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The first time she called herself Maelle, Clea rolled her eyes.
Of course this whole debacle would leave behind issues. Aline's work on Painting over her daughter had been as frustrating as it was impressive, and so the memories shoved in Alicia's head felt as real as the ones she had actually experienced. There was no plan for dealing with such a thing either- not only was the act of Painting over someone strictly forbidden, it was also an impossible one for most Painters to do the slightest alterations on an actual human.
Of course, Aline was not most Painters, and so they had to deal with this nonsense.
Clea saw the way her sister's expression furrowed at her reaction, but paid it little mind. She had been fresh from the Canvas, so she'd spare her just for a little. By the next day she had gone back to Alicia, and she figured that had been that and had no reason to bring it up.
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The second time she called herself Maelle felt like an accident.
They had gone out to a restaurant, a drag of a night serving more for looks than for anyone's enjoyment. Even if they had mostly stayed composed it felt like a miserable experience that made her want to rip out her own skin even before they had stepped the first foot on the establishment.
The man on the entrance with a bushy beard must have either been new there or just determined to piss them off, because he had asked for their names on the guest list one by one, taking his sweet time finding one before looking for the next. By the end she could even see her father's fingers twitch against the hold on his cane and satisfied herself momentarily with the mental image of him bashing that man's head in with it.
Then the man had turned to Alicia and without thinking she had blurted out that name.
She noticed the way she stilled. The way she hurried to correct it, even when her breath caught on her throat. The way the tips of her ears had threatened to match her hair in colour by the time the miscommunication was over. She had figured the embarrassment was punishment enough, and so she had said nothing when they returned and let it go completely once it went back to Alicia.
Even though, in that mere moment the man repeated that name back, she noticed that her sister's eyes had lit up.
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The third time had pissed her off.
Alicia had already been on her nerves for the day, full of an audacity she hadn't held even a fragment of before. She was to tend to the gardens, the staff yet to be brought back properly, and instead the brat had procured her old rapier from God knew what corner and had been stabbing at a tree for most of the time the sun was up.
So she had yelled at her. Of course she had yelled at her. Clea was already doing everything, and she couldn't even perform a single task. And her yelling has been responded to with more yelling, and the argument might've dragged forever had she not screamed her name and gotten infuriatingly corrected.
"It's Maelle."
She had clenched her fists to stop herself from hitting her.
"Is it, sister? Is it?"
"Yes." She was pushing the strain of her voice as far as it could go.
"I don't think it is. I think you're too much of a coward for it to be. Because today it's Maelle, and tomorrow it's going to be Alicia again."
She had watched her grit her teeth. She had watched the hold on the rapier tighten.
"So make up your fucking mind. Which is it?"
She had expected the flaring anger. She hadn't expected the hand shoving against her chest to push her out of the way like she was a nobody.
"I'm Maelle." She had forced out. "She's Alicia. And we both fucking hate you."
Her first thought was to hit her. For the audacity of treating her like this, of daring to act like an animal after everything she had done for her. It had almost won: she had raised her hand, prepared herself.
The second one, that left her to stall in the air and let Alicia stomp back home untouched, told her the words might've had a bit more meaning than she had allowed herself to believe.
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The fourth time she had almost missed it.
The ticking of the clock had faded so far away as a noise of the background that she didn't catch the time passing, too engrossed in her work. By the time she realised she had spaced out, the sun had set and she was covered to clay up to her elbows.
She had chosen to skip to the kitchen's instead of the basin in her workshop, if only for the fact that she was hungry and heading there anyways. The soap they had there cleaned deeper anyways. She had scrubbed most of it off before she noticed the figure standing on the doorway by the corner of her eye.
Whatever her mood, the nickname of little shadow was never any less relevant.
She had flicked the water drops towards her way, somewhat relieved to hear Alicia's annoyed response. Angry Alicia was always easier to manage than sad Alicia was, and these days she had found it increasingly difficult to tell which it was going to be.
A different sister would've chastised her for being up this late. A different sister would also been in bed herself by now. So instead she simply dried off her hands and reached for the cabinet.
"I'm having eggs. Alicia?"
The answer didn't come. Not a vocal day, then. She turned to look at her sister, who had now moved over to sit at the table and stare at it.
Nothing to write with, however. Odd.
"Alicia."
No response. She furrowed her eyebrows. Was she angrier than she had prepared herself for, or was she half asleep?
"Alicia."
She leaned forward on the table, leaning over to snap her fingers in front of her face. Alicia jumped, then that previous annoyance found its way to her expression.
But it was just that. Annoyance. No recognition to her name being said, no reaction to almost any of her words.
She bit her tongue.
Surely her hearing wasn't getting worse already, right?
It was late, and she was tired, and hungry, and Alicia hadn't been in the best state lately, and if anyone asked those would be the reasons she'd pinpoint to for giving in and choosing her next word.
"Maelle."
It was scary how quickly she perked up at that. How easily she recognised it after her previous blunders. It was scary, and it was aggravating, and if she had the capacity to be honest she'd admit it was relieving to finally somewhat understand.
"I'm making eggs. Do you want eggs?"
And sure, her next words were a little more annoyed than intended, but her sister nodded and so it was good enough for her.
They didn't talk any more after that. No writing pad had been brought, and Clea knew the situation they were in well enough to understand when it was a day where talking simply wouldn't happen.
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The fifth time hadn't been vocally, nor really on purpose.
They had stormed into the house as fast as they could after a surprise storm had decided to soak them to the bone. The run had even gotten to her, uncomfortable shoes against stone roads too fast and for too long had left her legs trying not to shake.
Alicia had taken it worse, collapsed on the nearest armchair the second they had reached it, trying to pretend she wasn't heaving for breath through lungs that could barely handle a long walk on a good day. Their clothes were better compared to sinks than garments, and although a bath was in order as soon as possible she still went to fetch her sister something dry to wear.
Last thing they needed was for her to get sick on top of her risky health.
She hadn't exactly snooped. She really was in a hurry, had just gone for Alicia's nightwear tossed carelessly on the chair, but it was right in front of the desk and hard to miss. Another one of her drafted stories, a never to be truly finished manuscript that made her bristle out of the mere idea of its connotations. It was perhaps spite than had made her shut it, something so she wouldn't have to look at her sister's writing and be reminded of how they had ended up in this mess to begin with.
But then she had seen the awkward penning on the cover, at the bottom where the author's name would have been had this been properly bound.
Alicia Dessendre
Maelle
There was a dot of ink next to that name, as if she had reached to write a surname and hesitated, leaving it blank just a second too late for the pen not to leave its mark.
She hadn't looked at it more, taking the trek back down the stairs to finish her delivery, but it had stuck to her in an odd way that she figured had to do with their argument back then.
Not Maelle or Alicia. Not Maelle instead of Alicia. Maelle and Alicia.
Then duty called again, and she forgot to ask any further.
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It was another night she had inched to her bedroom far later than she should have been awake when she heard the slightest noise.
Had it not been the dead of night, and had she not been on alert to hear anything but herself, she would've missed the sob. But she hadn't, and she knew what it meant, and she knew if it continued she wouldn't be the only one hearing it.
Half-heartedly, she stopped in front of Alicia's door.
There was little point in knocking- it was just more sound, and it wasn't like Alicia would be in a state to open for her- so she let herself in and shut the door as quietly as possible.
The sight was by now familiar yet no less exhausting. Alicia curled up in a ball, the sheets pressed against her face as she fought her tears and panicked breaths with as much resolve as she had to spare in her trembling body.
The remnants of another nightmare. It had become such a common part of their routine that she could almost smell the charred wood that haunted them.
Alicia's sobs were stifled for a single moment when she sat on her bed by her side, then started anew, unable to hold her breath any longer. She simply waited, the exhaustion of the day coupled with the knowledge of her sister's state crashing onto her hard enough that she thought she might fall asleep right where she was.
After what felt like an eternity, her sister pulled the sheets off her face just enough to be able to look at her.
And unexpectedly, she reached out for her hand.
Clea let her take it, the surprise not enough to quell the fatigue that came with the idea of pushing her away, taking note of how Alicia tangled her fingers in hers, tightly held her as if she was her lifeline. Clea didn't move, letting this strange ritual continue, watching as Alicia's grip tightened on every sob.
Uncharacteristically of herself, she slowly brushed her thumb against the back of her scarred hand. Neither of them were acting like themselves, it seemed.
It served its purpose. Alicia calmed eventually, the same tired look she was certain she held finding its way in her sister's face as well. But she still didn't let go, even if she no longer held on like she was dying.
"So. Alicia or Maelle now?"
She expected the next time she'd say that sentence to come out with anger, for her to bite at the words as she was being mocked.
They did not do so now. It was a question, and nothing more than that.
But still her sister perked up just a little. Thought about her answer just enough to see the exhaustion wash away for a mere moment.
"Maelle."
The whisper she managed was answer enough. And although she didn't completely understand it, she nodded.
There was a long way to go before it would make any sense. But for now she held Maelle's hand and watched as she sat up and rested her head on Clea.
The next day, she'd curse herself for predicting that she'd fall asleep on the spot and doing nothing to stop it.