Chapter Text
There is this scent, that almost brings back long-forgotten memories. The sun-kissed cobblestones under her feet, the herbal tinge of grass and wildflowers, alongside the slight tang of ewe's manure. As she stands in front of the north gate, Mauve slowly relaxes her grip on her suitcase and breathes in. It tastes like childhood. Cobber'Thalade is just as she always thought it would be: its high ramparts tucking in tight rows of narrow houses, organized in two quaint streets. The walls are ancient and thick, built hundreds of years ago. Ivy strands licking the outlines of crooked gutters, outside stairs carved in stone leading to various front doors, potted plants often found on their side to greet the idle rambler. She notices several shop owners curiously looking at her as she makes her way to a house in the middle of Straight Street, and stops when she meets the towering wisteria growing at the base of the stairs.
She fumbles for the keys in her satchel and climbs the stairs, stopping in front of the door. It is quite small, hovering a few centimeters above her head and so is the ceiling once she enters, albeit it does stand a bit higher. The place is dim and abandoned, as she knew it would be. Her grandmother died a few years ago, and with the strained relationship she had with Mauve's father, it is not surprising he left it to deteriorate. Opening the wooden shutter of the living room, she lets the warm late spring air swirl around heavy puffs of dust. Taking away the protective sheets on the furniture, coughing yet more clouds of grayish powder, she places them outside on the small bench that lies in the angle of the stairs. Going through the same motions upstairs, she is relieved to see that the bed is still intact. It has been years since she last came here. So many years in fact, that she barely even remembers the place.
After getting most of the dirt out with the aid of an old broom that seems almost startled to be used, Mauve quietly unpacks her suitcase. It takes up a lot of space, and sure is heavy enough to make her sweat, but there is almost nothing there. A few clothes, her journal, phone and laptop, the memory box, and some of her favorite books to not dwell too much on the loneliness of it all. It is all that's left of her previous life and the chaotic mess that it was. She opens the cupboards one by one, realizing that all of her grandma's belongings are still there. Sheets, towels, clothes. Nothing had been moved. She finds her jewelry box in the nightstand, the slight buzzing of the once-imbued objects the only reminder of who she was. A Maux, just like her, although Mauve isn't sure what she would be called now. A professional ostrich maybe, for sticking her head in the sand is the only thing preventing her from breaking down. A deaf Sentient. A shadow of her former self.
Even though wallowing in self-pity could be considered a reasonable hobby given her history, she cannot let it distract her from her plan, which consists in transforming this dust-castle into a livable place. That begins with reopening the water and electricity, along with crossing her fingers for the washing machine to still be functional. There is one more room she didn't check, and that's the old sheepfold. Descending the outside stairs to the street level, she opens the low double doors and checks the lights.
Thank the Well the electricity still runs. The floor there isn't even covered with tiles, and the same uneven stones as the wall dig in the sole of her sandals. It had been repurposed already, as Grandma wasn't a shepherd but a woodcarver. There are workbenches on either side, old machinery and tools that seem to be grouped by indiscernible clusters, paintbrushes and different oils, along with rows and rows of covered-up boards. Mauve doesn't have the will to uncover them just yet. But tucked in a corner, next to a sink, is indeed an old and cranky-looking washing machine. It groans and rumbles but to her delight, seems to accept the dusty sheets and begins its work. Not so sure the old detergent still holds any cleaning properties though. Through the French doors adjacent to the sink, Mauve takes in the state of the garden. As expected, overgrown would be the understatement of the century for describing the jungle that grew there. She can still somewhat discern what remains of a vegetable patch, alongside a barely visible bench and a birdhouse. She can almost hear them, like an amputee can sometimes feel phantom pain in a severed limb. Averting her eyes away, she resumes getting out, still hearing the remnants of the Earth's Chant on her way up.
While the grumpy washer does its thing, Mauve gets ready to go to the village's store. She'll need all the basics and then some. Fortunately, the small shop seems to have every primary necessity, along with a curiously wide variety of cleaning products. She is certainly not going to complain and comes back armed to the teeth, ready to take on every rebellious nook and cranny. She is careful not to upset the spiders too much though; silent roommates that gorge on mosquitos are exactly the kind of company she craves. She used to feel these things, emanating from all beings but now, she will just have to be careful not to crush them. Thanks to the rather low ceiling, she is even able to wash the top of the semi-circled, copper light above the dining table. Nothing is left untouched and by the time she finishes, the day is setting and she still has the sheets to tend to. Mauve doesn't have anything to hang them so— doors it is.
After fixing a quick meal, she skims through every book left in this house. There are cookbooks, old magazines, some romance novels and, tucked in a corner, her grandma's notes on gardening. She'll have to learn, she realizes. Long gone are the days when she could just hear and breathe life for all the matters of the earth. Speaking of which, Mauve opens her leather satchel and takes a vial filled with a golden liquid. She'll soon need more Everlasting flowers and it is no coincidence she decided to move here, of all places, where this specific type of flower just grows widely, pretty much everywhere. Although, running away is most definitely a bonus. She instantly feels the magic settling low, low within herself and the slight buzz in her fingertips. The headache will soon follow, but it is a small price to pay to stay away from this damned Well, and her own arrogance. Because it is most definitely this arrogance that led her to believe she could cure Cobalt. Even thinking his name feels like a knife brutally stabbing her chest, hot shame creeping up the sides of her head.
Nope, not going there.
~*~
The stuffy odor won't leave her nostrils. She slept pretty well but as morning arose, Mauve had to open the shutters again to finally breathe something else than dust and (possibly although, let's hope not) mold. The lingering headache dissipates as she sips her coffee, continuing to read her Grandma's notes. She really wants to do something for this garden, but also wants this house to feel like hers. Because she will not come back to the city, not when the person she loves the most: her little brother, is staying in one of the Safe Houses in an almost-nearby village. Not that she'll ever visit – oh, no – the guilt would crush her. But because this is the closest thing she'll have from closure, and because the cursed life she lived before moving needs to end somehow. Because she cannot bear to look at herself in the same disastrous setting. So, the setting needs to change.
That would begin by getting a clear view of what she wants to keep, and what she'll have to change. She's no artist, so something functional and not too hard to look at will do. Change the black and white tiles into a wooden floor. Having a well-equipped kitchen, with an integrated oven. A gaming setup? Not that she has friends here to play with. This thought simultaneously relieves and annoys her, but now isn't the time to contemplate the paradoxes of her tripping mind. This kind of renovation will take time, and money... but she has both, and an irrepressible urge to not stand still. She's also curious about the village, the shops she saw when she arrived seemed to have quite the array of goods to sell. It got her curious plus, she needs to know what she's working with. Getting familiar with her surroundings. She grabs a long, lilac linen dress from her drawer. It is plain but the ribbons cinching it at her waist complement her curves nicely.
Heading outside, she begins to observe. Mauve has always been pretty quiet by nature, largely preferring to stand aside and watch instead of participate. Maybe that's why she used to rely on substances to socialise. Every shop follows roughly the same pattern as her house: store at street-level, living space up the outside stairs. Plants follow along, often in intricately designed pots, sceneries carved in clay, sometimes colorful or just textured, some taken care of, some left to dry under the mid-june sun. She should have brought a hat. But she is pleased to realize there are clothes, food, knives, crystals and a bunch of other things available. She wasn't expecting it, for a place that small. Her tracks stop in front of a library, and take her through the entrance without her brain even registering.
“Welcome.” says a feminine, although pretty low voice from behind the counter.
“Hi.” she answers, her own voice somewhat unsteady. Meeting new people was never her forte.
The young woman sitting behind a screen approximately as old as Mauve's late Grandma, watches her beneath round glasses. The loose and fine light-brown curls move around her rosy face as she cocks her head to the side and asks:
“I've never seen you around here. Are you new?”
“Yup. Just moved in yesterday, in my Grandma's house. Maybe you knew her? It's the house with the wisteria.”
“Oh I see, old Ember's house. Everyone was devastated when she passed away, I'm sorry for your loss.” Her tone is clipped, and Mauve doesn't see much warmth in her icy blue stare. She almost feels like she is somehow intruding, which is rather unusual for someone strolling a bookstore.
“It's okay, it's been a while now.” she answers, not wanting to further continue this conversation.
“Did you... need anything?”
Mauve nods by the negative, and resumes watching the different stalls. There is variety, which she likes and she can tell that all the books have been carefully selected and placed. Not a speck of dust is covering them, which is a nice change from the previous day —to say the least. Posters are adorning the walls, to promote upcoming updates or the next event nearby, and little nooks had been carved inside the thick stone to put particularly nice editions of certain books, or decor and – oh well – more potted plants. There isn't one pot resembling the next. Mauve stops before one poster in particular, about the summer solstice. A gathering will take place in the village, and it is only in a few days. She contemplates on not going, but it will be quite hard to avoid given there must be around forty people total in this tiny, stone-carved place. She feels the librarian's stare on her back and resumes on finding what she came here to buy. The book isn't hard to find, nor is it considered literate. It's just a fantasy romance novel, a pretty famous one at that, so she doesn't take too long to find it. The librarian purses her lips while she scans it, adding as Mauve pays:
“I'm Béryl Payne, by the way. Cobber is small, you'll learn everyone's name soon enough.”
Now standing up, Béryl seems like barely a wisp. Petite, with very slim limbs but Mauve isn't duped by her appearance, for her eyes exude sharp intelligence in a no-bullshit, go-eat-horseshit kind of way. She still extends her delicate hand.
“Mauve Songe. Nice to meet you.” she answers, shaking the hand extended. A tight smile spreads on the other woman's lips, and Mauve wonders if Béryl is always that cold, or if she's just uncomfortable with introductions. Not that she could blame her really, if the dampened anxious knot rolling in her stomach is of any indication. Noting several ideas on what to buy next on her way out (this library is a Well sent gift), she steps out in the warm late-morning glow and heads to the south gate.
Beyond it lie fields of wildflowers, as far as the eye can see, overhung by the Mon'Thalma. The south hill stands proudly, covered in very recognizable specks of gold. She walks a small trail surrounded by box trees, thick moss covering the stones on each side until she reaches the base of the hill. Going up, she doesn't have to walk very far to find exactly what she's looking for. The small flowers grow in little clusters, life buzzing around them. She finds an especially stunning beetle with golden hues, just like the Everlasting it is landing on. Mauve delicately moves it so it stands on her finger, and quietly says:
“Sorry, I'm borrowing your home. I'm not taking them all, I promise.”
The little creature appears to be completely unbothered. Mauve wonders what it feels, trying to access her Soothing abilities even though they are well and completely smothered by the tonic she takes. She is gifted by the Well, they said, all the great things she can do! The Maux are Sentients capable of feeling and manipulating every living emotion, but the blessing doesn't stop here, for she also has the ability to hear the earth and command its forces. A Soupir, and a Maux. It isn't that unusual to have two Sentient's abilities. It was definitely enough for her to believe she could do things well above her skill set, pushed by the false belief that she was all special and capable. Capable of ruining her brother's life maybe, but not much else—she thinks. Her stomach turns at the thought, and a sharp, icy feeling cascades from her chest to the tip of her toes.
Not going there. It is her mantra these days.
Helping the beetle off her hand, she gathers a few Everlastings and puts them in her satchel before going back to the village. Deciding to go the long way around, she comes across a pottery shop just on the left of the only square inside the ramparts. The shopfront is filled with colorful pots, with two jasmines growing on each side. Mauve tries to peek inside, curious to see who crafts these specks of color everywhere, and behind the selling area, she catches a glimpse of black-nailed hands working their way up the clay on the wheel, a stained knee sticking out of the open back door. She moves slightly to the right, trying to gain a better angle, just a bit more, just...
“Hi there!”
The squeak that escapes her throat is quite embarrassing if she's honest, and when she turns around to see who's creeping up on her, she's greeted by two striking hazelnut eyes.
“You're the newcomer! Béryl told me. I'm Camille, her not-so-grumpy little brother. Mauve is that right?”
He extends his hand just like Béryl did, although in a much warmer way. He wears dark gloves that brush pleasantly on her skin, and a few tiny splashes of paint are splattered on the fine lines his easy grin draws. They don't have the same eyes at all but the dark blond, wispy strands curling all around the top part of his head sure look similar... and soft. Very, very soft. Mauve almost forgets herself before replying:
“Yes, that would be me. Nice to meet you.” She offers him a tentative smile, which is returned tenfold.
“Nice to meet you!” warmth. So much warmth it is unsettling. It reminds her of someone who's just a shadow of his former self, just like she is. It stings her heart and cradles it at the same time. There's a piercing on a dark eyebrow that quirks up when he adds:
“Are you settling in all right? This house hasn't seen the light of day for a long time. Sorry about your grandma by the way.”
It's all right; it really is. Mauve barely knew her thanks to the complicated relationship she had with her dad. She did send letters though, and visit her mom after they broke up... but not enough to really mourn her when she died although, maybe that part is on Mauve. Her father was grateful she asked to buy the house.
“Yeah the amount of dust in here was impressive. It's an old thing, I plan on doing some renovations to freshen it up a bit.”
“Damn, that's awesome! Do you need any help? I have a sense for these things. Comes with the whole messy-creative shebang I'm afraid.”
Camille winks, and Mauve is immediately at ease. He's an easy guy to talk to and the energy radiating from him is nothing but comforting. He seems like the artsy type indeed, his dark overalls showing bits of multicolored paint. A tote bag hangs from his shoulder, a sketchbook sticking out. She lets her gaze wander along the sun-kissed skin on his forearm, noting an arrangement of moles that almost looks like a star near his wrist and the thin tan line where his glove begins. She surely will need help someday; she never attempted a project like this before, as a van can't be compared to a whole house. Something dark and ugly is urging her to decline, because good things are not supposed to happen to people like her. He's too... solar, but rejecting him also feels wrong for some reason.
“Yeah, maybe I'll need the help someday. Thanks for offering.” She means it, even though needing the help doesn't include asking for it. A white lie. Another way of running away. She could almost be considered an expert escape artist at this point. His eyes narrow slightly before he says:
“I know where you live, you know. If I don't hear from you, I'll just come and check. You're one of us now! Oh, are you coming to the party?”
“The party?” She's too taken aback to even register that he just said he'll come if she plays dead.
“Yeah, for the Solstice! You know it's in... three days, right? There's never anything going on around here, this is the perfect opportunity for you to meet everyone. They'll all have stands, and there will be music, lots of food and alcohol, and just something else to do for once. I heard they'll have performers this year. So, you'll come?”
Oh no, this is hard. Camille is watching her with very expectant eyes, and saying no will definitely make that adorable smile disappear, she can sense it. Not having the willpower to face his disappointment, Mauve answers:
“Hm- yeah sure, sounds like... fun.” She's trying; she really is. That makes Camille snort, so her efforts weren't in vain at least. It shakes her bones in the best way.
“Oh come on! We don't bite. Here, I'll give you my number.” He grabs his sketchbook, tearing off a small piece of paper and shuffles through his bag to get a colored pencil out. The noise it makes leads Mauve to believe there are quite a lot of things in here, probably tossed at random. The colored pencil is pink, and his handwriting, very round. He adds:
“If you need anything. And I meant it, when I said I'll look for you. I'd be honored to be your first friend here.”
Friend. That sounds nice, and also very far away.
“Thank you. I'll send you a message then.” She probably won't. But she appreciates it nonetheless. His eyes crinkle, and the warmth envelops her again.
“See you around!”
With that, he nods at her one last time before entering the pottery shop, going in a straight line to the workshop behind, where he stands in front of a stained knee and painted hands and begins to talk. When he gestures towards her and turns his head, Mauve moves away and comes back home.