Chains of Violet

Chapter Seven (Part 3): A Dark and Stormy Night

(CW: Mentions of murder.)

Alone again in the living room, Edeline stared sightlessly through the bundle of clothes in her hands.

Gods. Had he always smiled like that?

Maybe he had. No, certainly he had, just... not at her.

She sighed sharply, putting her forehead on her knees.

At every turn, this night continued to be some variation of strange and overwhelming—the storm, losing control of her faculties, Brazen's sudden affable hospitality, his offer to hold her of all things. Any one of those circumstances would've been disquieting by itself, but all together-

Anxious shakes wracked her muscles, pulled them tight enough to hurt. She dragged in deep breaths through her nose and sighed them out. When she felt more in control, she picked up her head to gaze toward the kitchen.

Shadows cast by the lightstone shifted across the floor with the occasional creak or bump as Brazen moved around.

As perplexed as she was by his proposition, she sort of did want him to hold her. Even after how he'd kept her at arm's length, scrutinized her, accused her of being in collusion with Stockfish, the idea of weathering the rest of the storm in his embrace sounded ...nice. Safe. It shouldn't, but it did.

Gods, she was pathetic.

Edeline jumped as the ground under her drummed in sync with the thunder. She grit her teeth, hanging onto herself as the shock of it dispersed into the cyclone of her unrest. "All right, reel it in, Edeline," she huffed, then tremulously shifted through the pieces Brazen had brought her.

She sized up each article, stopping on a soft woolen knit tunic. Of the choices, this one paired with the pants would conceal her the most, hide most of her scars. She hung them over her arm and shakily lifted to her feet.

As she started to push her sleeves off her shoulders, a brief surge of panic over being seen coursed through her veins. While she reasoned with herself that Brazen didn't seem like the leering type, she still retreated to the far edge of the hearth, into the darkness.

The clothes fit about as well as she expected—the collar of the tunic wanted to slide off one shoulder or the other, and the waistband of the pants was nothing but bunching—but she was cleaner and drier than she'd been to start.

Pant legs dragging the floor, she walked to the kitchen archway.

Brazen leaned against the sink, back to the living room, the subtle dips and crests across it accented by the lightstone on the counter. Fragments of light glittered in his wet curls.

To avoid startling him, if that were even possible for a wielder, she stepped onto one of the noisier boards.

He turned, and lightning blazed.

Edeline shut her eyes and hugged her bundled nightgown as thunder crashed.

Footfalls crackled along the wooden floor toward her in the brief vacuum after it.

She let out her breath, opening her eyes.

Brazen stood a couple steps away, arms folded. He tipped his head.

"I'm okay. Mostly," she said and unfurled her nightgown. "Uhm, can I- is there room to hang this up?"

"'Course." He extended a hand to take it.

She leaned forward to pass it off, staying rooted in the archway.

He took it to the sink, giving Edeline a chance to rebuff her internal tempest. He folded it over the wooden rod on which hung his clothes. Much too quickly, however, he turned back to her again, the unspoken question in his gaze.