𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

─ 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡

𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐘

━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

SHE HAD YET TO LEAVE HIS SIDE, constantly watching over him as if she was a guardian angel watching over a loved one. Every time he would fall asleep she would be at his side making sure he was alright, every time he would wince or show a sign of pain she was there to help it go away, and every time he got lost in his thoughts she was beside him for support. In her eyes, he should not be alone at this time.

And Wilbur, though weakened and vulnerable, showed gratitude at the small actions. He hadn't openly talked about any of it, he spoke nothing of how he ended up leaving nor how he ended up wandering the snow aimlessly. They tried to ask but he gave no response. Then they tried again the next day and there was still no response. By today, the second day, they had given up asking and accepted the fact that he wouldn't talk about it for a while.

But deep down each one knew what happened. The wounds littering his arms and the faint bruises on his shoulders and legs explained it all. He needn't explain, his silence spoke for him and it cut deeper than words could express. It pained Azalea, it pained them all, knowing only the outcome and only a vague thought of the cause.

There were moments where she caught him waking up from a night terror. Sweat trickling down his forehead and the panic scribbled over him. Those were the worst aspects of the two days. Not only was he tense but it would take a few seconds for him to even realize he was fully awake and in reality. Azalea more often than not had to hold him, despite the spurts of panic and the occasional clawing at her skin. She still had scratch marks on her forearm. The calm came afterwards when he came to his sense as best he could.

The morning after Techno or Tubbo would opt to switch with her for the time being but she always refused. A part of her still felt responsible for him and his capture. If only she never went to the masquerade...Wilbur would never have gotten put into the cell and into the hand of Schlatt. Would they still be in the cavern if she never went?

These thoughts swam in her head as she went to get dressed. Rather quickly she put on the light brown, almost a honey brown color in the firelight, trousers she had been loaned. For it had been years since she had even worn a pair of trousers. It always nagged at her in the back of her mind why most times it was not socially acceptable for a woman to wear pants. It was always women wearing the dress and the men wearing the pants, why couldn't it be equal and people wear whatever they choose? Of course, she loved wearing a dress as much as the next person, but it always seemed to get under her skin. Hastily, Azalea put on the cotton white button down next realizing how a soft material it was. Quite possibly the shirt was the softest piece of clothing she had worn in months. Tucking the shirt in, she ran a hand through her hair and tried her best to purge herself of the tangles and knots. Truthfully, long hair was such a pain. It may be pretty sometimes but the amount of care and effort it takes to maintain it was far too grueling.

Once done she made her way back down the ladder to the ground floor, passing by Tommy and Tubbo and returning to where Wilbur was. Techno was beside him, quietly helping him rebandage parts of himself. She stood and leaned against the bookshelf, finding it best to not interrupt.