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Abby placed a hand over her eyes, no longer willing to stare up into the stark, grim faces of the Aelurian nobility painted across the ceiling. She turned over, and squeezed her eyes shut, the breeze from outside tickling her eyelashes. 

The soft shuffling outside her door crept into her ears. She'd heard it once they returned from the Sands, and hadn't gone a night without its soft tap, tap, tap since. Shifting fabric accompanied the shuffling, alongside weary sighs, and throaty grumbling. 

In her mind's eye, she could practically see her daily visitor-beyond-the-door. His disheveled clothing as he paced, hair spiked in about a dozen different directions after overworking it with his fingers.

His features softened by his worry, him no longer presenting as the snobbish, proud boy Abby had loathed when they'd first met.

Vicrum Hudginns', imploring her from the other side of the door to be okay. She wished she had an answer that would satisfy him, that would assuage his worry, but she'd been drained. So very, very drained.

"Abby--" Crum's voice was clear tonight, a decided change from last night, when his tone pitched, and his voice sounded as scratchy as all of Abby's old fancy dresses combined.

The door knob rattled. Probably Crum trailing a finger over it. Maybe hoping she had left it unlocked tonight. If that were the case, he'd have to continue being disappointed. "It's been a week."

She rolled away from the door and buried her head in her pillow. The case was wet from the tears she'd already cried, and she knew it'd be soaked through later, once she could cry again. It'd been that way since they returned, and Sebbi hadn't. Some days, it surprised her she even could cry. Other days, she shed screams, not tears. 

But it never felt like it was enough.

One week. Had that been all? A week. It'd felt like no time and an eternity had passed all at once.

After returning to the castle, Lucy had all but disappeared from sight. Margo had left to oversee rebuilding and relocation efforts for the Cloudian survivors. Abby'd overheard of her return a few days ago from the maids dusting outside her room.

Abby kept to herself. Alone. Isolated. She couldn't stomach the idea of facing Lucy because he looked so much like Sebbi, and yet he wasn't and she was afraid the realization of that would rip her wide open all over again.

She didn't want to see Margo because cruel 'what ifs' repeated in her mind. What if Margo had been with them when they'd fallen? What if she had protected them against the Shadow king? What if she had traded her life for Sebbi's? Would her death have been more bearable? Sometimes, she had thought it might have been better.

And she hated herself the most when her thoughts turned wicked, which happened more often than not these days.

Crum had been left to his own devices, piecing what had happened from the tidbits of information Reven was willing to disclose.

"Abby, please..." A soft thud pelted the door. Crum's fist, or maybe his forehead. 

She groaned. Her whole body hurt and her head felt like a hammer was repeatedly bashing against it. When had been the last time she ate? Or slept? Or did anything but exist and cry and be in pain? Would it ever stop? Would she ever be able to take a breath without feeling like she was being burned alive? 

How had she gone on after the fire? Or had she lost something in those years between? Her tenacity? Her reluctance to give into circumstance? Had she, like Lucy said, not only stripped him of his last hope but also of her own?

She never thought she'd ever want to hear another sprawling Mimi lecture, but she wished for one right then. Mimi always left Abby with some sort of actionable wisdom, which Abby had taken for granted most times, but would gladly give up what little she had to get back.

She wished she could run into her father's arms and feel again what it was like to be loved and held and safe. Or that she knew enough of her mother to piece together an imaginary scenario where she and her mom could sit underneath the trees in the grove, watching ships drift in and out of the harbor.

Abby's head resting on her mom's shoulder, feeling safe enough to close her eyes. Relishing the way her mother stroked her hair and rubbed her back. Abby comfortable enough to weep.

But they were stars now, unreachable.

Just like Sebbi.

In the hallway, Crum sighed. "He's--" 

She gulped, pressing the pillow to either side of her head to muffle what she knew was coming. "He's...dead." Crum stumbled over the last word, but it found it's way into Abby's mind anyway. 

Dead.

She knew. She knew. Her teeth sank into her pillow, feathers tickling the inside of her mouth as she bit down. Hard, unrelenting. Her face hurting as tears stung her eyes.

Dead.

She'd been there. Watched him die, felt it happen in her arms. Crum didn't need to remind her of it. She relived it, every second of the day, every agonizing moment of her nights. How could she ever forget? 

"Abby, I--" A pause. More shuffling. Crum was probably gnawing half his lip into oblivion as he thought about his next words. "I--" Abby turned, Crum's shadow spreading across the floorboards of her bedroom.

Like an ink-stain. Like blood. And just like that, she was back in that hole. Sebbi's body cooling in her arms. His slowing breaths. All the blood that wouldn't stop coming. She recalled how it had stuck to her skin, and slid under her nails, stains she'd never be able to clean.

"Don't."

The last word he'd ever say to her. And she'd never know what he meant by it.

Don't what?

She closed her eyes again, arms pulled around herself to keep from shaking. She took deep breaths, despite the stinging in her chest.

"I need you to be okay." 

She wasn't okay. 

"You," Crum's shadow froze, "You don't have to be okay right now. I know you won't be, today, tomorrow, maybe a month from now," his desperation caused her to stiffen, "but you have to be okay some day. I can't stand thinking about you not being okay."

Here she was in a cat kingdom with the boy who used to torment her, who bullied her and said some pretty heinous things to her, who she kicked in the crotch countless times, and they'd gone so far beyond that time in their relationship that he'd stood sentinel outside her door for a week. Unwilling to abandon her for a second. Determined to comfort her in the only ways he knew how.

Vicrum Hudginns, proud, smug and obscenely tall. Her friend. Her wonderful, irreplaceable friend.

If only she could return his kindness and give him what he wanted. Swing the door wide open, assault him with hugs, and assurances she'd be okay, confidence underpinning every word.

She truly must have been an abysmal friend, because she couldn't give him that. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. And maybe not the day after or the next. 

She wasn't like some Wizard Kellog clock or a malfunctioning AI carriage he could fix given the right tools and necessary time; the wounds inflicted by Sebbi's death had changed her, and maybe, time would prove, they'd made her incapable of repair.

Taking an exhale, she rolled away from the door again, Crum's plea met with silence.

"H-h-hey!" Crum's voice echoed, high-pitched and panicked. Abby shot forward. "You can't go--"

"Move aside." A different voice, one Abby hadn't heard in a while. More stern than it'd ever been. She swiveled her head and watched the door, breath stuck in her throat.

"She doesn't want visitors--"

Abby gulped.

"I don't care." Something sounded like scuffling. Another shadow joined Crum's sprawled along her floor.

"She won't see you."

"Good," an indignant huff, a stamp of foot in protest, "I'm not going in to see her."

The air grew heavy. Abby's back collided with her headboard. She hadn't realized she'd moved, knees now tucked under her chin.

"Whoa--" Crum was frantic. "What is it you think you're--"

With a whoosh, Abby's door blew open. It smacked against the wall, causing a painting of Aelurian ancestral lands to clatter to the floor.

Margo stood framed in the doorway, a stunned Crum at her feet. Her eyes returning to their non-magickal blue, Margo sauntered into the room, a silver serving cart lumbering behind her.

Crum scrambled to his feet, his eyes meeting Abby's briefly before Margo summoned a second gust of wind, slamming the door in his face.

Abby tried to pretend she hadn't seen the hurt flicker across her friend's expression, but just like Sebbi's death, it was something she couldn't unsee.

"I'm really not here to see you." Margo blew a curl away from face, eyeing several of the domed dishes on the cart, before lifting off each lid.

She poked at a soft, white cheese, scattered on a plate with heaps of different colored jams, enraptured by the way it jiggled under her touch.

"I'm here to eat this." Abby nodded. "It's for me," Margo assured. She moved to the end of Abby's bed, taking a seat beside one of the bedposts. The cart tagged along behind her, goaded on by magick.

Then, dipping a finger in a dark, forest green jam, she added, "But if you want to talk, I'm willing to listen."

Abby sat in silence as Margo devoured everything on the cart. She'd tasted several of the artisanal varieties of cheeses with vigor, cutting slices with a wedged knife before sandwiching them between thick, crusty hunks of bread or leavened, seeded crackers.

She dipped the leftover rinds in the bright red jam. She ate a platter of candied fruit and spiced nuts alongside a whipped cheese concoction topped with brown sugar. After which, she gulped down an entire stein of what looked like warmed milk, despite its grey appearance.

Drops of it dripped off her whiskers as she threw a glance Abby's way. So far, she'd remained true to her word, eating and drinking, never once trying to initiate a conversation Abby wasn't ready to have.

The guilt of Margo's kindness finally made the words erupt from Abby's mouth. "You look like you're enjoying yourself." She winced at the sound, the rawness all too evident from days spent grieving. 

Margo said nothing about Abby's voice, and instead just nodded, her eyes darting to a stack of trays in the corner of Abby's room, the question she wanted to ask clear: Have you been eating?

Abby had, slightly. A piece of gravy-soaked bread here, spoonfuls of gruel there. Jam and slivers of cheese. She shrugged. "I'm not quite as enthusiastic about food anymore."

Margo blinked slowly, gaze falling to her hands. She traced her thumb across her other hand's knuckles. "I was like that too."

Something caught in Abby's throat as Margo's expression grew cloudy. Like a winter storm cresting over the Fragilli.

Margo snorted. "I hated the idea of eating, because it was something he'd never get to do again." She flashed a forlorn smile, her curls tumbling over her face. "Hestor had a bigger appetite than me," her words were tight, and slow, as if each syllable pained her to speak, "if you can believe that."

Abby shook her head. "I can't imagine  anyone eating more than you."

She chuckled. It was leaden. Shallow. Protective. Done to keep the crying from spilling out. Abby hadn't mastered that skill just yet.

"It's true though. Hestor would be the first to return to the buffet, or ask for thirds while I worked on my firsts. He ate so much and yet he was a few hands shorter than me." Another laugh from from her lips, this one warmer. "He always said one day it'd catch up with him and he'd double in size overnight." She twisted her hands over each other. "I always waited for that day to come but," she hiccupped, and tossed herself onto the bed. Hands clasped behind her head, she stared up at the ceiling, "Guess I'll have to keep waiting."

Abby moved toward her and gripped her elbow. The words she wanted to say, caught in her throat. But after stalling, after stalling for over a week, she forced them out, garbled as they might be. "Sebbi--" Pain shot through her chest, as a succession of images blasted through her mind. The blood. The empty eyes. The stillness of his chest.

Shaking them away, she continued, "He always thought Mimi hated him. And she may not have liked him, gods," she pushed some strands of hair out of her face and tucked them behind her ears, realizing how greasy they'd become, "he was a right terror, but you know, she always left the kitchen door propped open a smidge on nights when it stormed. You know, just in case he wanted to take shelter from the rain." Abby felt like sap had been poured down her throat, "She even threw an extra log on the fire, so he could get dry, and have a warm nap once in awhile."

She gulped and glanced down at the wrinkles in her bed sheet. Margo's fingers gripped her hand. "I don't think he ever realized how she cared. But she was like that. Sneaky with her love. Just like—" Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out. Focus. "Just like Sebbi was."

Margo squeezed. "He was pretty stilted when it came to affection, huh?"

"Yeah," With her free hand, Abby wiped her face. She sniffled. "That's a delicate way of putting it." She gave the mouse-woman a smile, paper-thin, and half-hearted, but it was more than she'd ever imagined doing again.

Margo bolted upright, hand around Abby's, cheeks puffed indignantly, eyes shining. "He was a jerk then."

At the conviction in Margo's voice, laughter Abby didn't know still existed inside her, flew from her mouth. She nodded fervently. "Yes, total jerk."

They lapsed into silence again, but it didn't take Abby long before she was talking. Now that the floodgates had been opened, everything poured out of her more easily.

"My dad used to come into my room when he thought I was asleep," she glanced at the ceiling, the Aelurian frescos disappearing. For a second,  she saw the painted landscapes of her childhood. The rolling hills of the Royal Back. The frosty falls of Dewlin. The scarlet-tipped Blood Plains. "But I was never asleep when I was supposed to be. Always stayed up late reading the latest Wizard Kellog."

"A noble endeavor," Margo mused, shaking her head.

Abby agreed. It certainly had been far nobler a pursuit and better use of her time than homework. "He'd shuffle into my room, and rearrange my cosmetic potions and tonics. Or he'd roll my socks, or lay my dresses over my sofa so the skirts didn't wrinkle. I thought the chaos of my room offended him, and he'd taken it upon himself to correct it, but now?" She gulped. "He didn't have to do any of that. Mimi would have ensured I cleaned up my room if he hadn't. You know?" She twirled a strand of her around her finger, wistful, "I think he did all that because he wanted me to spend more time doing what I loved with whom I loved. After all, his time with my mom got cut short. I think he would have loved if someone had taken on his workload so he could have spent even a second more with her." She returned her gaze forward. "And since he was as bad at my homework as I was, cleaning was the one thing he could do to help lessen my load."

Margo said nothing.

Abby exhaled. "And Mimi." At the name, Margo twitched, her shoulders rising to meet her ears. It was the exact reaction Abby expected of anyone who had known Mrs. Froster, the terrifying Tells' head maid. "You know she always found me when I hid. I used to think it was so annoying that she did. Not once did I stop to think about how lucky I was. That she came for me. Even if it was followed by an hour of torturous lecturing. Mimi loved me enough to look for me. Every time." Abby turned. "They died before I realized just how much they loved me and I—" Her vision darted across the room. "I wonder, I've wondered, if Sebbi knew just how much I loved him, before...before—"

Margo's arms were around mid-sentence. "Idiocy is a sickness," she said. "It strikes us all at least once."

At this, Abby tilted her head, confused by the sudden change in topic.

"Sebbi knew you loved him." The mouse-woman drew Abby closer, her curls tickling Abby's neck. "He'd have to be the biggest idiot in the Eridan if he didn't." Margo smelled of soap and citrus. Fresh cream. "And if that were the case," she pulled away, her nose inches from Abby's, mouth quirked in mischief, "I'd have to resurrect him so I could turn him into an equally stupid toad."

"Margo—"

Abby tried to wriggle free, but the mouse-woman reinforced her hold and pulled Abby back into her chest. "He knew," her voice took on a softer tone, "I'd bet all the cheese in the Eridan that that stupid, foolish, idiot, selfish cat king knew."

Tears streamed out of Abby's eyes as Margo stroked her back, the gold crescent moon dousing them in its light. It'd been a while since Abby had felt so warm.

"Thank you."

"You never thank a person for speaking the truth and that's just what I've done."

Abby cried more. Harder. In Margo's arms, under the moonlight. She'd wanted nothing more than to be reassured Sebbi had known she loved him. And Margo's words, and her insistence of their truth, was enough.

Abby slept that night, Margo next to her, their fingers intertwined, and she had dreamed. Of the grove. Of Laos's port. Of her two black cats, a smiling moon and a star-filled sky.