Behind the Clouds

Bombshells

Nighttime descended upon the town much sooner than Elizabeth would have liked. Even as she tried to keep herself busy, preparing dinner, collecting clothes for mending, scrubbing at surfaces that already shone like prized jewels, she could feel the time passing much more quickly than she wanted it to. Tick, tick, tick. Every second, every minute, every hour, felt like a tiny fraction of the time it was supposed to represent.

Burning away at his fireplace, Hawk had said nothing after her dramatic return. Content with idle chatter, musing about the taste of eggshells and other scraps, he seemed perfectly happy with ignoring the glaring elephant of Elizabeth's dismay. All of her lackluster chirps in response, the almost forgotten scrape of scraps into the fire's mouth, had been chalked off as fatigue from the big move. Simple adjustment issues.

If only it were adjustment issues.

"I just came to say goodnight," Lingering in the doorway, his concern masked with a cool facade of aloofness, Zeldris had paid Elizabeth a visit during the late evening. Studying the assortment of clothes on her workbench, the needle and thread perched within her hands, he knew that she was trying not to remain idle. Diligence was her way of remaining distracted; doing work kept thoughts of Meliodas at bay.

"You don't have to do that," Blushing as she tied a knot in her sewing, severing the thread with a forceful twist of her hand, Elizabeth glanced back up at Zeldris. Surprisingly, she met a softened gaze, a sympathy that felt much more sincere than others he had shown.

"He does it often," Zeldris elaborated, referring to Meliodas without directly saying his name. As if saying just his name was a bad omen, a curse that would never rid itself from this room. Scowling slightly, the man rolled his eyes, "Goes missing for days on end. He'll be back, he always comes back," Turning to leave, a hand stuffed in his pocket, Zeldris paused, "Just don't worry about the idiot, ok? You're much more valuable than him in terms of resources."

Summoning a giggle, that conversation had lightened her mood a little. As Elizabeth continued her mending, focusing on the little holes and frayed ends with careful precision, she had felt something in her heart lighten, make her hum as she watched stitch after stitch pop into existence. Meliodas would come back. No matter what, he always came back. Nothing would stop him from coming back. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

So, Elizabeth decided to call it a night. Half-burned out, her candle was ready to call it quits anyway.

Releasing a sigh, the goddess got up from her stool and dusted off her dress. Beneath her hands, she noticed faint grass stains - marks of her escape from the flower garden. Proof that it had happened. Proof that it was real. Although everyone else had just assumed that they were old stains, left from a romp in the grass, her grand trek against the grassy wastelands of the borderlands and their expansive Wastes.

Getting Merlin ready for bed had been an effortless task. Running a bath, brushing her raven hair, seamlessly Elizabeth fell into the role of mother, a caregiver. Taking extra time and extra care had never been hard for Elizabeth. Merlin's true identity didn't change that. If anything, it only amplified the empathy Elizabeth felt for the girl, the wish to heal the broken child inside of the heart of the Witch of the Waste.

"Goodnight, Merlin," Just as she had tucked the girl in, made sure the duvet was plush and snug, Elizabeth noticed Merlin staring at her. Studying her.

Then, she said, "You're in love."

Pausing in her actions, hands frozen around the duvet, Elizabeth could only blink. Firing away, her brain was entering panic mode, spinning and spiraling out of control as it tried to think of ways to answer this statement. Part of her wanted to say the truth, to admit the long-brewing feeling sitting within her heart. Most of her wanted to brush aside Merlin's observation, accept it for the impossibility that it was. The fantasy.