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What kind of power would one need to undo something they couldn't take back?
Aline turned the thought over, again and again, in the hopes that, perhaps, she might've found an answer if she pressed hard enough. If there was a place where time could be rewound, she would have turned heaven and earth for it by now. She would have gone back and stopped herself before she sank too far, before she pulled the rest of them down with her, before any of it could touch them.
Except there was no such power, and there was no such place. There was only the familiar crackling of a fireplace and it's warmth engulfing her, gently carrying Aline's senses and laying them into her body. She remained still for a moment, breathing it in, letting herself feel the room around her.
She noticed, then, the light weight that rested against her. Her gaze lowered slowly onto the white strands that spread across her lap, catching the firelight in soft glints.
No. This cannot be. Aline felt the colour drain from her face. Months. It had been months since Verso's Canvas was destroyed. She had lived through every single one of them, carried them, endured them. This... the girl could simply not be real. Her hand shifted without deciding she wanted to move, fingers hovering uncertainly, hesitating, before she pressed a faint touch to the crown of the girl's head.
She was real.
"...Alicia?"
The girl stirred at the sound of her name, pushing herself to sit upright. The lower half of her face was concealed. Aline's brows drew together before she could stop them, the reaction more instinctive than thought.
How many times had the stubborn girl been told? How many times had Aline, or her father, or her brother said it? Her hand lifted from Alicia's hair and moved to her cheek. Her thumb brushing lightly along the edge of the mask, before settling more firmly.
"Must I always repeat myself, Alicia." She said, her lips thinning around the words as she removed it away. "You do not need to hide your scars. You are not a monster."
The mask came off easily in her hand, and Aline set it aside without looking. Underneath, the underserved damage was there as she remembered it, impossible to look at without thinking of the night a fire took down their home and everything in it. Shame twisted her gut, she wished it would fill up her lungs too, swallow her whole until she couldn't breathe any more.
Alicia's pale-grey eye remained fixed on her mother, held with such clear feeling in it that it almost hurt to meet it. There was so much she wanted to say. But Alicia let the moment settle instead of forcing it.
She smiled faintly, ever so patient, and raised a hand, touching two fingers lightly over her heart, before reaching for Aline's hand; I understand.
Before Aline could say anything, Alicia was already standing, tugging in a gentle urge for her mother to follow along. Aline let herself be led without protest, weaving their fingers together. She glanced around as they crossed the open space side by side, her gaze catching on the little music corner Alicia seemed to be guiding her toward.
Clea's harp stood tall to the side. The guitar leaned against the wall nearby. Renoir's accordion sat untouched on the side table. Alicia steered her toward the piano bench and pressed lightly at her shoulder until she sat. Only then did she slip in beside her.
Aline stared at the keys, uncertain, hands folded in her lap. It had been a long time since she'd last played. Longer than she would've liked to admit. The weight of it settled into her shoulders, into her fingers, making them feel stiff before she had even touched anything.
Alicia nudged her arm.
Aline turned her head slightly. Her daughter was leaned in, pulling Aline's forearm toward herself. She began to tap over the fabric in a rhythm, mimicking the movement of keystrokes. Aline watched her, tracking each motion. It took a second before recognition settled in. It was piece she wanted to hear.
"You remember that one?" Aline questioned.
Alicia glanced up at her, an expectant raise in her eyebrows. She repeated the pattern once more, a little more deliberate this time. Aline couldn't help the quiet laugh that came out.
"Very well." She murmured, more to herself than anything else and lifted her hands.
The first notes came out softer than she intended, her fingers pressed down too carefully. She adjusted, tried again, falling into the piece gradually, letting the familiarity carry her where her thoughts couldn't interfere as much.
Beside her, Alicia swayed gently, her arm brushing Aline's every time she rocked into her side, head tilting just slightly as she did. Aline couldn't help but sway along. The girl had always had something magical about her, so wonderfully contagious, a magnet attracting everyone around her into her orbit.
After a moment, Alicia pushed up from the bench, her footsteps soft against the floor as she moved away from the piano and out into open the space.
Aline watched the girl dance ahead of her. Each step flowed into the next, her arms lifting and falling in time with the music. She turned once, then again, her feet swirling gracefully over the floor, before she shifted her weight the other way. A small smile stayed on her face the entire time. She just... looked happy.
Aline kept playing, but the ache in her chest kept growing. It was there in the music, in the sight of Alicia laughing without sound, in the way the girl moved with such lightness and ease.
Guilt washed over her. For Alicia. For the years she had stolen from her and the life she had forced her daughter to carry with that injury, that silence, that pain. For Renoir too, she had let so many things harden between them. And Clea, who was made a puppet and a prisoner. And Verso--
Her hands pressed harder into the keys without meaning to.
Verso had paid for all of it. And no matter how much she turned it over in her mind, she could never reach a place where the grief made what she had done acceptable.
Aline's vision blurred. She blinked hard and tried to keep going, but the tears would not stay back. They gathered too quickly, spilling over her cheeks.
She had painted them all, clinging onto her grief and called it love until it swallowed everything else. The choices she made were ones she could not undo, and then lived with the wreckage of them. Now even this--this impossible, gentle moment, felt borrowed from a life she had no right to touch.
Her hands faltered. A few notes slipped wrong under her fingers, until the melody broke.
Aline squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders trembling. She tried to breathe through it and failed.
Alicia slowed down, stopping when the music did. She crossed back to her side in a few quick steps, all that grace gone only because she was worried now, her hand coming up to rest against Aline's arm as she leaned in to look at her face. Her brows had pinched together in concern, her mouth parting as though she might try to speak, even knowing she could not. She touched Aline's wrist, then her cheek, so, so gently, trying to catch her mother's attention the only way she could.
A little noise came out of Alicia's throat; Don't cry Maman, you can play a different piece if you want.
Aline pulled her in, folding into the embrace without care for how sudden it was, arms wrapping around her, one hand pressing firmly between her shoulder blades, the other gripping at the fabric at her back. She pressed her nose into Alicia's hair.
"I'm sorry." Her fingers tightened, bunching the cloth under her hands. "I'm so, so sorry. You didn't deserve any of that. You deserved so much more."
Alicia moved her arms, resting them against Aline's back. One of them curled slightly into the fabric there, holding on just as tightly, though for a different reason.
A tear slipped free from her eye, trailing down the curve of her cheek. It caught briefly along the uneven, dipped skin. She let Aline hold her like that, and let her cry. Her head shifted just enough to lean more comfortably against her shoulder
After a while, Alicia gently eased herself back, just enough to look at her mother properly. One hand stayed where it was, the other lifted, her thumb brushing lightly at Aline's cheek, smearing away the path carved by tears.
Her expression softened, holding no trace of blame, free of everything that should've been there. She smiled, her eye bright even through the lingering wetness, and shook her head; There's nothing to apologise for.
The words forced themselves behind the tightness in Aline's chest and stuck there. They did not help.
Alicia held her gaze for a moment longer, then stepped away, turning toward the small side table near the piano. She pulled open the drawer with a quiet scrape of wood, rummaging briefly before taking out a worn journal and a pen. Aline recognised it. She had seen Alicia use this so many times before as she learned how to make herself understood again with no voice.
Alicia came back and sat close beside her again, their thighs touched. She flipped the journal open across her lap, steadied it with one hand, and began to write. She turned the page toward Aline.
I'm with Papa, and Clea, and Verso.
Aline's eyes dropped to the words. Her fingers tightened against her own knees, nails pressing into the fabric. She looked up, searching Alicia's face for confirmation beyond the words. Alicia nodded and moved onto another line. Aline leaned in without realising it, attention fixed on every movement of the pen.
Verso has Julie now, she's with us too. And Clea and Simon are together again.
Aline's breath caught, a broken little sound. Alicia was already continuing with a faint smile tugging at her mouth.
Verso won't stop teasing Clea when she gets all lovey-dovey, but then she doesn't let him get away, always saying he's the exact same with Julie.
A small scoff left Aline, almost turning into a laugh. She could see the image clearly. Verso with that cheeky little look he got when he thought he was being cleve,r while Clea pretended not to be affected, only to immediately snap back at him.
Alicia watched her, seemingly pleased by the reaction, and wrote the next sentence.
Papa's lion and I play all the time. Sometimes, I ride on his back while he runs really fast.
Alicia's smile widened a little, her shoulders lifting just slightly with the memory of it. She added another line beneath it.
It's so much fun.
Aline tried to picture that too, Alicia clinging onto the silver mane, wind blowing through her hair and smiling like nothing else the world mattered. Her vision blurred again.
Alicia looked at her, before she pressed the pen down for the last line. She paused for a second before turning the journal toward her again.
We're all fine, Maman.
We're alright.
Aline stared at the words. She had to read them twice before she could make herself to look away. Her chest hurt too much. Her eyes hurt too much. Everything in her hurt in a way that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with relief.
She had spent so long, so long, carrying the shape of her guilt, that to be told, plainly and without hesitation, that the people she had thought lost were all right, was just, overwhelming.
Alicia was watching her with quiet care, her head tilted slightly as if she were waiting to see whether she needed anything else. Aline shook her head once, though tears still slid down her face.
"I missed you." She said, and it was barely more than a whisper.
Alicia closed the journal carefully in her lap, then leaned in and pressed her forehead briefly against Aline's temple. They stayed like that, for a few passing minutes, merely enjoying each other's company.
A voice carried in from the hallway.
"Alicia."
Both of them looked up.
Aline's heart dropped to her stomach.
Renoir stood there with one hand resting on his cane, his dark coat secured over his shoulders in the way it always did. He looked exactly as she had made him in so many ways and yet, somehow, more himself here than he had ever been in the Canvas. His expression was warm when he saw them, soft around the eyes.
"Come now. It's time to go."
The words came gently, but they held finality.
Alicia's fingers tightened briefly against Aline's sleeve before she let go. She looked back at her, and there was something in her eyes that made Aline understand before anything was said. Alicia reached for the journal again, flipping it open quickly. Her pen moved fast, the lines a little less neat than the ones above them.
I have to go now.
The words fuzzed out for a second, Aline had to blink hard to clear them.
And Maman, you need to go too. You still have your family, you still have your Alicia. Talk to her.
Aline felt the sharp sting of her nails digging into her palms. She made herself unclench.
Talk to her.
The thought settled heavy in her chest, bringing with it everything she had been avoiding for far too long. Aline let out a slow, unsteady breath.
"...I don’t know how," she said quietly. "I don't know if she'll even want to hear it."
The admission left her feeling exposed in a way she had not expected. Aline could face grief. She could face guilt. Facing forgiveness was harder, because it was asking for something she had never quite learned how to give herself.
Alicia reached over, took Aline's hand in both of hers, and gave it a single firm squeeze; You'll figure it out.
Aline looked down at their joined hands. Alicia's thumb moved once over her knuckles. It was almost ironic. She had spent so much of her life trying to be the one who knew what came next. Now she was being held up by the child she had once thought she needed to protect from everything.
Finally, Alicia closed the journal, set it carefully on the piano, and rose to her feet. Renoir held out his elbow for her. Alicia smiled up at him, and he returned the gesture. She looked back at Aline once more, then stepped forward and slipped her arm into his, walking beside him.
Aline pushed herself up from the bench almost immediately, the movement clumsy with how fast she did it. She wasn't ready for this part. She wasn't ready for them to walk away.
"Wait--"
Her steps quickened across the floor, past the piano and the table and the scattered instruments that had filled the silence so many times before. The front door was open ahead of them, and beyond it the courtyard waited in stillness.
She reached the threshold just as they stopped a few steps outside.
Renoir and Alicia turned back to her, smiling. Something beneath her ribs contracted. Here, in this dream, they stood over the same spot that would have held Verso's grave.
Aline took a step forward, her hands half-lifting like she might reach for them, but she couldn't. Something shifted behind them. Aline's gaze flickered past Renoir's shoulder--
--and then she saw them.
All of them.
Verso stood behind them with Julie tucked at his side, one arm draped around her shoulders. Clea was there too, standing beside Simon, their hands entwined together like they had long ago stopped worrying about who might see. Renoir's lion was nearby too, massive and sleepy, with a deep yawn that pulled its head up for a second before it settled again.
They were all there.
Together.
They looked at her, and one by one, they smiled.
A sound left her before she could stop it, something caught between a laugh and a sob as her hand came up to cover her mouth. Her shoulders shook, the emotion too much to hold back. Aline tried to memorise it, every face and every small detail, trying to hold on to them with her eyes alone. She didn't want to lose this.
"Please--" She didn't even know what she was begging for. Maybe just for a little bit more time.
But the petals had already began to peel away from their bodies, drifting in soft handfuls. Red lifted from Verso's sleeves, from the edges of Alicia's uniform and Renoir's shoulders, from Clea's hair and Julie's hands and even from the lion's broad back. The air filled with them as they rose, turning and spinning as they went.
Aline watched, transfixed, as they climbed higher and higher, carried upward as though they had finally been set free from the place that had held them. Up toward the open sky. Up toward the stars. Toward whatever had always waited beyond the edge of Alicia's reach, beyond the grief, beyond the Canvas.
And then, they were gone.
Aline's lashes stuck briefly before she fluttered them open. There was a dampness cooling along her cheeks that she could not ignore no matter how still she stayed. Her hand shifted weakly against the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric. Home. She was home.
The dream still clung to her.
The bedroom door opened, but she barely registered the sound before Renoir was already crossing the distance between them, his expression shifting the second he saw her face.
"Mon coeur..." he murmured, the words soft with concern.
One hand came to her shoulder, the other brushing back the hair stuck to her damp cheek.
Aline let out a broken sound and turned into into him without any dignity at all, her hands grabbing at his golden vest as she pulled herself close. Her body folded in on itself, her face pressed into his chest, and the sob that tore out of her came without restraint.
She wept. And wept. And wept.
Renoir held her through it. He didn't ask her to explain or press for answers. He only stayed there, a solid support, his hand rubbing slow circled against her back as she cried into him.
She stayed like that for a long time. When she finally managed to breathe evenly again, it felt like something inside her had been scraped raw.
. . . . . . .
Later, when the house had settled back into its usual quiet, Aline found Alicia in the glasshouse.
She was expecting to walk into her bent over a watering can, or crouched beside a planter with her book tucked under one arm, or carefully pruning leaves. Aline paused just near the top of the stairway, allowing her eyes adjust to the filtered light.
Alicia was not tending to the plants at all. Instead, she had dragged one of the chairs closer to the centre of the room, away from its usual place by the table, sitting with her feet planted loosely on the floor. Esquie was hugged close against her chest, one arm looped around the creature.
That toy hadn't left her side since the Canvas. Not once.
Aline watched her for a moment longer than she'd meant to.
She was staring upward through the glass ceiling, chin tipped a little back, her expression far away, caught in some quiet, distant thought. It was a sight Aline wasn't used to. The sunlight caught on the scars across her face and on the edge of the missing eye. Alicia was no less beautiful than she had once been before the fire.
She stepped forward slowly, not wanting to startle the girl. The soft sound of her shoes against the floor was enough to draw Alicia's attention eventually. Her gaze shifted from the ceiling down to her, and then slipped behind something more guarded. Her shoulders pulled in slightly, her grip on Esquie tightening just a little.
A wave of anger flashed through Aline at herself. Had she done such a poor job a mother that her daughter was looking at her like she expected nothing more than a scolding or disappointment?
Wordlessly, Aline crossed the glasshouse and reached out. Her hand hovered for a heartbeat, giving Alicia time to pull away if she wanted to. When she did not, Aline wrapped her arms around her daughter and drew her in. Alicia went very stiff.
"It's alright." Aline mumbled, though her voice still carried a rasp from earlier. "It's just me.'
A beat passed. Then after a moment, she softened into the embrace.
Alicia let out a careful breath, a small release of tension in her shoulders, and let her head rest against her mother's chest. Aline closed her eyes and held on more tightly, one hand settling between Alicia's shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head.
She had spent too long fearing what Alicia might think of her. She herself was afraid of the distance that had grown between them, unsure of the possibility that her daughter had begun to see her as something cold and unreachable.
The guilt sat with her even now. It lived in the pauses between them and all the things left unsaid, in the memories of how much pain there had been in this house.
And yet Alicia was here, in her arms, safe and alive.
The daughter she painted had told her to talk to her, so she would. It wasn't going to be easy, nor something that could be done all at once. But she would start here, with this, with holding Alicia close and not looking away.
Hidden from Aline's view, a small smile touched Alicia's face.