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Coco couldn’t sleep. This was a normal enough occurrence for her that she barely finds herself getting frustrated by it anymore. When she was younger it was often her over active imagination twisting within her subconsciousness. Dreams once idyllic and fanciful enough to be forgotten by morning twist into culmination of every child’s fear. A monster creeping under the bed, the never ending expanse of a hall that has bare walls and creaking doors.
When her mother’s chest could still move- when she wasn’t stuck in an awful crystal prison of her daughter’s own making, Coco would crawl into her bed when she awoke from nightmares. Would burrow under the covers of her mothers bed and curl into the dip of the mattress from the elder woman’s weight. Her mother, always being a deep sleeper, would curl her sleep heavy arm around Coco’s shoulder and cradle her daughter to her chest. The quiet unwavering instinct of protection always made the nightmares that plagues Coco seem as intangible as they always were.
Her mother wasn’t down the hall from her now. There isn’t a mattress that holds her warmth, no arm to shelter Coco from the too quick pace of her mind. It was still nightmares that kept her up at night though, those haven’t left even if they had warped into more realistic fears.
Her mother’s face, frozen in a silent shout for the daughter that had imprisoned her. The unblinking mask of the witch who had sold her that spellbook in the first place, always five paces behind with their sickly sweet voice taunting her with salvation that was much closer to damning her to grief. And now, the newest addition to the fears that nip at her heels. Silver branches sheltering her with a rustle of leaves over head like a hummed lullaby that doesn’t quite have words.
Exhaustion keeps her tethered to her bed, and her fear stays her hand from reaching towards her casting components. A frequently reiterated warning about magic being more volatile when emotions run high whispers through the back of her mind, in the voice of Master Qifrey. Coco wonders how hypocritical that warning is. If the man is always keeping himself in a constant state of anxiousness how can he create such delicately beautiful spells? His magic has never seemed volatile to Coco. If the wonder in Agott’s eyes, the amazement in Tetia’s, and the quiet attentiveness of Richeh’s when they’re able to convince the man to show off is anything to go by, she doubts they see it any differently than she does.
How is it that when her mind skips ahead to the never ending possibilities of failure she freezes? Why does the hammering of her heart cause her to question the finality of her lines when she’s seen the way Master Qifrey practically dances when he draws with the bottom of his shoe?
Coco stares down at her hands, the faint stains of ink forming on the tip of her fingers. It would’ve been chalk if her dream of being a witch was kept simply as a dream. If Tetia were beside her she would grin while pointing out that they match now, holding out her own ink stained hand for a high five and a laugh tumbling out genuinely from her chest. Coco’s hands shake, her hands would be a lot like her mother’s if she had stayed as a tailor’s daughter.
The weight of her body pressing against the bed becomes far too heavy. Coco kicks off the quilt that’s quickly become her favorite blanket in the atelier. A weighty blanket made of patchwork scraps of fabric. Master Qifrey had laughed as she swaddled herself with it during one of the slower lessons, a gift from Lord Beldaruit he had explained. The elder man was always jumping from hobby to hobby as if he would die of boredom if he didn’t. Making various blankets seemed to be the longest lasting. Most of the over abundance of blankets and scarves and mittens and socks came from the man Master Olly had gruffly explained in with a roll of his eyes once, he didn’t seem too put out by it seeing as Master Qifrey pointed out the dark haired witch was bundled under one of the knitted blankets Lord Beldaruit gave them.
The quilt had at some point migrated from the living room, to Coco’s side of her and Agott’s workroom, eventually ending up as a fixture of her bed. Coco will be hard pressed to give it up anytime soon, only ever relinquishing the quilt when Master Qifrey washes their blankets and sheets on thursdays.
Coco creeps out of her bedroom, the door clicking softly in place as she follows the steps that lead to the main workroom. She lingers by her desk, eyeing the basket of components haphazardly stored out of politeness. Master Qifrey never really had strict rules on how they should keep their work areas, only ever asking for garbage to be removed appropriately and that it be half functional.
It was funny to see the different way each of her peers treated the loose rules. Agott shoved most of her trash under her desk in a trashcan that was at any time half filled. Agott was always scrambling to clean it when Master Qifrey gives her a pointed look when the crumpled pieces of papers and napkins with crumbs spill from the top. Even if under her desk was a mess the top half was always patiently organized at the end of every day. Everything the girl needed would be in easy reach and openly available.
Tetia always keeps her desk somewhat cluttered. Different colored pieces of paper with doodles and notes written in handwriting from each member of the atelier were switched out on a corkboard she had. There was an overflow of mugs holding her pens and brushes, and sometimes a combination of the two as if she forgets her own organized chaos. While cluttered Coco has never seen her desk messy, the pink haired girl having strong opinions about cleanliness.
Richeh’s desk was the most sparse out of the four, with the entrance to her hideout a permanent fixture just beside the desk. There were different colored crystal ribbons scattered around. Primers with tabs stuck to the pages slowly being worked through. A plate of snacks never too far from where she would sit at her desk, though she always took care to clean off the crumbs and return the plates to the kitchen. If that was a result of Richeh’s own cleanliness or Tetia’s influence its hard to say.
Coco’s own desk was only slightly more cluttered than Richeh’s. Books took up the majority of the space on her desk, both in part because of her own personal interest and the need to catch up on the lack of foundational knowledge she doesn’t know. Her tray of components was stacked precariously on a mountain of scribbled out spells and reference books. The pen Tartah had made for has rolled off the lip of her desk onto the small rug that was used to negate the cold stone.
Coco’s breath stutters as she picks up the pen that was made for her. She wants to be angry at her friend. Wants to take him by the shoulders and curse him for abandoning her in his doubt. Anger would be easier, Coco thinks, then the betrayal and hurt she feels. Anger would be easier than grief. With an aggravated breath she throws the pen into the tray with the rest of her components. Making her way out of the workroom with the could of the floors nipping mockingly at her heels.
Coco digs the heel of her palm into her eyes at the sting of tears. Making her way as quietly as she can through the atelier, her feet leading her before her mind even thinks of where to go. On the steps that lead into the living room she pauses, attention caught by the crackling of a wood fire in the hearth. On the worn in couch that always sinks when you sit on it was Master Qifrey, curled up on the far side of the couch against the arm rest with a cup of tea gently steaming. He looks up from the book in his lap, somehow always clued into his apprentice’s presence.
Master Qifrey’s brow furrows in concern as he closes the book, setting it aside as he stands up. His cup of tea is carefully placed on a low table as he makes his way towards her. “Coco, what are you doing up at this time dear child?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Coco mumbles, fingers twisting the fabric of her shift. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I’m sorry.”
Master Qifrey hums, in the back of her mind Coco thinks of the rustle of leaves. A comforting weight settles over her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth. It was the shawl Master Qifrey often wears, thick knitted wool with fluffy fur around the edges that tickle her cheeks. “No need for apologies. I much prefer it when you do find me when something bothers you. Tea?” Master Qifrey asks quietly, guiding her to the couch with a light hand on her shoulder after Coco nods.
He settles her on one of the cushions. Coco’s weight sinks into it, causing her feet to hover over the floor. Master Qifrey’s slippers scuff against the floor as he makes his way to the kitchen, the steps creaking underfoot as the sound of ceramic against the counter tops trickle through the air. Across from her the firewood pops, a scattering of small embers drift onto the stone that surrounds the hearth. Coco watches as the burning red glows brightly, fighting to stay alight before dimming against the stone. It becomes nothing but ash there, waiting to be swept away when Master Olly cleans out the fireplace at the end of the week.
“Willowgrape with honey,” Master Qifrey says as he hands Coco her cup of tea, drawing her attention away from the crackling of wood and the dancing flames. “Careful it’s hot.” He warns her as he picks up his own cup before sitting beside her on the couch. The steam of the drifts around her, tickling her nose as she raises the cup to take in the comforting scent.
“Thank you, Master.” Coco mumbles politely as she holds the cup between both of her palms. Master Qifrey nods in acknowledgment taking a delicate sip from his own tea with an absentminded humming. Coco wonders if the man realizes that he hums as much as he does. She hopes he doesn’t, and if he ever does Coco hopes he never stops. Coco much prefers the sound of the wordless tunes the man hums to the rustle of leaves.
The humming stops, causing Coco to lift her head from where it has fallen against her master’s arm. Master Qifrey sighs into his cup, “I owe you an apology dear child.” He says the fire light reflects off the clear lenses of his glasses.
“For what?” Coco asks curling around her cup of tea.
“The truth,” Master Qifrey sighs, a small tired thing as he turns to look at her. He tucks a strand of hair behind Coco’s ear when it falls into her eyes, eye tracing over her newly healed scar with poorly hidden guilt. “I’m sorry Coco, that you ever had to learn about such a terrible thing.”
“It’s not your fault!” Coco exclaims, Master Qifrey quickly reaches out to grab her cup as the tea dangerously tips close to the edge. “Now that I know I can help! I can- I can help you look for a cure! I can keep you stressed- I can save Custas!”
Master Qifrey blinks at her, his glacial eye wide as keeps pace with Coco’s desperate rambling. Slowly he shifts to set their tea off to the side, the ceramic clicking against the wood of the low table. Grief softens his expression, as he reaches out to loosen the white knuckle grip she has on the thick wool of the shawl still protectively around her shoulders. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, it’s not fair to yourself to shoulder all the responsibility.”
“I’m a witch! You said it yourself that I- that I can help people.” Coco gasps, desperately clinging to her master’s hands. Master Qifrey’s hands were always cold, the man and Richeh always seemed to run cooler than most people Coco has met. Tetia always jokingly speculated that the two ran cold so they could hog all the warmer blankets and the spots closest to the fire. “I can save you too.”
There was always the nagging fear in the back of Coco’s mind that she won’t be able to undo the damage she has caused. As the days pass she can’t stop herself from wondering about the possibilities. What if there was no way to reverse the crystalline spell that had taken her first home? Coco is painfully aware that she was given a second chance that no one else has been afforded. She clings to it, the same way she clings to the unwavering comfort and hope Master Qifrey never hesitates to offer her. It was an intrinsic understanding that she doesn’t think she could ever verbalize, especially to her master.
If she didn’t have this small kindling of hope, if the atelier had never become a second home where she felt as warm as a steaming cup of tea, the possibility of her saving her mother would’ve dwindled into nothing. The possibilities of her saving anyone, her mother, Custas, Master Qifrey, never would’ve been presented to her.
“I have no doubt that you’ll become a wonderful witch. You already are,” Master Qifrey says, his tone of voice the same as when they’ve done something dangerous. When he has to explain the consequences could’ve been another tragedy. Coco looks up to meet his eye from where her head had bowed, tears blurring the image of her teacher into swathes of golden light from the fire still crackling in the hearth. “But dear child, I do not want you to save me.”
The words echo in Coco’s ears like a discordant note. “But-“ Coco starts, suffocating on all the words that clamor for her to speak them. Who is she as a witch if she isn’t able to save those she cares about? What use is she if her help isn’t even wanted? “But you won’t ever be able to be happy.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Master Qifrey says, wiping away the tears that stream down her cheeks. Coco feels her head droop into the man’s hands, feeling far too heavy for her to lift on her own. Master Qifrey wraps his arm around her shoulder, cradling her with a quiet hum. She’s able to hear the man’s heart beat from where her ear is at his chest, the steady metronome a balm to the thoughts fighting for the stage in her mind. “It’s so easy isn’t it, to be consumed by the grief of it all.” He idly cards his fingers through her hair, working through the tangles that came from her inability to lay still against her pillows.
Coco nods in agreement, her only solace from the exhaustion she feels was the cove of warmth she found curled into Master Qifrey’s side. Coco burrows further into it, trying to hide herself from the weight of the truth.
Master Qifrey sighs, settling into the cushions of the sofa allowing Coco’s weight to rest fully against him. “Did you know Olly and I built this atelier ourselves?” He asks with a laugh unmoored by the weight of the night. Coco tilts her head up, catching the glimpse of a wide smile on her master’s face. Master Qifrey tilts his head downwards, eye crinkling as he jokes. “Never get that man started on shingling, he’s not cut out for a career in roofing. Messed up his back twice insisting on doing it himself, the oaf.” Master Qifrey mutters the insult under his breath fondly. That would explain why the man was always doing an impersonation of a shrimp, or getting Coco and the others to practically stomp on his back. Coco had just assumed the man had bad posture from working, surely that's a part of it too if she thinks of her own questionable posture when practicing spells.
“Wouldn’t staying in the Great Hall be safer for you? And Master Olly’s back.” Coco tilts her head as she asks the question. She never knew the two men had built the atelier together, it made much more sense on why it would be such a remote place. From what Coco understood most witches often coalesce into densely populated communities. Like the river island of Kahln or the Great Hall. Master Qifrey was never able to hide his general distaste for the latter, and never really cared about visiting the witches district of Kahln.
“Oh undoubtedly. It would’ve been a tactical move at the very least.” Master Qifrey barely even hesitates on his answer. His smile wanes as he hums, his gaze going back to the fire still crackling fire in the hearth. “But then I have to wonder if I would’ve ever started truly living. It’s a delicate balance, always tempting the scales between misery and joy.”
“How do you do it? It sounds exhausting,” Coco mumbles, head drooping back down feeling the subtle way Master Qifrey’s chest expands as he inhales in tandem with the steady beating of his heart. She wasn’t even the one living on that chronic precipice and she could feel nothing but an aching loneliness at the thought. If Coco feels that way just by imagining a life burdened by the silverwood she doesn’t even want to try and imagine what Custas will have to endure burdened by his new fate.
Master Qifrey doesn’t deny it. Maybe its because he doesn’t want to give Coco false comfort. Or maybe, not even he could tell such a lie convincingly. The crackling of fire wards off the heavy contemplative silence with its unyielding nature of rending the wood its burning to ash. Coco wonders if she’ll have to move for Master Qifrey to tend throw another log in, despite not thinking she could convince the weight of her limbs to lessen.
“Only ever living in misery isn’t really living, is it? I was angry for the longest time. Truthfully, I still am angry, don’t think I’ll ever be able to not be. Even with the anger I had to learn to live with it. After all we only get one life to do what we will, and I quite like what I was able to make of mine.” Master Qifrey says, twining a strand of Coco’s hair around a finger absentmindedly. Coco lifts her head enough to catch the way the fire’s flames dances in the reflection of the man’s glasses. “Besides, I have a promise to make good on.”
“A promise to Master Olly,” Coco mumbles not needing confirmation for something so obvious. It was in all the quiet moments she had stumbled on between the two. Late nights in the kitchen, jokes only the two of them seemed to have context for. There was history there, the kind left unsaid because there was very little that needed to be clarified. It was something she and her sister apprentices, mostly her and Tetia, always liked to speculate on when the days drew long and quiet. “You love him, don’t you?”
“Oh,” Master Qifrey breathes out softly. Lit by the fire light, Master Qifrey smiles. A small delicate thing like the sculptures he crafts from water. Temporary, an ember burning bright before it dulls to ash. It was intimately- tragically, smitten. Honest to the point Coco doesn’t even second guess the genuinity. “I adore him.”
“Then why won’t you let me save you?” Coco asks, desperate to be something more than the child she is as tears fall hot and heavy down her chin. Master Qifrey’s smile fades away in the flicker of the fire as he rests her head on his chest. He does not try to whisk her tears away, letting her cry into the fabric of the night robe he wears. “If I help you two could be happy.”
“Dear child, stop mourning me while I’m still breathing.” Master Qifrey sighs quietly, his breath rustling errant strands of Coco’s hair that he smooths down. “I’m happier than I ever thought possible. I get to watch you girls grow into four wonderfully bright young women and witches. I could only ever be proud of all of you. There are thousands of things I wish to do yes, and maybe one day I’ll get to do them. But I would hate it if you waste your own future trying to guarantee mine.”
How does she explain that a future without her master there would be waste as well? The absence of her mother at her side felt as if a part of Coco had been stripped away. The empty days where she turns to shout for a woman that can no longer respond was an ache she never stops feeling. To imagine a future where not only her mother but her master are both gone from her reach frightens her to her core. Coco finds herself muted by the fear as it renders her limbs to lead under the shawl around her shoulders.
The shuffling of slippers on the floorboard grows closer, “Everythin’ alright?” Master Olly asks as he shuffles his way to the top of the stairs.
Master Qifrey hums, playing with the ends of Coco’s hair as he responds. “Just a rough night.”
“That’ll do it.” Master Olly sighs, Coco moves her head enough to watch as the dark haired man shuffles towards the hearth. He throws a log in the slowly dwindling fire, reigniting the flames with a loud crack of the wood as the dancing orange flames cling to the log.
“I'll take it you as well?” Master Qifrey asks, stretching his legs out before retucking them underneath himself. He’s careful not to disturb Coco where exhaustion beckons her to sleep.
“Aye, got stuck on a commission.” Master Olly grumbles, loitering in front of the hearth with little hurry to get back to his work. Master Olly raises his arm above his head, stretching until his back gives a satisfying pop before shuffling towards the kitchen.
“If you were hoping for a cup of thornbark, I’m very saddened to inform you we’re out of the tin.” Master Qifrey says, his head dipping to rest his cheek against the crown of Coco’s head. She hides a smile in the thick wool of the shawl, they still had half a tin left. Master Qifrey had just given it to Richeh to hide this morning.
“Damn it all.” Master Olly mutters close enough to the couch for Coco to hear it.
“Language.” Master Qifrey scolds, covering Coco's exposed ear with his hand.
The rest of the two men’s conversation becomes muffled with it. Narrowing down to the way Master Qifrey’s voice sounds in his chest. The gentle way his sternum rises and falls as he breathes. Each one in rhythm with the steady beating of his heart, much more pronounced now that the sounds of the living room are muffled. Coco doesn’t know when, won’t be able to pinpoint the next morning exactly when her eyes closed and her mind dropped off to sleep. Her dreams will slip from her conscious memory, but that night her mind was cradled in the embrace of silver branches. With the leaves rustling a lullaby that has no words.