NOVEL NEXT Chapter 153 - The Reunion I: Icy Solitude
The silverly blonde knightess was alone. Sitting on a bench that could be used at least by two other soldiers, right next to one of the healing tents. Her precious white armor and night-black cloak were contaminated by blood of foes, dark and oily as crude, from the veins of the Fallen who met their end against the great-sword leaning against the edge of the bench to her right.
Even her face and silver hair were stained and dirty… It didn't matter. All that corruption that made her pale skin look withered and peeling was insignificant. Her beauty was still capable of stealing Tristessa's breath. And those red eyes, as hot as the flames that could only coexist with the coldness of the Abyss, caused a swarm of butterflies to be born inside her, destined to die at the memory of her intoxicated state and display of violence that scared her to Death.
It was very difficult to forgive her, even if those sins no longer existed… Now, Astoria was only guilty of having fought for Entrana. She looked very tired, her body leaning back against the seat and her arms practically slumped in her lap as if the weight of the bracers protecting them were unbearable.
It was more than obvious that she had spent all her energy fighting the Fallen Militiamen and Tainted Terrdraks, for a city and people that despised her. All she had left was the strength of her spirit, constantly besieged by public ridicule and constant humiliation.
"Astoria…" Tristessa whispered her name, the fingers of her right hand being affectionately licked by Vergil as she looked through the crowd of soldiers and civilians. The image of her being killed by Aurelia Eramisaptor; her body split open and all her organs spilling onto the floor of the execution yard along with all the blood of her body. "…"
A woman wearing a long brown dress, white apron, and a headscarf walked straight up to the knightess and bent down to take the wet rag hanging from a bucket near the end of the seat. Not only did Tristessa feel a pang of bittersweet emotions in her heart at such sight, but she also detected Astoria's steely gaze shifting to the side, toward that woman. The coldness melting, barriers opening… Hopes that someone would acknowledge her without denigrating her and would be kind enough to help her clean the armor with which she had given everything to defend the city and its inhabitants.
Hope… Condemned to nothing, as the woman stood and turned her back on Astoria, going across the street to assist another group of soldiers, avoiding her as if she carried the plague with her.
"Damn… In a way, I know your solitude, Astoria," Tristessa thought, watching her follow that woman with her gaze and knowing that those same rubies had been capable of shedding countless tears in the dark privacy of an underground cistern. "I think it's time you stop suffering alone. Now you'll have to suffer me, a walking pain in the ass."
That premise brought a smile to her face, and so she approached Astoria, accompanied by the silent, passive aracross.
"Hello, lady!"
Tristessa's greeting was so surprising and out of nowhere that Astoria flinched, as if her mind had been transported to another planet by the coldness of that other woman, and now forced to return upon such unexpected visitor. Not in a million years would she have expected to find herself facing a sixteen-year-old girl wearing a black leather trench coat, hands on her hips, grinning from ear to ear, with an aracross sitting on its hind legs beside her.
"Looks like you need a hand with your armor: it's so dirty with the blood of Evil Dream vagrants that it almost looks like it's made of dark steel," she commented, breaking eye contact with the silent knightess to search around for an unused rag. "Mmm, can't see one... Well, I'll have to improvise."
Without even letting Asoria form a sentence or even shake off her state of surprise and disbelief, Tristessa sat down beside her and used her hunting knife to cut off a piece of the cloak that characterized her as a Blackguard. She moistened it in the bucket and then extended her free hand toward the knightess, in expectation.
"Are you going to give me your arm or what? Or would you prefer I crouch on the ground to clean your greaves?" she asked, still smiling at her and feeling Vergil settle down next to her legs, intent on taking a nap. She didn't want to show it, but having Astoria by her side, looking at her so closely, made her very nervous. Excited and scared in equal measure. "Or…I can start with your face, but I warn you, this piece of cloak smells like shit."
"..."
Finally, after several seconds, the silverly blonde woman spoke:
"...What the fuck are you playing at?"
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Without military discipline to maintain and no alcohol in her blood to lighten her mood, Astoria was an icy wall millions of times taller and thicker than the one that had protected Entrana for centuries. Perhaps Tristessa had approached her with too much familiarity and a friendly attitude, when she received the exact opposite every day. It made sense for Astoria to keep those defenses up, and an aura of hostility that provoked Terror... Wanting to make Tristessa feel the same fear she felt in the sewers, cornered against the wall and injured close to Death.
"Play?"
By a fortune that had nothing to do with the Saint named Valdrek, the gray-eyed girl had faced and died before things far more terrifying than that woman in filthy white armor. She felt fear she could hide well, but not enough to back down and respond to her with the necessary.
"I'm going to play at cleaning your armor, what else? Or would you prefer I do the same as that woman and ignore your existence?"
Tristessa had no qualms; that was a blow where it hurt Astoria the most. Forcing her to lean in her direction, threatening her with a look worthy of an angel that fell from the sky with perpetual anger and resentment. Inciting those same emotions; those dark thoughts she must be burdened with every second of her life, sharing space in her battered soul with deep, perpetual pain.
For she was certain Astoria must be suffering. No one could spend every day of their life dealing with the hatred of the whole world and feel nothing about it.
Except, perhaps... for the Shadow Queen.
"You know who I am."
It wasn't a question, but a confirmation. Not out of an intention to sound important, but a warning. After all, being related to someone who held the title of [Valkyrie of Darkness] must bring with it its own degree of fear.
"Of course I know who you are, Astoria Silverthorn," she retorted, gathering her courage and taking her right hand. Feeling how cold the thimbles of her gauntlet were. Stained with blood. "More than you know."
Applying a little force, Tristessa tugged on her hand and forced Astoria to hold her arm outstretched. That way, she could begin to clean away the traces of blood. This created a tense atmosphere between them, brittle and under constant siege from the penetrating way Astoria was looking at her.
"Aren't you introducing yourself?" she asked suddenly, after Tristessa dipped the piece of cloak into the bucket and returned to her task of leaving the gauntlet immaculate. "If you know who I am, I demand to know who you are."
Tristessa burst out laughing, contrasting with the knight's icy expression.
"Tristessa Irandell, but you can call me Tessa," she replied, wanting to melt the iceberg of Astoria's impassive face with a warm smile, but failing. "Or Triss, if you wish."
"I never saw you in Entrana, Miss Irandell. I would remember you."
"Really? Do I have the face of someone you'd remember, knightess Silverthorn?"
She wasn't sure if she said those exact same words to her on the previous loop, but without a doubt the reaction was different.
Astoria didn't blush. Her firm stance didn't falter before the evident flirtation. No, Astoria was pissed off. The metal plates of the thimbles creaked at the way she closed that fist that had caused internal injuries. Even Tristessa remembered the pain of her abdominal muscles tearing at the violent contact, and she couldn't contain her shivers.
"I meant there aren't many she-dragoons in the city," Astoria clarified with darkness in her voice. A warning, like a viper about to sink its teeth into its prey. "I would remember you and your aracross."
"I see… Well, I come from a very faraway place," she replied, examining every corner and curves of the gauntlet until she was sure there wasn't a single stain left. "If you ask me where, I can't answer. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't remember. I remember almost nothing about who I am or where I come from."
"…"
While Astoria remained silent, Tristessa stood up from her seat—being careful not to step on Vergil—and knelt in front of her to begin cleaning her kneepads. Waiting for her response, and very careful about what to say.
Even if people avoided walking near them, Tristessa didn't know if there were Wraiths hiding among the crowd, or even inside the healers' tent next to that seat.
Or if Stormcrow had already detected her presence through her [Divinity of the Evil Eye]… Feeling the Discord emanating from her own dark soul, provoking the Wraith's unbridled lust and tempting her just like in that cell, in the privacy of the darkness.
"I find it hard to believe your statement," Astoria said, distracting Tristessa from her more than justified paranoia. "Is my name known from the distant place you come from?"
"No, of course not."
"So how...?"
"I own a Divinity that grants me information." The girl looked up and fixed her gray eyes on Astoria, her wild and sensual figure with all that blood staining her armor and the distrustful and cold way she stared back at her. "I can't go into any further detail about that."
"Why?"
Looking at her with gentleness and a sudden urge to burst into tears as she recalled the horror and deadly violence unleashed by revealing the nature of her Divinity, she answered with a single word that didn't break the taboo:
"Death."