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Nevrons hunt, but they don't kill for sustenance. They hunt because they are tasked with the duty of trapping chroma, and it can only be achieved through lethal violence. Clea had never been privy to their innermost thoughts, but she had always been aware that to some degree they found pleasure in pursuing their targets. If they saw something moving and could detect chroma to be captured, they would spur to action. The longer it took them to chase down their target, the more satisfying it was to finally see them motionless; forever stuck in their dying gesture like a statue.
Of course, not all Nevrons were the same. There were also stationary Nevrons who, while delighted by combat like the rest, preferred waiting for their prey to come to them instead. If Clea had been made to choose, she would have thought of herself as the latter, both as a human and as a Nevron; a threat that could simply wait for her enemies to come to her, and thus conserve her energy for when she really needed it.
The discovery that Clea had something of a prey drive, then, came as a complete surprise to everyone, in particular to her first unfortunate victim— her brother.
Clea didn’t even remember the exact reason as to why Verso had been running past her in the first place. They had been outside in the garden, so perhaps he had forgotten something inside, and was half-jogging his way back to quickly retrieve it — but it didn’t matter, really, because Verso never actually got to finish whatever he was planning on doing.
Even Clea herself had been startled by the way her body reacted to see Verso run past her; a jolt like lightning that sharpened all her senses, and suddenly she was running after him. For the brief moment it took Clea to chase him down, the thrill of a pursuit was the only thing she could think about. Even the intrusive, persistent urge to capture chroma came second to this rush of sheer excitement; an instinctual reaction in its purest, most intoxicating form. It almost felt like joy.
Verso never told Clea the exact number of them, but it turns out that it's possible to break several of your bones when an adult woman lunges at you at full speed when you least expect it. Said adult woman still possessing something of her inhumane strength didn’t make things any better, either. For once, even Verso seemed grateful of maman's gift of immortality. And Clea did feel bad about what she had done, of course, because she didn't mean to hurt him.
She refused to think what could have happened if Verso hadn't been able to shake it all off, or if he hadn't been able to leave the situation jokingly suggesting Clea might need to work on her technique a bit more. She wasn't sure if she would have been able to handle a real, serious conversation about it.
It had been hard enough to swallow down the other Clea's grief when she first saw her brother injured, his arms in sickeningly unnatural positions, and the look on his face vacant yet anything but peaceful. For one brief, horrific moment Clea really did think her brother dead
Still, claiming that there was nothing satisfying in successfully chasing down your prey would have made her a liar.
The unfortunate truth was that Clea liked how it made her feel; the surge of energy that made her body light and agile, every fibre of her being focused on one task and one task alone. There was something strangely familiar — even comfortable — about it, like an echo of both of her previous lives. It didn’t feel like an addition, but instead an extension of a quality that she had always possessed long before she was painted over.
Luckily the urge to hunt and chase was easy enough to suppress, at least now that Clea had become aware of it.
Sudden movements and people running away from her provoked her the most, but simply by closing her eyes or moving away the impulse to chase could be avoided entirely. Like the ever-present urge to gather chroma at the back of her mind, Clea didn't actually have to act upon it, because she was not beholden to any command that would force her to obey. There was no Mistress to please; no strings of chroma forcing her body to act according to someone else’s will. Clea herself was the one in full control of her own actions, at least in this regard — or so she hoped.
It also helped to know that even if she were to completely succumb to the urge to hunt and even kill, her body lacked the features and raw strength that would make her an efficient killer. Her main purpose had always been to control other monsters, not do the fighting and killing herself.
Unfortunately, however, it was still fun to trail after someone. This was especially true when Clea had been idle for too long, and after everything she had been through, did she not deserve to have a little bit of entertainment every now and then?
Especially when she was sharing her living space with her sister, who had always possessed the natural predisposition of a prey animal.
Best of all, Alicia still hadn't learned how to disengage and not give Clea the precise reaction she wanted out of her.
It was during one of her many long and arduous working breaks forced upon her when Clea noticed Alicia descend from the greenhouse with a book in hand.
Moments like these were when Clea's urges often got strongest and hardest to resist, because the choice between "dying of boredom" and "having fun" was barely a choice at all. And while Clea did understand these breaks were imposed upon her because she would otherwise work until she collapsed, she still didn't like them. She was not used to being chased out of her own atelier, and it upset her despite how hard she tried to not let it show.
Hence, she would amuse herself in the midst of her misery, just for a little while. To kill time.
Clea stood up quietly from her seat, the shadows of her lounging space having concealed her so that Alicia remained unaware of Clea’s presence.
Clea allowed all her senses to slowly adjust their sharpening focus on Alicia, the world around her narrowing in scope but becoming more vivid; louder, brighter, yet somehow slower, too. Soon even the most minute change in Alicia’s demeanour wouldn’t go unnoticed by her, her body attuning to the pace and gait of her prey. Walking barefoot across the wooden floor, it was easy enough to conceal the sound of her footsteps underneath the echo of Alicia's boots.
Alicia’s chroma, abundant and marked by an old touch of maman’s brush, shone brightly at the back of Clea’s mind like a living flame. Like Nevrons, Clea didn’t really need her eyes to be aware of her surroundings, when she could simply detect and read the chroma all around her. Still, all her other senses were always an added advantage.
It was the swaying sound of Clea's skirt hem that finally alerted Alicia to being followed. By then she had already stepped out into the narrow, properly lit hallway opposite the master bedroom. With a quiet gasp the youngest Dessendre looked behind her shoulder, immediately greeted by Clea’s wide-eyed stare and a sinister smile as she was slowly approaching her. Alicia turned away her gaze quickly and began walking faster, single eye nailed on the floor as if not looking directly at Clea would likewise make Alicia herself disappear.
Clea sped up her pace to match Alicia's, now allowing her footsteps to echo loudly to remind her sister that she was still right behind her, and the gap between them was getting smaller by the second. Fear had been Clea’s domain long before she was painted over, and it was one of the many things that separated Nevrons from regular wildlife — a predatory animal had nothing to gain from causing excess fear in its prey, but for a monster it might as well have been one of the joys of its very existence. In this regard her two lived lives diverged; an eclipsing sun and moon aligned in the darkness they created.
Alicia turned left and stepped down the stairs in rapid succession, clearly accustomed by now to her lack of depth perception, and no longer afraid of tripping over or missing a step. Clea's heart began beating faster, more excitement than anything else. She could feel her head and shoulders gradually lowering as her body slowly hunched itself over in preparation for a proper sprint. The anticipation of the real chase was finally beginning, her blood rushing through her in waves that impatiently urged her into action.
Once more Alicia looked behind her, and could no longer hide her terror as she saw her sister with her back arched like a hunting mountain lion ready to pounce. The distance between them was mere meters, and the realisation that Clea was gaining on her finally seemed to release the sense of dread Alicia had been trying to bury earlier. Clea almost laughed at the sight of her widened eye and mouth closed into a thin, straight line. If her sister still could have screamed, Clea was certain that it would have happened now.
Knowing her own bedroom door was getting nearer, Alicia finally began to run. She did this every time Clea started following her and saw a place where she could seek safety, as if the sight of a finishing line made her unable to any longer handle the tension of being chased. This always put Clea into a gleeful frenzy, like she was finally granted the permission to really unleash all her own pent-up tension from her patient trailing.
Alicia ran down the stairs, Clea skipping half of the steps with a graceful jump. This was it, the real highlight of it all, and the world around Clea narrowed until the only thing left was the prey for her to capture. Her whole body was surging with energy, and for a brief moment she felt nearly invincible again, just like she had done in her role as a regent once.
Then she felt a large hand grab her by the cross of her suspenders, fingers firmly digging into her shirt and then pulling her backwards to halt her momentum entirely. Clea let out an involuntary sound of strangled surprise, and it took everything in her power to not fall over from the sheer impact that had stopped her on her tracks.
"Clea!" Verso growled at her, hand still firmly grasping at Clea as if holding an animal by the scruff of its neck. "How many times have I told you to stop hunting your sister?!”
She knew from his tone that Verso wasn't quite as mad as he clearly tried to seem, but this was no joke either.
Clea let out a sigh and allowed her body to relax, prompting Verso to let go of her. The straps of her suspenders audibly snapped to their original positions against her back, and Clea had to bite back a yelp at the sharp sting that followed. She remembered this gesture from their childhood; when Verso was beginning to get scared or intimidated by something Clea did, but needed a less emotionally vulnerable way of expressing it.
It didn't hurt much, but it certainly sent a message.
Clea’s heart was still beating loudly in her chest as she re-adjusted her shirt, trying to seem as unbothered as she could.
"If you really insist on chasing after something, there are birds outside in the garden," Verso continued with an exaggerated huff and walked over to check up on Alicia.
She had made it all the way to her bedroom door, but her hand still merely rested on the doorknob without actually having opened it. Now that she was no longer being rushed by her sister throughout the halls, Alicia was glaring at Clea in a manner not dissimilar to an irritated kitten.
"Alicia, the 'no weapons indoors' rule doesn't apply when she's behaving like that," Verso sighed.
Alicia looked away from him with a pensive expression.
"No, I'm serious. If she is going to act like a Nevron then she'll be treated like one. Don't let her push you around."
Clea couldn’t entirely hold back her smile listening to this conversation. She knew it was meant to be demeaning, to speak about Clea in her presence as if she really was a beast incapable of comprehending human speech. But most of the time all it did was make it sound like she was something wild and dangerous; a terrifying force to be feared. And Clea quite liked that, more often than not.
But Verso was also right. As delightful as it was to chase her around the manor, it was about time for Alicia to start challenging Clea — if this all genuinely bothered her, she needed to make her feelings clear. Clea had gained many new skills since the Fracture, but reading minds was not among them.
"Not funny, Clea. Stop grinning over there," Verso complained and evidently tried to sound serious, but this time the sheer absurdity of the situation was finally beginning to get to him, and he clearly had to physically fight back a chuckle.
Next to him Alicia let out a huff, more defiant than truly upset.
It all reminded Clea of the time before the Fracture, before everything had gone wrong. When they were still an almost normal family, with their mundane problems and none of the existential dread they were now all riddled with in varying degrees.
Only maman and papa were missing.
Clea shook off the thought of her parents and turned towards her own room. It was about time she was allowed to get back to painting again, and the earlier rush of excitement was beginning to come down as a slight physical exhaustion.
The conversation was over, and neither Verso nor Alicia found any reason to bring it up later.
An entire week passed by, and Clea found herself better occupied than the week prior.
Then a week after that Clea was frustratingly idle once more, because she had overworked herself again. The former week's experiment to lessen her mandatory breaks was put back on hold.
Clea really hated it, the way her siblings and even some of Verso's friends would look after her as if they were her wardens. She felt like someone in a house arrest, except that instead of being confined into her atelier Clea was forcibly kept away from it. And she couldn’t even argue for her right for self destruction if she so pleased, because by doing this they weren’t protecting just Clea but themselves as well — after all, to them Clea was still a monster. If she couldn’t control herself enough to manage painting or sculpting without hurting herself in the process, what else could she do in the worst circumstances? By managing Clea like this, they were also doing constant threat assessment on her.
This was at the end of the day a matter of practicality. If Clea wanted to live with her family, it meant that she had to surrender some part of herself for their mutual comfort. And this wouldn’t be permanent either, if it was up to her. She just had to be patient.
It was one late evening, during one of these moments of annoyed introspection, when Clea spotted Alicia leave the first floor library.
Despite being no less of an owner of this manor than the rest of the Dessendres, Alicia walked near the walls and on the side of shadows, as if scared of being seen in her own home. This kind of timid attitude had always annoyed Clea, whose own nature simply couldn’t comprehend her sister’s behavior. After the fire, Clea had made sure to walk its halls twice as confident, to show everyone and herself that even the fire was not enough to make her afraid in her own home.
But, well, if Alicia was going to act like a scared animal, then Clea might as well give her a proper reason to commit to it.
Clea stood still by the entrance of one of the guest rooms, eyes focused on Alicia as she began ascending the stairs. Soon something alerted her to Clea’s presence, and upon meeting her stare Alicia immediately knew what was going through her elder sister’s mind. But this time there was no gasp, or a huff, or even a little flinch. Instead Alicia briefly locked her eye with her, almost challenging in that glare, and then began sprinting upstairs at full speed.
Clea didn’t have to think twice — in fact, she didn’t think anything at all. The glee at which she joined the chase was so strong that by the time Clea registered what had happened, she was already running.
Running after her sister, Clea was surprised again when Alicia ignored the direction of her own room, and was instead making her way towards the greenhouse.
Before her own mind began to narrow as her entire being concentrated on the pursuit, Clea felt a quick flare of worry at the thought of how this much running must have been burning horribly in Alicia’s throat and lungs.
Then her thoughts shifted as she reminded herself that Alicia was making these decisions on her own, and she knew her limits better than Clea ever could.
It was fine. She could continue.
Clea saw a glimpse of Alicia as she disappeared up the stairs into the ambient light of the greenhouse.
The greenhouse was dimly lit, the light of the moon above shining its silver glow through the windows of the ceiling. The shapes of the numerous flora houses indoors cast long shadows across the space; a tame, contained illusion of forest, maman’s pride and joy. The air around them felt slightly damp as the temperature outside was dropping.
Clea still knew where Alicia was, her chroma bright and clear even in the darkness, but it didn't mean that she could anticipate her actions.
The moment Clea made it inside she felt Alicia's rapier struck her swift as a viper, strike sharp enough to draw blood from Clea's bare forearm, precisely controlled so that it didn't tear into her muscle proper.
It came as a warning, a reminder that Alicia could use lethal force if she ever wanted to, and she could do it with high precision.
Clea was more surprised by the strike itself than she was pained from her injury, but it was more than enough for her to cease what she had been doing. The thrill of the chase was gone, replaced by confusion, followed by a hint of shame. Instead she was overtaken by the sobering realisation of just how ridiculous she must have looked; a grown woman chasing her sister through the manor like some kind of animal.
The eldest Dessendre closed her eyes and put up her arms as nonchalantly as she could. Golden blood trickled down her right forearm in small streams as she did so, and Clea went out of her way to prevent it from healing itself quite yet — Alicia deserved to revel in her victory just a little longer. The wound was stinging unpleasantly, but the pain was not enough to distract her.
"Well done. I concede."
Alicia exhaled sharply, and with an elegant flick of her arm made her weapon disappear. She stood straight and dignified, single eye defiantly narrowed at Clea, and in that moment no words were needed — Clea knew exactly what that look meant.
"I won't be as nice next time."
The determined expression on Alicia's scarred face was a welcome sight, and Clea's mouth curved into an approving smile before she could even try to suppress it.
"And you shouldn't be," she answered without words, eyebrows slightly raised, knowingly shifting her gaze from Alicia's for a brief moment before going back to maintaining it again.
Alicia had never liked looking at anyone in the eyes for too long, and it was her who broke eye contact first.
Before truly allowing her tensed up body to relax, however, she gave one final, stern look at Clea and pointed at her:
"If you even think of jumping at me now, I'm going to kill you. Seriously."
Clea scoffed and turned to examine her still bleeding wound.
"I won't — promise."
After this event, something between them shifted.
Clea ended up keeping the small scar Alicia's blade had carved on her skin, a reminder of the first time Alicia had ever truly, meaningfully resisted her.
It had amused Clea, the way Alicia had made sure to target the arm with the more monstrous appearance, as if she had taken Verso's words about treating her like a Nevron to heart. In regards to poetic sentimentality, it seemed like artists and writers were no different.
Alicia herself didn't seem to understand at first why Clea had decided to not fully heal it away. If she was still anything like Clea remembered, her sister probably thought that Clea had done it out of some kind of spite; to make her feel guilty of what she had done, and to be reminded of it every time she saw Clea's bare arm. But this was never Clea's intent, and if Alicia decided to put words into her mouth… Well, that was her problem to deal with.
After a while, though, she did seem to realise Clea wore her scar with something resembling pride. Perhaps Verso told her, since the sentiment had been evident to him the next morning Clea showed it off to him. He had told Clea that it served her right to get cut by Alicia’s blade, with that annoying grin and tone of voice Clea had missed for so long.
However, none of this meant that Clea had stopped amusing herself by pursuing Alicia when she least expected it. She still continued doing it and took great pleasure in this indulgence all the same, but there was an undeniable tonal change that had occurred after the confrontation at the greenhouse.
Perhaps it was the fact that now Alicia, too, seemed to truly enjoy it.
Instead of trying to find an immediate way to safety she'd lead Clea to longer tracks throughout the manor, choosing narrow pathways and frequently taking advantage of the many secret doorways and rooms their home had to offer. Clea knew this house better than her sister did — having spent much of her early childhood exploring its every nook and cranny with her brother — but Alicia was smaller in size, and she possessed a unique agility to go along with it. She was quite resourceful, even cunning, when she put her mind into it, and once or twice she had even managed to corner Clea or make her back off.
It was like a game they played, really, and they both had fun with it.
Clea couldn't remember having spent time with Alicia in this manner before the Fracture; neither the memories of her or the other Clea’s couldn’t recall anything quite like it. For anyone else it must have seemed like utter madness how Alicia and her were choosing to spend their free time, Clea was happy to have something with her sister that wasn't mere leftovers from the other Clea and her Alicia.
It may have been ridiculous, even stupid, but this was something of their own, painted into existence by their hands alone, and it mattered to her.
She hoped it meant something for Alicia, too.