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Marsha marches out in the Wilderness. Her steps are firm but cautious, her boots crunching through the snow as she keeps her balance. She breathes steadily, each exhale drifting behind her in pale clouds. Still, there’s an unconscious frown on her face.
Winter has come to the suitcase, and much to Marsha’s dismay.
The Wilderness is painted white. Trees, bushes, flowers, and earth alike are now covered in snow, while ice creeps across the waters. It's a sight that still fills Marsha with dread, no matter how much time passes, even more so when she’s alone, surrounded by endless white. It makes her self-conscious of some things. Without her helmet, her red hair becomes the only splash of color in a world gone white. On a battlefield, that would have made her an easy target—
Marsha shakes her head, interrupting her train of thought.
All the more reason to find the person she came looking for. And then, go back inside.
If only there weren't a certain gargoyle sitting somewhere out there. Marsha couldn’t think of another explanation for braving such accursed weather than some absurd attempt to test her tolerance for the cold.
Marsha huffs at the thought.
Folded over her arm is an extra coat and scarf, just in case someone isn't bundled up enough.
.
.
.
The icy wind bites at her face, but it doesn't faze her. It doesn't even earn a shiver from her. Her arcane skill is versatile, but it offers little comfort. She learned that lesson long ago, through countless winters before this one.
After walking through a few more trees, she finally spots the person she's looking for, sitting up on the branch of a tree. Marie is already watching her with a small smile. Those sharp eyes and ears of hers. She must have heard Marsha approaching long ago.
The frown she unknowingly carried with her all the way dissolves for a moment.
Then, when Marsha reaches the roots of the tree, she looks up and crosses her arms.
“Bonjour, young chevalier.” Marie teases, as usual, but Marsha doesn't respond yet. Instead, she sighs and uncrosses her arms, placing her hands on her hips and taking a deep breath.
“Marianne de Ténébrun!”
Sentinel blinks, her brows lifting, and Marsha huffs.
Marsha tosses the extra coat and scarf over her shoulder and climbs up the tree until she reaches the same branch as Marie. The gargoyle scoots over to make space beside her. When Marsha turns to her, the frown on her face is back, though it lacks any real bite. She plants her hands on her hips once more. “What do you think you're doing out here in this cold weather, young lady?”
Sentinel snorts with amusement. “What art thou, Marsha? Mine own mother now? ”
Marsha giggles, and Sentinel's small smile returns.
“But seriously, Marie, what are you doing out here? It’s freezing!”
“Simply clearing my mind with the quiet scenery. ” Sentinel's gaze drifts to the coat and scarf resting on Marsha's shoulder. “What are those for?”
“Oh.” Marsha pulls the scar from her shoulder and holds it in front of them. “I was worried a certain someone wouldn’t be bundled up properly, so I brought these with me, but…” Marsha gives Marie’s clothes a quick once-over and smiles again. “I'm glad to see I was mistaken.”
Sentinel sighs, expression softening. She lowers her gaze at the scarf on Marsha’s hands. She briefly dispels the petrification from the fingertips, wanting to feel the softness of the piece. “I appreciate thy kindness, Marsha. But I’m afraid it won’t be necessary. The temperature has yet to trouble me.”
Marsha nods. “I see.”
Sentinel lets go of the scarf, petrifying back her fingertips, while Marsha folds the scarf on her lap. The gargoyle can’t help but notice the usual armor of the knight.
“I see you still wear your gauntlets even in weather as harsh as this.” Sentinel's tone is merely observational at first, but she soon frowns. “Aren’t you cold, Marsha?”
Marsha glances at her gauntlets resting on her lap, one over the other.
Yes, even in the cold, she wears what was left of her armor. Or rather, it’s exactly because the temperature is freezing that she feels the need to use them more than ever. The weight and pressure of the metal over her hands, arms, and shoulder ground her.
Marsha shakes her head. “I’m fine. Besides, if I do feel cold now, I have an extra coat and scarf with me, don't I?” she nudges Marie's arm.
Sentinel shakes her head in amusement and turns her eyes to the horizon. Marsha follows suit, taking in the quiet scenery Marie mentioned. From the branch, the landscape looks much the same as it did from below.
She only sees white.
“... Do you like the cold? Marie?” Marsha suddenly asks.
Sentinel hums.
“Hmm. I neither like nor dislike it.” Marianne answers easily. “The cold troubles me but little, though the snows during my travels were often a burden.” She closes her eyes for a moment, perhaps searching for pleasant memories of winter. Whatever she finds there, she chooses not to speak of it. So she looks back at Marsha. “What of you? Is it to your liking?”
Marsha keeps her eyes on the horizon as she answers.
“I actually don’t like the cold at all.”
“Why?” Marie tilts her head before a possibility crosses her mind. “... Could it also be because of the war?” She asks delicately with furrowed brows. It’s not an angry expression, but rather a sorrowful one.
But Marsha shakes her head.
"It's true that the winter made everything way worse in the war, but my dislike of the cold comes way before that."
“Before?” Marie tilts her head again.
“Yeah.” The hands on her lap turn into fists. “Because—”
Marsha pauses.
“Because…”
Then falls silent.
Say it.
Say it, Marsha.
…
The reason is simple, so why hesitate?
Say it’s because the cold makes you remember you were once left to die in the snow.
Marsha shuts her mouth, a lump forms in her throat.
She isn’t supposed to hesitate, not here, not now, not with Marie—
She’s always so naturally honest with Marie, for reasons she has yet to understand, so why is it different now? Why can’t she say it, what’s stopping her?
The words ultimately die in her throat, against her will. Because the truth is too personal; it stings to this day. And so, there’s fear. Not of judgment, Marie would never judge her for this, but there's this… this image that Marsha doesn’t want to give people. The image of the orphan left to die in the snow.
Because sometimes, deep down, she feels she’s still out there in that snow, left to die alone, without the chance of accomplishing anything in life.
“Marsha.”
The voice calling her name and the stony hand on her arm pull her from her spiraling thoughts. She turns away from that completely white scenery to find concerned, but comforting grey eyes.
“If it’s a subject difficult to speak, you needst not tell me. Not now. I can see thy reason is no simple one. ”
Marsha lets out a shaky breath, one she didn't notice she was holding, and chuckles dryly, her eyes burning. She realizes her control over her arcane skill must have faltered. “It is simple, Marie. It's just… it seems it’s not easy to say it out loud just yet.” Marsha smiles apologetically.
“I understand.”
Marsha's eyes drift from Marie's face to the hand still resting on her arm. Before Marie can withdraw it, Marsha reaches for her hand and cups it between both of her palms. Lifting their joined hands slightly, she presses her temple against the cold metal of her gauntlet.
“... But you know, Marie?”
Sentinel tilts her head. Marsha lowers their joined hands to her lap. When she looks back at Marie, the shadow that had lingered in her eyes is finally gone. In its place is a smile so warm it reaches her eyes.
“It feels less cold with you here.”
The smile catches Sentinel off guard. A warmth settles in her cheeks, and before she can dwell on it, she shakes her head with a chuckle.
“Tu es impossible.”
She drops lightly from the branch to the ground and turns back to Marsha, extending a hand to her.
“Come. We’ve spent far too much time here in the cold.”
Marsha's eyes brighten. She immediately climbs down and reaches for Marie’s hands again.
“We may continue our talk in my room, shouldst thou wish it. I shall prepare us hot chocolate.”
A genuine smile finally spreads across Marsha's face.
“I would like that.”
Sentinel nods and gently pulls Marsha along. The knight falls easily into step beside her.
Somewhere on the walk back to the dorms, their fingers slip together, as if neither had thought to let go.
And with a warmth spreading across her face and chest, maybe, for the first time in a long while, Marsha wouldn’t mind the cold.