Novella Tilani's day started as it most often did; with the cry of a child, waking up from their sleep. The only time this had not been the case, was when she'd stayed the two weeks immediately after Sari was born at the Tilani manor, only after a lengthy argument with her mother-in-law.
The house was too large, too empty. She had not brought in new slaves, nor had she hired servants. She busied herself, distracted herself, with caring for the townhome and the child on her own. Her wife's parents had offered for them to move back into the manor, with them, and she had refused.
She retrieved the child from the nursery, and the little one shushed as she found a nip, the pinch of little teeth as she suckled caused her mother to hiss. It was long past time to wean the child, but there were times where Sarianne was comforted best by her mothers' breast. Her supply was dwindling, so there wouldn't be a choice not to fully wean the child, soon.
Ella's hands claimed little wrists, as she 'helped' the child walk the steps to the kitchen. Many of the rooms went unused; they'd usually eat in the kitchen to avoid making a mess. Once they're on solid ground again, the child is swept into a highchair on top of the kitchen counter, and given a piece of fruit to occupy her time.
Breakfast is cooked, served, and eaten. Before Sari is released from her chair, breakfast is cleaned up and the dishes are left. She's taken to washing all of the dishes from the day at night, when the baby is asleep. A moment of peace; mindless servant's duties to distract herself from the townhome. It feels massively empty.
Ella has not had to handle finances; at least not on the townhome. Kaczor's parents had asked, since she refused all other help, that she allow them to manage that, if nothing else. They paid for groceries, they paid for the nanny that sometimes came to help with Sari. And on the few times Ella allowed a maid, they'd send a service they paid for. The Tilani's continued to care for her, just as her wife had promised they would. And she had dinner with them every week; the Tilani's were thrilled that their daughter was receiving re-education — they reminded Ella of sheep who followed their shepherd without question.
Her day is spent entertaining Sarianne, cleaning and dusting and ensuring the townhome is properly livable for her wife to return home to. And once dusk fell, Sari was tucked into bed once the nanny arrived. Soon after, Novella had dressed in her military uniform, and stepped into the same carriage that had brought the nanny.
The drive was short, silent. Her fingers toyed with the rapier at her hip, a required part of the uniform even if she had no intention of needing a weapon. A quiet exhale left her lips, as the prison — because that's what this place was; it was not a place of education — came into view.
She stepped out of the carriage, and stood at attention, patiently waiting for her wife to exit the compound. She wanted nothing more than to get home, back to the child she's barely spent a day away from. She turned, watching it go, and said nothing.
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“Praise to the Archon.” Empty words left her lips, but she made sure that they were convincing, brown eyes that had once been called the color of whiskey dull, lifeless. Her skin was rough with a beard, and with enlarged pores that she hoped would eventually shrink back down once she was able to fully cleanse herself. Her hair had been cropped close to her scalp and she’d been de-loused earlier in the day. She wasn’t even allowed the luxury of clothing besides the scratchy shift that barely covered her ass, let alone her privates that dangled uselessly from her. The guards had pulled her from the floor where she had laid most of the day, too weak to even sit up.
It had been hell, her body was so – so changed. She felt the bones in her arms, in her legs, the lean muscles she had once had gone to the wasting that not eating enough could bring. And then the shock of feeling the faintest traces of magic around her, when the shackles around her wrists were released, was enough to make her cry. How long had it been since she felt the faint trace of mana seep into her, fuel her? How long had it been since she felt like she could defend herself if needed – had it been a year, two? A decade? And who was she being released to? They had told her her mother and father had been executed. That her child and wife were dead. That her wife had been the one to turn her in, and that her child had been smashed on the cobbled streets when they burned the manor down.
‘Patience.’, Kaczor Tilani told herself, as the iron gates opened, and she breathed in her first breath of non-shit smelling air in over a year. Patience, indeed. She would need an abundance of it over the next few weeks as she re-integrated into society, as she got herself in order to return, and head right back into the resistance. She had learned what she had been captured for in the first place. That the brain-washing could be broken, resisted. It had been vital information the resistance had needed, and hers was the only name large enough, old enough to not be immediately executed, and it had made sense it had to be her.
And there was Ella.
In uniform. So it was to be one warden to another. One prison for one that might be a little better.
So be it.
She didn’t speak as she staggered through the gates, tugging at the edge of the too short shift, trying to pull it back down so she wouldn’t embarrass herself, not that she could be embarrassed by a little bit of public nudity, at least they wouldn’t immediately arrest her again, right? They wouldn’t haul her back in, would they, no. And she just needed to act the part for a little while, until she could ascertain if she was still living with a spy still or not.
“Ella…”, her voice was a whisper, raspy, as if she hadn’t been allowed anything to drink the entire day. She hadn’t.
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Ella's eyes found the only person exiting... her brows furrowed, in confusion. Until the person whispered her name.
She reached into the carriage for the blanket that usually went across their laps to keep away the chill. And she carefully draped it across her wife's shoulders,
As much as she wanted to have harsh words with the guards; she knew it'd do no good. Ella waited outside of the carriage, until her wife was settled, before she'd pulled herself in, ignoring the driver's pro-offered hand.
She doesn't tell the driver where to go, but they start to drive in the right direction. It's a quiet drive. And once the compound is out of sight, Ella's pulled her hair from its bun. She doesn't speak until they're exiting the carriage.
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Tired eyes regarded the other woman, and then flicked down to the ground, unable to hold the gaze for longer than a few moments as her shoulders rounded inwards, trying to hide her height, trying to seem smaller than she actually was. With how thin and emaciated she was, if it hadn’t been for the beard and obvious genitalia, she would have looked more feminine than she ever did before. She tried not to wince, as the blanket came around her shoulders, not wanting to shy away from Ella’s touch, but not wanting to risk being hit. A calculated gesture on her own part, as she braced herself for any news of the outside world that Ella would give her.
She shifted the blanket up over her head instead. She could almost pretend, with the blanket over her head, that she simply had her luscious locks tucked back in a headscarf, could hide the fact that there was now obvious gray shooting through the raven black of her beard that straggled against her chest. She would cry if she had enough liquid in her to spare the tears. That was the part that had hurt the most, in the whole ordeal, and so she focused on that, to keep her meek. They had taken her hair, had denied her clothes, and hadn’t let her shave. The dysphoria had kept her sharp though, to what they had been saying, how they were trying to “teach” her. She didn’t even need to get it down on paper, she knew exactly how they had done it. In the silence of the carriage, she glazed over and went to the place in her mind that she often times had gone during the more intense physical torture. She wanted to ask, but… she had information she needed to file away.
Lack of food and water, lack of sleep, lack of sunlight, and lack of being able to feel mana coursing through one’s body. And then they would lie. They would continuously lie while they hit, and cursed, and kicked, and spit. Ella’s voice jarred her, when she spoke again, jumping a little at the sound, her eyes finally coming back into focus, to see the town house, and not her parents manor. She’s happy to see the house is still there, they had told her it had been burnt down. She hurries inside as fast as her legs will allow, her bare feet silent on the floor.
“I-is..,” she swallowed hard, the lump already forming – had they not lied about the baby, about her little girl. Had they been telling the truth with that? Kaczor fought back the wail that was building in her chest, threatening to spill out, tears half formed on the edges of her tired eyes, all the liquid she could spare, the panic crossing her features was painful. “Th-the baby?” The edge of her barely whispered words, and the rising bile in her throat as she looked to the woman she had married for reassurance.
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The other woman tried not to wince, and Ella tried to avoid touching her too much. She'd not expected this kind of treatment... but then, when she thought about how brazen her wife was... or was it, had been, now? She was a softer hand when it came to those that needed their loyalties refreshed. And she had begged to be the one to teach her wife. Begged, pleaded...
But ultimately, they had given her the limited leeway they could, by allowing Kaczor to stay home with her until their child was born. She understood that. What she was having trouble understanding was the fact her wife had not been allowed gender-affirming care while in re-education. And she made a silent promise to speak to someone about that in the following weeks.
She doesn't stare; though her gaze does flit to Kaczor as she notes the blanket moved over her head, almost like a wig or head-scarf.
Quiet, she trailed after her wife, frowning when she spoke again. What had frightened her? She tilted her head, trying to piece together the woman's words with the panic she was seeing written across her wife's face.
Towards the shared bathroom between the master and the nursery.
5
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She followed, as quick as her body would allow her, and nearly sank to the floor outside the nursery, just peering inside to see her child, her little one. Her hands closed as much as they could around the doorframe to keep herself upright. “No, no… d-don’t wake.”
There would be tomorrow. There would be tomorrow for meeting her daughter. Ella was right. She was filthy, even after they had blasted her with spells to try and clean her up. Nothing about her treatment in the prison had been easy. “No letters.” Not that she thought she would have read them. They had been quite adamant that her wife had been the one who had turned her in for a refreshing of her education. Kaczor was well aware the other woman was a spy, but she wouldn’t give too much one way or another until she was feeling herself again, soon. Hopefully.
She simply nodded, her eyes not looking away from the baby. “Bath.”
She wanted to be clean, and shaved, and with a headscarf before she held her daughter for the first time. Maybe a good cry that she had been robbed of the first year of her precious little one’s life. Would the child even like her? She hadn’t been allowed the luxury of worrying about these things while she had been incarcerated, she had been too focused on not letting herself be taught, be brainwashed. Too focused on playing the game well enough to survive intact, and take the knowledge of the inner workings and lay out of the prison back to her contacts. She hadn’t allowed herself to hope with the baby either, but the relief that flooded through her was just as exhilarating as that first feel of magic had been. “I-I’d like a bath.”
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Ella frowned, reaching to steady her wife.
She offered her hand out, and waited for a response. If it was a yes, she'd slip her fingers through Kaczor's, and help her to the bathroom in-between the nursery and the master bed. If it was a no, she'd lead the way, her hands at her sides. Regardless, they'd wind up in the bathroom.
She didn't close the door between the nursery and the bathroom, as she settled next to the tub, running lukewarm water once it was stoppered. Ella brought out a razor from under the sink, and a variety of different soaps and scents.
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She shook her head, the blanket falling from her shoulders, as the tears started to fall. She couldn’t really, no. All those muscles she had worked hard on in her youth, lean muscle that kept her strong, gone. She had gone in a healthy 170 pounds, now, she was barely 110 on her six foot frame. Emaciated, is what they’d call someone in her condition. Her eyes looked at the hand, and she hesitated. Part of her wanted to take her wife’s hand, and the other part of him wanted to grab and yank, to make her look hard and what she did, before that part retreated back under the damage done, before Kaczor was Kaczor again and not, someone else, someone that didn’t have a wife, and child in the same room.
She eventually took the hand, but held awkwardly to the side of it, her own fingers wrapping around Ella’s ring and pinky fingers. Rage boiled up some more at the touch. Could she not see how stupid this whole “re-education” had been, how it damaged people. It simmered under the surface, but she remained meek, as she followed her wife into the bathroom. It would be hard to overpower her. Even with her magic, Ella was stronger than her right now. If she refused, she might report back that the training hadn’t stuck, but being naked and having her there to watch her shave off all that facial hair, the crying that would happen at the dysphoria of a beard.
It would be expected, that she’d ask her to stay, to keep watch on her. That had been part of the training after all, someone would be watching her to make sure she kept to her training. So when they finally reached the bath, she was happy that the door stayed open so she could look back at the baby. The baby would be what got her through not trying to murder her wife the next few days. The baby would be what kept the rage in check and under control until she could find somewhere remote, somewhere alone, weeks from now and throw bolts of lightning at something until it blew up to let off the absolute utter fucking anger that she had roiling around in her guts.
“You can stay.”
After all, she had had to bathe among the other male prisoners. Bathing in front of a woman would be nicer, she hoped, as long as she kept herself on guard. Any mistakes…
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Ella bit her lip, as she rubbed her hand. She sighed quietly, at the tension she'd felt when the other had held her hand. And when she receives confirmation that she can stay, she'd step out of the room and into the nursery, to claim a small stool.
But she'd been the one who'd done this. Not, not willingly, she'd been forced into a corner, panicked.
But that's just an excuse. It doesn't make any of it better.
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When Ella steps from the bathroom, she finally turns and looks at herself in the mirror, seeing the full horror of what was done – sunken eyes, shoots of grey and white in her hair, a shaking hand came up to the only 4 inch long tendrils on her crown, and the tears started. She looked like a man. Even when she had been transitioning originally she hadn’t looked this.. Old or rough. “I missed..”
She chokes on the words as she reaches for the scissors, to try and start lopping off as much facial hair as possible. Possessed. Her face was under there, she knew her face was under the hair. Under the scratchy, horrible hair that hid her petit cheek bones and jaw line that was a little sharper than a males usually was. No boxy square jaw for her. She had missed all of it. The baby, Ella, the house. Her magic. She didn’t know which would be the allowed, the acceptable answer. “..you.”
She put the scissors down, now that the long tendrils were gone, and it was just a neat looking bit of hair. Handsome, she might have been called, had she chosen to present as male again, handsome but effeminate. She had heard that all her life, and there was reason,she wasn’t male. Not in a traditional sense at least. And this was already helping, she realized, as she touched a cheek, finding the tears there. She hadn’t realized they had been falling the entire time, until she looks at the … sack, they had given her to wear. She shield that finally, she had never been shy about being naked, but now it’s more so that she just has no shame of being naked at all. Clothes had been a privilege during the majority of her incarceration.
She finally stepped into the tub and then squatted down, knees to her chest, hugged there as she waited for the water to stop feeling like it would bite at her any moment. It was water, it should be gentle, and kind against her skin, but it hadn’t been, not in a long time, and so she didn’t really know what to think, other than not to let her feet out from under herself.. She needed to be able to stand in case someone tried to drown her again. It had only taken twice to learn to never let her feet out from under herself. “Just.. tell me about the baby?”
She didn’t want to touch anything yet, but finally reached out and took the bar of soap and put it directly to skin and started to scrub, hard, as if she was trying to scour her skin off in the process.
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She does breath an audible sound of relief, once her wife places the scissors down, and settles into the tub. But not quite; she crouched, as if she were preparing for someone to try to hurt her. Ella hated this; seeing the woman this way... It wasn't who she was. She's asked to hear about the baby, and started scrubbing her skin raw with a bar of soap. It has to hurt—
Talk about the baby.
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So they had lied about that too.. Her mother was alive. Oh.. She closed her eyes and tried to stop the sob that rose from her as she lost her ability to not be relieved that her mother was alive. Her daughter was alive, her wife was alive.. She knew the slaves were gone, they’d have been there if they were alive. So that they had been executed was probably true. Maybe.. Maybe her father and brother were still alive then too. She couldn’t form words though, no. She could only cry. But she nodded as she dunked a hand into the water and then brought it back up to drag down her dirty itchy face, to try and rid herself of the tears that were coming, unchecked down.
She didn’t want to complain that the water was too hot on her skin, what little precious mana she had going to cool the water down some with a dip of her hand, one finger dropping a bit of ice there to bring it down to body temperature. Glad that she could actually… could actually control the water temperature. Could access her magics, even if she was only able to conjure up a thumbnail sized piece of ice, it was enough.
How did anyone deal with this? Having been tortured and (attempted) brain washed, and then just dropped back into normal every day society. Would people come calling, or would they shun her and her family. There were a million things to worry about and a thousand decisions to have to mull over and decisions made on how to act appropriately to them – to make sure that she flew under radar for a while. Once she had delivered her report, she would need time before she could undertake something like this again. She needed to heal her body and let her mind rest from the year long abuse and torture she had gone through.
She hadn’t realized when Ella had come close, and her relinquished the soap easily over, the now free hand going to hug around her knees again as she tried to hide her face into her knees. The anger was back, and she felt bi-polar from the mood swings. Relief that someone she had mourned as dead already was alive, rage that a year of her life had been taken, but taken for a purpose. Grief that she had missed her daughter’s first steps, her first babbling, so many firsts she … completely missed. “You.. did you manage,” she breathed wrong and the spittle from her tears caught in her throat, having her cough, violently, until she was absolutely breathless and gasping for air. “Crystals?”
Had she managed to get any of those firsts down in memory crystals, something for her to watch, to feel connected to her child.
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Ella was lathering a soft washcloth, when her wife started coughing.
She shifted where she sat, so that she could run the cloth over her wife's shoulders, up the back of her neck.
Ella sat the cloth over the edge of the tub,
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Hope sprung to life in her chest, there was memory crystals, and while they weren't like being there, it was something that she could at least watch. “My father and brother, they were there?”
Her question was hesitant, barely whispered, she needed to know how much they had lied to her. “They told me all of you were dead.” She finally added as she let herself be washed, like a child almost, not putting up any resistance or effort to stop Ella from touching her. She was too tired, too emotionally drained, even as she tried to hide her tears from her wife. “Archon be praised they're alive.”
The words felt like ash in her mouth, acid burning at her tongue even. She would throw up if she didn't think it would land her right back in the prison. She had to keep the act up a little while longer. “Please. My hands shake too badly right now.”
And they had shook when she had taken the scissors to her face, to get the bulk of the hair gone. But right now, it would be to get clean enough she could curl up on the floor next to her daughter's crib and listen to the little on breath deep and easy in her sleep. The child was what was going to keep her going, her child. Her heir.
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Ella exhaled softly,
Inhaled deeply, and began to shave the rest of her beard off. Carefully, dipping the blade into the water to cleanse it so that she could resume.
After a moment of staring, Ella pushed herself off of the edge of the tub, and laid out a plush towel over the stool she'd seated herself on. She disappeared into the master bed, setting out Kaczor's night clothes.
It was a quick deed, though she took her time in making her way back to their rooms. Pausing in a room that she'd turned into her closet, she'd change into a night-dress of her own, before she sought her wife out, plate in hand.
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She allowed Ella to handle her face to shave off the rest of the hair, but she didn’t meet her wive’s eyes, she couldn;t yet. Too tired, too mad. “I know, Darling, I know.” And then she was saying she would go get a light meal together, and she nodded, taking the soap and scrubbing her hair, what little of it was on her head. She would finish cleaning herself up and then dress herself while Ella was out of the room, getting that light meal.
While she was alone she found a scarf to go over her head, to cover that scrub that had once been long healthy locks, that would eventually be healthy again. She would see to it. Eventually. For now she needed to focus on sending a coded message to her contacts to set up a meeting in two weeks time. She’d have to sit and think about the best way to get that done, but in the mean time, she was happy to learn of the memory crystals, and how many of them there were. She’d find her favorites and set them into a holder she could have on her person at all times. So she wouldn’t lose them.
Something else to think about when she finally could start moving about on her own without arousing suspicion. Two weeks at home and skulking the shadows, and then another two only going out for a small errand. Flowers. Near the square, it was a straight walk to and from, one could look out of the front of the townhouse and see the flower vendor’s cart, a block up the avenue. And she had always insisted on fresh flowers at home before hand. It would make sense for her to start going for the flowers she so loved. It would be good to establish a new routine. Yes. In a month she’d be flower arranging again. For now…
She looked over into her daughters room, pushing off the counter of the bathroom and walking to the open door, listening to the little one breath deeply, each inhale and exhale helping keep her calm, keep her okay in the quite of the house. So when Ella came back into the room, she knew the moment she was – the house was a tomb, so even her bare feet made sound on the floor as she moved. She looked at the plate, when Ella appeared back into the rooms, her stomach growing as she looked over the finger food.
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Ella smiled softly, as she balanced the tray of food on one hand, a water-flask in the other. She'd offer them out, and clear her throat. She felt... almost as awkward as the first time they'd met; except this was much worse. She'd come to care for the woman in front of her and everything... had fallen to bits. Kaczor's not met her gaze once since they'd returned home; that familiar and safe arrogance was gone...
It was familiar, being in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes by hand. She soaked some of the morning dishes, and worked in silence. She had a quiet cry, whilst struggling to scrape out one of today's breadpans, but after that the only telltale sign that she'd cried at all was the fact her eyes were red-rimmed.
She listened for her daughter whilst she cleaned, and reminded herself that Kaczor was more than capable of caring for a child.
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She nodded once as the food was delivered, and she made note of where the memory crystals were being stored. “T-thanks.”
She was happy when Ella left for a little bit. She didn’t want to watch the crystals yet, so she took the small plate into her daughter's room and sunk down to the floor by the crib, studying the sleeping child’s face closely, looking at each line, each curve, committing the little face to memory, so that if she was taken again in a few hours, then at least she’d remember her daughters face. There from the floor she trembled as she finally reached one finger tip through the slats, and rubbed a finger on the back of the tiny hand that fisted there, on the mat with it’s cool sheets. Perfect, her little nose and creamy skin, her mother’s hair. Perfect little bundle of love, but it hurt so badly that she didn’t have any of the reactions that she thought she would. No, there was a disconnect there. She wanted so badly for it to have been instantaneous, to immediately know the child as her own and to be nothing but content and happy that her child was in her life once again.
And she didn’t think she could feel anything at the moment. Why was it that her feelings to this perfect little bundle of love and joy be so alarmingly absent? And it hit her, hard, the realization dropping to the pit of her stomach and feeling as if the floor had been pulled out from under her. She had been told her daughter had been executed. She had already mourned the deaths of may, that she was now finding out were alive. It was hard to reconcile so quickly.
She hadn’t realized she was done with the food on the plate, until t was empty, and she rose silently from the food to head into the kitchen, two floors down. She used the back servant’s stairs, padding quietly, one step at a time until she appeared at the kitchen door, and moved over to dip her plate into the wash water, taking the wash rag and moving to clean the plate with an efficiency that only came from institutionalization. Once the plate was cleaned, and she had left the wash rag back for Ella, she took the plate over to be dried and then put away, taking a moment to find where the dish belonged.
Once she was done, she went back up those stairs, just as silently, and sank back down into the flood of the nursery. She didn’t know what else to do. And in those first few hours, the bath had helped, but she was exhausted and needed to rest and eat to recharge herself. And then, she’d need to start working out again, to gain back the muscle she had lost. And every spare moment would be devoted to the baby, and watching the memories she had missed.
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Ella had watched Kaczor, silently, as the other woman tidied after herself. And she watched her leave, just as quiet. Once she was done in the kitchen, she'd moved to cleaning in other parts of the house; anything to avoid spending time with her wife.
Eventually, she had to go to bed. And she slipped her slippers off in the doorway of the bedroom, frowning at the fact the bed remained untouched. At least, until she caught sight of her wife, asleep on the floor of the nursery, just under the corner of the crib. Ella sighed, and slipped a blanket off of the bed, spreading it across the other woman's body. She brought a pillow, and gently slipped it under her wife's head as well.
A quick glance to check that the baby was, in fact, fast asleep, and Ella went back to the bedroom to lay down for the night. She kept the doors between the rooms open, like she often did most nights. Easier to hear the child's quiet whimpers, and gauge whether it was a dream or if she was actually awake and preparing to scream.
A few hours of sleep, before the little infant was bawling. Too few hours, because Ella was not immediately awake.
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She had woken after a few hours, and had watched three of the memory crystals, all while making sure that the baby was asleep, and resting easily. She was afraid of when the little girl would wake, afraid of not knowing what to do, but after the last memory crystal, the baby’s first smile, in which she had heard “Sarianne” as the name. Bold. Seeing as how she knew Sari was dead. She wouldn’t have been parted from the baby if she had been alive. And Kaczor didn’t think that Ella would just turn all the servants out. Their rooms had nothing in them upstairs, except dust. It felt like they had vanished. So they had most likely been the ones that had been punished for her treason.
But when the baby started to crym she was on her feet in a moment, reaching into the craddle and lifting the baby out to hold her close. “Sssh, ssshh Annie, let your momma sleep, Papa..no, mapa has you.” Thankfully the little girl was still young enough to not immediately throw a harder fit by being held by a stranger. “Shh, I got you, my precious, precious girl. Look at you, my love, look at you. You’re going to knock em dead like your mapa did in her youth.” She still felt gross, like a man pretending like some of the other prisoners had called her, but with her little girl. “Let’s go fix you a bottle, you’d probably hungry arn’t you, since you don’t smell like the prison yet.”
She bounced the little girl on her hip as she went down the back stairs to the kitchen. “Let’s see what we can find, huh?” The baby’s hair started to stand on edge as Kaczor sighed happily at being able to light the stove with a flick of flame from her finger. “Ha ha, mapa still has it. Soon she’ll be making you ice roses to chew on when you start busting a new tooth.”
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Sarianne was a loud crier; and eventually Ella realized the crying had... gone silent. At this realization, Ella rolled out of bed and silently padded into the nursery. Only to find both Kaczor and the child missing from the room. She rubbed her face with one hand, and moved through the house, until she heard a voice downstairs in the kitchen. And the quiet whimpering that the baby's cries had calmed to.
She didn't go downstairs, but instead settled at the top of the stairs, listening to them. Once upon a time, her little family had been... idealistic, perfection... And now she was quite certain it was ruined.
But at least Kaczor and the baby might get along. Ella rested her arms across her knees, chin atop her arms, and just sat. She was blocking the stairs if her wife tried to leave the kitchen... Dozing while she listened in.
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“Where does your momma hide the milk, huh? Is this the ice-box? Ahh I see grandma and grandpa made sure momma had everything stocked while mapa was away, huh? Momma said you go and see grandma and grandpa every week for family dinner. They still have family dinner then? Oh you’re so lucky that smile is so cute, keep your secrets you little stinker.” Kaczor found where the ice-box had been hidden finally, and pulled out a glass jar of milk. She popped the top off it and then sniffed at it. “I think we’re fresh. We’re gonna heat it to make sure, I’ve not smelled much more than shit and piss for the past year, little precious, so we’re not gonna trust my nose, not yet at least.”
She took the bottle over to the counter and started to open the cabinets until she found what she was looking for. “Did you know, my love, that when I was your age, there was a kindly slave that took care of me while grandma healed up from bringing me into the world? I have a feeling your momma named you after her, but I like Annie. Annie fits you.” Did she know Ella was on the stairs, no, she actually didn’t. She just found it easy to talk to Sarianne, the cooing and giggling infant was much easier for her to confess too, and in those small hours of the morning, it was easier than talking to someone who would actually understand what she had gone through.
While her wife had been the spy that had turned her in, she had known from the start that the betrothal, the wedding, the rush to secure an heir had been part of the plan, but what Kaczor hadn’t counted on was actually falling in love with Ella in the process. It had stung much more than she had expected, that over the course of the year, of everything they had experienced together during that time, that she had done it. She wouldn’t know about how much pressure had had to been put on the other woman, until later, after the coming meeting with her contact. She hadn’t been updated of that at any point in the incarceration, so she wasn’t aware, not yet at least. “Milk in the pan, and warmed up enough to not feel too hot on my tender little wrists. Can’t burn you, your momma might make it to where we can’t have late night chats like this.”
She had gotten the bottle together and had decided to take it back upstairs with them, so that if Ella woke, she wouldn’t find the cradle empty. It would be hell on the woman, and even if Kaczor was still a little angry, some of those crystals had helped ease that anger. But she hadn’t been prepared to find Ella asleep on the stairs when she came around the corner to climb up their stairs. “And look, Annie, it’s Momma..”
--------------
Ella wasn't fully asleep, and startled when her wife spoke to the child about her. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, murmuring,
She pushed herself upright, and yawned against her free hand.
She stepped off of the stairs, waving at the little baby as she passed.
Of course, the Tilani's purchased fresh produce for her as well, but the gardens had been here before she was. It'd felt wrong not to use any produce from them, or to let the plants wilt and die. Though, she wasn't perfect and a few things had certainly perished.
Watering can in hand, she waited for a response from Kaczor, before she'd step outside to the little patch of garden.
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“So it’s true, you’ve been a little nightmare for your momma while mapa has been away.” She didn’t expand on it, but she raised a brow. “Lady Tilani, go back to bed. You need rest.” She was already fishing a large shawl from the servant’s old closet there off the kitchen, the fact that she knew where things belonged down there should be, telling, but she took one of the clean, soft shawls from the closet there, and then squatted down, so that she could move Annie to her back. And once Annie was on her back, she used the shawl to go down around her waist, and up over her shoulders to secure the infant to her back. And, it allowed her to have both hands free to work around for a little while.
“Don;t you think momma should go back to bed, Annie, lets us girls take care of things for her, hmm?”
Her eyes looked at her wife, sunken in, and devoid of any of the spark that had been there a year ago. The person looking out from them wasn’t the same. No, not yet. But she made an effort of trying to sound like the jovial person she had been, even if her words were reserved for the baby, and not directly to Ella. No, “Lady Tilani”, and she watched as the other woman headed out into the garden, following to see what had been there in the little green house area, what could be used for a good meal, for something delicious.
“I wasn’t allowed to decide my meals. Anything you make is fine.” And she cooed back to Annie as she let the child take the bottle there on her back. “Oh you’re probably a messy eater still aren’t you, you’re going to leave a trail of mess down my back, and that’s fine, probably better your mapa gets back into the habit of daily bathing.”
She stopped at a row of carrots and leaned down, pulling one straight from the ground, eyeing it. Thick and smelling sweet, she thought of a million ways to have it fixed. Before… before she remembered sitting in the kitchen, Ella cooking something and then holding a spoon over and letting her have a taste. “Has Annie been my replacement taster while I’ve been gone? Have you, little precious?”
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'Lady Tilani'... and it wasn't in jest. Ella watched as her wife situated the baby on her back,
She was quiet, as she checked tomatoes for ripeness, picking one or two. She doesn't watch her wife, instead focused entirely on the plants she was going through and watering. Tomatoes sat aside, in a basket to be brought in when they were finished.
The gardens were not quite as peaceful, with someone she wasn't sure she could trust in the same space. The fact her wife preferred to speak to the baby over her, stung, quite a lot.
She paused to refill the watering can from the outside spicket, pumping the water slowly. Used to, she'd tend to the gardens with Sari. She remembered when Kaczor had helped her plant something, it hadn't been too long before they were entangled on the ground, caught by the old woman.
Seemed like a bittersweet memory, now. Ella finished filling the waterer, and moved to another row of plants.
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Brown eyes swept away, if she had heard the suggestion she wasn’t immediately replying back, instead she was crouched down in a row of produce and pulling encroaching weeds up. This, this was something she was familiar with. Between torture and being left to think the worst thing had happened to everyone she knew, she had been on garden detail. So her hands were rough now, where she had gardened for pleasure before, being forced to weed during her incarceration had changed her outlook on things.
Maybe she’d learn to love it again, to find the solace her solar would bring, but now, it was what it was. And the baby on her back kept her from an attack from behind, while she was still gathering herself to where she would be able to do what she needed too with her magic again one day, gently touching where in the past she would have shaped a controlled line of fire to keep the grasses and weeds back, about two inches of flame doing the job. She needed to rest more, to eat more, to spend some time re-teaching herself how to cast properly, how to shape fire and ice and those wild elements that had at one point, been as easy as breathing to control for her.
But a year with no access to her magic connections, in shackles, and just the small things were making her happy to be able to do again. “A rasher of bacon would be nice. I don’t remember the last time I had meat.”
She would try at least. She needed to remind herself that she couldn’t be too angry at the woman she married. She had done what she had been lead to do. What hurt was that it didn’t seem to have had the effect wanted. Still… still loyal it would appear. The military uniform yesterday had somewhat confirmed that. But then, she herself was supposedly “re-educated”, if it was the other way around, Kac wouldn’t trust either. It was a double edged blade right now. If either of them had changed in the year, then it would be a cycle of distrust and one another in prisons. He snorted as he stood to his full height and tossed the carrot over into the basket of produce for the day. “I think raw carrot chips might be nice too. Something simple.”
Her hands, now dusty with dirt clapped down on her trousers. Oh to have clothes again… but she needed to be easy on her clothing. There was no one but herself to wash them right now, and she wasn’t going to have Ella being a slave in her own house, that.. She was still a Lady of noble birth, even if she was a spy. “I’ll speak to Father about setting up interviews for a new batch of slaves for the house. This is beneath one of noble birth. Even one without magic, you’re still a noble, and a Tilani. By the end of the week I’ll have several ready. I’d go and buy them outright, but I want to make sure we get ones that will help raise Annie properly.”
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Ella was quiet, as she sat the waterer down, and claimed the basket of produce.
She'd become much more independent in the past year; whereas there had been a time where she'd defer to her wife for everything. She entered the kitchen, setting the basket in the sink and washing the produce in silence.
Her wife had asked for bacon, raw carrots, so she sat the carrots aside to be chopped later. Carefully placing slices of bacon on the stove, she'd light the stove with a match and let it slow-cook the meat.
Hands freshly washed, she seasoned the meat whilst it cooked, and took a seat on the counter.
The house was too large, too empty. She had not brought in new slaves, nor had she hired servants. She busied herself, distracted herself, with caring for the townhome and the child on her own. Her wife's parents had offered for them to move back into the manor, with them, and she had refused.
She retrieved the child from the nursery, and the little one shushed as she found a nip, the pinch of little teeth as she suckled caused her mother to hiss. It was long past time to wean the child, but there were times where Sarianne was comforted best by her mothers' breast. Her supply was dwindling, so there wouldn't be a choice not to fully wean the child, soon.
Right, your mapa comes home tonight. So we must prepare.She'd placed the child down, speaking as if she were old enough to know any of the words that her mother said.
But first, you need breakfast! Shall you help me cook today?She chuckled as she followed the little girl, until they reached the basement steps.
Ella's hands claimed little wrists, as she 'helped' the child walk the steps to the kitchen. Many of the rooms went unused; they'd usually eat in the kitchen to avoid making a mess. Once they're on solid ground again, the child is swept into a highchair on top of the kitchen counter, and given a piece of fruit to occupy her time.
Breakfast is cooked, served, and eaten. Before Sari is released from her chair, breakfast is cleaned up and the dishes are left. She's taken to washing all of the dishes from the day at night, when the baby is asleep. A moment of peace; mindless servant's duties to distract herself from the townhome. It feels massively empty.
Ella has not had to handle finances; at least not on the townhome. Kaczor's parents had asked, since she refused all other help, that she allow them to manage that, if nothing else. They paid for groceries, they paid for the nanny that sometimes came to help with Sari. And on the few times Ella allowed a maid, they'd send a service they paid for. The Tilani's continued to care for her, just as her wife had promised they would. And she had dinner with them every week; the Tilani's were thrilled that their daughter was receiving re-education — they reminded Ella of sheep who followed their shepherd without question.
Her day is spent entertaining Sarianne, cleaning and dusting and ensuring the townhome is properly livable for her wife to return home to. And once dusk fell, Sari was tucked into bed once the nanny arrived. Soon after, Novella had dressed in her military uniform, and stepped into the same carriage that had brought the nanny.
The drive was short, silent. Her fingers toyed with the rapier at her hip, a required part of the uniform even if she had no intention of needing a weapon. A quiet exhale left her lips, as the prison — because that's what this place was; it was not a place of education — came into view.
She stepped out of the carriage, and stood at attention, patiently waiting for her wife to exit the compound. She wanted nothing more than to get home, back to the child she's barely spent a day away from. She turned, watching it go, and said nothing.
You're not here to yell at us again, are ya?Sneered a guard, situated outside of the compound.
No. My wife's release is in a few minutes.Her reply is quiet, it's getting late, dark. At least they afford that courtesy; ensuring the releases happen at night, when less people are around to witness it. Though everyone knew; it was no secret.
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“Praise to the Archon.” Empty words left her lips, but she made sure that they were convincing, brown eyes that had once been called the color of whiskey dull, lifeless. Her skin was rough with a beard, and with enlarged pores that she hoped would eventually shrink back down once she was able to fully cleanse herself. Her hair had been cropped close to her scalp and she’d been de-loused earlier in the day. She wasn’t even allowed the luxury of clothing besides the scratchy shift that barely covered her ass, let alone her privates that dangled uselessly from her. The guards had pulled her from the floor where she had laid most of the day, too weak to even sit up.
It had been hell, her body was so – so changed. She felt the bones in her arms, in her legs, the lean muscles she had once had gone to the wasting that not eating enough could bring. And then the shock of feeling the faintest traces of magic around her, when the shackles around her wrists were released, was enough to make her cry. How long had it been since she felt the faint trace of mana seep into her, fuel her? How long had it been since she felt like she could defend herself if needed – had it been a year, two? A decade? And who was she being released to? They had told her her mother and father had been executed. That her child and wife were dead. That her wife had been the one to turn her in, and that her child had been smashed on the cobbled streets when they burned the manor down.
‘Patience.’, Kaczor Tilani told herself, as the iron gates opened, and she breathed in her first breath of non-shit smelling air in over a year. Patience, indeed. She would need an abundance of it over the next few weeks as she re-integrated into society, as she got herself in order to return, and head right back into the resistance. She had learned what she had been captured for in the first place. That the brain-washing could be broken, resisted. It had been vital information the resistance had needed, and hers was the only name large enough, old enough to not be immediately executed, and it had made sense it had to be her.
And there was Ella.
In uniform. So it was to be one warden to another. One prison for one that might be a little better.
So be it.
She didn’t speak as she staggered through the gates, tugging at the edge of the too short shift, trying to pull it back down so she wouldn’t embarrass herself, not that she could be embarrassed by a little bit of public nudity, at least they wouldn’t immediately arrest her again, right? They wouldn’t haul her back in, would they, no. And she just needed to act the part for a little while, until she could ascertain if she was still living with a spy still or not.
“Ella…”, her voice was a whisper, raspy, as if she hadn’t been allowed anything to drink the entire day. She hadn’t.
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Ella's eyes found the only person exiting... her brows furrowed, in confusion. Until the person whispered her name.
Kaczor?She frowned, as the carriage pulled up behind her.
What did they...She bit back the rest of the sentence, well-aware of where they were.
She reached into the carriage for the blanket that usually went across their laps to keep away the chill. And she carefully draped it across her wife's shoulders,
Let's... go home.
As much as she wanted to have harsh words with the guards; she knew it'd do no good. Ella waited outside of the carriage, until her wife was settled, before she'd pulled herself in, ignoring the driver's pro-offered hand.
She doesn't tell the driver where to go, but they start to drive in the right direction. It's a quiet drive. And once the compound is out of sight, Ella's pulled her hair from its bun. She doesn't speak until they're exiting the carriage.
I'll... run you a bath.She murmured, leading the way. The nanny left through a backdoor, so as not to disturb them. Ella hardly thought about how it'd look; the nanny leaving so quietly out of sight, the house spotless with nothing to indicate a child was living here...
I'm glad that you're home.
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Tired eyes regarded the other woman, and then flicked down to the ground, unable to hold the gaze for longer than a few moments as her shoulders rounded inwards, trying to hide her height, trying to seem smaller than she actually was. With how thin and emaciated she was, if it hadn’t been for the beard and obvious genitalia, she would have looked more feminine than she ever did before. She tried not to wince, as the blanket came around her shoulders, not wanting to shy away from Ella’s touch, but not wanting to risk being hit. A calculated gesture on her own part, as she braced herself for any news of the outside world that Ella would give her.
She shifted the blanket up over her head instead. She could almost pretend, with the blanket over her head, that she simply had her luscious locks tucked back in a headscarf, could hide the fact that there was now obvious gray shooting through the raven black of her beard that straggled against her chest. She would cry if she had enough liquid in her to spare the tears. That was the part that had hurt the most, in the whole ordeal, and so she focused on that, to keep her meek. They had taken her hair, had denied her clothes, and hadn’t let her shave. The dysphoria had kept her sharp though, to what they had been saying, how they were trying to “teach” her. She didn’t even need to get it down on paper, she knew exactly how they had done it. In the silence of the carriage, she glazed over and went to the place in her mind that she often times had gone during the more intense physical torture. She wanted to ask, but… she had information she needed to file away.
Lack of food and water, lack of sleep, lack of sunlight, and lack of being able to feel mana coursing through one’s body. And then they would lie. They would continuously lie while they hit, and cursed, and kicked, and spit. Ella’s voice jarred her, when she spoke again, jumping a little at the sound, her eyes finally coming back into focus, to see the town house, and not her parents manor. She’s happy to see the house is still there, they had told her it had been burnt down. She hurries inside as fast as her legs will allow, her bare feet silent on the floor.
“I-is..,” she swallowed hard, the lump already forming – had they not lied about the baby, about her little girl. Had they been telling the truth with that? Kaczor fought back the wail that was building in her chest, threatening to spill out, tears half formed on the edges of her tired eyes, all the liquid she could spare, the panic crossing her features was painful. “Th-the baby?” The edge of her barely whispered words, and the rising bile in her throat as she looked to the woman she had married for reassurance.
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The other woman tried not to wince, and Ella tried to avoid touching her too much. She'd not expected this kind of treatment... but then, when she thought about how brazen her wife was... or was it, had been, now? She was a softer hand when it came to those that needed their loyalties refreshed. And she had begged to be the one to teach her wife. Begged, pleaded...
But ultimately, they had given her the limited leeway they could, by allowing Kaczor to stay home with her until their child was born. She understood that. What she was having trouble understanding was the fact her wife had not been allowed gender-affirming care while in re-education. And she made a silent promise to speak to someone about that in the following weeks.
She doesn't stare; though her gaze does flit to Kaczor as she notes the blanket moved over her head, almost like a wig or head-scarf.
Quiet, she trailed after her wife, frowning when she spoke again. What had frightened her? She tilted her head, trying to piece together the woman's words with the panic she was seeing written across her wife's face.
Did they not read my letters to you?She frowned, and turned to lead the way.
Towards the shared bathroom between the master and the nursery.
She's just asleep... I wasn't sure what condition you'd be in, or if you'd want to visit with her right away.She pushed the nursery door open.
We can wake her, if you'd like.It'd ruin the child's routine, but only for one night.
But first, I must insist on a bath.
5
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She followed, as quick as her body would allow her, and nearly sank to the floor outside the nursery, just peering inside to see her child, her little one. Her hands closed as much as they could around the doorframe to keep herself upright. “No, no… d-don’t wake.”
There would be tomorrow. There would be tomorrow for meeting her daughter. Ella was right. She was filthy, even after they had blasted her with spells to try and clean her up. Nothing about her treatment in the prison had been easy. “No letters.” Not that she thought she would have read them. They had been quite adamant that her wife had been the one who had turned her in for a refreshing of her education. Kaczor was well aware the other woman was a spy, but she wouldn’t give too much one way or another until she was feeling herself again, soon. Hopefully.
She simply nodded, her eyes not looking away from the baby. “Bath.”
She wanted to be clean, and shaved, and with a headscarf before she held her daughter for the first time. Maybe a good cry that she had been robbed of the first year of her precious little one’s life. Would the child even like her? She hadn’t been allowed the luxury of worrying about these things while she had been incarcerated, she had been too focused on not letting herself be taught, be brainwashed. Too focused on playing the game well enough to survive intact, and take the knowledge of the inner workings and lay out of the prison back to her contacts. She hadn’t allowed herself to hope with the baby either, but the relief that flooded through her was just as exhilarating as that first feel of magic had been. “I-I’d like a bath.”
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Ella frowned, reaching to steady her wife.
Can you stand?She inquired, noting how she was clinging to the doorframe, as if it were the only thing that kept her upright. She was thin, no doubt malnourished as part of her 'treatment'.
May I hold your hand?
She offered her hand out, and waited for a response. If it was a yes, she'd slip her fingers through Kaczor's, and help her to the bathroom in-between the nursery and the master bed. If it was a no, she'd lead the way, her hands at her sides. Regardless, they'd wind up in the bathroom.
She didn't close the door between the nursery and the bathroom, as she settled next to the tub, running lukewarm water once it was stoppered. Ella brought out a razor from under the sink, and a variety of different soaps and scents.
I wrote to you. All of the time. Telling you about each milestone she met. I guess I'll have to tell you those stories in person, instead.She was quiet, as she finished setting out everything that Kaczor would need for a bath.
Okay... do you want me to stay?She'd finally turn to face her wife, brown eyes wandering over her ragged form.
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She shook her head, the blanket falling from her shoulders, as the tears started to fall. She couldn’t really, no. All those muscles she had worked hard on in her youth, lean muscle that kept her strong, gone. She had gone in a healthy 170 pounds, now, she was barely 110 on her six foot frame. Emaciated, is what they’d call someone in her condition. Her eyes looked at the hand, and she hesitated. Part of her wanted to take her wife’s hand, and the other part of him wanted to grab and yank, to make her look hard and what she did, before that part retreated back under the damage done, before Kaczor was Kaczor again and not, someone else, someone that didn’t have a wife, and child in the same room.
She eventually took the hand, but held awkwardly to the side of it, her own fingers wrapping around Ella’s ring and pinky fingers. Rage boiled up some more at the touch. Could she not see how stupid this whole “re-education” had been, how it damaged people. It simmered under the surface, but she remained meek, as she followed her wife into the bathroom. It would be hard to overpower her. Even with her magic, Ella was stronger than her right now. If she refused, she might report back that the training hadn’t stuck, but being naked and having her there to watch her shave off all that facial hair, the crying that would happen at the dysphoria of a beard.
It would be expected, that she’d ask her to stay, to keep watch on her. That had been part of the training after all, someone would be watching her to make sure she kept to her training. So when they finally reached the bath, she was happy that the door stayed open so she could look back at the baby. The baby would be what got her through not trying to murder her wife the next few days. The baby would be what kept the rage in check and under control until she could find somewhere remote, somewhere alone, weeks from now and throw bolts of lightning at something until it blew up to let off the absolute utter fucking anger that she had roiling around in her guts.
“You can stay.”
After all, she had had to bathe among the other male prisoners. Bathing in front of a woman would be nicer, she hoped, as long as she kept herself on guard. Any mistakes…
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Ella bit her lip, as she rubbed her hand. She sighed quietly, at the tension she'd felt when the other had held her hand. And when she receives confirmation that she can stay, she'd step out of the room and into the nursery, to claim a small stool.
I've missed you, I tried to get you released and...She winched at the admission that she'd failed to do that, and drifted off. It wasn't exactly a pleasant conversation topic. She didn't like this, feeling like she had to walk on eggshells.
But she'd been the one who'd done this. Not, not willingly, she'd been forced into a corner, panicked.
But that's just an excuse. It doesn't make any of it better.
...how can I help?She finally asked, as if anything she might be able to do would actually be useful. It's a feeling she's familiar with; feeling useless. But it isn't something she's used to feeling around her wife.
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When Ella steps from the bathroom, she finally turns and looks at herself in the mirror, seeing the full horror of what was done – sunken eyes, shoots of grey and white in her hair, a shaking hand came up to the only 4 inch long tendrils on her crown, and the tears started. She looked like a man. Even when she had been transitioning originally she hadn’t looked this.. Old or rough. “I missed..”
She chokes on the words as she reaches for the scissors, to try and start lopping off as much facial hair as possible. Possessed. Her face was under there, she knew her face was under the hair. Under the scratchy, horrible hair that hid her petit cheek bones and jaw line that was a little sharper than a males usually was. No boxy square jaw for her. She had missed all of it. The baby, Ella, the house. Her magic. She didn’t know which would be the allowed, the acceptable answer. “..you.”
She put the scissors down, now that the long tendrils were gone, and it was just a neat looking bit of hair. Handsome, she might have been called, had she chosen to present as male again, handsome but effeminate. She had heard that all her life, and there was reason,she wasn’t male. Not in a traditional sense at least. And this was already helping, she realized, as she touched a cheek, finding the tears there. She hadn’t realized they had been falling the entire time, until she looks at the … sack, they had given her to wear. She shield that finally, she had never been shy about being naked, but now it’s more so that she just has no shame of being naked at all. Clothes had been a privilege during the majority of her incarceration.
She finally stepped into the tub and then squatted down, knees to her chest, hugged there as she waited for the water to stop feeling like it would bite at her any moment. It was water, it should be gentle, and kind against her skin, but it hadn’t been, not in a long time, and so she didn’t really know what to think, other than not to let her feet out from under herself.. She needed to be able to stand in case someone tried to drown her again. It had only taken twice to learn to never let her feet out from under herself. “Just.. tell me about the baby?”
She didn’t want to touch anything yet, but finally reached out and took the bar of soap and put it directly to skin and started to scrub, hard, as if she was trying to scour her skin off in the process.
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Careful—But it was too late, Kaczor was hastily lopping off her facial hair, and Ella watched wide-eyed, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She wouldn't cry. She wasn't the one that had been sent to a prison, and treated inhumanely.
She does breath an audible sound of relief, once her wife places the scissors down, and settles into the tub. But not quite; she crouched, as if she were preparing for someone to try to hurt her. Ella hated this; seeing the woman this way... It wasn't who she was. She's asked to hear about the baby, and started scrubbing her skin raw with a bar of soap. It has to hurt—
Talk about the baby.
Well, she's fat and giggly. Your mom is in love with her.She smiled softly, at that fact.
She doesn't talk too much. But the healers promise nothing's wrong with her.The baby babbled, but rarely made any noises that were actually distinguishable from babbling.
She can walk, and if she's of the mind, she'll run. I've acquired a handful of trousers, after I tripped over the hem of my dress whilst chasing her in the gardens.She chuckled softly, though it faded after a moment. It wasn't real laughter; she just felt like she should laugh. She was watching her wife attempt to scour her skin off, and finally moved to sit next to the tub, on the floor.
Let me.She reached for the hand that held the soap, fingers gentle.
Let me help you.Her touch wasn't tight, easily batted away if her wife was inclined.
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So they had lied about that too.. Her mother was alive. Oh.. She closed her eyes and tried to stop the sob that rose from her as she lost her ability to not be relieved that her mother was alive. Her daughter was alive, her wife was alive.. She knew the slaves were gone, they’d have been there if they were alive. So that they had been executed was probably true. Maybe.. Maybe her father and brother were still alive then too. She couldn’t form words though, no. She could only cry. But she nodded as she dunked a hand into the water and then brought it back up to drag down her dirty itchy face, to try and rid herself of the tears that were coming, unchecked down.
She didn’t want to complain that the water was too hot on her skin, what little precious mana she had going to cool the water down some with a dip of her hand, one finger dropping a bit of ice there to bring it down to body temperature. Glad that she could actually… could actually control the water temperature. Could access her magics, even if she was only able to conjure up a thumbnail sized piece of ice, it was enough.
How did anyone deal with this? Having been tortured and (attempted) brain washed, and then just dropped back into normal every day society. Would people come calling, or would they shun her and her family. There were a million things to worry about and a thousand decisions to have to mull over and decisions made on how to act appropriately to them – to make sure that she flew under radar for a while. Once she had delivered her report, she would need time before she could undertake something like this again. She needed to heal her body and let her mind rest from the year long abuse and torture she had gone through.
She hadn’t realized when Ella had come close, and her relinquished the soap easily over, the now free hand going to hug around her knees again as she tried to hide her face into her knees. The anger was back, and she felt bi-polar from the mood swings. Relief that someone she had mourned as dead already was alive, rage that a year of her life had been taken, but taken for a purpose. Grief that she had missed her daughter’s first steps, her first babbling, so many firsts she … completely missed. “You.. did you manage,” she breathed wrong and the spittle from her tears caught in her throat, having her cough, violently, until she was absolutely breathless and gasping for air. “Crystals?”
Had she managed to get any of those firsts down in memory crystals, something for her to watch, to feel connected to her child.
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Ella was lathering a soft washcloth, when her wife started coughing.
I did, there's so many to watch.She ran the lathered cloth across the woman's legs,
About... 80, I think.She dipped the cloth into the water, and resumed her careful, gentle movements.
Your father insisted. I thought it cost too much, and when I saw him last Sunday, we recorded our family dinner.She moved to Kaczor's other leg,
I've seen your family every Sunday, with the baby.
She shifted where she sat, so that she could run the cloth over her wife's shoulders, up the back of her neck.
Everyone is excited to see you this coming Sunday, if you're feeling well enough.She's spent too many years perfecting the compartmentalizing of her emotions; and right now, with her wife sobbing in the bathtub, she's quite certain she needs to hide her tears until she's doing the dishes later.
Ella sat the cloth over the edge of the tub,
Do you want help shaving?She inquired, reaching for the straight-razor and the lather. She'd offer it out, ignoring the fact her uniform was quite wet from sitting next to the tub and washing the other woman.
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Hope sprung to life in her chest, there was memory crystals, and while they weren't like being there, it was something that she could at least watch. “My father and brother, they were there?”
Her question was hesitant, barely whispered, she needed to know how much they had lied to her. “They told me all of you were dead.” She finally added as she let herself be washed, like a child almost, not putting up any resistance or effort to stop Ella from touching her. She was too tired, too emotionally drained, even as she tried to hide her tears from her wife. “Archon be praised they're alive.”
The words felt like ash in her mouth, acid burning at her tongue even. She would throw up if she didn't think it would land her right back in the prison. She had to keep the act up a little while longer. “Please. My hands shake too badly right now.”
And they had shook when she had taken the scissors to her face, to get the bulk of the hair gone. But right now, it would be to get clean enough she could curl up on the floor next to her daughter's crib and listen to the little on breath deep and easy in her sleep. The child was what was going to keep her going, her child. Her heir.
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Ella exhaled softly,
They... no, everyone's okay.She settled on the side of the tub, now, and reached to cup her wife's face in one hand.
It's okay, you're home.She murmured, as she carefully lathered the other woman's face.
Inhaled deeply, and began to shave the rest of her beard off. Carefully, dipping the blade into the water to cleanse it so that she could resume.
Much better.The words feel hollow in her mouth; nothing is better. She's not sure if the woman in front of her is the same rebel she'd fallen in love with.
After a moment of staring, Ella pushed herself off of the edge of the tub, and laid out a plush towel over the stool she'd seated herself on. She disappeared into the master bed, setting out Kaczor's night clothes.
I'm going to get you a light meal, and then, uhm... I can show you to the memory crystals.They were in order by date; with nothing else really defining what was on them. Ella left her wife to dress, and disappeared into the kitchen downstairs to pick out light finger-foods for the other woman.
It was a quick deed, though she took her time in making her way back to their rooms. Pausing in a room that she'd turned into her closet, she'd change into a night-dress of her own, before she sought her wife out, plate in hand.
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She allowed Ella to handle her face to shave off the rest of the hair, but she didn’t meet her wive’s eyes, she couldn;t yet. Too tired, too mad. “I know, Darling, I know.” And then she was saying she would go get a light meal together, and she nodded, taking the soap and scrubbing her hair, what little of it was on her head. She would finish cleaning herself up and then dress herself while Ella was out of the room, getting that light meal.
While she was alone she found a scarf to go over her head, to cover that scrub that had once been long healthy locks, that would eventually be healthy again. She would see to it. Eventually. For now she needed to focus on sending a coded message to her contacts to set up a meeting in two weeks time. She’d have to sit and think about the best way to get that done, but in the mean time, she was happy to learn of the memory crystals, and how many of them there were. She’d find her favorites and set them into a holder she could have on her person at all times. So she wouldn’t lose them.
Something else to think about when she finally could start moving about on her own without arousing suspicion. Two weeks at home and skulking the shadows, and then another two only going out for a small errand. Flowers. Near the square, it was a straight walk to and from, one could look out of the front of the townhouse and see the flower vendor’s cart, a block up the avenue. And she had always insisted on fresh flowers at home before hand. It would make sense for her to start going for the flowers she so loved. It would be good to establish a new routine. Yes. In a month she’d be flower arranging again. For now…
She looked over into her daughters room, pushing off the counter of the bathroom and walking to the open door, listening to the little one breath deeply, each inhale and exhale helping keep her calm, keep her okay in the quite of the house. So when Ella came back into the room, she knew the moment she was – the house was a tomb, so even her bare feet made sound on the floor as she moved. She looked at the plate, when Ella appeared back into the rooms, her stomach growing as she looked over the finger food.
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Ella smiled softly, as she balanced the tray of food on one hand, a water-flask in the other. She'd offer them out, and clear her throat. She felt... almost as awkward as the first time they'd met; except this was much worse. She'd come to care for the woman in front of her and everything... had fallen to bits. Kaczor's not met her gaze once since they'd returned home; that familiar and safe arrogance was gone...
I have to, do the uhm, dishes—do you need... need anything else?Leaving Kaczor alone with the child wasn't really what she wanted; but it wouldn't do for her to sit and stare at her either. It's not like she'd disappear if Ella left her out of sight.
The crystals are... in that little case,she'd nod to the nursery, where an oranate case rested up on a high shelf out of reach of Sarianne. She noted the scarf, wrapped around her wife's head, and made a mental note to send for nicer materials.
If she wakes up just... give her a bit of your soft foods. She shouldn't wake, though.Sari didn't sleep through the night, but she was more keen to wake up around three or four in the morning and go until naptime.
If you want anymore food, just uhm, the kitchen's well-stocked.She felt like she was walking on literal eggshells, as she left her wife in their rooms with her light meal and disappeared downstairs.
It was familiar, being in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes by hand. She soaked some of the morning dishes, and worked in silence. She had a quiet cry, whilst struggling to scrape out one of today's breadpans, but after that the only telltale sign that she'd cried at all was the fact her eyes were red-rimmed.
She listened for her daughter whilst she cleaned, and reminded herself that Kaczor was more than capable of caring for a child.
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She nodded once as the food was delivered, and she made note of where the memory crystals were being stored. “T-thanks.”
She was happy when Ella left for a little bit. She didn’t want to watch the crystals yet, so she took the small plate into her daughter's room and sunk down to the floor by the crib, studying the sleeping child’s face closely, looking at each line, each curve, committing the little face to memory, so that if she was taken again in a few hours, then at least she’d remember her daughters face. There from the floor she trembled as she finally reached one finger tip through the slats, and rubbed a finger on the back of the tiny hand that fisted there, on the mat with it’s cool sheets. Perfect, her little nose and creamy skin, her mother’s hair. Perfect little bundle of love, but it hurt so badly that she didn’t have any of the reactions that she thought she would. No, there was a disconnect there. She wanted so badly for it to have been instantaneous, to immediately know the child as her own and to be nothing but content and happy that her child was in her life once again.
And she didn’t think she could feel anything at the moment. Why was it that her feelings to this perfect little bundle of love and joy be so alarmingly absent? And it hit her, hard, the realization dropping to the pit of her stomach and feeling as if the floor had been pulled out from under her. She had been told her daughter had been executed. She had already mourned the deaths of may, that she was now finding out were alive. It was hard to reconcile so quickly.
She hadn’t realized she was done with the food on the plate, until t was empty, and she rose silently from the food to head into the kitchen, two floors down. She used the back servant’s stairs, padding quietly, one step at a time until she appeared at the kitchen door, and moved over to dip her plate into the wash water, taking the wash rag and moving to clean the plate with an efficiency that only came from institutionalization. Once the plate was cleaned, and she had left the wash rag back for Ella, she took the plate over to be dried and then put away, taking a moment to find where the dish belonged.
Once she was done, she went back up those stairs, just as silently, and sank back down into the flood of the nursery. She didn’t know what else to do. And in those first few hours, the bath had helped, but she was exhausted and needed to rest and eat to recharge herself. And then, she’d need to start working out again, to gain back the muscle she had lost. And every spare moment would be devoted to the baby, and watching the memories she had missed.
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Ella had watched Kaczor, silently, as the other woman tidied after herself. And she watched her leave, just as quiet. Once she was done in the kitchen, she'd moved to cleaning in other parts of the house; anything to avoid spending time with her wife.
Eventually, she had to go to bed. And she slipped her slippers off in the doorway of the bedroom, frowning at the fact the bed remained untouched. At least, until she caught sight of her wife, asleep on the floor of the nursery, just under the corner of the crib. Ella sighed, and slipped a blanket off of the bed, spreading it across the other woman's body. She brought a pillow, and gently slipped it under her wife's head as well.
A quick glance to check that the baby was, in fact, fast asleep, and Ella went back to the bedroom to lay down for the night. She kept the doors between the rooms open, like she often did most nights. Easier to hear the child's quiet whimpers, and gauge whether it was a dream or if she was actually awake and preparing to scream.
A few hours of sleep, before the little infant was bawling. Too few hours, because Ella was not immediately awake.
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She had woken after a few hours, and had watched three of the memory crystals, all while making sure that the baby was asleep, and resting easily. She was afraid of when the little girl would wake, afraid of not knowing what to do, but after the last memory crystal, the baby’s first smile, in which she had heard “Sarianne” as the name. Bold. Seeing as how she knew Sari was dead. She wouldn’t have been parted from the baby if she had been alive. And Kaczor didn’t think that Ella would just turn all the servants out. Their rooms had nothing in them upstairs, except dust. It felt like they had vanished. So they had most likely been the ones that had been punished for her treason.
But when the baby started to crym she was on her feet in a moment, reaching into the craddle and lifting the baby out to hold her close. “Sssh, ssshh Annie, let your momma sleep, Papa..no, mapa has you.” Thankfully the little girl was still young enough to not immediately throw a harder fit by being held by a stranger. “Shh, I got you, my precious, precious girl. Look at you, my love, look at you. You’re going to knock em dead like your mapa did in her youth.” She still felt gross, like a man pretending like some of the other prisoners had called her, but with her little girl. “Let’s go fix you a bottle, you’d probably hungry arn’t you, since you don’t smell like the prison yet.”
She bounced the little girl on her hip as she went down the back stairs to the kitchen. “Let’s see what we can find, huh?” The baby’s hair started to stand on edge as Kaczor sighed happily at being able to light the stove with a flick of flame from her finger. “Ha ha, mapa still has it. Soon she’ll be making you ice roses to chew on when you start busting a new tooth.”
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Sarianne was a loud crier; and eventually Ella realized the crying had... gone silent. At this realization, Ella rolled out of bed and silently padded into the nursery. Only to find both Kaczor and the child missing from the room. She rubbed her face with one hand, and moved through the house, until she heard a voice downstairs in the kitchen. And the quiet whimpering that the baby's cries had calmed to.
She didn't go downstairs, but instead settled at the top of the stairs, listening to them. Once upon a time, her little family had been... idealistic, perfection... And now she was quite certain it was ruined.
But at least Kaczor and the baby might get along. Ella rested her arms across her knees, chin atop her arms, and just sat. She was blocking the stairs if her wife tried to leave the kitchen... Dozing while she listened in.
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“Where does your momma hide the milk, huh? Is this the ice-box? Ahh I see grandma and grandpa made sure momma had everything stocked while mapa was away, huh? Momma said you go and see grandma and grandpa every week for family dinner. They still have family dinner then? Oh you’re so lucky that smile is so cute, keep your secrets you little stinker.” Kaczor found where the ice-box had been hidden finally, and pulled out a glass jar of milk. She popped the top off it and then sniffed at it. “I think we’re fresh. We’re gonna heat it to make sure, I’ve not smelled much more than shit and piss for the past year, little precious, so we’re not gonna trust my nose, not yet at least.”
She took the bottle over to the counter and started to open the cabinets until she found what she was looking for. “Did you know, my love, that when I was your age, there was a kindly slave that took care of me while grandma healed up from bringing me into the world? I have a feeling your momma named you after her, but I like Annie. Annie fits you.” Did she know Ella was on the stairs, no, she actually didn’t. She just found it easy to talk to Sarianne, the cooing and giggling infant was much easier for her to confess too, and in those small hours of the morning, it was easier than talking to someone who would actually understand what she had gone through.
While her wife had been the spy that had turned her in, she had known from the start that the betrothal, the wedding, the rush to secure an heir had been part of the plan, but what Kaczor hadn’t counted on was actually falling in love with Ella in the process. It had stung much more than she had expected, that over the course of the year, of everything they had experienced together during that time, that she had done it. She wouldn’t know about how much pressure had had to been put on the other woman, until later, after the coming meeting with her contact. She hadn’t been updated of that at any point in the incarceration, so she wasn’t aware, not yet at least. “Milk in the pan, and warmed up enough to not feel too hot on my tender little wrists. Can’t burn you, your momma might make it to where we can’t have late night chats like this.”
She had gotten the bottle together and had decided to take it back upstairs with them, so that if Ella woke, she wouldn’t find the cradle empty. It would be hell on the woman, and even if Kaczor was still a little angry, some of those crystals had helped ease that anger. But she hadn’t been prepared to find Ella asleep on the stairs when she came around the corner to climb up their stairs. “And look, Annie, it’s Momma..”
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Ella wasn't fully asleep, and startled when her wife spoke to the child about her. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, murmuring,
S... Sorry, didn't know if you needed help and then it was just... nice to hear your voice.She'd sounded like the Kaczor that Ella knew, had dreamed about for the past year.
She pushed herself upright, and yawned against her free hand.
Mmm, she doesn't believe in going back to bed, as of late. Once she's done eating, you can just let her play in the nursery.
She stepped off of the stairs, waving at the little baby as she passed.
I'll clean up in here.It was automatic; she'd created a routine that worked for the two of them—and as of yet, that routine didn't include letting Kaczor do housework. Her father would say she'd fallen into the "perfect housewife" role eventually.
Do you have any requests for breakfast?She inquired, pushing the backdoor of the kitchen open; it opened right into a section of garden where she'd maintained fresh produce. Anything to distract herself from the fact she was alone, with a baby.
Of course, the Tilani's purchased fresh produce for her as well, but the gardens had been here before she was. It'd felt wrong not to use any produce from them, or to let the plants wilt and die. Though, she wasn't perfect and a few things had certainly perished.
Watering can in hand, she waited for a response from Kaczor, before she'd step outside to the little patch of garden.
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“So it’s true, you’ve been a little nightmare for your momma while mapa has been away.” She didn’t expand on it, but she raised a brow. “Lady Tilani, go back to bed. You need rest.” She was already fishing a large shawl from the servant’s old closet there off the kitchen, the fact that she knew where things belonged down there should be, telling, but she took one of the clean, soft shawls from the closet there, and then squatted down, so that she could move Annie to her back. And once Annie was on her back, she used the shawl to go down around her waist, and up over her shoulders to secure the infant to her back. And, it allowed her to have both hands free to work around for a little while.
“Don;t you think momma should go back to bed, Annie, lets us girls take care of things for her, hmm?”
Her eyes looked at her wife, sunken in, and devoid of any of the spark that had been there a year ago. The person looking out from them wasn’t the same. No, not yet. But she made an effort of trying to sound like the jovial person she had been, even if her words were reserved for the baby, and not directly to Ella. No, “Lady Tilani”, and she watched as the other woman headed out into the garden, following to see what had been there in the little green house area, what could be used for a good meal, for something delicious.
“I wasn’t allowed to decide my meals. Anything you make is fine.” And she cooed back to Annie as she let the child take the bottle there on her back. “Oh you’re probably a messy eater still aren’t you, you’re going to leave a trail of mess down my back, and that’s fine, probably better your mapa gets back into the habit of daily bathing.”
She stopped at a row of carrots and leaned down, pulling one straight from the ground, eyeing it. Thick and smelling sweet, she thought of a million ways to have it fixed. Before… before she remembered sitting in the kitchen, Ella cooking something and then holding a spoon over and letting her have a taste. “Has Annie been my replacement taster while I’ve been gone? Have you, little precious?”
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'Lady Tilani'... and it wasn't in jest. Ella watched as her wife situated the baby on her back,
I'm fine. I sleep when she sleeps.She murmured; she'd learned that the hard way, especially while refusing hired help.
She was quiet, as she checked tomatoes for ripeness, picking one or two. She doesn't watch her wife, instead focused entirely on the plants she was going through and watering. Tomatoes sat aside, in a basket to be brought in when they were finished.
The gardens were not quite as peaceful, with someone she wasn't sure she could trust in the same space. The fact her wife preferred to speak to the baby over her, stung, quite a lot.
She paused to refill the watering can from the outside spicket, pumping the water slowly. Used to, she'd tend to the gardens with Sari. She remembered when Kaczor had helped her plant something, it hadn't been too long before they were entangled on the ground, caught by the old woman.
Seemed like a bittersweet memory, now. Ella finished filling the waterer, and moved to another row of plants.
Perhaps... omelettes, side of bacon and hash browns?She inquired, though she didn't expect an answer.
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Brown eyes swept away, if she had heard the suggestion she wasn’t immediately replying back, instead she was crouched down in a row of produce and pulling encroaching weeds up. This, this was something she was familiar with. Between torture and being left to think the worst thing had happened to everyone she knew, she had been on garden detail. So her hands were rough now, where she had gardened for pleasure before, being forced to weed during her incarceration had changed her outlook on things.
Maybe she’d learn to love it again, to find the solace her solar would bring, but now, it was what it was. And the baby on her back kept her from an attack from behind, while she was still gathering herself to where she would be able to do what she needed too with her magic again one day, gently touching where in the past she would have shaped a controlled line of fire to keep the grasses and weeds back, about two inches of flame doing the job. She needed to rest more, to eat more, to spend some time re-teaching herself how to cast properly, how to shape fire and ice and those wild elements that had at one point, been as easy as breathing to control for her.
But a year with no access to her magic connections, in shackles, and just the small things were making her happy to be able to do again. “A rasher of bacon would be nice. I don’t remember the last time I had meat.”
She would try at least. She needed to remind herself that she couldn’t be too angry at the woman she married. She had done what she had been lead to do. What hurt was that it didn’t seem to have had the effect wanted. Still… still loyal it would appear. The military uniform yesterday had somewhat confirmed that. But then, she herself was supposedly “re-educated”, if it was the other way around, Kac wouldn’t trust either. It was a double edged blade right now. If either of them had changed in the year, then it would be a cycle of distrust and one another in prisons. He snorted as he stood to his full height and tossed the carrot over into the basket of produce for the day. “I think raw carrot chips might be nice too. Something simple.”
Her hands, now dusty with dirt clapped down on her trousers. Oh to have clothes again… but she needed to be easy on her clothing. There was no one but herself to wash them right now, and she wasn’t going to have Ella being a slave in her own house, that.. She was still a Lady of noble birth, even if she was a spy. “I’ll speak to Father about setting up interviews for a new batch of slaves for the house. This is beneath one of noble birth. Even one without magic, you’re still a noble, and a Tilani. By the end of the week I’ll have several ready. I’d go and buy them outright, but I want to make sure we get ones that will help raise Annie properly.”
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No, thank you. He tried to set interviews earlier in the year, and I refused.She spoke too sharply, because the baby reacted with a cry.
We've been fine without slaves.She returned to watering the plots. She couldn't use her wife's incarceration as a reason to need so much distraction, anymore. And she knew it'd look strange if she didn't allow more slaves into the home.
Ella was quiet, as she sat the waterer down, and claimed the basket of produce.
The house isn't large enough to need them.It was the only sound reasoning she could think to give; and even then, it wasn't a perfect excuse if her wife decided to press the issue.
She'd become much more independent in the past year; whereas there had been a time where she'd defer to her wife for everything. She entered the kitchen, setting the basket in the sink and washing the produce in silence.
Her wife had asked for bacon, raw carrots, so she sat the carrots aside to be chopped later. Carefully placing slices of bacon on the stove, she'd light the stove with a match and let it slow-cook the meat.
Hands freshly washed, she seasoned the meat whilst it cooked, and took a seat on the counter.
03-24-2024, 02:58 PM
