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The inside of the Temple of Wishes was quiet as the sunrise slowly illuminated the Grand Millewish Tree. However, Avicinda, the newly-appointed Captain of the Paladins, was already out and about, fussing over his business in silence of the morning; today, he was tasked with something incredibly important.
First step of his task was intimidating enough: wake the Wish Master up. Chigda was a known night owl, always buried in a pile of books which Avicinda had noticed before he entered his chambers. He quietly floated over across the room, his gaze reluctantly falling on the sleeping Chigda sprawled in his disproportionately big bed, his body tangled in the mess of the blanket, face tucked into the pillow thrice the size of his head. In his sleep, he seemed to be softly mumbling something; Avicinda tried not to listen, but his ear still caught a trace of Chigda's voice:
"Avi…" It rang, a soft sigh.
Avicinda's ears gave a slight flutter, his blush lighting up the room with pale blue. This probably didn't mean anything — their feelings were no more, after all. But then, why was Avicinda's heart aching as he watched Chigda slumbering?
"Ahem…" Avicinda cleared his throat, then hovered closer to Chigda. "My lord, good morning."
The Wish Master stirred and turned in bed, before he slowly opened his eyes. Avicinda noticed the blotches of dark violet on his face instead of the shining stars, and his eyelid twitched as he suppressed a gasp.
"Good morning, Avicinda," yawned Chigda, his exhausted eyes pointed at the Captain. "I see you have taken your duties seriously."
Avicinda gave a nod in response. "I try my best to always do so," he said; after a brief pause, however, he averted his one good eye and added: "My lord, are you sure you're ready to face the Dream Warehouse keeper today?"
"Do you doubt my abilities?" Asked Chigda as he slid out of bed, steadying himself in the air sluggishly. "What makes you feel that way?"
Looking up again, Avicinda couldn't help but be worried out if his mind. Chigda's Desperation Syndrome only worsened with each day, and, sometimes, Avicinda frankly wasn't sure if this was a worthy sacrifice. But he couldn't say this out loud, never — he had tried, only to get punished for it. The trace of the wound on his shoulder inflicted by Desperate Vines still hurt in a way only a wound inflicted by Lord Chigda could; a mark of Avicinda's mistake. To be devoted, to care for Chigda, meant to be in pain.
"Avicinda? Now is not the time to daydream." Chigda's voice steadied Avicinda's hazy mind. "It's early. Have you gotten any sleep yourself?"
The answer was a definitive "no". Instead, Avicinda spent yet another night looking for a cure to Desperation Syndrome in the ancient texts left by wiser fairies of a past long gone, only to find nothing. "I have, yes," he lied, despite.
"Well, you do not look like you have. Look at yourself. Your brooch is crooked, your uniform is a mess…" A vine stretched out from behind the bed, delicately fixing the shining star brooch on Avicinda's chest. "There we go. I didn't hire those Stylists to design your uniform for you to make a mess out of it like that."
Avicinda found himself blushing head to toe, his ears twitching just enough for Chigda to notice. With a soft hum, he continued fixing the fabric of the uniform, straightening the hood on Avicinda's head with a vine. There was a certain care in its touch, as if it was Chigda's very own hand. "My lord," said Avicinda, hiding his own bashfulness by making himself look and sound as plain as possible. "You must get ready for the meeting as well. Your face…"
"I know," smiled Chigda, a subtle pain in his eyes that only Avicinda could see. "This is why I have a favor to ask of you."
"To help you conceal Desperation Syndrome's influence, right? Perhaps it would be easier if I attended this meeting instead…"
"No. You may accompany me, but I must be present," Chigda cut, his Wish Master's sensibilities showing themselves despite his condition. Avicinda couldn't help but admire that. "Some makeup on my face should be enough."
And so, Avicinda sat his lord down in front of the large mirror in the chamber, the Aurosa flowers framing the Wish Master's visage, as if mocking the twists of his fate. The makeup made of Glimmergrass pigment powder matched the blue of Chigda's healthier skin perfectly. Hovering in front of him, Avicinda gently dipped a brush into the powder, and dabbed it against the purple stains on Chigda's face; softly, yet Chigda still hissed in pain, making Avicinda yank his hand away.
"Ah– I'm sorry," he sighed. "Perhaps a professional makeup artist is more well-suited for this."
"Avicinda," Chigda pierced Avicinda with his gaze through the mirror. "Nobody is more well-suited for this than you. Keep going."
There was one thing Avicinda had known very well by now: Lord Chigda despised being touched by any other being, Faewish Sprites and humans alike. He even knew exactly why: the very same reason why Avicinda needed touch like air. Two opposites that were the same at their cores, igniting a soft spark between them every time Avicinda's brush touched Chigda's skin.
"Let me turn your head a little," said Avicinda, letting his palm press against Chigda's cheek and softly turn his lord's head, feeling the eerily cold skin flush with warmth and start glowing as their gazes met. They lingered like this, a moment that lasted too long, and Avicinda noticed how dim the glow in Chigda's eyes was, how much life had been drained from those eyes. Soon enough, Chigda's long ears twitched and his eyelids narrowed, as he tried his hardest to show Avicinda an obviously fake pout.
"Stop that. Just do what you are tasked with," muttered Chigda, moving his face away in an attempt to hide his glowing cheeks. "Hurry up and get this over with."
Of course. Avicinda should've stayed focused on the task at hand, as much as his concern for Chigda tried to derail him. Soon enough, he finished applying the powder foundation; Chigda's ears twitched and trembled every time the brush dabbed against his tarnished skin. He must've been in pain, thought Avicinda. A pain that was beyond an average fairy's imagination, one that only Chigda knew. But then, why did Avicinda feel such warmth radiating from his lord's face?
"Ahem. The foundation is done. You look well enough," said Avicinda, as dry as he could muster, then moved out of the way to let Chigda look in the mirror.
"Hmm," Chigda narrowed his eyes again, inspecting the makeup. "Perfect. Except…my lips still look too purple."
"Mm." The hum Avicinda let out was meant to be in agreement, but it came out of his throat a little forced, a little broken. Just like that, all the effort Avicinda applied to not stare at Chigda's lips crumbled as he glanced at Chigda's reflection.
And he wondered if he'd be allowed to kiss at least the image of Chigda in the mirror.
"I'm not stupid, you know," said Chigda, averting his gaze from the reflection, as if the sight of his own face was too disgusting to stand. "I can tell you're thinking about your feelings for me." His voice dropped — from the overly-confident, somewhat arrogant Lord Chigda, beloved by all Faewish Sprites, to the lonely, deeply unloved Paladin he used to be. Avicinda's eye still was on Chigda's face in the mirror.
"Do you still feel like you don't deserve those feelings I hold?" Avicinda allowed himself to lean closer, his breathless voice caressing Chigda's face like warm, gentle trace of wind. "You are our hero. My hero, Lord Chigda."
Avicinda felt Chigda's breath hitch, but he never moved away. "I am undeserving of such title… Not until I can…achieve true divinity and free us all from the ever-present shadow of a god long gone," he whispered, as if The Wishing One could still hear those words. This would be considered an unforgivable act of blasphemy by all Faewish Sprites, but not Avicinda; the plan a secret they shared, their unbreakable bond.
"It is a noble goal," said Avicinda in response, his hand hovering over Chigda's hair; thorny dark vines have already started sprouting there, from his head, such a stark contrast to the soft crystalline curls. He then went silent, weighing every word he could possibly say. However, he never lied — he did think the goal noble; but was it worth it to destroy yourself over? It was clear as day that soon enough, Chigda as Avicinda knew him would be gone, painfully aware of despair's influence on Faewish Sprites.
Chigda gave a timid smile, his hand brushing against Avicinda's. "If we linger any longer, the Dream Warehouse keeper will have to wait for us."
Responding promptly with a nod, Avicinda reached out to pull Chigda's hood over his head, concealing the thorns, then attached the star brooch to the fabric of the Wish Master robes on his chest, sheer reverence in every touch, every gesture, every breath he took. He gazed into the mirror again, trying to see if Chigda looked healthy enough, and something in his chest ached.
The reflection of Chigda smiled, bittersweet. "Don't worry, Avicinda. One day, we shall watch the Aurosa bloom…together."