Simone Allard || After
Of all the hare-brained activities Simone has found themself involved in, they’re sure this is the worst. The thought cements itself as they scurry out of the Diviner’s tower. As they do, a cluster of people march towards them. Faculty members.
Shit, shit, shit.
They flinch as several pairs of eyes rake over them, each lacking recognition. They gloss over Simone like they’re an errant weed and focus instead on the entrance to the tower.
True to Shae’s words, the spell holds firm.
Dio squirms in their bag, dragging them back from their paralyzing panic. Simone sidesteps the entourage, pulling their bag closer to avoid it brushing the crowd. They wait for the doors on the Diviner tower to bang shut before breaking into a sprint, not stopping until they’re back within their apartment once again. Their heart roars like train in their chest.
Finally, shrouded in darkness, they think they’ve evaded discovery.
Their joints pop as they stand. Just like how Nadia used to be—a living sack of popped corn. The sound sends shockwaves down their spine and they wince.
Dio looks up from his curled up spot on the bed at their approach. Grabbing him had been an act of impulse, but how could they leave him behind. The two of them had never been on the friendliest of terms. Even now, he pulls away from their touch, but relents at last with a slow blink of his golden eyes.
They’ll have to ask Chantal for advice on pet care. Scratching him behind the ears, they wiggle their satchel free from underneath him and rummage through their findings. A medical textbook on the thinner side of informative. Brochures on Sanguina Malefica…
The vial of Serenity sits at the bottom of their bag, taunting them.
They’ve been under the drug’s influence, but other than the time they’d tried it—a desperate attempt to comprehend Nadia better—they left such proclivities to Nadia. The feeling of being of multiple minds was something they weren’t able to come to terms with.
Even now, flashes of Nadia’s memories bubble beneath the surface. How can one willingly subject themself to such an experience?
And yet, if they want to use it at all to get to Etienne, they’ll have to be the one to drink it.
Simone picks the vial up without looking at it and turns for the bookshelf against the wall. While most of the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves are legitimate copies, they find the one decoy hidden amongst them. A holiday gift from their enbei, with sigils overtop only they know how to decipher. The spine claims it’s a collection of maps from the Coven Age, and true to the illusion is a map of eastern Elrick on the front cover. Most of the map is shrouded in trees. A single, skinny river snakes its way from the sea into the mainland.
They turn the book on its side and click a loose bump on the spine. The cover flips open, revealing the box within.
Their collection has grown over the years. Cuff links procured from their enbei. A pocket watch gifted to them from one of their first professors. A pair of six-sided die cut from agate. All of these cherished trinkets in one place, hidden in plain sight.
Simone regards the vial in their palm. The liquid rolls around, straining for the cork stopper. They don’t want to sully their prized possessions with contraband, but their alternatives are limited.
This will be a last resort.
With this, they set the vial in the box and slam the lid closed. The weight in their chest lifts with the click of the lock.
#
Morning comes without issue, much to Simone’s surprise. They half-expected to be raided in the dead of night, the way they’d heard other Casters had before. And yet, when their eyes open, it’s to the creeping of sunlight on their ceiling.
A soft sigh escapes them, the last acknowledgment they’re willing to give of the day before. Then, stretching, they begin their morning routine.
It’s the same every day. It has to be In order for Simone to function. As a child, their enbei said a chaotic routine would lead to a chaotic personality. The research is still out on if this is true or not, but Simone had never thought to question it. Nowadays, their adherence to ritual is often enough to drive Nadia to chew her nails in frustration.
They spend five minutes stretching their body. First their toes, then their legs, up the valley of their stomach, ending with the soft clicking of their vertebrae. Then they strip their nightclothes and set them in the basket in the closet. The faint salty smell reminds them they have yet to do laundry this week.
Breakfast is a serving of yogurt topped with lemon curd and blueberries still cold from the refrigerator. They eat as they wait for the coffee to finish steeping and have moved on to a piece of bread toasted over the stovetop burner when a sudden, sharp pain rakes through them.
Pain is not part of the routine.
Simone leans against the kitchen counter with a soundless gasp. One knee burns like someone is attempting to pull the cap free of its socket. Their eyes roll. For several seconds, all they can do is let out a low whine and pray for the moment to pass.
The timer for their coffee dings, a knife of clarity. Clenching the counter, they hobble towards the machine.
At last, they collapse into one of their stools and stretch their aching leg. Already, the pain has abated some, but is still strong enough it keeps Simone’s thoughts in a vice-grip. And yet, when they pull up the cuffs of their under-shorts, there’s nothing. No swollen flesh. The skin isn’t blushed like they struck it. It almost reminds them of the growing pains they underwent as a child, but with more intensity.
How peculiar. They let the cuff of their shorts drop.
For a heartbeat, they entertain the notion of staying home, but they decide against it. There’s been enough chaos as it is, and they would rather not arouse suspicion after the situation in Nadia’s room. They can muscle through the day well enough—they hope.
They exhale hard and pour the coffee into their teacup.
There’s the meeting with Alienor. Their spoon scrapes the porcelain, forming a ripple in their thoughts, but they drag themself back to with a grunt. Defense through Modern Means, Intro to Glyph Design, Ethical Divination…
They latch onto the final class in the list, thinking of the Serenity they’ve tucked away in their room. It can remain as a last resort, can’t it? They’ll have to consult their notes.
Before long, the pain lessens to a dull throb. Not ideal, but it will have to do. Finished with their coffee, Simone rises and resolves to see through the rest of their routine.
#
Alienor is waiting for them when they enter the bookstore, balancing her cane over one knee. Staring out the window, she pulls her powder blue capelet tighter around her and doesn’t look up until Simone pulls their chair out with a loud screech.
“Oh,” she says, gaze vacant. “You’ve arrived.”
Simone sits down and sets their satchel aside. “I am. I apologize for my lateness.”
“It’s fine.”
On normal mornings, they launch into lively conversation at once, jabbering until the first bells ring. Magic, philosophy, their classes for the day…nothing escapes the wide net both of their minds cast. This morning, however, there is a storm of nerves brewing between them. Simone shifts in their seat, fighting to meet Alienor’s eyes.
“Rough morning?” they ask when the silence grows too deep.
Alienor scrapes her teacup around in its saucer. Under the table, her knee begins to bounce.
“Alienor?”
“I…” The sigh she expels whips her hair into a frenzy. “Got some unfortunate news recently.”
They take her hand in theirs, examining the splints on her fingers. “How awful.”
At once, guilt forms a weight in their chest. How could they have thought to stay home today?
“It put plenty into perspective, I’ll say that much.” Then, adjusting the splints on her fingers, “But I suppose it doesn’t matter. How have you been?”
The weight of her stare burrows under their skin. A soft heat flares in their cheeks. “Better than yours, it could be said.”
“Indeed.”
Alienor turns away once again, knuckles white where she clutches her capelet. She drums an uneven beat on her cane.
“Mx. Allard, if I may be so forward…?”
They lean forward, pulse fluttering. “Yes?”
“What is it that made you decide to pursue Abjuration?”
Simone’s brow furrows. “Well, plenty, I suppose. With my enbei in the A.C.A.S., it feels… almost expected. But aside from that, it’s the field of casting which calls to me the most.”
“And you’ve never had a change of heart? Not once?”
Perhaps, when Simone had first began pursuing their Caster’s degree a year prior, there had been the faintest inklings of doubt. To pinpoint your studies to such a finite degree is indeed a daunting task. And sure, towards the end of their first year they had made themself sick with worry over their career prospects, or if they had made the right decision.
They can’t say when exactly the cold chill of certainty had settled within them. Sometime before their thesis pitch to Professor Darzi. Perhaps it had been a culmination of numerous smaller moments—moments which, after their passing, had helped cement the notion that, yes, Simone was making the right decision.
“Never a change of heart,” they respond at last. “An examination of my values, perhaps. Overall, I’ve been quite satisfied with the trajectory of my life.”
Outside, the courtyard is a rainbow of capelets. Alienor watches each one pass, statue-still for a good while. When she turns back, teartracks make a gleaming patchwork of her cheeks.
“My sister was killed last week. Monster attack, they said.”
Simone winces. “Oh. I’m… terribly sorry to hear that.”
Alienor nods as if that’s the reaction she’s expecting. “I just found out,” she continues. “A whole week went by. We were making plans not too long ago to see each other after my graduation, you know. She’s always wanted to go to Vahn and—“
Simone takes her hand again, unsure of what else to do.
“It just. It makes me angry, you know?” Her fingers curl tight around Simone’s. “Why wasn’t I called? I graduate in a few weeks, anyhow. What difference would it make? We have phones, for shards’ sake. Why wasn’t I called?”
All at once, her composure crumples. With quiet, whole-body shudders, the tears on Alienor’s face flow anew. Unable to hide, she looks back out the window.
“I just…” She hiccups before continuing. “I wish I had been there to protect her. That’s what our realm of casting is all about, isn’t it?”
Simone nods. Then, realizing she isn’t watching, they say, “I suppose so.”
The first bells ring, snapping them both to attention. Sharing a look, they rise in unison.
“Mx. Allard.” Alienor props the door open with her cane, letting Simone out first. Then, as she steps out after them, she says, “Do you know what the word ‘abjuration’ originally meant?”
They play with the strap of their satchel, pulse quickening when they realize they don’t have an answer. After an uncomfortable pause, they say, “I don’t.”
“A renunciation of one’s oath.” Voice cracking, Alienor rubs her thumb over the head of her cane. “How far we have taken that, hmm?”
#
Etienne is asleep when Simone enters his room. For real this time, they think as they survey the steady rise and fall of his chest. The sigils over him are different this time—or, at least, they look different.
Just in case, Simone guides the door closed and creeps deeper into the room. They want to have the upper hand when he wakes up. As gentle as possible, they edge a chair closer to his bedside and sit down. Their hands shake at their sides.
A lot of his color has returned, thank the Gods. Right after the attack, he’d been so grey he’d rivaled Nadia on her better days. Now, however, he’s almost… normal.
Simone almost has enough pity in their breast to regret their next course of action.
Reaching into their satchel with their free hand, they produce the vial of Serenity. A last resort, they remind themself with a gulp. Setting it between their knees, they snap their casting glove against their skin and finally look up.
“Etienne.”
He doesn’t stir beyond the scrunching of his face. It would be easier to see inside his mind if he’s asleep, they think, but they owe him the pretense of inviting themself in. There’s two ways this conversation will go. Perhaps he will choose the easier route.
“Etienne,” they say again.
Still nothing. They take his hand in theirs and lean in closer.
“Etienne. Wake up.”
His eyes snap open, taking them in at last. Flinching, he yanks his hand away, as if he expects their contact to poison him.
“What are you doing here?”
His voice is still thick with sleep. Perhaps they can convince him to take the more humane approach before he’s realized…
“Have you found a way to get me out of here?”
Or perhaps not.
“Not entirely,” they reply, face filling with heat. Jaw clenched, they continue, “But that doesn’t matter right now.”
His brows furrow. Without looking, he reaches for the bedside table—and for his glasses.
“You need to tell me what happened to Nadia.”
He stills. The muscles in his neck twitch, worms straining for surface. “I already told you,” he says in a low tone. “If you want to know anything, you need to get me out of here.”
“Not so.” Simone takes a deep breath and attempts to channel some hidden, colder part of them. They think of their younger years, how they’d presented speeches in an unflinching, unchanging tone.
No, that’s too soft. They need something firmer to anchor to.
Nadia. Think of Nadia.
Simone focuses on the discolored spots on Etienne’s face, on the angry pink scars running across one side of his face. It’s all the incentive they need.
“There are two ways this can go,” they say. “Firstly, you can volunteer the information willingly. I get what I need from you and I leave and we pretend this never happened.”
He snorts. “I don’t have the patience for this.”
“Which leaves option two.”
“Get out before I call the nurses myself.”
They pick up the vial of Serenity and hold it into his line of sight. At once, he pales.
“Wh…Where did you get that?”
“Doesn’t matter, so long as you know what it is. I don’t want to do this, Etienne, but I’ll make the both of us drink it, right here and now, and I’ll force the information out of you in a different way entirely. And who knows. The way you are, perhaps I will stumble upon some of your other secrets as well.”
His throat bobs. “You wouldn’t dare.” Though his gaze is as cutting as acid, it doesn’t keep the tremble out of his words.
“I’ve had enough of being kept in the dark, Now that you’re awake, I want answers.”
He chews on his cheek for a long while, his glare icy. Still he says nothing.
“We don’t both have to drink it. I’ll make the sacrifice for both of us.” As they speak, they ease the cork seal loose. “Either way, I’m leaving this room with what I want.”
“Enough!”
The single word bounces off the walls and back into both of their ears. In the silence that follows, Etienne shoots a panicked glance to the door, then to Simone. Shock slackens every inch of his face, replaced in a flash by ice-cold fear. His movements are clumsy as he tries to scramble back and, not getting far, he droops over in defeat.
“Fine.” He spits it like a globule of acid in their direction. “Fine. Just… put that away.”
Their brow quirks. “I thought you and Nadia consume it a lot.”
“We did.” A single tear rolls down his face. “But…” Then, with an inhale and the cracking of several of his vertebrae falling back into place, he meets their stare with reddening eyes. Still, he doesn’t speak.
“Etienne,” they say in warning, flashing the vial nestled in their palm.
He swallows again. “We… had a fight,” he says, shoulders slumping. “Over something so entirely stupid.”
So Shae had been telling the truth, after all. “Over what, exactly?”
“About you.”
The world tilts. Eyelids fluttering, Simone leans closer. “Why?”
“After all of this time, you still ask?” Etienne picks at the skin around his fingernails, refusing to meet their gaze. Then, “I wanted her to break up with you.”
It’s not the most hurtful thing he’s ever said to them. Not by a long while. Still, the confession is a knife in their side. Their mouth forms a thin line as they think of how to respond.
“For once, it wasn’t because I hated you, Simone.” And for once, his voice drips sincerity. “Nadia… she turned—was turning—into-“
So caught in the moment, Simone hadn’t heard the footsteps in the hall. Neither had Etienne, they think when his eyes grow wide. In unison, they turn at the creaking of the door.
“Oh, what a wonderful surprise!”
Doctor Aiza regards them both from the doorway, face beaming.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up,” she continues. “But this changes everything.” Then her focus shifts to Simone. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, we have some catching up to do. Tests to run. I don’t want our friend here to get more overwhelmed than he is, do you?” Doctor Aiza adjusts her clipboard, grey eyes flashing. “If you would please come along?”
Etienne is ashen when they look back, a pleading gleam in his eyes. Whatever his silent request is, however, they don’t register it.
Doctor Aiza props open the door and steps closer. “Mx. Allard?”
They stuff the vial of Serenity in their pocket, glad they’d been positioned in such a way as to hide it from her view. Then, with a stiff lip, they replace the chair and step away. They’ve waited this long, after all. As maddening as the thought makes them, Simone knows they can wait a little longer.
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