Chapter Text
I must be asleep, thought Maelle.
A shadowed figure hovered on the blurry edge of her awareness, watching, faceless, falling apart into pieces and then becoming whole again. She tried to watch the figure in turn, but found that she could not move. Her head rested on a plush pillow, and her swimming vision revealed in fragments that she rested inside a well-appointed room, but she was stuck inside her own body, pinned helplessly under a strange monster’s eyeless gaze.
This is a dream.
She blinked groggily. What else would explain the way this room she had never seen before was being claimed inside her own consciousness as belonging to her? My room. Mine. This is my bed. That is my bed canopy. There is my desk. These are my walls. I made it home. I fixed it. I fixed–
Maelle sat bolt upright. She was alone. There was no figure. As suspected, she must have dreamed it.
But this was still her room.
My room. My home. My–
The memories collided without warning, a dark, slow sorrow seeping through her veins while her mind buckled under the assault. No, not him, not that, not her face, her breath, her voice, her sight–
Maelle slid off of her bed and threw up on her floor.
She knew this was not home. This was, by certain metrics, not even real. She had heard the voices drifting from her mother's salon many times, pompous and pedantic, laughing over the differences in perceived realities when entering those great Works. How convincing it can be! How taken in one might become by the magic of the experience! And then, one comes back and it fades just like a dream. Astonishing, truly!
Maelle touched the desk that sat near the bed. It felt real enough. To her mind, it felt just like the one she remembered from Paris. It did not, perhaps, carry the same scratches and divots that she knew too well, and seemed to instead be polished and new, but that did not mean it was not real.
And what of her childhood, that second childhood, and the one she spent writhing in anger, raw, unguarded, a little warrior of spite and shrapnel clawing her way through a world that did not want her, that rejected her–
Her breathing became harsh, fast. It was still real. Lumiere and its alleys and rooftops, the mundane cobblestones and wrought-iron fences, her job, her peers, her family–
Family.
The whole reason she was here in the first place.
Maelle stared at the smooth, unblemished surface of the desk. What if…
Placing her hand flat upon it, she remembered. There was a carved frame around the edge with many nicks. A semi-circular scratch above the place her right hand usually sat when she wrote. Another, longer scratch front and center, where it caught and reflected the light above from every angle.
The memory crystallized.
This was her desk, now, with all its personality and idiosyncrasies. Exactly as she recalled it.
Exactly as it should be.
She admired her work, satisfied. Then, she turned toward the door.
She couldn't tell the others.
Maelle's very first thought, once she had finally turned outward, was that Gustave would know what to do. He always did. He was smart and capable in ways she was not, in ways she could never be–
Stop. That's Alicia talking.
Maelle was strong, and plenty capable. Alicia was the one who had spent her childhood hiding meekly in her story books, barely making friends at school, allowing her parents’ disappointment to shape her view of herself instead of taking control of her own destiny.
Alicia was a self-fulfilled prophecy.
Maelle was barely beginning to live, even as she had accepted an early death.
Gustave would likely have so many interesting ideas regarding what to do next, how to solve this gargantuan, twisted, grief-shaped problem. He would listen, really listen, and he would think, and he would come up with something. More than that, sharing with him felt right. She did not relish the idea of lying to him. And he had a right to know.
Assuming he was even still alive.
But… no. She could not tell them. Could she? No. She could not drag them into this mess in this way, half-cocked, with barely any ambient chroma around to fuel her powers. And would anyone, including Gustave, even believe her? How would they feel if they did? Maybe they would turn on her. Maybe she would be seen as an enemy.
Maelle paced. And she thought. And she planned.
“We need to talk.”
She had thought the fragmented figure was a living nightmare, a remnant of a dream, but fully awake now she realized it was something far more dangerous, much more powerful.
“I came here to help you.” She took a step forward. “You've been here for a long time. Clea wants you to come home. Both you and Maman. I want to help.”
The shattered projection considered Maelle.
“Will you lead me to where we can speak to each other? I assume if you're using this form, that means you're actually stuck somewhere else. Will you take me there?”
She watched as her father's avatar hung motionless, suspended a foot above the ground, passionless and neutral to eyes that could not know any better. After a moment, he inclined his head and made a vague, echoing noise of assent.
A sigh of relief escaped Maelle's lips. “Thank you, Papa. Let me gather my things. We can leave right away.”
The figure pointed to her, insistent in its posture, letting out a sound of concern. Maelle waved her hand flippantly. “I'm fine. I don't need to rest anymore. My head is all better.”
Instead of letting her go, the figure drew his weapon, a large paintbrush-sword hybrid that materialized in his hand. He swished it through the air, then stretched out his other hand in a gesture of offering.
Maelle laughed, delighted. “Sure. It's been far too long since we trained in a Canvas, old man.”
At her father's insistence, Maelle ate and rested after their training session, during which he had showed her some techniques that would certainly come in handy against specific Nevrons. The Manor's kitchen seemed to carry an unspoilable supply of food, which was, of course, not how things worked in Maelle's real home, but which she very much appreciated here. She could summon whatever food she desired, sure, but any chance she had at conserving her powers, she would take.
Rising from her bed with a long stretch, Maelle considered her position once again, reaffirming decisions she had already made. She was about to travel the Continent with her father in his projected avatar form. She had no idea if any of her fellow Expeditioners survived the attack on the beach. It was possible that she might run into any of them while wandering the wilds. She did not want to let any of them know the truth yet. Not even Gustave.
But maybe she could, it would be so easy to tell him, he would know what to do, Gustave always took care of her-
Maelle shook her head to clear it. This was something she could do for Gustave; for everyone, really. Maybe it was her turn to take care of him. For once.
And if Gustave was dead from the attack on the beach, well, Maelle could still save him. She could bring him back, and let him live the life he deserved. She could do this.
She could save them all.
It was, of course, the moment Maelle decided she was ready to leave the Manor that she heard noises in the foyer.
“Maelle!”
At first, she froze. Then, warm relief overtook her. It was Gustave, she was sure of it; she would recognize his voice anywhere. But how had he known she was here, in the Manor? Or was he here by chance, calling her name into every corner of the Continent that he happened to discover?
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Maelle ceased caring about such details. Her heart skipped a beat. Gustave was here, and she had missed him.
At the last moment, Maelle had the awareness to check her appearance. She had remained in her Expedition uniform, but her hair had turned moonlit white in her sleep, and she quickly changed it back to red. Best to avoid scrutiny wherever possible.
Satisfied, she darted into the hallway.
There he was, looking worse for wear; his brown hair was unruly on a good day, and was now somehow both matted down and flying loosely about his head. His face was streaked with grime. His uniform bore several small tears.
And his eyes were bright as they landed on her.
For a moment, she stood still, taking him in – her painted family, born to those created by Maelle's own mother, who had no idea about the true nature of the world they lived in. Gustave could not possibly know that he was just another portrait placed carelessly into a landscape.
And at the moment, he would probably not even care. The overwhelming relief on his face told Maelle as much.
Gustave rushed forward and seized Maelle in a tight embrace, even lifting her up off the ground and spinning her about, causing them both to laugh.
“You're really here,” he said. “I wasn't sure if I should believe…”
“Yeah, I'm here,” Maelle said breathlessly, grinning. “How did you find me?”
She then noticed Lune following Gustave down the hall, looking just as unkempt as him, and Maelle's heart leapt once more. It was so good to see another friendly face, and to know that Gustave had not been alone up to this point, and that more people had survived the beach.
Perhaps Expedition 33 had something left to prove, after all.
“There was a note at the Indigo Tree,” Lune said, all business, as usual. “From someone saying they brought you here. They didn't sign their message.”
“Do you have any idea who might have written it?” asked Gustave. “Is there anyone else with you?”
“No,” Maelle answered honestly. Who would have done that? She had been assuming this whole time that her being here in the Manor was her father's doing, but Renoir would never have bothered to write the Expeditioners a note. Would he?
Maelle's blood suddenly ran cold. There were others in the canvas, multiple people, in fact, who knew her true identity and might decide to use it to their advantage. All four of Maman's painted portraits of her family members might have their own reasons for saving Maelle and bringing her here. Even the portrait of Renoir, who had-
Maelle grimaced. The old man wore her father's face, but remembering his coldness on the beach, his face etched with simple resignation as he committed murder, it seemed to her as though the man had donned an ill-fitting mask, as though he was nothing but a caricature. What could he possibly want with Maelle? Would he have been the one to spirit her away from the battle, while everyone else had been distracted by the Nevrons? Was he working for her father?
“There’s no one else here with me,” Maelle said, dragging herself out of her own thoughts. “Well, not from the Expedition, anyway.”
“Not from the – what do you mean?” said Lune.
Maelle gestured back the way they had come, toward the foyer, where she could feel her father’s presence lingering. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Lune and Gustave had accepted the Curator readily enough after Maelle assured them that he had done nothing but help her. They cast suspicious glances in his direction every now and then, but raised no objections about having him accompany them on their journey. Maelle was amused when her father saw fit to train Lune and Gustave the same way he had trained her earlier. Perhaps he truly wanted them to succeed in their mission.
Although… Maelle was only now realizing that her plans were disrupted with the arrival of the two Expeditioners. She could no longer simply follow where her father led in order to speak with him; she would have to find a way to reach him without arousing suspicion from the others. Or she could sneak away from them entirely. Her heart sank at the thought.
“Thank you,” Lune said guardedly to the Curator. “Those skills should come in handy. We’ll be much better prepared in our battles.”
“Hm.” Gustave regarded the Curator with a neutral expression before turning back to his fellow Expeditioners. “Well, I suppose it’s time for us to keep moving.”
Lune nodded. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll have to go all the way back the way we came, though. The entrance to this place was in a dead end.”
Gustave sighed. “Losing time already, are we? I supposed it couldn’t be helped.”
“Not if you wanted to find me,” Maelle said impishly. “I think I’m worth it.”
“Eh…” Gustave said, pretending to consider her words carefully. She shoved him.
“Oh, move out of the way, old man. Let’s go!”
They exited the Manor together, the Curator gliding some distance behind them like a spirit.
The undersea area outside the Manor door made Maelle’s jaw hang open. It was beautiful, in a word. Sunlight lanced down through suspended water (somehow) and danced on the colorful coral walls around them. Had Verso painted this part of his Canvas? Or had Clea, or even Maman? Maelle could not tell. She liked to believe it was Verso’s work, though. He had always painted things a bit more whimsically, more brightly, than the rest of her family.
Verso… Maelle frowned to herself, the beauty of the landscape temporarily forgotten. There was a portrait of him here, in the Canvas, wasn’t there? Maman had painted her entire family. Maelle’s heart clenched hard at the thought. Would they meet? Would Verso want to help her, and help the Expedition? How similar would he be to her brother?
Her brother…
“Hey.” Gustave bumped her shoulder. She quickly erased any emotion from her face.
“Hey, yourself.”
“You okay? We’ve got a bit of a walk to get out of here.”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” She did not try very hard to sound fine, letting some sadness seep into her voice. Gustave would never guess what she was truly thinking about, but Maelle had been through enough in the last day or so to warrant feeling a bit somber. He would understand.
“All right.” He nodded, fixing her with a thoughtful look. She rolled her eyes.
“You’re going to want to talk more later, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Probably.”
“Fine,” she sighed melodramatically, as if the idea of talking to Gustave was nothing but a chore, earning a wry grin from him.
“Oh, keep that attitude up. I’m sure it’ll comfort you next year when I’ve gommaged and you’re stuck here without me.”
Maelle choked. Dark humor regarding the Gommage was the norm in Lumiere, but that shot was very nearly below the belt. “Ouch. I didn’t know you had that in you.”
“Thank you.” He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“What happened to all that talk about how we’re going to be the Expedition to defeat the Paintress? Did you get to the Continent and suddenly turn into a chicken?”
It was Gustave’s turn to stumble on his words. “Ah. Possibly. Remains to be seen, really.”
Lune was busy rolling her eyes, her mouth opening, likely to tell them to get a move on, when a loud CRASH! sounded from nearby. Gustave put himself in front of Maelle in an instant, and they all looked about frantically for the source of the disturbance. Maelle could not help but sigh in frustration; Gustave had no idea, of course, but Maelle was completely safe in this world. She needed to protect him, not the other way around.
It did not take long for them to locate the wall that had been blown apart, opening a new path forward through the twisting corals. But more interesting than that to the Expeditioners was the small form that stood challengingly amidst the rubble.
“Ruffians! En garde! Oh, Verso will not be pleased!”
Maelle gasped aloud. So did Lune, for an entirely different reason.
“A Gestral!” Lune cried, delighted, bending down to examine the Gestral’s wooden frame and the tall bristles that stuck out of the top of its head like hair.
“They’re real,” Gustave said in awe.
“Hah! Of course we’re real! Are you mighty warriors, any of you? If so, I might have some useful items to trade you for chroma! But only to those who can best me in a fight!”
Maelle snorted. She remembered dealing with Gestrals when she had been much younger, visiting Verso’s Canvas in happier times. They were silly creatures, though mostly predictable, and responded well to fighting and insults.
“Well,” Lune said, taken aback, “we might take you up on that offer. But first, do you think you could help us? We’re trying to reach the Paintress.”
“The Paintress? How are you going to get there? Can you swim that well?”
“Oh, there’s another sea between here and the Paintress?” Lune’s face fell.
Maelle sensed that it might be a good idea to cut to the chase rather than letting Lune stumble along blindly. It was far too easy to lose control of a conversation with a Gestral.
She stepped forward toward the little Gestral. “Oh no, I guess that means we need to find a way to cross the sea! If only there was a brave, worthy Gestral around who might be able to guide us!”
The Gestral made a dismissive, bashful gesture, and Maelle then deployed the tactic that she had known would actually work. “Come on, you broomhead, I know you’ve got something helpful you can tell us!”
“Broomhead, that’s good!” the Gestral chuckled. “Well, I might not know anything, but I know who knows everything! You need to see Golgra. She will be able to help you!”
“Golgra?” said Gustave.
“Where might we find this Golgra?” asked Lune, perking up.
“The Gestral Village, among the red trees, that way.” The Gestral pointed through the collapsed coral wall. “You can’t miss it if you walk about a day in that direction.”
“A Gestral Village?” Lune said, her face taking on a dreamy expression. “A whole civilization full of these creatures? I can’t wait!”
Gustave sighed tolerantly. “Yeah, I’m excited too, Lune. But, just… let’s not lose sight of why we’re here. We need to reach the Paintress.”
“Of course,” Lune said, composing herself. “Don’t worry, Gustave. We can kill two birds with one stone.” Her eyes shone. “If our mission requires us to converse with a town full of mythical creatures, who are we to resist?”
Maelle laughed at Gustave’s responding eye roll. “Come on, worrywart. Let’s get to the Gestral Village!”
“What is your name, anyway?” Lune asked the Gestral as they began walking.
“I am Noco,” it responded. “Pleased to meet you, humans! Now, would any of you like to duel? I’ve got plenty of good wares in stock!”
Maelle’s heart contracted at the name, and her breath stuttered in her throat. It made sense that a Gestral named Noco would know Verso – even a painted version of him – didn’t it? She glanced back the way they had come, the Manor door slowly disappearing through the forest of corals. Was Verso nearby, then? Was he watching over her, or over Noco? Did he spend his time in the Gestral Village, rather than trying to integrate with the people of Lumiere? That made sense to Maelle. She knew Maman had made her family portraits immortal, and that trait would raise questions among the decidedly not-immortal citizens of Lumiere.
Maelle drew a deep breath that did nothing whatsoever to make her feel steadier. Perhaps he would not show himself, but she had to be ready to see him, just in case. She had to steel herself, and ensure she was prepared to see Verso’s face, hear his voice, after months of its cruel absence. Somehow.
As she looked behind them, her father’s projected avatar caught her eye as it floated after the small party, all but forgotten, still vigilant.
Well. If Noco’s help did not pan out, Maelle could suggest asking the Curator for aid. Then, her father would be able to take her wherever they needed to go, and Gustave and Lune would be none the wiser.
Until they are, she said to herself. What will they think of you then? How will they see you once they know?
Maelle sighed unhappily and continued after the others.