And wished it kept
My dearest love
I'm not done yet.
It would not have been hard to sneak up on the troubled warlock, not as he was. Aloof, distant, distracted, drowning in the demons of his own mind, ice blue eyes staring vacant and empty into the recesses of the frozen lake. Any enemy against the Scarab, for surely there were many that lurked in the shadows, could easily stomp brazenly through the snow and slit his throat only to slip away into the shadows, leaving the world none the wiser.
Perhaps Lady Luck was on his side, for it was no enemy that found him, although calling her an ‘ally’ might be a bit bold.
Vikander was first aware that he was not alone when the feeling of a thick, familiar fabric sliding over his snow-covered back stole him away from his mad musings. He blinked, slow and distant, his mind as numb as his very skin. Ice blue eyes glanced down, seeing the fabric of his very own robe now hanging unfastened around his shoulders. Mouth parting, the warlock made to speak but forgot what it was that he wished to say, and then turned his head with a painful, deliberate slowness to see who had come.
The name would not come, not at first, lost and clogged beneath the buildup of spiraling thoughts of his constantly churning mind, although he recognized her immediately. It was hard not to. Those of the Scarab knew her well, and knew her by many names; ’the Red Rose’, ‘the Rose', and once he had even heard her referred to as ’the Crimson Spear’, although Vikander did not know the truth of that one. Regardless, her crimson-kissed body was a familiar sight, but he did not feel relief upon seeing her feminine face and captivatingly bright eyes instead of the face of a stranger. Quite honestly, he felt nothing at all.
Slowly, as though trudging through chest-high slop, the name came to him.
“Manon.” His voice emerged on a rasp, a greeting of the more lackluster variety. It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see her. Quite the opposite, actually. They had worked together many times in the past, although it was more that Vikander would request Manon’s assistance in collecting various items or ingredients from across the entirety of Novus whenever she was out and about. She was diligent and dedicated with an eye for detail that bordered on impressive, and no mission ever went uncompleted. The Scarab were lucky to have her.
Vikander turned his gaze back towards the frozen surface of the lake as Manon began to speak. He didn’t move as she did so, seeming to completely tune out the words she said. They reached his ears, they did,, but… ’My room was too small.’ Vikander understood. Cloying, clawing, closing in, it was easy for those four walls that once seemed so much like a sanctuary to quickly turn into a prison cell. The black shadow finally moved, inhaling deeply, drawing air into his lungs as his body gradually began to warm from the weight of his robes. Manon had been considerate to bring it to him.
Letting out a long breath, the warlock rasped out an answer, not tearing his eyes from the lake, still standing like a hunched, wretched creature. “Mine was too loud.” It wasn’t, of course, but he knew that Manon would understand. Sometimes the silence spoke louder than any word, real or imagined.
“Thank you. For the cloak. Aghavni and August would be quite displeased if they knew.” And Vikander knew that he could trust the Red Rose to keep this secret between them. It would certainly not be the first.
@
