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Qifrey had long come to accept the fact that he was a selfish being. It was woven into every breath he took, every morning he woke up with his heart still beating within his ribs.
In truth, Qifrey had never thought that he would make it past twenty. And yet here he was, fresh into his thirties and scrambling to scrap together his mockery of a life. He was still trying to figure that out, what to do with himself when the night bleeds away to day. Half wanting to sink into oblivion yet knowing he still had to breathe to meet tomorrow's rising sun. While Qifrey may be a liar, his promise to Olruggio was one thing he’d never forgive himself if he were to break it. Even if the other man had no memories of the multiple promises they’ve made throughout the years, Qifrey remembers each one. Which ones were marked with an embrace and which ones had tears shared with a kiss. They fill in the empty cracks of himself, where roots leave space for a coffin and where the boundaries of his own self siphons off like sand through a sift.
He doesn’t know what scares him more, the idea that nothingness no longer appeals to him or that he wants to stay alive long enough to see his students graduate. The longing strangles him, the desperate want to see his students grow up and for himself to grow old beside Olruggio. It seeps into him when the sun has long since vacated the sky, the longing to grow old and wither away at the end of their time.
Even with such a mundane want he can feel the way silver roots creep into his muscles. How it makes its nest within the sinew between his flesh and bones.
Only within the confines of his own mind can Qifrey admit that taking on apprentices was purely a self serving act. Truthfully, he doubts he would’ve given the fifth test half a mind if it weren’t for the silver wood that’s intertwined with his ribs. There was no denying that he still would’ve built this atelier with both him and Olruggio in mind. But would he have planned for the extra space?
It leads him to wonder with the knowledge he has now, if he were able to go back and take a different path in life, would he? As much as he would like to think he would walk the same road, Qifrey isn’t sure. Maybe the ache of not watching the girls grow into themselves would make itself at home in his heart. Maybe the joy of teaching would linger in the back of his mind and foster the same bone deep longing.
He wonders if Beldaruit stays up at night with the same questions regarding him. Qifrey knows he wasn’t an easy child by any means. Dug up from a grave he was always one step away from returning to couldn’t have been easy on the man. Does Beldaruit think all the late nights worrying over him was worth it? Did he forgive the squabbles and petty silences simply because the joy of teaching overshadowed the hardships? Or did they go hand in hand? Beldaruit was the Wise of Teaching for a reason, surely he knew underneath harsh words and curled spines was a child trying to drown himself in the shallow grave he was found in.
Qifrey wants to be that child again. Wants to wake up from nightmares and sneak his way into his teacher’s bed, just to curl up under the heavy covers and hide from his loneliness. Seeking out his teacher’s approval while denying that he needed it in the same breath. The world was no less cruel when he was a child, but back then he had a guiding hand he could reach out for despite rarely taking it when offered. Longs for it in the same way the underbrush reaches towards the sliver of sunlight slipping between the awning of leaves.
In comparison to his contradictory self, his own apprentices were delights to both to shelter and to teach. Even if his reasons for taking students was inherently selfish, Qifrey would never allow himself to disservice the girls with half assed lessons. Beldaruit would surely have his head if he thought Qifrey was anyway negligent in his duties.
Honestly, Qifrey thinks Olruggio would be better suited to be a teacher. The girls deserve so much more than his own rain rotted words. He understands why Olruggio doesn’t want to take on apprentices. Never wanted to debate the man on his reasons, being able to glimpse half of the burdens Olruggio never seems able to shrug off despite how they shouldn’t have been his in the first place. Despite that, Olruggio had agreed to be his Watchful Eye when he had confided in him the want to become a teacher. Qifrey can only hope he didn’t agree to it out of a misplaced sense of duty as the man is so quick to do.
The bathroom tile under his feet was cold as Qifrey made his way into the dark room. The pile of clothes rustling as he settles them on the counter. Why they chose to use tile that seems to reject any source of heat was beyond him, Qifrey gripes as he fills the tub with water. He has half a mind to drag Olruggio into helping him redo the flooring, if not for his sake then for the girls when they don’t wear their house slippers. A problem to be added to the never ending to do list for the future. For now he welcomes the cold as he quietly latches the lock on the door. He doesn’t move to turn on the lights in the bathroom, welcoming the relief the darkness brings to his tired eye. Carefully he avoids the chance of catching a glimpse of himself within the mirror as he strips away his day to day robes.
Barely remembering to discard his glasses, Qifrey steps into the tub with his breath held in his lungs. The water was barely room temperature, the intentional chill sending goosebumps racing along his spine as he settles into the tub as much as he’s able to. The details of the room were blurry without his glasses, further obscured with the lack of lighting. Even then he could perfectly pick out where everything was in this room. He could outline the whole atelier within his mind even down to the scratches that occur as a byproduct of living. Qifrey takes in a stuttering breath, eye sliding closed as he slips further into the water. Only mindful to make sure he doesn’t inhale any water as he rests his head along the ceramic of the tub.
The bathroom was far more spacious than the confines of a waterlogged coffin. That was to be expected, nothing could truly replicate the exact feeling Qifrey knows. He’s tried.
Qifrey had never thought about his future even in broad strokes. When he was younger he was never able to visualize where he wanted to go with his life, a byproduct of never fully believing that he was actually breathing. And then he and Olruggio had stumbled into each other’s lives over and over again until it became more of a hassle to avoid each other. The chill of the water in the tub helps him tamp down on the fondness that suffuses through him as Qifrey thinks back on the boyish smile and childish promise of friendship while covered in sawbush leaves.
Qifrey’s future was never as defined as the one planned for Olruggio. Though he guesses that those careful plans were thrown out the window when Olruggio swore off taking apprentices in any official capacity. For the longest of time, the only future Qifrey could see for himself was one with Olruggio whether it be in step together or a careful ten steps apart.
Water sloshes over the lip of the tub as Qifrey stands up, water running races down his skin as he steps onto the cold tile. Muscle memory guides him through letting the tub drain and redressing into the spare clothes he had set aside on the counter. He stalls in the darkness for a moment, taking his time to find his glasses and to scoop up the discarded pile of clothes left on the floor. Despite the hour ticking forever onward Qifrey feels restless. He hums a wordless tune to himself as he goes through the motion of depositing his robes in a basket to be dealt with the next wash day.
The atelier is quiet as he makes his way to the kitchen. While he was sure to pay attention to the whole atelier while he and Olruggio were rebuilding the old shepherds huts, the kitchen was given special attention from him. He heard during his travels the year before returning to the Great Hall that it isn’t just the hearth that makes a home, but the kitchen that feeds it as well. In hindsight, it may have been little more than a poetic prose but it had resonated with Qifrey in a way he wasn’t sure how to explain. Maybe it was because he had never had a home before, not one that he remembers fondly anyways, that he wanted those words to hold more meaning than some idealist symbolism.
While the others are free to come and go as they please no one can deny that the kitchen was Qifrey’s space. The cabinets filled with spices were arranged to his liking, books with tabs poking out and his writings in the margins of recipes both experimental and comfortable in easy reach. Qifrey pauses on the last step into the kitchen, humming in contemplation as he debates with himself. The restless energy keeping him up wasn’t the kind that could be channeled into something productive. It would've been wonderful if it was, Qifrey thinks as he makes his way to a cabinet a bit smaller than the others. It didn’t hold anything special inside, mostly spices and other foods that he knows the others in the atelier don’t really care for all that much.
He grabs the first thing his hand makes contact with, which delightfully turns out to be spiced chocolate. Qifrey lets the cabinet door close with a thud as he takes his chocolate to the table, sitting down with a quiet sigh. The sound of shuffling catches his attention, biting back his smile as Olruggio shuffles down the kitchen steps with half awake grumbling.
“Finished with your commission?” Qifrey asks in greeting, biting into a piece of chocolate so not to laugh as Olruggio startles.
“Bloody hell, Qifrey.” Olruggio bites out, reaching up to twist open one of the pyre ball lanterns hung beside the stairs to the kitchen. “‘Bout gave me a damn heart attack there.” Olruggio says, shuffling closer to the table while eyeing the chocolate Qifrey had in front of him.
Qifrey laughs, letting Olruggio steal a piece of chocolate as the man leans a hip against the table. “Oh please, you’re practically in prime.”
As expected, Olruggio squawks at him in offense. “Practically? I’ll have you know Sinocia has given me a clean bill of health last time I visited.” Olruggio says, popping his stolen piece of chocolate into his mouth. His nose wrinkles as he chews, “That’s not the sweet chocolate.”
“Uh huh, and when was the last time you actually stretched?” Qifrey asks as he bites into another piece. The savory taste of chocolate mixes with his fond amusement as Olruggio waves off his nagging. “No it’s not, the sweet chocolate is wherever you decided to hide it last. Or it should be I think.”
Olruggio nods, shuffling along to what Qifrey assumes is where he hid the sweet chocolate. It was an ongoing battle between Olruggio, Agott, Richeh, and Coco. The four of them all prefer the sweeter chocolate and are always sneaking it and hiding it between and from each other. Tetia is exempt from the ongoing chocolate battle, seeing as she shares the same taste in chocolate as Qifrey and he was always more than happy to share. While Qifrey thinks he should be worried about an imbalanced sugar intake he trusts the girls enough to not overdo it on the chocolate. If anything, Olruggio is worse than the girls when it comes to balanced meals. Honestly if Qifrey wasn’t the one predominantly in charge of cooking he has no doubts the man would deem it as a good enough sustainer in face of commission work.
Olruggio is successful in finding the sweet chocolate, having not been found by any of the girls just yet. “You in the mood for a drink?” Olruggio asks chocolate set on the table before he’s already off to look in the cellar.
Qifrey hums “I’ll take whatever you’re having.” calls after the man, getting up to grab two wine glasses while listening to the faint sounds of Olruggio grumbling over the wine. It was such a familiar routine that Qifrey finds his back stiffening as silverwood creeps in between the vertebrae of his spine. His fingers stiffen as roots take to his twining down his wrist and between delicate joints of his fingers in a bastardized version of a hand intertwined in his. Qifrey has to force his fingers to curl around the glasses, setting them on the table with a careful mind as he massages the ache in his wrists.
“Are you sure you’re wanting to be at my mercy tonight?” Olruggio asks when he emerges from the cellar. He held a bottle of wine Qifrey doesn’t quite remember buying loftily in the air. Qifrey appraises the bottle as Olruggio pops the cork, the glass was a deep red with embossed designs curling up the bottle. A gift from one of his richer clients Qifrey guesses as Olruggio pours their glasses with a flourish that makes him smile.
“On second thought,” Qifrey quips as he wraps his stiff fingers around the glass and raises it to his lips. Olruggio rolls his eyes at him, sliding into a seat across the table. When in the comfort of the atelier, Olruggio never bothered with the posture that was drilled into him in the Great Hall. Even when the girls were awake and he was sitting in to help Qifrey with a lesson demonstration or to simply to be a bother, the man slouched or lazed around on any surface that would fit him. He does it now, slumping into his chair and his legs knocking against Qifrey’s under the table.
The restless feeling that guided Qifrey to the kitchen subsides with the wash of wine on his tongue. It pairs well with the chocolate, no doubt the main point of Olruggio’s muttering when he was looking for which wine to pour. If only he could stall time itself, just to keep the look lazy contentment that impossibly softens Olurrgio’s features further. Qifrey shifts in his seat as he bites into another piece of his chocolate. He’ll need to set them aside sooner or later, knowing that if he isn’t careful he could go through the entire pack.
“I have a question for you,” He breaks the comfortable silence, peering at Olruggio from over the rim of his glass he gently knocks his foot against the man’s calf.
Olruggio raises a brow at him, his response delayed by the piece of chocolate he was eating. “You and questions over wine are never a good thing,” Olruggio says, hooking his ankle around Qifrey with a laugh when the white haired man kicks him.
“Have you ever thought about settling down?” Qifrey continues with his question, ignoring the twisting roots that weave between his ribs and constricting the space his lungs had to expand. They had receded with his bath earlier, but falling into the familiar routine with Olruggio seemed to render his efforts a moot point.
“I’m pretty settled here.” Olruggio says taking a long sip of his wine with a waggle of his brows.
“I’m being serious Olly.” Qifrey tuts, biting into another piece of chocolate without actually tasting it. Which is a shame, spiced chocolate can be a bit of a hassle to get in Kalhn.
“Ask silly questions, get silly answers. As the old saying goes.” Qifrey hums a dissatisfied note, Olruggio grins at him well aware of his opinion on that and the less polite version of the saying. The dark haired witch sets his wine glass down with a clink against the table, raising his arms above him in a stretch that has his spine popping in a way that leaves him with loose limbs. “Besides, I'm being plenty serious.” Olruggio says with a shrug, tossing a piece of chocolate in the air and swearing when instead of catching it in his mouth it smacks his cheek.
Qifrey snorts into his wine glass, much to the disgruntlement of the man opposite of him who nudges Qifrey with his foot in protest. “Have you really never entertained the idea? Surely you had some other plans before becoming my watchful eye.” Qifrey can’t help but ask, having to hide his grimace as he flexes his foot against the branches that wrap around his ankle.
Olruggio lets out a long breath, reaching up to scratch at his neck as he thinks. The man was never able to sit still, a wonderfully endearing habit. When they were younger, and even now sometimes though it doesn’t happen as often, Qifrey would keep a bottle of regular ink on hand to allow the dark haired witch to use his skin as a canvas for his wandering thoughts. Most of the time it was nonsensical doodles, simply a need to have his hands doing something while his mind skips ahead. It would be a lie to say Qifrey didn’t find some level of enjoyment from it as well. Olruggio had a deceptively light hand, and it was easy to simply drift off like that when Olruggio got caught up in his own head.
Qifrey reaches for the bottle of wine on the table, raising an impressed brow at the label before refilling his drink. Olruggio nudges his glass closer quietly in request. “Even if I did,” He says as the liquid pours into his glass. “I like being with you. Being able to watch over you and the girls is better than whatever I could’ve done by myself.” There was always an underlining thought in back Qifrey’s mind wondering if Olruggio wanted the responsibility of being a Watchful Eye. Yet Olruggio still built the atelier with him, planned out his workshop with the same attention Qifrey had for the kitchen. He always went along with Qifrey’s whims for as long as he could remember, and it always made Qifrey question why. There were plenty of people much better than him, less selfish and easier to exist beside.
And yet here they were, sitting in the kitchen indulging in chocolate and sharing wine like it was routine. Qifrey wishes he could keep this, stay here without the silverwood winding through his ribs and making it harder to breathe.
Olruggio nudges him with his foot, raising a brow at him over the rim of his freshly poured wine. “Pray tell what brought this on? You aren’t usually the type for this kinda mushy speculative bullshit.”
Qifrey grabs a piece of his spiced chocolate, biting into it as to muffle the truth on the tip of tongue. He didn’t want Olruggio to feel as if he was obligated to stay simply because of Qifrey, that deepdown Qifrey was hoping the man was content here more than Qifrey could allow himself. “I was simply curious,” Qifrey replies, closing the wrapper of the chocolate to save the rest for Tetia. “Wanted to make sure I was prepared if you went off to elope.” Qifrey says with a haughty sniff.
“Uh huh,” Olruggio agrees mildly, the man’s gaze on Qifrey too knowing to be convinced. But like the merciful man he pretends not to be, he lets Qifrey get away with keeping to himself. “What about you? Not about to get whisked away in a kettle gourd carriage now are you?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no.” Qifrey snorts into his wine, kicking Olruggio in retaliation as the man across from devolves into a laughing fit. Recently Agott has tentatively expanded her reading material to that of fiction, starting with the myriad of fairy tales that Tetia has accumulated over the years. This one in particular included a damsel who goes to a ball in a kettle gourd that was transformed into a carriage. The young girl had much to say about it, and she said each thought at the dinner table very passionately. Much to the dismay of both Tetia and Coco, who had as many opinions on the fairy tale as Agott did. Richeh was neutral on the debate that was happening, using it as an opening to get more portions for herself.
Olruggio sighs, a fond smile making his eyes crease as he leans forward. “Thinking about it, this suits you.”
Qifrey raises a brow, biting back on a laugh. “What? Running away to elope in a kettle gourd carriage?”
“No, you ass,“ Olruggio says exasperatedly with a chuckle. “I meant you being a teacher.”
Qifrey can only blink dumbly at the other. “What makes you say that?”
Olruggio shrugs, “I can’t really imagine you doing anything else anymore. I mean I had my reservations at first, but those girls adore you.” His words were honest in a way that ached.
The reason he took students on in the first place was to curb the silver roots that nestle into his blood, a teacher never wants for worry. Ironic then, that he finds himself adoring his students in turn. The silverwood wrapping itself around his ribs makes it hard to fully breathe. A slow suffocating embrace that if fostered properly, the host would never notice. Usually such a process would happen in an unsuspecting animal, while drifting off to sleep in a safe haven. The process was supposed to be gradual, a gentle thing as the silverwood sprouted to embrace the creature it wished to shelter. Human silverwood hosts weren’t something to be found normally, at least Qifrey had never heard of another in all his years of searching. Maybe the parasitic seed that has nestled itself within him was defective. For all of the stories detailing the innate nurturing nature of the silver wood, Qifrey can’t help but think it cruel to mock him for wanting to provide the same shelter the silverwood was supposed to offer.
Qifrey hopes he had succeeded even if he never allows himself to fully acknowledge the trust the girls have gifted him. Tetia is bright and wonderfully loud in a way she was always meant to be. Seeks out both his Olruggio’s company simply because she likes being around them, always insistent on lending a helping hand when she can. Qifrey can never bring himself to deny the girl’s presence, a warmth at his side as she chatters away about the latest fairy tale Olruggio had picked up for her on his trips. It was such a stark contrast to the girl that was first brought into their care, quiet and meek as if one misstep would have her sent out the door.
Richeh was slow to open up, through no fault of her own. Both Qifrey and Olruggio had words about her previous master that were better said without young ears around. And by the look on Beladruits face when they brought the matter up with him, they were right to assume her previous teacher wouldn’t keep the honor of being a master for much longer after the issues were brought to light. It was slow, but overtime Richeh had learned she was allowed her space. And in turn she allowed them in hers. Granted most of the time it was her wanting Qifrey to brush her hair for her. While the girl was attached to the length of her hair, she never quite cared much for the upkeep of said length often leading to it being a tangled mess more often then not before she allowed Qifrey to plait it at night and help her brush it throughout the day.
Students have the right to choose their master. That was a sentiment that Qifrey always thought was uniquely privileged. He has heard it more times than his own name, said over his head and to all of the upcoming apprentices within the Great Hall. He understood it on a base level, the sentiment was something he wish he could agree with even if it was blatantly untrue. Qifrey did not get to choose, though he’ll never hold it against Beldaruit. Even if Qifrey had been able to choose his own master to learn under, there was a high probability he would not be chosen as a student in return. Because the truth was that while a student may want a specific teacher, there is no guarantee the student will be chosen in turn.
Qifrey was not Agott’s first choice for a master. This he did not hold against the girl. She was a child of a prestigious family, there were expectations not even she was exempt from assuming. Yet no matter how many times she tried, no so called ‘respectable’ teacher would accept the disgraced daughter of the Arklaum family. A good thing then that Qifrey never cared to be considered respectable in the eyes of witch society.
Coco similarly never did get to choose her own master seeing as excruciating circumstances stole that choice from her. Qifrey is well aware that under normal circumstances, Coco never would’ve been allowed to learn magic in the first place. Never would be allowed the chance to try and save her mother. The only reason why the girl was even allowed a chance to try was because it was Qifrey asking for an exception to the rule. Beldaruit could be as much a stickler for the pact as any other witch, it was his duty as both a Sage and a Wise. And maybe the witches of the Great Hall were right to murmur their worries about Qifrey, for Beldaruit always seemed much more lenient when it came to his first apprentice.
Despite all that, Qifrey wanted to be a master that they would want to choose if they were allowed to. He wanted the atelier to be a place where they didn’t feel the need to escape from, but could come visit if they so wished.
Qifrey blinks, “I don’t think I would want to do anything else.” He says slowly, just now realizing how true the words were. “Even if I were given the option to.”
Across from him Olruggio smiles transforming his features into something the poets could write sonnets about, eyes as warm as the fire he’s learned to tame. A damning thing it was, Qifrey thinks with a long drink of his wine. He was selfish creature, maybe because of the silverwood that embraces him within his own skin or maybe because the human being was made to be selfish by design. But he would choose this again and again, because it means he could sit with Olruggio and indulge in chocolate and wine while knowing his apprentices were upstairs safely sheltered.