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Snezhnaya had always been cold. Cold enough for every breath to be visible, for a person to shiver even with multiple coats on.
However, lately, it had been slightly less cold.
Not for some mysterious reason, either. Sandrone knew why. She just refused to acknowledge it.
Columbina, more formally the Damselette, joined not too long ago. And in that short time, she had managed to wriggle her way into the centre of Sandrone's life. Whether that be at the Marionette’s workshop, living space, or perhaps in her piano room, which was supposed to bring peace, Columbina always seemed to be there now.
Initially, it bothered her, Sandrone had been irritated with the strange woman that she had made the mistake of helping one day following her about like a lost puppy. But now, a quiet acceptance began blooming in her chest. Not loudly, just quiet, gradual acceptance that she had a hopeless pigeon on her heel constantly.
That small fact was why Sandrone merely huffed when the familiar scent of white blossoms hit her instead of snapping for Columbina to get out.
“What now, Columbina?” She muttered, turning her head slightly. they were in Sandrone's piano room, Lit lamps lining the stone walls, a fireplace on the far right wall she had built herself with Pulonia's assistance. And then the black grand piano stationed in the middle of the room, the main piece. It stood before a tall window that moonlight beamed through, illuminating their surroundings better than any lamp could.
Columbina hummed softly at her question, taking a slow step forward. “Sandrone wasn't in her room. I thought you wouldn't be here.” At that, Sandrone turned fully on her piano bench, arms crossing tight over her chest as she searched Columbina's expression.
“And why were you looking for me in the first place? I thought I told you I was busy today.”
“You don't look busy right now.”
Immediately, Sandrone's cheeks warmed, key spinning ever so slightly quicker. Out of frustration—At least, she told herself it was out of frustration—groaning with a short eyeroll. “What do you want, Columbina?”
“I thought it would be best to find you. I… am not sure if Arlecchino or Rosalyne know how to care for my wings properly.” Sandrone only stared for a while, listening to the wind whistle outside and how the fireplace crackled nearby.
After a while, she found her words. “I'm sure Arlecchino can manage.” Even though she had said the words with snarky confidence, Sandrone really didn't mean them. Deep down she…tolerated the idea and refused to accept the fact that someone else could do the same.
Without another word, she stood, pointing to the piano whilst stepping away from the bench to retrieve the specially designed dust for those delicate white wings.
It was a necessary thing, Columbina did not have the preening glands usually needed for wing care, so dust and regular bathing were mandatory.
Upon turning around, sealed tub in hand, Columbina was already settled, staring down at the black and white keys.
“Stay still.” Sandrone murmured, heels clicking on the stone, sound softening when she stepped onto the black and yellow rug resting beneath the piano and its bench.
Columbina didn't reply to that, still staring at the keys with interest. “Sandrone?” She murmured in a soft tone, earning a huff of acknowledgement. “How did you learn to play the piano? It seems… complicated.”
“It's easy, really.” Sandrone scoffed, taking a wing from the bottom pair into her palm with a gentle movement, thumb brushing over a slightly ruffled feather. “You just need to control your hands properly and learn the keys. For someone like me, it was nothing more than a walk in the park.”
In front of her, Columbina remained quiet, hands slowly raising to the keys, a singular finger pressing down on a singular D key on the bass end, a deeper sound than Sandrone would usually play echoing in the room.
With a click of her tongue, Sandrone continued to straighten feathers, eyes narrowing. “Don't touch it, Columbina.” The words were huffy, like someone spoilt protecting their belongings.
“I would like to learn the keys.” Columbina replied, voice almost hopeful.
Hearing that, Sandrone found herself unable to respond. On one end, she could prolong Columbina's presence in her space and agree, teach Columbina the basics before sending her away. Or she could say no.
Obviously, Sandrone would choose the latter.
“Whatever. Just don't be a pain.”
Sandrone didn't second guess the words initially, cracking a mature pin feather open and freeing a new, gorgeous feather. And then the agreement processed in her mind.
For a moment, she stilled, blinking slowly. Columbina's wings gave a small, happy flutter, halting Sandrone's quick correction of what she had meant to say before it even left her mouth. For some reason, she couldn't do it.
Feeling those wings flutter, catching the small smile on Columbina's face through the reflection of the shine coating her piano, the way Columbina adjusted herself properly. It felt wrong to crush that happiness.
Finally, with a sharp inhale, Sandrone continued what she was doing with still gentle but much more stiff movements. Removing the keratin off new growth, straightening soft white feathers, applying dust over and in-between each one.
Every step made her key spinning quicker and quicker, caused by how her systems heated up. It was a convenient feature, but it couldn't be more inconvenient as she preened Columbina's wings.
“J—just find the keys.” She began, taking a sharp breath. “It goes from A to G,” with much hesitation, she reached out, placing Columbina's hand on A0, the lowest note. “This is A0. You won't use it often, not alone, at least.” The warmth of that woman's hands against Sandrone's own was addictive. Even if through the thin cover of a glove.
“Why not?” Columbina questioned, pressing down on the key. A brief sound filled the room, prompting Columbina to hum.
“Humans struggle to hear that pitch. So it isn't useful in most situations.” Sandrone quickly moved on from that, showing Columbina the following keys, explaining that most beginners typically stick to the middle of the keys while guiding Columbina along the piano, explaining the different keys and allowing Columbina to test them.
Through it all, she continued To straighten feathers with efficiency, something that only being ambidextrous would allow. Every few seconds, Columbina would lean into her touch, humming while Sandrone explained Middle C and how she needed to learn where G reset to A.
In truth, Sandrone wasn't even sure if Columbina was listening to her anymore. When she began explaining how bass clef was before Middle C and treble clef was after, Columbina had simply hummed and melted into her touch.
“See? Middle C divides the two, it—” Sandrone cut herself off, jaw tightening upon realising Columbina's hand was completely loose in her own, that Sandrone herself was practically just playing the piano with another person's hand. “Are you even listening?”
“Of course. Why would I ignore Sandrone?” Columbina sighed almost dreamily, still melting into the hand now holding her top right wing. Sandrone gave a frustrated ‘tsk’ at that reply, pulling her hand away from Columbina's own
It stung. Only a bit, but it did. The idea of Columbina just not listening to something she was explaining. It showed in the way she quickened her pace with caring for those feathers, coating the tips of her index and middle finger in that shimmering dust and coating each feather with a thin layer, removing keratin covers like she was trying to get this to end instead of prolong their time together.
It felt as if someone had punched a hole through her chest, targeting the core that allowed her to function with sharp precision.
Obviously, Columbina noticed. When Sandrone pulled away suddenly with a gritted out “you're done.”
“Sandrone?” The Damselette murmured, voice questioning as she turned her head towards Sandrone, who was putting that tub away with oddly rough movements. On the bench, Columbina turned her body, wings drooping.
Internally, Sandrone felt that irritation grow. Especially when she tried to walk away, only for Columbina to grab her wrist.
“Let go—” Without warning, Columbina pulled her forwards, arms wrapping around Sandrone's waist like a lock. It was much different than their usual five feet of distance, so much so that Sandrone froze entirely, unsure of what to say as Columbina nuzzled into the crook of her neck.
Instead of letting go, Columbina's hand found her thigh, pulling Sandrone further onto the Damselette's lap. “Will you play me something?” She questioned. Quieter than usual, but not lacking the confidence either.
Two hands found the small of her back, one sliding up to between her shoulder blades, Columbina's nose pressing against her mandible.
Before she knew it, Sandrone found herself shuffling forward, pressing closer against Columbina in a partial daze, gloved fingers finding the keys to play a familiar six-eight rhythm. Starting with a C major, her fingers pressing down on the keys she knew by heart with her left hand, following with a Em and Am, following with a G, right shakily finding an F, Sandrone's throat bobbing as she pressed her foot against the sustain pedal.
Against her neck, Columbina hummed, hands now travelling to her waist as yet another C played, followed by a G, F, G, before shifting down through a beautiful melody once Sandrone found her rhythm, something slow and almost intimate.
It felt like surrender to continue allowing herself to play each chord in perfect succession, but she didn't stop. Rather, she melted into it. With every Am and Dm, she wanted to pull away less and less. With every C and G, she felt the urge to just melt into Columbina grow until it was unbearable.
The space between them faded even more, Columbina's hands slowly trailing over her back and waist, lips parted with contemplation as she leaned forward.
By the time Sandrone's fingers had found those starting keys once again, Columbina was already littering soft and slow kisses against her neck, pulling Sandrone further into that whirlwind of emotions she was thankfully built to withstand, the puppet already deciding she wanted this. In some quiet, almost forbidden to her solidarity way. She wanted this so, so much.
By the end, she had melted entirely into Columbina, tilting her head to allow more space for Columbina to gently kiss, which the third very quickly complied with, kisses trailing up to her cheek and jaw.
They stopped there, though, Columbina pulling back with a short, dazed breath.
“You… play piano very well.” The third murmured, leaning back, to ‘look’ at Sandrone's face, even if her eyes were both closed and covered.
Sandrone, instead of replying, merely huffed, unsure of what to do or say, pupils dilating before the puppet screwed her eyes shut.
“Just… forget about it.”
Columbina smiled at that, those three pairs of wings ruffling and twitching with her clear joy, nose immediately nuzzling against Sandrone's cheek as the Marionette gave a forced groan of irritation, realising that she had dug herself into something she was never getting out of, and perhaps never wanted to.