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As with most aspects of her centuries-long life, Sandrone was meticulous about her appearance, her hair most of all.
She had a strict bedtime routine: wash herself of the grime borne of a day spent tinkering in her workshop, change into her nightgown, address any maintenance concerns with her clockwork, and finally, let loose her hair from her updo to maintain it.
This night was no different, and she found herself on the final step, carefully dragging a soft-bristled brush through her beige locks, when a certain annoyance shattered the sanctity of the moment.
“My beloved Sandrone?” The pesky Moon Goddess suddenly uttered from Sandrone's bed, where she lounged with the entitlement of a spoiled house cat.
Sandrone paused her actions, her silky hair threading through the brush bristles suspended in the air, gliding freely downward under gravity. Her mechanical heart fluttered traitorously at the term of endearment, but she smothered the fuzzy feeling with a long-suffering sigh.
Columbina usually followed with something outrageous and nonsensical after that sweet little prefix she had been using to address Sandrone recently.
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
Sandrone did not like disruptions. She especially did not appreciate them from a silly Moon Goddess hell-bent on pushing her buttons when she was attempting to wind down for the day. She may not need sleep, but she did appreciate relaxation.
“My tolerance for nonsense is exceedingly low right now, Columbina.” She retorted tetchily, resuming her task.
“Your tolerance for nonsense is always low, dearest Sandrone,” Columbina replied cheekily, and the puppet felt a twinge of both irritation and fondness at that sugary “dearest”.
Her synthetic skin flushed, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks that she could see in her reflection where she sat perched on a stool in front of her vanity's mirror.
Stupid, aggravating goddess and her saccharine pet names.
“It's a serious question,” Columbina insisted, as if the situation were dire and not one of her usual incessant, though usually innocuous, inquiries. Columbina asked out of genuine curiosity most of the time, so it was difficult to feel as annoyed as Sandrone would like to in response to her many, many questions. Sandrone appreciated the ego boost anyway, of being able to answer and teach the clueless girl about various topics.
This was not one of those moments, however, evidenced by one of those light novels from Inazuma currently in Columbina's hands. Whatever drivel she was reading had undoubtedly planted this ridiculous topic in her bird brain.
A crease formed between her eyebrows as she narrowed her eyes to catch a glimpse of the cover through the mirror's reflection, which confirmed Sandrone's suspicions.
She read, “That Time I Got Turned Into a Worm in Front of My Crush!”, the lengthy and mind-numbingly ridiculous title framing a cartoon picture of a worm with a flustered expression.
Sandrone rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to herself as she continued to thread the brush carefully through her hair.
“I'm clearly sitting here trying to relax, and you insist on asking enraging questions that raise my heart rate," she retorted, catty, choosing to dodge the question for several reasons: firstly, she'd rather drop dead a second time than verbally utter that accursed word “love” to Columbina despite the recent development of her coexistence with her emotion module. Secondly, it wasn't worth the brainpower. She had far more important things to commit her computing power to, like maintaining her appearance and preparing for bed.
“You're a doll, you don't have a heart rate to raise,” Columbina supplied helpfully with her usual airy tone, a master at stating the obvious. “Though your key has picked up speed again, why is that, my darling Sandrone?”
“Tch,” Sandrone complained at the third pet name of the night, her infamous temper spiking at the callout. Her clockwork was indeed working at a faster pace, but rather than anger, it was the mortifying acknowledgement of satisfaction at being referred to in such a beloved manner by her “best friend”. Curse these feelings.
“It was a metaphor to express my quickly draining patience with you, Columbina. You barge into my room and dirty my bed and dare to ask me such silly questions?”
“It's a serious question,” Columbina repeated, oddly insistent about this particular topic. Sandrone gave her an incredulous glance through the mirror, studying her annoyingly endearing pout to gauge her seriousness. “Would you?”
Sandrone sputtered at the realization that she was seriously asking for confirmation, confirmation of love. Her hand froze, the brush held helplessly entangled as her system basically short-circuited, faced with such a vulnerable demand.
“I would love you if you were a worm,” Columbina said when she took a moment too long to answer, her wings drooping sadly. She lowered the novel into her lap, her pearlescent eyes shining with affection that paralyzed Sandrone with its intensity. “I'd make you a nice little home and keep you safe in my pocket when I took you out with me.”
“You don't have pockets,” Sandrone replied lamely, her genius brain still struggling to comprehend this ridiculous situation. Her key audibly clicked at a furious pace, betraying her flustered state.
“I'd make some, just for you,” Columbina replied, resolute.
“Urgh,” Sandrone couldn't stop herself from grumbling, squeezing her eyes shut to block her view of the goddess’ sickening devout gaze.
Columbina's claim was deadly serious and genuine, and that made it all the more terrifying: the reality of her “best friend's” devotion. Leave it to Columbina to turn such a dumb question into a heartfelt confession.
“Fine, o-okay,” Sandrone conceded, setting the brush down and gathering an unnecessary breath. “Hypothetically–”
“Of course, this is all completely hypothetical,” Columbina interrupted, and Sandrone twisted around on her stool to give her a wicked glare.
Columbina smiled that infuriating, serene smile back.
“Co-lum-bina,” Sandrone warned, her characteristic growl rolling up her throat.
“I'm sorry, continue,” the Moon Goddess said placatingly.
Sandrone huffed, turning back around to cross her arms and haughtily upturn her chin.
“Hypothetically, if you turned into a worm… I would still… l-love you.” She finally answered sheepily.
Sandrone's stomach dropped at her Freudian slip, her eyes widening in horror as she witnessed Columbina visibly brighten. Her wings twitched excitedly, and her eyes shone like stars.
“Still? Meaning you love me now as I am?”
Oh Archons, I really just said that?! Sandrone screamed internally, her key spinning madly and face warming rapidly.
“I-I didn't say that!” Sandrone practically screeched in denial.
“Too late, I've burned it into my memory, and I have an excellent memory,” Columbina giggled.
“No, you don't! You have the memory of a squirrel and the thinking capacity of an acorn!” Sandrone grumbled, struggling to cool herself down and regain control of her frazzled emotions. She was overheating now, steam seeping from her joints. The puppet gathered another calming breath, one of her brows ticking upward.
“I'm sorry for upsetting you, dearest Sandrone,” Columbina cooed as she set the light novel aside on the nightstand, mirth coloring her words. “Come to bed, you're practically finished with your hair, aren't you?”
Come to bed, she says like a needy lover to their partner. Sandrone scoffed internally, the corner of her mouth twitching as the words, the fantasy those words inspired, flashed across her mind.
“Fine,” the doll retorted, defeated, and rose to stand. She refused to meet Columbina's eyes as she padded toward the bed and joined her beneath her favorite quilt, the one with gears decorating it.
Sandrone settled on her side, her cheeks still glowing, facing Columbina, who mirrored her position. The goddess beamed at her when their gazes met, wordlessly offering a hand. Sandrone accepted, her lips pressed together to smother her own smile. Warmth from Columbina’s palm seeped into her artificial skin. This was, embarrassingly, a part of her rigid nightly routine lately, falling asleep hand in hand with Columbina.
“I’ll miss you, Sandrone,” The Moon Goddess uttered softly, suddenly melancholy. Her fingers tightened, giving a reassuring squeeze. She was referring to Sandrone’s inevitable return to Snezhnaya, which was fast approaching.
“It’s not like I’m leaving forever, dummy. Snezhnograd and Nod Krai aren’t that far apart,” She retorted, returning the gesture.
“Still, I’ll miss you,” Columbina murmured, her eyes sliding shut. “Visit me often, okay? Good night, Sandrone.”
“Good night, Columbina,” Sandrone returned tenderly, surrendering to sleep.