act eventually.

"We had to leave early at dawn, it was hard to rest when the injured needed to be treated."

Yesterday's labor has taken its toll, especially with the trouble ensued during their first attempt of return. Still, Marsha had been too enthusiastic to meet Marianne that her exhaustion was forgotten momentarily.

"Go rest Marsha."

It was less of a suggestion than it was an order. The medic stared with a sagged expression, her brows fell immediately with disappointment.

"But..."

Her barrage of excuses is quickly shut down.

"We shall spend talking in a later time;It is rude to be absent minded whilst conversing no? You earned to rest."

As much as the knight wished to argue, there was no fighting the undeniable truth shown on her body. She sighs and gives a half smile.

"Okay, okay, you win. I'll go back to my quarters."

"It was no argument to begin with."

"Whatever you say madame."

Sentinel glares back at Marsha who had already walked over to the door, she wore a grin with slight mischief.

She takes one step out of the room.

"Bis später, my dear Marianne."

And the door closes behind her.

Sentinel lets out a breath she hadn't realized her lungs had been carrying, turning it into an amused scoff.

"Idiote."

Now alone in her own solitude once more, the ideas had grown in her mind. Several outfits now flooded her mind to where it grew a bit too overbearing.

Glancing at the clock, it is clear that she has yet time before Marsha comes back from her rest. If she ever does.

She switches her attention to the basket, the fabric sitting idly. 

Marsha had given this to her. A gesture of goodwill, she will make good use of it. That is a promise.

Sentinel leans forward, gripping the pencil with renewed vigor to begin her supposed work. 

All the worrying now is changed to choosing upon what kind of clothing she will first make. 

One to keep her hands busy this upcoming winter.

The clouds had begun to huddle, the air growing colder. The solace of an assigned break dawns on her skin.

Sentinel smiles, time to get to deciding.

Making a decision turned out to be a dilemma in on itself, simple hours grueling sketches turned into days of wondering how many hours could be spent on tailoring.

A long sleeved dress with a cut on its back, a cardigan, or a plain scarf. They all deemed to be good options, yet none felt right, not to her hands.

It's absurd to think about.

Sentinel walks through the hallway, clearing the indecisiveness of her mind. The floorboards felt colder than it had been, the air stiffer than usual. The winter night ghosts through each crevice of the suitcase.

At the end, she's met with the suitcase's lobby. A warm yellowish orange hue envelopes the room, a campfire flickers and crackles at the center, the door to the wilderness wide open. 

Outside the snow falls like gentle rain, figures are visible outside. She could spot a few familiar faces, the texan with the lamb, the little vampire stuffing her face with snow whilst the former investigator stops her, and a chimera trying to weave herself through the crowd.

It seemed most are enthusiastic this time of year.

Shifting to the left, she sees a vibrant red glaring like a sore thumb, almost as if the core of fire had spread. Marsha stood behind the couch, wearing a simple sweater and trousers.

Her hands coursed through black strands of hair, one that belonged to the woman seated in front. The nightingale seemed to have left her cage for a while, sitting like a proper lady as a knight braids her hair.

The moment is vulnerable, as if one step could shatter the glass of tranquility around the two women.

So Sentinel stood there, watching them as Marsha worked through another knot. Isolde lets out a hum of a tune, one that felt right in a choir.

It was no surprise the medic is gentle with her hands. Focused yet relaxed, it was difficult to believe that this was the same soldier who once carried a metal trench mace.

She works until she twists the final braid, grabbing a tie from her pocket to tie it all up in a perfect form. Subsequently, the nightingale stops singing, but not for the knight, rather, a presence that had been looming over them.

She turns slightly, making eye contact with the sharp-eyed sniper, her smile still and calm as ever.

A shiver is sent down Sentinel's spine, one that felt stabbing.

Marsha noticed her teammate's sudden movement, following where her attention was, she was met with a pleasant surprise.

“Oh, Marie.”

Suddenly, Sentinel had become their center of attention, butterflies fluttered in her stomach uncomfortably. Patches of stone rise to the top of her ears.

Isolde studies her, then she stands abruptly.

“I shall take my leave now, lady nurse. You have my deepest gratitude.”

The medic is left quite confused, her hand faltering as she gives a weak wave of a goodbye.

 The nightingale swiftly walks to the corridor, passing the gargoyle with a foreign expression, still hidden by her neutral smile.

Few had ever intimidated, let alone scared the soldier. Marsha's teammates were a part of that list.

As she disappeared within the hall, Sentinel began her approach to Marsha, who had now taken a seat on the couch and offered her to do the same.

“The nightingale…she's interesting.”

She whispers, not wanting to sound rude about the medic's teammate. Marsha gives a short chuckle.

“Miss Isolde is a gentle soul in her own way, though a bit fragile too. It's nice seeing her interact more, even with us.”

The fondness of her voice is clear, like a doctor speaking of their patients' improvements. 

Sentinel gives a hum in response, the orange light settles on both their faces, giving color to her pale skin and making Marsha's eyes glow slightly in contrast.

It almost mirrored a sunset in a way. Sentinel could see a far distant image of walking through a valley, one where they watch the rise and fall of sunlight. 

Yes, that would be nice.

Despite the fire's warmth, the open area of the wilderness still carried some of the winter spirit inside. The gargoyle could pick up the noise of chatter and occasionally the laughter of children playing.

Especially Rubuska’s attempt to climb the chimera's tail. If she listens closely, she could hear the defeated sigh of her other vampire teammate.

It must be incredibly joyous.

“They seem to be having fun out there, I'm glad.”

“Likewise, why not join in?”

The gargoyle could see the longing in the knight's eyes, yet a silent bitterness lingers as well. Marsha clasps her hands together, squeezing.

“It's far too cold for me.”

The weather was indeed quite cold, even inside the suitcase, yet she didn't expect someone as strong as Marsha to be quite vulnerable to the change in temperature.

Sentinel recalls the coat draped over her shoulders in their first meeting, from the battlefield to the thick forest lining. 

“What about your coat?” she asks with a curious raise of her brow.

Marsha looks away sheepishly, raising her arm to rub the back of her neck. There's a tug at her right cheek, almost flustered.

“It got badly burnt during an encounter with the Manus, it was caught by an arcane skill.” 

“I haven't really had the time to buy a replacement.”

Her voice trails low as she ends her sentence, tightening her jaw tight, not out of displeasure of talking but something much more simple.

Her trembling doesn't escape the gargoyle's gaze, concerned, she inches closer to the medic.

“You're cold.”

Her fingers searched for any scattered blankets or laying fabrics around, yet it all ended up back to her gray cloak that she forgot to take off moments ago.

Sentinel wraps one side towards Marsha, moving closer until she could feel the warmth of her unarmored fingers.

The moment was vulnerable, too bare to where the gargoyle wonders if she's pushing too far with her advances. She simply cared for her dear friend, what was there to worry?

A push on her shoulder silenced the question, Marsha leans in closer, taking in the warmth offered.

The shaking ceased immensely but she could still feel the way her body would shudder every now and then.

Sentinel wraps her hands around her, tentatively at first, but she manages a clumsy hold, her ears could imagine a soft giggle from the medic.

“Is this alright?” 

“Mhm, you're soft for a gargoyle, you know.”

A tease she learned to accept as truth, no matter how many times she had denied it. From a hardened soldier reduced to a woman with little manners, her father would be disappointed.

The soldier simply grew quiet at the words thrown, the fire crackles with a familiar rhythm. 

They fall into silence, one of safety and comfort. The rise and fall of each breath creates a tempo that tempts the gargoyle to rest, yet she persists. Her fingers finally ease, finding them slightly intertwining as all gravel dissipates from her fingertips.

At that moment, she feels a foreign hand tracing her knuckles. Sentinel freezes before taking a breath, trying to calm her frantic heart as it takes the role of a machine pistol with each beat.

The knight seems to be unbothered by her reaction, seeking even. It was difficult to ever catch her off guard, she takes it with pride in the small moments.

Her touches remain, her focus wandering with each caress, from the smooth stone to the calloused skin. Sentinel lets her, stretching them lightly like a cat's paw.

“It's not like I hate the cold, in the scorching summer, it's a refreshing breeze, in the freezing winter, it's what I fear.”

Marsha speaks with little clue on her purpose, her mind wishing to add to the silence with a memory she buried in the winter night, difficult but her lips persist to continue.

“Before I was taken into the order, I had a family; a father and a mother. One night, they took me out into the mountains.”

She swallows, beginning to regret.

“The snow fell heavy that night. At first, I was curious as to why they led me there, perhaps they finally wanted to spend time with me. I was hopeful for the first time that, maybe, I was a good daughter.”

“I soon learned it wasn't the case.”

Marsha closes her eyes, the memory still clear with the falling static of snow, her parents faces foreign to her own sight and the love she once carried for them- the love she still carries.

She inhales weakly, the hold around her waist tightening. 

She exhales, wishing to finish this tale.

“They told me words I could no longer recall, backing away and before long, disappearing. I tried to follow them, their coated figures through the raging winds or their footprints, but all were buried within seconds.”

“I searched for warmth, shelter, a path back home, but all I was met with was the sharp slice of winter digging through my coat and skin. It hurt, so, so, much.”

A pitiful cry seeps out, tears daring to fall in a moment's notice. Sentinel places her hand atop the medic's, giving a firm squeeze.

“I wandered aimlessly until the sun began to rise in the far distance. My body finally collapsed, creating a small hollow; it should have been my grave that day, a girl abandoned for the wolves to eat.”

“But, another figure emerged, a strong silhouette of hard iron and silver. With the little strength I had, I looked up to find a woman's face, a scar across her nose, she looked so worried.”

The recollection of one of the first times she made the old knight concerned over her safety brought a watery chuckle at the back of her throat.

“She carried me through the light of dawn, her cape wrapped around me like a newborn as she rushed to get me into the order’s infirmary.”

“That is how I met Adelheid, my mentor, my…”

She cuts herself off, deciding to end the tale on an ambiguous and slightly hopeful note, not wanting to linger much on the harsh bitterness of beginning and middle.

The knight did not intend for this conversation to take an emotional turn, especially not in front of Marianne. She turns her head to apologize but she's beaten by her recipient’s words.

“I'm sorry.”

Marsha looks at the gargoyle, confused. 

“What for? There's no need to apologize, in fact, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Non, definitely not you.”

Sentinel lets one arm free from her hold, raising her palm to her face and wiping a tear that has breached unknowingly past the medic's tear ducts.

Seeing her hurt felt much more torturous than any other punishment that she had been given throughout the years. There is a tight hold on her heart, Marsha is the last person she wished to go through such an experience.

“Im sorry that a fate so cruel befell on you, that you had been given a false predicament of a family than one that is true.”

And to think she had driven a blade down her throat a few years prior, to do such a thing to one who is bearing pains long inflicted…

No. This is about Marsha, not her own guilt.

She pulls her tighter into her hug, not enough to crush her ribs but to convey the message of sympathy. The medic is taken aback slightly, while the gargoyle isn't much of a fierce hugger like her aunt, she mimicked it quite well in a gentler manner.

Marsha pats the back of her palm, receiving her message clear.

“I know. Though, I can't deny that it helped forge the path to where I am now. Cruel, yes, but I wouldn't have regretted what it made me.”

“And who I manage to meet along the way, including you, Marianne.”

Of course, even in the harshest trials of life, the knight seemed to always shine brighter to forge her path. It seeps into her words, sounding like a hymn of gratitude.

Sentinel could feel her cheeks rise to a solemn smile, her head threatening to fall down on Marsha's shoulder but she held strong. 

She had been glad to meet Marsha, despite their unfortunate meeting; even if her mind persists that she would have been better not meeting a devil like her.

God had been too kind to her.

“You're glad to have met me?”

A question is released from her tongue, one filled with curiosity, guilt and slight ardor.

The medic did not hesitate to reply within the second.

“Of course, if not for you, my pursuit to become a field medic would have been much harder or impossible to be a reality even.”

She squeezes her hand.

“What happened was not your fault, okay? That war is over, and I forgive you.”

The gargoyle could feel a warmth enveloping her skin and stone, one that passes through her stuttering chest.

To be so kind, so unwavering, she wonders if Marsha Rosenhart is not an angel in disguise in this war.

No angel would get their hands bloodied, perhaps she was a descendant of Michael, but then, why would she keep her around?

Sentinel throws the absurd conspiracies away- she's getting off course.

Instead, she breathes out a half torn chortle.

“I should be the one comforting you right now, no?”

A heartfelt chuckle fills in the other half, completing what her throat couldn't follow.

“And you did well. Trust me, I didn't think you would be such a good hugger.”

“Really?”

The slight jab pierced the terrifying Sentinel much more than it should. She takes her arms off from holding her, still momentarily lingering inches away.

“I can't believe that you would think so lowly of me even after I held you dearly. I'm wounded, Rosenhart.”

Marsha straightens herself, now facing the “hurt” soldier and all her pain. Her eyes narrowed into a mirthy stare with her right brow raised.

“Are the French always this dramatic?”

“Bien sûr que non, we are only sophisticated, unlike you German.”

The medic places a hand in her chest, taking in the insult with an exaggerated gasp as if a bayonet has skewered her again.

“Wie grausam! We are very much sophisticated, you simply have too high of standards.”

Sentinel crosses her arms with a proud huff.

“And such standards are why we have class.”

“Oh I'm sure, ‘mademoiselle’”

The pronunciation is far too over the top, stressing each syllable that gets the poor french gargoyle to bite back a grin.

“Your pronunciation is terrible.”

“Your language is simply difficult.”

“Oh, you wish to speak difficulty in our native tongues?”

Both stared into each other, filled with determination in their irises, soon softening and closing as they erupt into laughter.

Marsha buried her face deep in her palms as she struggled to catch her breath, Marianne simply covered her mouth, suppressing the giggles tickling her cheeks.

Playful banter is rare for soldiers like them, but once it begins, they are reminded that inside the suitcase, they are but two young women experiencing the joys of their lost adolescence.

For a moment, Sentinel could feel the burden on her shoulders disappear fully.

She gives a pat on the knight's back, making sure she doesn't die from the mere strength of her laugh. 

Marsha takes a few deep breaths before returning to her original posture, she exhales in a lingering chuckle. 

The fire casts a much warmer glow in her features, her smile still glinting bright as the snowflakes raining from the sky. 

Sentinel takes in the sight, as if she's a star that she could reach in a moment, but she willingly holds back.

Instead, she enjoys what her gaze could see. 

“Feeling better?”

The waves within her pupils shifted calmly, Sentinel held in a breath.

“Much better, thank you, Marianne.”

Something swells up within the gargoyle’s chest, she's unsure whether it's pride or bashfulness. 

Either way, it all led to her giving a firm nod. Marsha laughs again.

Sentinel would bear another 10,000 sins within her body if it meant hearing such a pleasurable melody.

Eventually time passed and the late night grew. Residents began to enter back, snow tracking back in each step, most brushing it off outside out of courtesy for the Timekeeper.

Sentinel glances at the several bodies walking past; An eager white fox rushing through with the researcher and the Rusalki pacing comfortably behind, The succubus enjoying her ride off the chimera's back as if the princess of a high kingdom and a sight much seldom seen.

“C'mon mate! Why can't I be on the giant cat's back? I'm injured too!”

“I'm sorry, but I am unsure if Qiangliang could handle any more weight. Besides that, I do not want to disturb Lady Satsuki."

A cat-like beast stomps through the halls, accompanied by the young vigil. On its back, a young maid sits awkwardly, her legs swept to the side as she eyes the two below her with panicked confusion.

And who could forget the loud radio pirate broadcasting her complaints with a voice that rivals any tank firing.

A deep, purple bruise contrasts her skin, flakes of white surrounding the discolored injury. 

The bizarre situation appears to lead to an unfortunate little accident.

It had definitely garnered the attention of the medic.

Both gargoyle and knight stared at the bickering of the two individuals, Regulus falling to her knees and desperately begging as Liang Yue pleads for her to get up.

Before the poor vigil could spiral into panic, she caught the eyes of the observers, specifically widening when she met the glinting blue.

Her body turns right away, calling out in a wave of relief.

“Miss Marsha-!”

Before her words could continue, Marsha had already assessed their need for assistance- a medic's intuition if you will.

She simply got up from her seat, and nodded.

The knight takes one last look at Marianne, gentle and vulnerable.

“You should rest, Marie. Thank you again.”

She turns her back and walks with purpose on her awaiting patients. Her shoulders paint an image of a caretaker, one whose duties will not end as conflict and life exists.

Yet, they still fall gently as she talks and calms the distressed children.

Sentinel hardly made an effort to tear her eyes away as she rose from her seat and began walking to her quarters. 

From every angle her eyes turned, she saw a slither of new light from her. It was no longer blinding, rather, pleasing to see, to feel. 

A candle to light away the dark of uncertainty.

A flame.

Marianne recalls back on her earlier struggle, the ambivalence of her mind now finding a resolute answer. 

The story of a girl left behind in the thick snow, a knight forged through fire and steel, a medic who lost her beloved coat.

A woman who feared the cold most.

A coat. A simple coat that will shield her from the piercing winds and radiate the warmth she provided onto herself.

Yes, that would be most ideal for her.

Sentinel smiles under the lights of the halls, taking in the final seconds of Marsha's figure. To see her no longer hide the shivers in her bones, to witness her hold a falling snowflake with intricate carvings.

That would be a sight to look forward to.

The soldier finally turns to see the long hall, adorned with doors of different lives.

She walks in a straight line, finding a new found determination quake under her stone patched skin. Not one filled with destruction, but of creation.

May her hands no longer tremble ere then.

As Sentinel walks down the hallway, two shadows lurk behind her, having watched the entire scene of her resolve. 

“She looked so soft just then! Why can't she look at us like that too…”

Rubuska slumps her chin over Semmelweis’s shoulder, being carried on a piggyback by the former investigator.

Her companion seemed the least interested at how the gargoyle acted, her nose scrunched up in slight disgust.

“Because there's nothing to smile about with your antics.”

"Hey!”

The young “vampire” takes full offense in her words, pouting her cheeks like a hamster. Before her defenses could be fired, Semmelweis is quick to give the top of her head a firm knock.

Rubuska winces in an exaggerated fashion. Slumping her head further in defeat.

Semmelweis breathes a heavy sigh, giving a small rub on the younger girl's hair.

“Besides, I'd rather believe in God before believing that she would give us the same treatment as she does with that knight.”

She mutters under her breath.

“I will take a bottle of dumbbitter potion if she even tries.”

Rubuska ignores her angsty dialogue, instead focusing on one detail she grew curious about.

“What has her acting like that with Marsha anyway?”

Semmelweis stares down the fleeting gargoyle with a complicated glare.

“You'll find out when you're older.”

“Awh boo!”

Semmelweis doesn't give into her young companions' antics, instead she begins tracking down the doors to find the train conductress's door.

The winter night continues with its quiet howls. The suitcase grows quiet to greet another day.

Before any garment can be sowed, one must first need a design. After many drafts and revision, Marianne has finally settled on one that is most practical and stylish:

A simple long coat, the outside being made of cashmere, a fabric she acquired from Eternity after a small commission. 

The inside of the coat will be made of the wool fabric she had been gifted by the knight, it would serve great insulation from the cold.

A belt is placed just above the bellybutton for a secure hold whilst in action and when movement is frequent. It would also hug her figure quite nicely, a detail that the gargoyle secretly awaits to see.

Pockets are to be placed on either side for extra storage on the go and finally a fur lining on the collar. It would provide extra warmth while bringing out Marsha's facial features.

It is colored in a desaturated blue, it would pair nicely with the strong red of her hair. That is the true reason for her choice in color, not at all that it would match the soldier's own uniform- definitely not.

After the concept has been visualized to the dressmaker, measurements are the next priority.

Sentinel sits on her desk, she has already asked for Marsha's time this morning to take her measurements, of course the medic was quick to agree.

Now the gargoyle sits, staring at the doorway with a tea in hand. She traces the rim of the cup, seconds ticking at a grueling pace. She would never give complaints on time moving slowly, especially as she learned its value in the rain of war, but today, today was different.

Sentinel is eager to see Marsha. 

The tip of her right heel taps in a consistent rhythm, soft enough to not overshadow the approaching footsteps from afar.

One step. 

Sentinel raises the cup to her lips.

Another.

She pulls it closer towards her. Tipping it at an angle for the tea to flow smoothly though her tongue.

The footsteps take a frantic pace, almost a horse's gallop.

Only when Sentinel pulls the cup away from her does it slow, gradually turning into a walk with more pride and purpose.

It draws closer. And closer. Until.

“Greetings Marianne, I wasn't late aren’t I?”

Marsha at last arrives with a sweet expression. Her posture is straight, face calm but the trail of sweat running down the side of her forehead tells a more interesting story.

The gargoyle sets down the tea cup back on its coaster, giving a reassuring response.

“You are right on time, chevalier. Do not fret.”

The knight lets out a quiet sigh of relief, her back slackening slightly as her doubts melts away.

“Besides, my ears picked up your quickened steps. I knew long you would not dare waste a second.”

She watches as the young woman’s eyes widen slightly, turning away with a stiff smile.

“You heard me..?”

“I did.”

“Ah.”

Her supposed calm and nonchalant entrance was quickly debunked for what it was. The medic had no words to defend herself for attempting a “cool” act.

Sentinel decides to save the poor soul from any more wounds at her dignity. She stands, grabbing the nearby measuring tape and motioning Marsha to follow her to the center of the room.

She grabs the end of the tape, loosening the spiral until it reaches the middle of her pointer finger.

“You still haven't told me what you're making, Marie.”

This wasn't the first time she asked about what the great Marianne had in mind. While she took the request of needing her measurements with great excitement, she was met with a vague answer on why.

“I wouldn't wish to spoil a surprise, Marsha.” she answers, hardly looking up from her thorough inspection.

“A surprise?” The knight repeats the words with growing wonder, it was rare for the soldier to surprise people that didn't involve smokebombs and a gun barrel at the back of your head.

This was an interesting change.

Sentinel doesn't elaborate much further, instead stretches the measuring tape to her other hand.

"Stand straight.”

From one order Marsha was quick to follow. She straightens her stance, keeping both arms firm and straight at her sides. She gives a smile at her easy obedience as she walks to her back. 

The instinct of a soldier never changes.

Sentinel measures the shoulder first, placing the end of the tape over the tip of the left shoulder and stopping at the other end.

As the gargoyle takes a step away to write the acquired measurement to her notebook, she can't help but marvel at how broad Marsha's shoulders are.

While her uniform is less fitting on her figure for more flexible movement, it also makes her look softer despite the obvious muscle hiding underneath.

A knight meant to shield the weak.

Next, sleeve length. She repositions the end atop the tip of Marsha's right shoulder, letting the tape fall down until it reaches down to the palm. Simple and easy to note down.

Then, biceps. Wrap the measuring tape around the muscle, focus on the line the tip lands upon. Do not gaze anywhere else. Simple.

Being up close to the latter's arm did bring a new realization- the shape of her bicep could be seen thoroughly through the fabric stretching against the skin.

Firm; she can feel the muscle tense when she applies the slightest pressure. How peculiar…

“Uhm..Marie?”

The gargoyle finally catches herself at her own embarrassing act, she clears her throat.

“Sorry, I was simply making sure to get the correct measure.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Sentinel writes down another note, her throat dry suddenly. Calm yourself, Marianne, there is nothing to be intimidated about. Was she intimidated? 

She internally racks her head to focus, this is all for her dear friend Marsha, she must not falter. Glancing at the next needed measurement made her last statement difficult to be made true. 

Collar.

Sentinel takes a deep breath, exhaling at the last second before looking at Marsha directly.

“Marsha, may I ask you something?”

“Of course!”

It takes awhile before the gargoyle could find the words for her request.

“Your neck needs to be measured. I will simply wrap this tape around your neck, leaving a finger's width for accuracy.”

She could see the medic freeze with a complicated expression, torn between quick defiance and indecision. Her earlier enthusiasm replaced with known fear.

"Only if you are willing, I will not force you, I am the last person to ask you of such.”

Marsha grew quiet, her brows knit tightly. Marianne took it as a sign of resignation, she bites her tongue for souring the mood of their past.

She should simply call a break for the both of them, perhaps reschedule after she asks for forgiveness to her friend and the lor-

“Okay.”

“Pardon?”

Sentinel couldn't hide the surprise from her voice. Marsha simply gazed with soft resolve.

“It's only a measurement after all; what happened in the past is no longer between us.”

“I trust you, Marianne.”

Her words struck a chord deep within her former enemy. A level of trust to a devil like her, she still struggled to believe if she was foolish or if she truly held a heart of angels.

No words are to be said, instead, Marianne smiles. Taking the step to fulfill that trust given to her.

Just make it quick.

She wraps the tape around the latter's neck, her reaction is immediate, tensing hard. Muttering apologies, Marianne glances at the numbers with a sniper's precision, then she lets go.

Marsha lets out an audible exhale, as if she had held her breath under deep depths. 

“Are you alright?”

“I am, don't worry.”

“Hm, making sure.”

Marsha chuckles.

“You worry a lot.”

“I wish to not overstep boundaries.”

“As if you ever could.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Sentinel stares at the knight, who is now back to looking at the wall ahead, finding the curtains interesting.

She continues with her work; taking other measurements with more ease than before.

Then another unexpected hurdle, chest size.

Being both women shouldn't make this difficult, yet, here the soldier stands sweating bullets. 

There is nothing wrong with measuring one's chest for a garment, it's not sacrilegious to glance when in the professional and correct context.

Sentinel cautiously wraps the measuring tape around Marsha's chest, her hands subtly trembling; focus on the numbers, focus on where the line will land.

Her eyes blue from her intensive focus, instead they land on where it's most sinful to look at without consent. 

No, Marianne, do not lust in the heart of the lord. Do not stare. 

Being so up close, it was much harder to avoid at the medic's breasts. Marianne tilts her head slightly away, steadying her fingers to hold to get the number she needs.

She acts as if she was a teenage boy enamoured by such a sight for the first time- by the holy Lord Marianne de Tènèbrun, you are a full grown woman. Act like one.

She makes the mistake of looking up to avert her focus, now met with the knight's eyes and rosy cheeks. Marsha gives a weary chortle, unsure of how to respond.

“Uhm…enjoying the view, Marie?”

Marianne chokes, averting away as quickly as she can.

“Do not ask such questions.”

The tip of her ears burn red, being asked of such, hmph, she would not be so bold.

Though, if she were to be honest…non, no, absolutely not. Measurements, focus back on that.

She takes a breath of relief as she finally gets what she needs, writing down the number with much pride as she did not sway with the whispers of unadulterated thoughts.

Then, Marsha speaks.

“You never answered my question..”

“Is my answer such importance to you?”

“No no, I was simply teasing. Nevermind.”

“...”

“Qui.”

“Huh?”

“Just, let's get back to the task at hand Marsha.”

Sentinel looks at the next measurement she wrote down: waist.

She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry for believing that this incredibly embarrassing situation she trapped herself in has gotten worse.

She fought the urges to slam her head against the desk, rather turning back to the medic with a stoic expression. She will get this done.

Sentinel kneels in front of Marsha, wrapping the measuring tape around her waist. She will not waste anymore time overthinking.

Her mind has now broken any form of distractions or unnecessary thoughts, she can finally return to her professionalism.

A knock is all it takes to break her momentum.

“Hey Sentinel, we need yo-”

The voice belonged to the brooding vampire that she had the fortunate chance of being on the same team on. She had walked in on them as the door was wide open.

Semmelweis in her view is currently witnessing the ever serious Sentinel kneeling in front of the humble Marsha, almost face first on the latter's waist.

The air freezes on a standstill. Sentinel peeks out in slight surprise, the medic turns her head back in confusion.

Then realization.

“Can you at least close the door? Whatever, I'll come back later once you're both done.”

“W-wait! Miss Semmelweis this isn't what it looks lik-”

"N'ose même pas le dire-!”

Unfortunately for the two women, Semmelweis had already strolled away, closing the door in courtesy of witnessing an unholy sight, mumbling “why is it always me..” along the way.

Looking back, they should have closed the door. 

Sentinel bites her tongue back from spraying curses into the wind, instead she finishes up her remaining measurements in utter silence with the knight still stunned and cherry red.

Once finished with the measurements, Marsha quickly took her leave after Marianne had given her thanks, still avoiding any form of eye-contact.

Still, she had to say something to end this afternoon in an easing note for the two of them.

“Marsha.”

“Yes?”

Her dear friend looks at her with a weird sense of eagerness, as if she awaiting to be called.

“Close the door next time.”

What an eventful afternoon this was; they both ended up praying in their respective rooms right after.

Making the garment had been time consuming, though, in this suitcase that is a matter she now has in abundance. 

Without any bothers of orders and missions, she solely put all her time and mind to sewing, cutting of fabrics and countless revisions of her mistakes.

The gargoyle has entirely locked herself away to commit to her craft, only ever interacting with others when they come into her quarter.

And by others, she mainly speaks of the knight that visits almost daily.

She brings meals and small gossip on every visit, half of the time she's chastising her to not neglect her health. She would never, not consciously at least.

Her company made the grueling work much easier to digest, hearing the medic go on about how Nautika let her on another ride to the skies is a nice background melody as she cuts through fabric.

As for the garment, Marsha had asked questions though she didn't pry. She sneaks a few glances at the design but immediately looks away when Sentinel turns her head.

Foolish knight, nothing escapes a gargoyle's sight.

Still, she lets it happen. Seeing her flustered was rare, and it was a sight Sentinel wishes to see more.

Late nights were also common. Before, she stayed up to watch guard on the trenches, the silent of night was the deadliest enemy she's met.

Now, she stays up for her craft, as if living in her dream from before the impending war. To design and create with her hands, she lets herself dream, this once.

This night was one of the same, the clock had already struck past 12, and yet, she insisted on sewing the collar of the coat under a lamplight.

While highly impractical, her vision enabled her enough to see through the stitches and where the needle will pass through.

The rhythmic motion of the need passing in and out had her entranced, ignoring time passing and the soft knocks coming from her door.

“Marie?”

Even so, her ears could not ignore the voice on the other side. The needle she holds pokes through her index finger, she lets out a hiss before holding it properly.

“The door is open.”

Her visitor takes that as an invitation to enter. The door creaks open, revealing the knight in her nightgown, groggy but awake enough to function.

Sentinel looks over to see Marsha who looks like she had just woken up from a deep sleep. Her hair is an absolute mess as the end of her curls shoots in different directions.

Her hands stop their work and she looks in question.

“What are you doing up so late, Marsha?”

Marsha blinks, rubbing her right eye.

“I could ask the same to you.”

“I'll go to bed soon, ought not to worry, now answer my question.”

The medic takes a breath, before answering in a soft, almost vulnerable manner.

“I wanted to ask if I could sleep in here for the night.”

The request left the soldier stunned and at a loss for words. Marsha wanted to sleep..with her?

Sleepovers are nothing to fret about, she used to have them with her dear Agnes when they were young. But that was with family, she never slept on the same bed with a…friend before.

Her reaction seemed to send the message of rejection, Marsha retracts back to a barrage of defenses.

“Y-you don't have to agree, I could be sleep on the floor; actually no, I should just go back to my roo-”

Before she could continue on, Sentinel halted her excuses.

“No, Marsha, you can sleep in, I don't mind.”

Her approval left the knight surprised that she would agree to an absurd request. Her cheeks flushed for a moment as all sense of sleep left her body, even if momentarily.

“Are you sure?”

“Qui, I would like to sleep with you.”

Marsha raises a brow, her lips rising into a cheeky and bewildered smile.

“Marianne, you know what your words entail, right?”

It takes a second before the innuendo slaps her in the face. She turns back to her work with a huff.

“Go rest Chevalier.”

Marsha doesn't have any refusal, she locks the door shut and walks over to the bed; Sentinel could hear a soft laughter erupt from her lips as she passes by.

The medic settles into the bed, sinking into the soft and warm mattress that nearly knocks her out straight into unconsciousness. 

It was almost the same as the bed she had in her own room, but the faint scent of Marianne on the pillows made it easier to breathe, for whatever reason it might be, it was nice.

The gargoyle observes how the medic settles into her bed, pulling the covers up to her jaw and silently passing out as fast as she laid down.

Seeing her be at peace had her own mind and body to fight against the sweet lure of rest. With how the snow falls in the night, her bed looks warmer somehow. With Marsha there, it was more tempting to sleep in.

No, not yet. She must finish this stitch before she is able to get any rest.

Sentinel presses on, her hands returning to its rhythmic motion of guiding the needle through and out the fabric. 

Only her thumbs are petrified for protection, as she unfortunately found out that the texture of stone on her skin makes it difficult to grasp completely. 

Often the needle falls and finding it is another pain she had long forgotten.

Over time, her mind begins to sway from the absence of sleep. Sentinel barely realized that an hour has already passed, and she's only halfway done.

The gravel on her thumbs began to crumble unconsciously, she could hardly feel it from how numb her fingers had become through her rigorous motions.

Only when she felt a sharp pain hit the center of her thumb did she realize that the petrification had all but withered away into dust on the floor.

The needle falls into the ground, lost in the darkness of the floorboards. Sentinel mumbles unsavory words and she bends down to retrieve it, the chair creaking through the night.

Once the needle is acquired, she sits up straight. The gargoyle heaves a sigh, she should really sleep soon.

But there's still work to be done.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders. Sentinel jumps from the sudden touch, her back straightening to be as stiff as stone.

Was her mind so fogged from fatigue that she had let her guard down to be startled so awfully. The soldier could feel her heart pound through her ribcage.

An equally tired whisper brings reassurance that it was no enemy.

“Marianne…go to bed.”

Turns out Marsha had not gone to bed, she had only been trying to fall asleep but having no luck. The bed was indeed warm enough, but the empty space felt wrong.

Now, the medic held the soldier firmly, her drowsiness fueling half of her actions. Marianne feels warm, she feels nice.

The gargoyle on the other hand is frozen from the suddenness of it all. She did not expect to be held like this from behind and somehow, it didn't feel wrong.

It felt nice.

The adrenaline in her body dies down, and she relaxes in Marsha's hold. In turn, the knight realized her bold action, letting go slowly and ushering an apology.

Sentinel reaches for her right arm, forcing her to stop and freeze from her retreat.

“Stay.”

It doesn't take any more effort for Marsha to follow her words. She rests her head atop the gargoyle's scalp, resisting the urge to press a gentle kiss.

Marianne could feel the exhaustion finally resting on her bones, tilting her head to press herself closer to the medic's sleeve.

The scent of vervain and beeswax lingers around, soothing her stubborn mind into relaxation.

“Let's go to bed, shall we?”

The offer sounds heavenly to her ears, and this time she has no intention to turn it down. Sentinel hums in agreement as she takes another second to feel the medic's sleeve before pushing herself up.

Marsha didn't gaze at the garment in the open, rather, she solely had her eyes on Marianne, looking at the half-open eyelids with unexplained tenderness.

The knight grabs her hand, guiding the gargoyle to the bed. The moment Sentinel felt the covers, she nearly buckled to her knees- how could she even pass the opportunity of heavenly rest after nights of sleeping on tree branches.

Both women wasted no time getting comfortable underneath the covers, facing one another, they're finally faced with each other's presence.

Sentinel could see how Marsha's eyelashes fluttered as she fought off sleep to gaze at her. She looked so soft, as if belonging to the clouds instead of the ground.

Her mind could hardly think of any thoughts, only an image of the time of peace and the medic's face flashed before it.

It was no doubt that Marsha had always been pretty, objectively speaking of course.

If the war hadn't happened, she would have been a heart-throb pilot. To imagine Marsha in such a uniform with a smirky grin, how charming.

She could have been a model, would have rivaled all those she's ready about in the magazines. 

She imagines the medic in all those gowns and dresses that she's the curves of femininity in an awe-strucking manner.

To have her as your model…

“Tu es tellement belle, Marsha, c'est parfois injuste.” Marianne mumbles mindlessly, still stuck in the visions in her head.

“Hm?”

An incredibly drowsy Marsha perks up from the mention of her name, barely aware of the sentence her friend had blurted out.

Sentinel stumbles for an explanation, instead, her tongue resorted to revealing the half truth of her words.

"You are incredibly pretty, Marsha. Undoubtedly.”

Marsha softly chuckles from the compliment, bashful to receive it from Marianne of all people.

“You are too, I don't think you notice some nurses turn their heads when you visit.”

The gargoyle blinks, warmth running to her cheeks.

“They do?”

“Yes, they even comment on how you look like those angel statues inside the churches.”

Receiving compliments from those she didn't know, especially from women filled the gargoyle with butterflies. To think they believed she could be an angel, it was most flattering.

But, there is one nurse she would like to hear an opinion from. Fortunately, she's right in front of her.

"Do you think I'm pretty?”

Marsha stares as if observing every muscle moving across her face, then she smiles. Her facade spoke of tenderness that Marianne had been blessed to see.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, Marianne.”

Whether it was sleep speaking into her mind, the genuine words spoken deep within her heart were clear as the river's water. 

Marianne’s heart is gripped with an overwhelming emotion still foreign; her lungs forget the need to breathe, letting out a shaky breath.

To believe that someone would exclaim that she was beautiful despite all she's done, the sins she now carries. To believe that person would even proclaim her as the most beautiful to their eyes from all the others they meet everyday.

To believe that the person is Marsha Rosenhart herself.

It was not a fantasy in her mind, it was reality that just happened.

The lack of a response led the knight to ask her last request for the night.

“Can we cuddle?”

Marianne's mind is still processing her last words, but she mustered enough courage to say yes at her request.

Marsha huddles closer, closing the space between them as she wraps one arm around her waist, pulling her ever so close.

The atmosphere had gotten warmer, the winter no longer existed in the room they're in, only the warmth they passed through each other.

Marianne never understood her tendency to be beside the medic whenever they are together. Perhaps it was the longing for companionship, the safety in numbers or maybe..

Nevermind. It matters little now as she's contempt to be held so dearly as if she was glass rather than stone.

To be cared for as if she's not a devil in flesh, but an unfortunate soul dragged through hell.

It was nice to be with Marsha.

Marianne finally found the words to respond to her.

“Thank you.”

After several days, the coat had finally been completed. Sentinel nearly cried tears of joy as her hard work had finally ceased into a presentable gift for Marsha.

Now, all that needed to be done was to give it to her.

She walks down the halls, passing many residents of the suitcase, while she asks some, none could give her any hints to where the knight is.

It was still early in the morning, she could be simply asleep still. Though after knocking at her door, it was already empty, only a tidy bed was there to greet her.

Marsha could have simply been away to run errands; Sentinel stared at the present in her hands for sometime, causing her to bump shoulders with a young vigil.

“Oh- sorry ma'am.”

“Non, I should be the one to apologize.”

Before the gargoyle continues with her aimless walking, she posts a question to the vigil.

“Pardon me for asking, but have you seen Marsha?”

Liang Yue straightens her stance, fiddling with her brick phone as she recounts every encounter she had made in the past hour.

After a few seconds, she gives a resolute nod.

“The last I've seen of Miss Marsha was in the suitcase lobby, approximately 35 minutes ago Ma'am.”

The lobby, she's close then.

Sentinel pulls on her sleeve, giving an appreciative smile to the young vigil. 

“Thank you. How is the young maid?”

Another question, this time, she could see the professionalism slip, turning into a flustered but sincere response.

“She's doing well, her ankle has healed nicely thanks to Miss Marsha. Please send her my thanks.”

“Thou has thanked her many times already.”

“Ah, have I?”

Sentinel muses on the clueless little officer, giving a small, heartfelt chuckle. Liang Yue bows her head in embarrassment.

The soldier gives a pat on her shoulder.

“I jest, I will make sure she gets your thanks. May your dear friend have a good recovery, little officer.”

Liang Yue gives a salute as Sentinel walks away, now wearing an eager smile.

“Yes. Thank you, Miss Sentinel.”

While she may never understand why such a young child would choose a path she did, she could agree with her ambition to stop crime and keep the innocent safe.

Sentinel finally reaches the end of the hall. The rising dawn filters through the windows, beams of soft light painting the wooden floorboards and shelves.

Snow sticks to the corner of the glass, creating a frame for the winter morning.

And in the frame of glistening winter snow, vibrant cherry red will always stick out as a stark contrast.

Marsha stands near one of the bookshelves, clearing the dust away at the shelf's edge with a piece of cloth. 

Without the fret of danger or the call of the wounded, the medic often found other ways to keep herself busy, to keep her hands moving. One of which was cleaning every crevice of the lobby when she had time.

Sentinel readies herself, taking a breath before exhaling in renewed confidence- it's time.

She casually walks over to the knight, the present in full presentation.

“Marsha.”

“Hm, oh.”

Marsha turns and is met with her dear friend holding a present; rectangular and slightly flatter in shape. It's wrapped in blue wrapping paper with a bright red bow adorned on top.

Is this the surprise that Marianne spoke of, it looks incredibly valuable just by looks alone.

“This is my surprise for you, I hope it is to your liking.”

‘Anything you make is to my liking, Marianne’ Marsha doesn't voice her affection out loud, instead she takes the present in front of her with utter care as if handling a fragile package.

She unwraps the ribbon with elegance, taking the cover of the box to reveal what's inside.

When the knight's eyes land on the gift, she lets out an audible gasp.

“This is..!”

She takes the coat out, examining every detail that had been sewed on it: a blue winter coat that matches Marianne's uniform color, fixed with pockets, a belt and a fur lining.

While the colors may seem cool, the texture was smooth and soft to the touch, it was slightly warm too, as if it was ironed before handed to her.

Sentinel watches as Marsha looks through each detail, running her hands to the soft fabric and her eyes growing wider with each discovery.

She wishes she had a camera to record her expression.

“Marianne..this is, you didn't have to-”

“I wanted to. I wished to give you protection from the cold. Knights ought to be cared for from time to time, does thou agree?”

The gargoyle did not receive an answer, rather she's pulled into a tight hug from the knight. She grits it with much strength, giving the latter's back a reassuring pat.

Her ears picked up Marsha's stuttering breaths, soon enough, the first drop of tears landed on her shoulder.

“Marie…thank you..this means so much.”

Marsha's fear of the cold was once another factor that had her picked on by the other squires, at times they forced her to do their chores out in the winter. Despite her protest, she was pushed out into the snow until Adelheid found her, shivering with a runny nose.

As she grew, this fear was suppressed more and more until she had hidden it so well that her hands no longer trembled in the chilly breeze.

She had rarely told this to anyone, as judgement still runs deep, whether a medic or a soldier, there are bigger factors to take into account than a childish fear.

To be seen by her once enemy, by a soldier with much more experience in the fields of battle and not be judged, it struck hard to tears.

Sentinel knew, Marianne cared.

That was more than enough.

She wipes her tears, pulling back from the hug and looks at Marianne with a wave of excitement. 

“Come on, let's go out into the wilderness, I want to wear this coat already.”

Her statement made the gargoyle wide eyed.

“Are you sure Marsha?”

“More than sure.”

Sentinel looked for any hint of struggle or fear, but all she saw was a growing fire that wished to face the fear she's been hiding away from.

She could not battle such a fierce flame.

“Let me grab my coat then.”

“Of course!”

The moment they stepped foot outside into the vast wilderness, the cold breeze greets them first. Sentinel had offered to hold Marsha's hand throughout their walk, for support and warmth.

The knight shivered, and the soldier was quick to give a firm squeeze. Silently iterating that she does not have to do this if she doesn't want to.

Marsha squeezes back, she wants to, especially if Marianne's by her side.

So they began to walk, to walk in the winter morning and the falling snowflakes.

The snow crunch under their boots, every crevice of the outside has been covered in a thick, white blanket, but the scenery is ethereal still.

The trees gain new leaves in the form of ice crystals, the birds on the branches preening through the flakes that intrude into their feathers.

The path is open, aside from the few arcanists that walk in front, one of which was the loud British pirate, who instantly rushes towards the two.

“Hey! Sentinel and..Marsha!?” she nearly fell due to her speed. Regulus rarely ever saw Marsha out in the snow, and Sentinel well…

She was only slightly intimidated.

“Hello Regulus.”

“Woah! That's a nice looking coat Marsha, is that why you're out here today?”

Right on the nail. Marsha smiles brightly.

“Yes, it is.”

“That must've cost a lot.”

“Actually..”

“I made it.”

Sentinel speaks up, raising her head slightly to take pride in her work. 

“You!?”

The gargoyle gives a look, Regulus stammers as she explains, not wanting to be the next victim of her anti-tank rifle.

“I don't mean any offense in that, I promise! I just didn't expect that you could make something so pretty.”

“Thou deemed me to only know how to destroy and kill?”

“What!? No no-!”

A bark of laughter erupted next to the trembling captain, the source being an eccentric pilot of Zeno.

She seemed to have only landed to watch this transaction unfold.

“Regulus, you really need to learn how to speak properly. You could get killed with that tongue.”

The rocking pirate argues at her side, hurling strange insults at the pilot but she only pushes her aside with a hand to the face.

“Nice coat by the way, Marsha. Looks warm enough for the steppes in this weather.”

The knight simply nods in agreement, now radiating warmth from all the compliments she's gained for the past minutes.

Lilya then turns to Sentinel, placing a hand on her waist.

“You sew great. I should ask you to fix my jacket, you'd do a better job than what Zeno offers at least.”

The soldier tugs at her collar, clearing her throat as an attempt to hide her flustered reaction.

“Just leave it at my door, I will do my best.”

The pilot snorts.

“Absolutely.”

As the conversation reaches an end, Lilya looks down and spots a detail she'd overlooked.

The grumpy soldier was holding the medic's hand, fingers overlapping and all. There's a sudden change in her demeanor.

“Okayy, we'll leave you two alone now. C'mon Regulus, I'll give you a ride.”

“Like I'd ride with yo- HEY!”

Before the pirate could even protest her disdain, Lilya had already grabbed her by the collar, dragging her along as she mounted her Su-01ве.

She takes flight whilst Regulus dangles from the edge, wailing.

“Enjoy your date, друзья!” She shouts into the wind, barely audible from the engine of her metal broom.

The two women watched them get smaller in the distance. Marsha tilts her head, trying to make sense of what the pilot had said.

Sentinel had the sudden urge to sneeze for whatever reason.

They continue their trek, enjoying the scenery around while being unaware with the eyes locking onto them, and averting out of their view as quickly as possible;

The Succubus distracting the chimera with a rumor of a rare stone in the suitcase, the chaotic butterfly ushering her children to a new discovery and the Timekeeper herself dragging her assistant to catch frogs.

They act like actors rushing backstage for the main couple to have their moment.

Soon, they reach the familiar windmill. It creaks as the blades rotate at a grueling pace.

The two women take a seat right below the blades, sinking into the soft and cold ice of snow below.

Sentinel finally lets go of Marsha's hand, albeit a bit hesitantly but she sees that the knight is interested in catching a snowflake in her palm.

She watches as Marsha opens her palm as the snowflake descends gracefully, planting itself on the leather under the medic's metal gauntlets.

It had been a long time since Marsha had last felt the kiss of winter, the ice melting before the leather and leaving a mark of her new found courage.

She sinks her head to the collar of her coat, still preferring warmth than the cold.

“I nearly forgot how pretty this season could be.”

The soldier hums in agreement, reminiscing of her own memories of childhood. She and Agnes used to make snow angles to imagine how angels would roll on clouds above them.

It was foolish, but it was freeing. Marianne wonders if Agnes is rolling in the clouds now.

“Do you think it snows in heaven?” she questions.

Marsha stays silent, taking in the question before letting her hands rummage through the snow filled ground. 

“I like to think that it comes from God allowing us to feel the softness of clouds.”

The knight picks up a pile of snow, rolling it to a tight ball. She goes through the motions several more times until a small snowman has formed right in front of her.

“That, despite all we've done, we still get to feel heaven in a way. Though I don't think heaven would be cold.”

Twigs are added, giving arms to the small fellow. Two pebbles for the eyes and a new friend is made.

Marsha smiles at their new companion.

Sentinel stays quiet through her answer, gazing at the snowman with a bittersweet smile.

“Heaven is different for everyone; some soar for the sun to rid of freezing winter, some descend to feel the breeze, away from pits of burden.”

The gargoyle pulls a short piece of red fabric, leaning in closer to wrap it around the snowman as a scarf.

She leans back to admire the ever rising sun in the distance, to the friendly snowman made by two soldiers of a past war, and to the woman with vibrant red hair who wears her heart to the sleeve of her coat.

Their eyes meet, reflecting all they wished to say.

“What is heaven to you, Marsha?”

The medic stares longingly, her heart knowing the answer in an instant.

‘You.’

But her tongue spoke of another.

“Here. Heaven is where we are, Marianne.”

Her hand is placed atop Marianne, her thumb brushing against her knuckles in a tender motion. 

Marianne could only offer a sincere smile, inching closer until their shoulder touched, feeling the soft sleeve of the coat she had created with her own stained hands.

Feeling the presence of the woman she chose to carry a part of her dream.

‘Heaven is where the heart is, and her heart belongs to Marsha Rosenhart.’