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Her brother holds her in his arms, saying words she can't comprehend at the moment.
He's comforting her, telling her it would be alright, that she would never live a life she would never want; he doesn't understand. He can't understand. He who was given life, who was loved, who their family cherished, would never understand what it was like to live as a shadow.
Something that merely existed.
But he doesn't care.
Because he's selfish, he doesn't care for anyone other than himself. He's killing this entire world, her world, and he could barely bat an eye at it.
Her friend's family was going to die. And she couldn't save them. Lune would die. Sciel would die. Gustave...he was already gone. Some would say he and the others who died when Maman was defeated were spared from the real horror that was the truth.
The canvas would be destroyed--And there's nothing she can do to stop it.
All she could do was stare at him...and she finally understands.
This imitation, this painting, was not her brother. The real verso would understand. The real verso would let her live her life. The real verso would never force her to choose. This...thing is not Verso.
Clea had been right...as she usually was.
"I hate you."
For everything.
For the lies.
For the manipulation.
For Lune.
For Sciel.
For Gustave
It's small, but she can see his eyes widen; he can see something flash over them before he recomposes himself. He holds her close, and she curses herself for not being strong enough to push him off.
"That's okay....that's okay." It sounds like he's reassuring himself, and she almost feels bad for him. Almost. "Hate me all you want. As long as you're alive to do it."
Her body begins to disappear from the canvas, and all she can do is cry silently; she doesn't hold him back, doesn't struggle. For as stubborn as she was, she knew when she was beaten; all she did was stare at him, and he stared back.
He's shaking, but she isn't.
The words must have hit a nerve.
Figures, her brother, her real brother, worked so hard to keep their family together. To the point he couldn't handle not being liked. It was a childish aspect of him that never went away, Clea said so once to her, so it must be true.
Good.
Let him be hurt.
She was petty like that.
"Hate me all you want. As long as you're alive to do it."
His words bounce around her head, and as she fades from the canvas, she stares at him, and only one thing fills her consciousness.
I will.
I'll hate you for as long as I live.
You traitor.
And, before she knows it.
Everything fades away.
━━━━ ༄ ━━━━
A thud is what snaps Renoir from his daze; the time spent in the canvas had taken its toll on his body. A month had merely passed in the real world, but the centuries he had lived in the canvas had taken a clear effect on him.
He had thrown up when he left the canvas. Barely noticing or feeling around him.
Hardly registering, Clea helped stand and sit on the stool where Aline once sat.
"Where is your mother?" he gritted out, the hell scraping headache did him no favors.
"In the bedroom," she responded curtly, "Wallowing in her own sorrow and regret."
He doesn't have the energy to scold her; he simply hums
"And Alicia?"
The two turned to face the girl, whose back was facing them. The irony wasn't lost to Renoir, so many times had his youngest stared at their backs from the shadows. Now it seems the roles have been reversed.
"She has something she needs to finish."
He can feel her stare at him; he knows she understands what he means, and he expects cold words toward her sister's actions, perhaps a scoff or a click of her tongue. Instead, she's quiet. Her crossed arms drop to her side, and she mutters.
"...she won't be coming back, will she?"
"She will," he's confident in that. Alicia understands...he needs her to understand.
"You should have expelled her from the canvas. She's more alike to Aline than you'll ever admit." Clea murmured under her breath
"She bested me," he admits softly. An ounce of pride in his words
"Ha?" she scoffs, "With actions or with her words?" Clea sneers at him.
The silence that follows is telling.
His daughter doesn't say anything, sighs, and spins on her heel.
"I thought you'd put your opinion on this."
Her footsteps pause. "And when has my opinion ever mattered before?"
"Clea-"
"If Alicia wishes to doom herself, I'll let it be. If she chooses to return, it will be on her own terms," is what Clea settles on, but Renoir knows there's more to how she feels behind that wall she's built up.
"I'm in no position to judge her choices. If she chooses to do something else?... I'd go as far as to say I'd be proud of her for that."
And she leaves, but not before looking over her shoulder
"Remember. You're the one who allowed her to stay, bear the consequences of what happens if she never returns."
Clea's eyes bore a hole through his soul, and he found himself frozen as his daughter stared at him before sighing and walking out of the room.
He's alone after that.
For the first time in what had been decades, he feels himself truly take in the air around him. Being stuck under the monolith for so long had affected him more than he was willing to admit.
And then there was that copy of him.
He shuts his eyes and lets the world around him surround him. The smell of wood and paint. The Canvas that hung on the walls and the canvas that was behind him.
*Thud-
Renoir jumps at the sound of the thud, pulled out of the daze, and finds his youngest child lying on the floor. He gasps out a breath, "Alicia." his knees shake, and he can feel his body cry out at him to rest, but that doesn't stop him from falling to the ground.
She had left the canvas.
A wave of relief flashed over him, as well as a wave of pride when he realised she had kept her word.
She hadn't lied to him.
Alicia was still, eyes closed, and soft breaths moving her chest up and down. He reached toward her, hands shaking, and held her close to his chest.
She doesn't stir.
Renoir looked down at her, "Alicia?"
No response other than the soft breathing. He gazes down at her sleeping face, and he allows a small smile to form on his face.
She looked...at peace with herself.
Baring the scars, she resembled the young, bright girl she used to be.
It takes time, but he eventually works up enough strength to lift his youngest; it's painful, and his leg all but yells at him to stop. But he finds that he can't.
His duty is to hold his children close, to protect them. He had failed once. He would not fail now.
Renoir placed his daughter on her bed and tucked her in, just like he used to do when she was much younger. There's not a single twitch from her; all she does is let out a peaceful sigh and roll over to her side.
His daughter finally rests.
And so does he.
A day passes. She doesn't wake up.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
A week passes.
And Alicia still sleeps.
・꩜・
Life in Lumieré wasn't as grand as Verso thought it was.
"She told me to protect you,"- she had wanted to scoff at that.
If that were the case, why had she suffered? Why was she left all alone?
She was called names, the adults that took her in never kept her for long; her nightmares, her sicknesses that appeared, her...everything was enough to drive them away.
There was a point when she was determined not to be a disappointment that she ran away.
She wouldn't disappoint anyone if she were gone, right?
There was a forest in Lumieré, and she decided to go in and disappear. Nobody would care for a single girl. Especially for her.
It was fine; she had it planned. She had food and water. Her favorite blanket and a small fox plushie, she always carried about. It had been the last gift her parents, the ones from the canvas, had given her before they Gommaged.
It was dark. It was cold. And she was scared.
She found herself under a tree, knees to her chest, and wiping snot off her face as she whispered to herself to be strong. She didn't need them; she didn't need anyone.
But fate, as she soon found out, wasn't as cruel as she thought it to be.
Back then, at least.
Gustave is the one who finds her. He'd been training. The man, whom she hardly knew at the time, lifts her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
His warmth enveloped her, and as she was carried back to Lumieré...
She knew her life was about to change.
・꩜・
The sound of screams shook the manor, but Clea paid the incessant noise no mind. Her attention was somewhere else.
Alicia slept soundly in her bed, on her back, taking soft breaths as if she hadn't once again disturbed the manor. Ironically enough, she hadn't done anything.
Not this time.
She merely slept, forever oblivious to the turmoil once again set between Aline and Renoir.
Her hand lifts, without meaning to, and light strokes her sister's cheek.
Alicia's breath stilled, and for a split second, Clea thought she would stir; that she would grunt and blink open her still functional eye. That she would wake up.
But she doesn't.
She leaned into Clea's hand, letting out a soft sigh, and resumed her slumber.
Clea isn't surprised by the disappointment that runs through her body; she's been disappointed far too many times for her family.
Though this time she's not disappointed by Alicia, she's asleep, she hasn't done anything to disappoint.
Grey-blue eyes glance at the door.
The yelling had ceased, but she could still hear the soft murmur of Renoir's voice—another fib attempt at trying to get through to Aline.
The realization makes her snort out loud; it's clear where the disappointment was aimed at, and it certainly wasn't toward her sister.
One would think getting cheated on would open a man's eyes.
But who was she to judge a lovestruck fool?
*Woof!
She glanced down, catching sight of Monocco; the dog sat there, tail wagging as he gazed up at her, a letter in his mouth. Clea's lips twitched, and she gently grabbed the letter from the creature.
It was from Simon.
Clea let out a soft sigh at the thought of her lover; he was no painter, nor was he someone of high power. He was a simple baker. A man who held his heart on his sleeve, blonde hair, light brown eyes, and a smile that shone in the room; Aline hadn't approved of him, but Clea was never one to care about what her mother thought.
From an outside perspective, their love was never meant to be.
Clea, admittedly, was harsh and cold. Her heart turned to stone from a cold age, and Simon was the complete opposite, warm and open, and his heart was full of love for others.
And yet, in a somewhat fairy tale-like way, it worked.
The secret relationship was all that she had; then again, it wasn't so secret anymore, considering her entire family had either died out or had been in the canvas to notice her visits to his bakery.
Simon's presence was the only thing that kept her from going down the deep end.
She hid the letter in her pocket and focused on her sister once more, sleeping, still looking at peace with herself.
...it was an expression she hadn't seen on her sister's face. Not since the fire-...no, that wasn't it. She hadn't seen that expression in a long time.
It was odd, she thought to herself, to see her so silent.
After the fire, the tiny spark of light her sister had all but evaporated.
Clea wasn't a fool; she hadn't blamed her sister. Did she resent her? Yes, she would admit she did, but to blame her for Verso's death? Never. Verso was the fool who ran in despite being aware of his fate; the writers set the fire.
Alicia had been played like a fiddle. Despite the warning, may she add.
It wasn't her fault. Renoir had always been too soft with her, and Aline could hardly ever be in the same room with her before the eventual yelling began. She hadn't gotten the proper guidance that she and Verso had been entitled to.
Too hopeful in a cruel world that sought to crash people like Alicia down to earth.
And down to earth she went. Clea mused softly in her mind
Her trip in the canvas, which had merely been sixteen days in the real world, had been quite the eye-opening experience for Clea.
To watch from the outside as her sister grew from infancy to young adult was... boggling to say the least.
She'd forever deny the way her heart warmed at her sister's laugh.
But to watch her change was a surprise. She'd never known her sister to be snarky and mischievous; she'd always been too quiet for that. She'd never been brave or strong in her own way, always hiding in Clea or Verso's shadow.
It was...nice to see her sister grow. To be the young woman Verso always knew she could be.
And Clea would admit that seeing her sister's mischief made her laugh out loud. She could be quite the sneaky fox when she put her all into it.
But now?
She was still. Silent.
...lifeless.
For a split moment, she allows herself a moment of utter selfishness. Something she hadn't allowed herself since she was a child.
She'd never forget the glare Aline gave her when she asked for a hug.
Clea slipped under the covers and allowed herself to lie beside her littler sister. She stared at her sister; her chest rose up and down, gentle and deep breaths left her, and at times her eyes would flutter before going still.
Her hand rose, and she moved closer to her sister, all but nuzzling her face in her sister's hair while her hand found a place on her cheek.
Eyes closed slowly, and soon enough she joined her sister in slumber.
She'd never admit to anyone out loud...but she hoped that when she woke up, so would Alicia.
・꩜・
Her life with Gustave and Emma was bright. For the first time in years, she felt safe and HAPPY.
For once, life in Lumieré wasn't horrible; it wasn't just cold and monochrome anymore. Her life was filled with color, and it was warm. She could hardly believe her luck.
She hadn't trusted them, not at first.
They were just going to be like the rest of them, whispering and looking at her with disgust. Like she was nothing.
But they weren't. They weren't anything like that.
Slowly, but surely, she lets down her guard; she begins to smile, to laugh, and for once she actually lives her life. She meets people like Lune and Sciel, she trains with them, learns from them, and for once, she actually feels alive instead of a husk wandering around.
But through this happiness, the sensation never leaves her.
Every time a new Expedition leaves, she can't help but feel this...pull to the continent. Everybody did at some point, to see the fauna, to see the animals, the beauty of it, but hers was different. Something, or someone, was calling her there.
She could remember the screaming match Emma and Gustave had, the look of despair on Gustave's face when she told him she wanted to join his Expedition. She'd wanted to tell them she was strong enough to survive it. She knew what was at stake and wasn't afraid of that.
The continent was calling, and she was answering its call.
How little she knew
Eventually, they accept.
She trains harder than she ever did. Studies to pass the exams and ignores the stares she gets from others her age. They didn't understand, they'd never understand. She ignores them and continues forward.
The days pass, and soon Expedition 33 will go to the continent.
Sophie gommages, and she does her best to comfort Gustave. She doesn't dare tell her brother it would be okay, because it won't be. Gustave carries his heart on his sleeve, and the love he had for Sophie has never gained closure.
She remembers the nights nearing their Expedition, when he would drink and cry his heart out. He thought nobody knew. He thought he hid it. But she knew and she understood. She doesn't say anything about it, never gains the chance to, and does her best to be there for him just as he was there for her.
He saved her, and so, she shall be his rapier. She would be there whenever he needed it.
They were family. And being family means looking after one another.
So she'll do that.
He doesn't cry as much as she thought he would. But there's a clear sadness in his eyes as he makes his way toward the rest of the Expedition; the others wisely don't say a word, but there's a clear shift in the energy of the party.
She doesn't participate in it, merely watches from the sideline as Gustave flashes that fake smile of his around. Sciel's calm understanding and Lune's dismissal of it as she continues to plan their arrival on the continent.
It felt like a final goodbye.
She wasn't a fool to think all of them would survive this. But at the time, it didn't matter.
Besides, nobody liked negativity.
When the time comes for them to leave, they leave the city carrying a weight no one knew how to handle properly—the weight of the people's hopes on their shoulders.
...they reach the beach.
And everything goes wrong.
・꩜・
"What are you doing?"
Aline's hand paused, and she looked over her shoulder; her eldest child was leaning against the door. Eyes that she had inherited from her father practically bore a hole through Aline's entire soul.
The older woman swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, and she let her hand drop to her side. "I wanted to see her."
Her voice, which once could silence a room of also experienced painters, was now shaking and frail. Hands that were once steady, shaky by her side, no matter how hard she tried to get them to stop, and an appearance that once had been well-kept was now disheveled.
The once powerful Matriarch of the Dessendre family was no more and instead reduced to a shaking and stuttering old woman.
Clea slipped past her without a word and made her way to Alicia's bedside.
Her eldest sat down on the chair she had reserved for herself, sketchbook in hand, and continued whatever work she had left to pause as she went to grab something to eat. That pause was the only thing that allowed Aline to slip in undetected.
The sound of a pencil sketching atop a page was the only audible thing in the room; neither of the two said anything, and neither wanted to say anything to the other.
Clea, for entirely different reasons, but Aline just simply didn't know what to say. Being in the canvas for a matter of months, being thrown out of it, only to hide in the bedroom with multiple bottles of wine as her only company, apart from Renoir.
The older woman wasn't even sure where to start a conversation now.
What was there to say?
No matter of apologies that she wasn't ready to give, or acknowledgments that would hurt to say, none of it was going to be good enough for Clea.
Out of her three children, Clea was more like her than any of them; she had her heart, while Alicia and Verso had Renoir's. Maybe that's why the two of them were so cold by nature.
Before she could get anything out, as usual, Clea bet her to it.
"What are you still doing here?"
She doesn't turn around to address her, and once upon a time, Aline would have scolded her for it, but all of that energy is all but gone from her body.
Her silence tells Clea enough; her eldest child scoffs and murmurs, "Can't even get the courage to answer basic questions, now?"
Perhaps it was due to her pride, whatever remained of it, getting wounded, but Aline swallows and whispers.
"I really was just here to see how she was doing."
There's a beat of silence
"Her hair...it's gotten longer."
"...it has," Clea nodded, "I was contemplating cutting it for her, but I doubt she'd be too happy about it. I'll just wait until she wakes up."
Until she says.
Clea has hopes of Alicia waking up.
"She's stubborn," Clea speaks, as if knowing what Aline was thinking, "More stubborn than me, believe it or not. She wouldn't just give up like that." There's a pause. "It's all a matter of whether or not she wants to get up."
The silence returns, and Aline decides it's time to leave.
She's spent enough time here. And she can understand when she's not wanted
Just as she's about to leave the room
"It's funny."
Clea's voice made her stop, and she looked over her shoulder to find her staring at her with empty eyes. She was staring into her soul, as she usually did when she was trying to get under someone's skin.
In this case, she succeeded.
"You never once visited after the fire-" Aline tensed, her breath hitched, but Clea didn't care and kept going, digging the knife deeper and deeper "-Too busy drowning yourself in wine. And now you plan to visit? When she's unresponsive?...when you can't look her in the eye."
Her eldest snorted
"I never thought you to be a coward."
Her daughter glares, and she all but runs out of the room.
Outside, in the hall, she leans her hand on the wall and lets out a shaky sigh.
She needed more wine.
・꩜・
Expedition 33 is reduced to four members. Everybody else dies either at the hands of the man on the beach or at the hands of the Nevron that infest the land of the continent.
She awakens in a room, confused and concussed out of her god damn mind. At the time, she'd been too confused to feel worry for anybody else.
She asked herself:
Why am I alive?
How am I alive?
Where am I?
She didn't get an answer to her first two questions.
Not until later on
The third was answered by the Curator. He appeared, scaring her and forcing her into a wall. She didn't calm down...until his hand, his cracked and broken hand, caressed her cheek slowly.
That moment froze everything around her. She didn't try to attack him, nor did she lean into his touch. She merely closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, he was already floating away from her.
That moment sticks with her for a long time.
The manor, as she comes to call it, is quiet and empty. Abandoned would be the right word for it.
She does nothing but sit in the room she woke up in. She doesn't know what else to do. But, soon enough, she's no longer alone.
Gustave finds her. Because of course he does.
The feeling of her brother hugging her made her feel relief like never before. Lune was there as well, and suddenly she's no longer alone. They reunite with Sciel next and what was left of Expedition 33 reunites.
That period of time was filled with wary relief and laughs, the little happiness that they allowed themselves as the continent pushed them beyond what they had trained for. Sciel dances, Lune flies through her elements, Gustave examines, and she fights with finesse.
They're an odd group. But they were all they had left.
A small family.
And then Maelle sees her. The masked girl. Panic fills her body, and she can't breathe at the sight of her.
Who are you?
Why are you here?
How are you here?
She receives no answers to her questions.
The Expedition moves forward.
She does her best to ignore the fear, the lingering doubt in her body as she begins to question if they really should keep going. Maybe they can spend their last days here...maybe she can die alongside her family.
But they move forward.
They meet Esquie and the grumpy turtle known as François. It was...a rather nice comedic break from all the danger and seriousness. It even made her smile.
A small sliver of hope blooms in her. They can do this. They can reach the Paintress; they can save the world.
Gustave and she make a promise.
They would both live.
They'd go back home, victorious.
They'd see Emma again.
She'd get to shove it in the other kid's face that SHE saved the world and not them.
She'd go back home with her family, and-- the man on the beach is there.
She runs just like she promised! And-
...Gustave doesn't.
Gustave had lied.
He runs toward the man, and she screams at him to stop. To remember their promise.
But he doesn't.
It's over as quickly as it began.
Gustave dies
And all she feels...
Is rage.
・꩜・
"Has she still not woken up?"
Simon's voice breaks Clea from her thoughts, and she turns to stare at him and lets out a soft sigh.
"No, she hasn't," she hummed. "She doesn't seem to look malnourished or anything of the sort. It's like...she's stuck in time. The only thing that's changed is her hair growth."
Simon's arm, which had wrapped around her shoulders, squeezed her gently. "I'm sure she'll wake up soon."
She nods
"She's too stubborn to give up. Especially after all she's been through."
He's the only one who truly knows about Alicia's journey, the only one Clea allows herself to break in front of. She can't imagine she would have made it this far if it weren't for him being by her side. Clea doesn't say it out loud, but she doesn't need to. Simon knew, he always does.
"Have you been getting any sleep?" he asked softly. "The dark circles under your eyes...they look horrible."
Despite herself, she allows a snort to leave her lips, "My, how flattering of you."
He gives her a look, and she sighs.
"'I've been keeping tabs on my sister as well as my parents. They've been arguing. Constantly. Aline is angry at Renoir for what he did to Verso's canvas; she hasn't dropped that glass of wine for even a second, and Renoir is simply trying to knock some sense into her."
She let out a grumble, "It's been...more than I thought I could handle."
Simon hummed, knowing better than to push her when she was like this. Instead, her head leans against his shoulder, and he says softly.
"You don't have to carry all of it alone," she looked up at him, "I'm here for you."
Her composure cracks, and she allows herself to lean forward and hide her face in her hands.
"I want her to wake up."
Her voice doesn't crack.
It doesn't.
"We...I already lost Verso. I can't lose her, too-"
Simon wraps his arms around her, and her shoulders shake,
"I just can't lose her."
A light chuff of a sob leaves her body
"Please...just let her wake up"
・꩜・
Verso joins the team, and the shift is immediate.
Lune doesn't trust him. Sciel was kind but wary, and she...didn't particularly care about him.
Verso was old, had been for a long time in his own words, but he was also the only one who could lead them to the man on the beach--Renoir.
And that was all that mattered.
Revenge was all that mattered to her.
Verso was similar to Gustave, but he wasn't him. At first, she had been angry with his presence; who did he think he was? Taking Gustave's position in their team, as if he had the right to. If he had been faster...he would still be here.
Gustave deserved to be here. Not Verso.
But slowly, but surely, she gets used to his presence.
She learns to enjoy his wisdom of the continent, his calm and reassuring words that reminded her too much of Gustave, and his strong presence that surrounded them all like a warm hug. It was like he was their guardian angel, leading them to their goal.
They meet Monoco, and their group continues to get weirder and weirder. But it was their weird group.
They made it work in a way unlike any other.
Renoir dies by the curator's hand, and all she can feel is vindication as he finally dies. He dies quickly and painlessly.
She doesn't voice out loud that she wanted to make it long; she wanted to cut him, make him scream until he couldn't anymore. She wanted to torture him for everything that he did. He disappears, just like that.
...it's not as satisfying as she thought it would be.
They continue onward, their goal is the Paintress, and they won't stop until she's defeated.
Her goal of avenging Gustave was completed...but there was something more she needed to do. She needed to save this world. For him.
But as they continue onward...
They slowly begin to learn the truth.
・꩜・
"What is he doing here?"
To Simon's credit, he doesn't flinch as Renoir glares at him.
Instead, he stands there, taller than before and filled with more confidence than before. In the months following Verso's death, and even before that, he and Clea had met behind her parents' backs.
And through their turmoil, they learned to rely on each other, to not care about what others thought of them. That strength allowed him to get through many obstacles.
Once, he would have bent over backwards trying to get their approval. But that weak-willed man was no more.
"I invited him to meet Alicia." Clea paused her walking, looking over her shoulder, "She never got to meet him after all."
It truly did baffle Simon how different he and Clea were raised.
He was raised in a loving and warm home; his parents never forced their expectations on him, and had, in fact, been proud of him when he decided to continue and keep the bakery open. It was their legacy after all.
But that's not what Clea and her two siblings had been raised in.
They'd been raised to paint from the very beginning, never given a chance to live their lives as they wished.
Clea adored her talent; she took pride in it, but it was difficult to care about something when it eventually became a requirement instead of a passion.
Verso had moved on to other things at the cost of the relationship with his parents.
And Alicia? Little Alicia had been left alone, her talent never enough and always lost in the shadows.
...perhaps that's why it was so easy for the writers to spread sparks of doubt in her little mind.
Father and daughter gaze into each other, before Renoir looked away and murmured.
"So be it..."
It didn't sound angry, merely...defeated.
It was odd to see him like this. Before, he was a frightening presence in Simon's life, but now...he was nothing but a phantom, a shell of his former self.
Losing a son would do that to a man.
Perhaps it was the worry of losing another child that had drained the fight out of it.
...how ironic.
If Simon had a child and was about to lose them, he wouldn't just roll over and let it happen. He'd fight for as long as he could to prevent it.
"Let's go," His love spoke softly, yet firmly, and began to lead him down familiar halls.
She leads him into a room--and there she was.
Alicia Dessendre, sleeping soundly in her bed.
She was wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing when she entered her brother's canvas. Simon was tempted to ask why her clothes hadn't been changed, but that would be creepy and too out of line to ask.
The girl was on her back, sleeping soundly with a doll in her arms. Her brother's favorite doll.
Now that Simon took a good look at her, her hair had indeed grown longer.
Clea walked over to the girl's side; her weight made the bed creak, but she paid it no mind. Her hand instead reached over to brush aside Alicia's bangs; they really were getting long.
"She's beautiful," he whispered.
He didn't want to ruin the moment; it was rare for his love to be this soft. Especially in front of other people.
"She is," Clea nodded, "No amount of scars could change that."
He stands there, witnessing the moment, and slowly says, "...you blame yourself for this"
Clea's eyes snap toward him, her hand never leaving her sister's cheek where it now rests.
For a second, he thought he had overstepped. But there was no outburst or glare; there was simply a long stare before she looked away.
"I dragged her into their mess", she mumbled.
"You wanted to help," he whispered, "You wanted her to find her own strength."
"And look at what that selfish desire caused," his love shook her head. "If I had known that this would happen...I would have forgotten all about that damned canvas."
"...it belonged to you as well"
Clea didn't answer
"You're allowed to despise them for what they did to it...for what they did to you and your siblings"
"I do," she snorted, "Believe me, I do."
Simon smiled softly. "Then why not do something good with that rage?"
"The writers-"
"Aren't yours to deal with alone, love," he whispered. "It's not cowardly to choose something else above revenge-" he paused, "I'm not going to try and understand your pain. Your anger and anguish. However, I will say that he wouldn't want this for you. To live with all this hate inside of you"
He glanced at Alicia. "You have something to protect. She needs you, and whether you admit it or not, you need her too. You're all that you have."
Simon walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're an adult. Yes. But they are your parents. They need to choose to fight for you. Not the other way around," he spoke softly, "You've fought enough. Now it's their turn to find the strength to fight back."
"...what is it that I'm supposed to do now?"
He shrugged, "I won't force you to do anything." he paused, "You'd punch me for that."
She snorted
"But, I think it's time you made a choice. Alicia...or this endless war between painters and writers?"
There was a beat of silence before Clea's body shuddered
"I'm tired."
"I know," he nodded and glanced at his lover's sister, "I'm sure she is too."
"She's been sleeping."
"There are different types of Fatigue, Clea. I'm sure you're aware of that."
"...what if I'm not strong enough for her?"
"Then you rely on each other. You cry with one another. You be there for one another," he whispered, "Showing weakness isn't always a bad thing, love."
Clea let out a soft sigh.
"I don't know if I can do it."
"The important thing is that you'll try."
"Okay...Okay."
They sat there in silence, but believe it or not.
It was enough.
・꩜・
The journey to reach the Paintress was filled with nervousness and anticipation.
She followed alongside Verso.
Learning that Verso was the son of Paintress and Renoir, the man responsible for her brother's death, had shifted her perspective on him. She still cared for him; he was a comrade after all, but she didn't know whether or not she'd forgive him for hiding that from them.
How little she knew back then. Of how much he hid from them
She watched as her friends slowly but surely got close to him.
They talk with him, bond with him, and in the case of Esquie and Monocco, reconnect with the Immortal man.
She lets them keep their privacy and doesn't pry into it. It's not her place to interfere in that, especially when it's obvious it's made them happier. She could hardly remember the last time Lune had looked so happy.
...not to mention Sciel and her had a lot of fun teasing Lune behind Verso's back when they were certain he wasn't looking.
To think Lune would actually be interested in someone. It was a miracle in itself.
Sciel had found someone she could rely on; She knew that the woman had lost her husband and had never moved on, but...there were always whispers that told her she had lost more than one person in her life.
...she doesn't pry into that. It's not her place to.
Monocco and Esquie were fun. They were really fun.
Fighting alongside and with Monocco exhilarated her heart in a way it never had before. He didn't hold back; he wasn't gentle with her, and it helped burn out the frustration embedded in her very being after Gustave's death.
Esquie...he was amazing.
He was wise in his own way and brought one the childish joy inside of her that she thought had long since died out.
Slowly...she begins to heal.
It gets easier to eat.
She finds herself laughing and smiling again.
She indulges in Sciel's small talks, listens to Lune's theories, and even talks to Verso willingly.
It feels nice.
It was like their family was healing together. Slowly.
Her worries slowly disappear. The masked girl, the Nevrons, everything fades away.
They finally reach the Paintress.
The fight is tough, and throughout it all, she could feel everything inside of her break again and again. But she refused to fall; she wasn't going to die.
Gustave wasn't here anymore, but SHE was.
If she couldn't fight for herself, then she would fight for him.
They fight--and the Paintress falls.
She does nothing but watch as Verso cradles the broken woman.
...it was pathetic. The state that she was in.
She found herself unable to feel pity for her.
They plant the flag together, and she hopes Gustave is proud of her.
The return to Lumiere was filled with cheers. Expedition 33, what remained of them, had finally done it.
They had defeated the Paintress.
People are cheering.
Children are laughing.
She reaches Emma and tells her the bad news. The two are silent as they mourn their brother.
It was pure joy and happiness--and then a wave of chroma.
Petals surround the city.
People disappear.
Children cry.
And all she can do is watch as everything she loved...
Disappeared before her very eyes.
・꩜・
Renoir corners Clea one day.
She stopped what she was doing, which was organizing Alicia's small library, and stared at him.
Neither said anything out loud, simply staring at the other before Clea, like always, initiated the conversation, "What?"
"You've stopped attending meetings with the council."
"I have," she nodded
"Why?"
It was something Renoir needed to know. So that he would figure out how to fix it.
Clea pauses for a split second before looking at him and saying, "I quit the council."
There was silence.
All he could do was stare at her
"What?"
She shrugged, "Yes. It wasn't benefiting me anymore. So I decided to quit." She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world and not like she had just walked away from something as big as that.
"You...quit"
"Yes," Clea rolled her eyes, "I already said that."
She moved to pick up another small pile of books, only to be stopped by Renoir, who grabbed her by the shoulders harshly.
"Child. What have you done?!"
Clea grabbed his hands and pulled them away from her. Renoir was taller than her, but she was much younger and had more strength than he did. She glared at him, "Don't touch me like that."
"Why on earth would you do this?! Do you have any idea what this will do to the council?!" he yells at her. "You were one of the most capable painters!"
His daughter scoffed at that, "No need to overreact, Renoir. I already picked a worthy successor to take my seat," She shrugged and moved to pick up the books as she continued to rearrange them. "And besides, it's not as if I will quit painting. My canvases and sculptures will still be presented in museums and be admired by so many people."
"It's not that simple-"
"Then take your seat back."
He stopped
Clea looked over her shoulder and frowned at him. "I've decided to step back from the council, and they understood my reasoning. If you wish for any of us to be in the council, then take a seat yourself." She looked away
"I'm done fulfilling both you and Aline's desires."
And that was all she said
・꩜・
A canvas.
Her entire life had been inside a canvas.
Memory after Memory filled her mind; everything ached, and as she remembered, all she could do was stare at the petals before her.
Her parents' words echo through her mind. And all she does is shut her eyes at their words.
They weren't even real, yet the scar they left behind was bigger than any of the other scars Verso's canvas had gifted her.
Emma
Lune.
Sciel
...Gustave.
None of them had ever existed.
.
.
.
No.
They were real.
This life was real to her.
Who was anyone to deny her this? They had fought and bled far too much; she wasn't just going to allow it to end like this.
Both she and Verso sit to talk. It's obvious he doesn't believe the canvas to be real, and while it baffles her, she tries to get him to understand.
Her family inside this canvas...was real.
She wouldn't be like her mother, controlling and seeking more than they could give.
She just wanted to live.
She wanted to live this life with them.
...except Papan doesn't agree with that.
He wants to erase the canvas.
He wants to erase her world.
She tries to stop him, but he doesn't listen.
Of course, he doesn't.
None of them ever listens to her.
Not Maman.
Or Papan.
Clea.
Not even Verso when he was alive.
They just saw her as immature.
...and maybe they had a point, seeing how things turned out. With the fire and all that.
But this was different.
This wasn't just destroying a canvas.
It was destroying an entire world. Her world. The mass genocide of so many people who deserved to live.
Verso's world will be destroyed.
She won't allow it.
She can't allow it.
This is all she has left.
...and if her father has to be defeated for her family to live?
Then so be it.
・꩜・
Aline, even in her drunken state, had noticed the tension in the household.
Renoir goes back to the council and, unlike Clea, who took it like a fish takes to water, he stumbled around and tried to keep up. Being inside a canvas would do that to a person.
He hadn't slept in days, with dark circles around his eyes. And her eldest wasn't too keen on helping him.
No, instead...she stayed with Alicia.
Aline hadn't interacted with her eldest since...
It's best not to recall that moment.
But all Aline knew was that Clea was usually doing two things when in the manor. She was either in Alicia's room alongside her still sleeping sister or within her private studio inside the manor. She hadn't tried approaching the room to see what she was doing.
When she had heard Clea had quit the council.
She'd been left...empty.
Once, she would have been furious. Angry. She would have screamed at her daughter, demanded an explanation, would have...
Aline doesn't know what she would have done.
But all she did was blink when Renoir told her the news. If anything, he seemed to be more upset than she was.
Their family was becoming a mess.
And it needed to be fixed. Immediately.
Renoir wouldn't last long, for as much as she loved her husband, she knew he was weak-willed. There was a reason why Clea was appointed at the young age of eighteen. It was due to her skill, yes. But there was another reason.
Clea and her...were the same.
Both held the same coldness. Both were realistic. And both knew when to make a sacrifice when necessary.
Alicia and Verso had inherited Renoir's softness. They weren't Clea.
Clea was a prodigy from the moment she was born.
The Dessendre family would be honored by her and her alone.
And so, one day, she turns to Renoir and says, "I'll talk to her."
"...you will?"
"Yes," she nodded firmly
She was the Dessendre Matriarch, and she would act it.
・꩜・
Sciel and Lune return...and she tells them everything.
She promises that she'll restore their world and everyone who deserves to live.
She would do it.
For them.
Her Papan now holds control over the canvas.
The Irony isn't lost to her; she had to fight one of her parents before to save the people of this world, and now she was forced to fight the other one. It was poetic, in a way, at least.
They journey onward. There was still much to explore...still much more Chroma for her to gather.
They find Simon.
They find Clea's counterpart
...and they put them to rest.
Clea's cruelty stuns her companions...but she knows better. Clea's cruelty, though cold at times, came from a place of the heart. It wasn't Clea's fault; it was their parents, for how they chose to raise her.
Her sister's skills stun her.
The ability to repaint an entire being created by someone else. It fills her with both envy...and awe.
She wisely doesn't say it out loud, but...she wishes she could have Clea's skill.
The time comes to return to Lumiere. To reclaim it from Papan and save this world.
Their home was infested by Nevron and destroyed. No matter, she would fix it.
Papan fights them.
And it's difficult.
...but then her mother appears.
And the tide shifts.
They win, and she's filled with pride.
She's won against both her parents.
It's exhilarating.
Words are what managed to sway Papan. And soon, she's the one in control of the canvas.
Everything was perfect again.
All she needed to do was fix the canvas, and she and her friends could live their lives as they saw fit
...until Verso decides otherwise.
And once again, she's faced with the end of her world.
・꩜・
The day she confronted her daughter, she was in her studio. Cradling one of her sculptures in her hands as she stared at it.
"So. Aline Dessendre finally emerges from her self-depricating cocoon." She looked over her shoulder, "Let's hear it then, dear old mother, what say you about my decision?"
"Clea-" she swallowed, "I know we've never seen eye to eye. But please, see reason this time."
"Reason, hm?" her eldest let out a dry laugh. "Tell me, what reason is there?" She leaned back on her feet
"The council needs your strength."
Clea scoffed, "I'm aware of that. But you know what else it needs? It needs those old fossils to be removed and replaced with the new ones. There is a reason I chose Elizabeth to be my success, and it's not just because she's the same age as me".
Elizabeth Bree. A prodigy. But just as ruthless as Clea, if not even more so.
A threat to the way the council ran things. Just as much as Clea was.
"Child-"
Clea raised a hand, "Let me spare you the lecture, Aline. I'm not going back to the council. End of story." She turned to look away-
"Is this because of the Canvas?"
Her daughter froze, for a split second, before she huffed, "...why bring that up?"
"Is your sudden rebellion because of your father erasing it-" Clea's hands clenched around the statue "-If so. Why choose to side with your father? Knowing what was going to happen?"
"Is that what you think?"
Clea spoke up
"That I chose to betray you?" she looked back at her, "You and I know both that it was so much more than choosing sides. You were living in your own delusions, in your fantasy, and Renoir was still relatively sane when he asked me to get involved. So I chose the side that saw reason at the time."
She glanced away with a click of her tongue. "Do I suppose I was being a fool back then, choosing to get involved like that?"
"Verso-"
"He's dead," Clea cut her off. "You and Renoir believe the creations to be alive, and perhaps there is some merit to that. But you and I both know that isn't the case with that thing you created...or should I say things."
"Is that why you're upset?" she dared to ask.
"It's one of them," her daughter scoffed. "Honestly, what did you think you would achieve? Even if I or Alicia hadn't gotten involved in you and Renoir's mess, you would have lost either way."
She tilted her head. "Both you and I know that Renoir's perseverance far exceeds yours."
Aline bit her cheek and struggled to respond
Clea sighed
"Both of you have always been like this. Letting your emotions control you-"
"Verso died, Clea," she cut her off.
"He did," Clea nodded, "And I'm beginning to think that's the best thing that ever happened to him-"
Slap
It rings through the room. There's a crash, and Clea falls to the ground.
There was silence before Clea barked out a laugh, it was dry and filled with hysteria. "This...This is why. He's always been the luckiest of us three."
She stood up, her left eye had blood running down, and Aline could make out a scar over it. Before she could say anything, Clea smiled at her.
"This is who you really are. A broke woman who can't handle reality. It makes sense, really, you lived a lie for decades within a canvas before Renoir decided to pull you out." She shook her head, "And nothing, not even forgiveness, will ever change that."
"I lost my son-"
"And I lost my brother," Clea hissed. "Don't you dare use Verso's death as an excuse for burning Alicia again. Or for creating an entirely different family. Or for cheating on Renoir-"
"It wasn't like that!"
"Then what was it?!" Clea spread her arms open. "Tell me, what was it?!"
"I was doing it for us! For Verso! For the life that was stolen from us!"
She's breathing heavily at that, and Clea let out a small chuckle, which turned into a laugh as she held her head.
"For us? No, no, no. Don't pull that card on me, Aline. You did it for yourself. Just. Like. Always."
Clea chuckled, "I'm not surprised, you're always choosing yourselves above everything else. Above us."
"All I've done is for our family-"
"No. It's not" Clea cut her off.
"Every single one of us, before the fire, pretended that everything was fine in our family. But deep down, we knew it wasn't. You pretend you're not obsessed with perfection, Renoir pretends he's not controlling." She ranted
" I pretend not to be a puppet simply to spare my siblings from this fate, which didn't even fucking work!"
A bitter laugh left her mouth.
"Verso pretended he wasn't a wet rag, sacrificing himself to keep this family intact, and Alicia pretended she wasn't stuck in our shadows because we all couldn't even try to love her in the way she deserved without being afraid of you!"
The sound of Clea's breath was all that sounded in the room
Clea lifted her head. "Can you even do it?" she asked quietly. "Can you even try to look us in the eye and tell us you love us? And actually mean it without expecting anything in return?"
Silence. Complete utter silence
"Yeah," she scoffed, "I thought so."
They stood there, neither saying a word, before Clea inhaled sharply
"I made my choice. I'm going to focus on Alicia. On my family," she firmly stated. "The council can go suck a dick for all I care," she sneered,
"And you and Renoir...you've made your choice. And I've made mine." She paused, "What else is there to say?"
Clea walked past her, leaving Aline alone in the room.
"And, for the record. It was my canvas as well." Her daughter spoke softly, "Do you know what it did to me? To watch as my childhood became a warzone? Of course you didn't. Because you never think about us."
Aline lowered her head.
"Verso didn't die because of Alicia," her daughter growled
"He died because of you." Clea hissed, "Alicia was merely a tool to reach you and Renoir. And it worked."
And with that, she leaves the room.
And Aline?
She stands there, with nothing but the regret and grief of her own choices.
・꩜・
The funny thing about betrayal...is that it never comes from an Enemy.
Verso's betrayal shouldn't have surprised her.
But it did.
He had made it clear that he didn't want his immortality anymore.
The only thing she didn't know was that he was willing to sacrifice anything to achieve his goal.
She doesn't understand.
Does everything they do not matter to him?
Did Sciel and Lune, Monocco and Esquie mean nothing to him?
What hurt worse was that she lost.
She failed.
She failed everyone.
And as everything fades, all she can do is mourn what will never be again.
Her father will destroy the canvas...and her family will be lost again.
And then all she saw...was black.
She should try to get up. To say something. DO something.
...
Did it even matter?
Her life was over.
Everything was gone.
There was nothing left for her.
...so why even bother?
・꩜・
"What does she see in you?"
Renoir's voice is hoarse as he addresses Simon; the young man sits in front of them. Completely unaware of what Renoir was trying to understand.
"I wish I knew," Simon shrugged, "It's not up to me to answer that."
He paused and looked at him in the eye, "But you already know that, don't you?"
Renoir lowered his head
"...why did you call me here?"
"Clea confides in you."
"She does," Simon nodded, "And just because she confides doesn't mean I'll betray her trust in me."
"I don't expect you to, I just...wish to know something"
"And that is?"
"How do I fix this?"
Simon blinked. "That's a loaded question," he shook his head. "Elaborate, please?"
"Aline and Clea had a...disagreement. Worse than the one she and I had," he explained softly, "It's...formed a divide in the manor."
The old man shut his eyes. "I just don't know how to fix this."
Simon stared at him for a long time before letting out a sigh, "So this is where she gets it from."
The old man looked up at him.
"You and Clea have more in common than you think," he explained softly. "This is one of the.m"
"What do you mean?"
Simon sighed, "Both you and Clea know what you need to do.. But when it comes to actually doing it? That's where you two struggle." he smiled, "It's part of her charm, but...it can deeply affect the relationships she allows herself to have."
"Your point?" he grumbled.
"You need to look in the mirror and decide what you're going to do. Fight for them or fight with them." Simon stated firmly, "Your wife scared your daughter. Both of them and you're here crying to me, begging me to tell you what to do."
Renoir glanced away
"She's drinking herself away. Refusing to take accountability for what she did. For what both of you did"
"You don't-"
"I know exactly what happened," Simon cut him off, "Clea told me. Not to use it against you, but because she trusts me."
The young man leaned forward. "Clea has made her mistakes. Has been cruel. But the difference between you and her? It's the fact that she refuses to hide behind excuses. She'll take the consequences of her actions. You won't."
Renoir lowered his head.
"I refuse to lose my family."
"Then don't"
Simon's firm voice managed to get Renoir to raise his head.
"You're Renoir Dessendre. You were respected and feared by many commoners like me. Are you really going to let it end like this?" he asked softly. "You're their father. You're her husband, aren't you?"
"I am"
"Then prove it!"
Renoir stared at the young man before he stood up. "You're right."
And as he began to walk away, he paused
"I see why Clea likes you."
He smirked as he heard Simon splutter behind him.
The return to the manor is more solemn than he would like to admit out loud. And for a split second, all he can do is stare at the gate with tired eyes.
This conversation...it was going to change everything.
But if it went well, then their family would be able to heal.
As he steps into the manor, he builds up his courage and calls both his daughter and wife to the dining room. Neither says anything, so he rolled his shoulders back and spoke firmly.
"This cannot go on".
And so, they talk.
・꩜・
Wherever she is...it's quiet.
She can't move, can't talk, can't even blink. All she can do is lie there, staring up at...nothing.
It's like she's surrounded by nothing but ink.
All of it felt like she was at the bottom of the ocean.
She lies there...hopeless.
...Lifeless.
She wonders how long it would take for her to die here. Could she even die? Or was she just stuck in this eternal limbo?
Did it even matter?
"That's not like the Maelle I knew."
...Gustave?
"You can't just lie here for all of eternity, ma douce fille."
Sciel
"Don't just give up"
Lune.
She must have gone insane in the amount of time she's been here.
"None of that, silly girl. You have to be positive."
She snorts. Easy for Sciel to say. She's the one who's dead and doesn't have to deal with the mess that is life anymore.
"Mon dieu. Were you always this dramatic?"
Lune murmured. Getting Gustave and Sciel to laugh.
Her lips twitched.
It had been...how long had she been here?
"Quite a while." Sciel hummed, "You should think of getting out of here."
She hummed at that; she didn't say anything else.
"Maelle-"
That's not who she was
"Alicia." Hearing her name leave Gustave's mouth was weird. But it also felt nice. "You can't just give up like this. You need to get up and get out of here; you can't let yourself die like this."
Why shouldn't she?
She'd failed.
Everyone was dead because of her
...just like with her real brother.
"When one falls, we continue. WHEN. Alicia. Not if. When"
This isn't an expedition.
They had failed.
There was silence before Gustave growled
"Then live for us"
...what?
"You think your life is worthless? Does that mean nothing matters anymore? Then forget about yourself and live for the people who LOVE you. For those that can't be there with you!"
It's not that easy
"It never is," Sciel comforted, "But drowning yourself won't fix anything. I know that better than anyone."
It was different.
THEY had deserved to live. To explore their world. To be free.
...she doesn't deserve that.
"Life is unfair," Lune spoke firmly. "It's cruel to those who deserve more and warm to those who might not need it to be. You can't control this. We aren't here anymore...we might not even be really speaking to you."
Then what were they?
"You want to live"
...Did she?
"You do, Sweetheart. You do"
She...what did she have to live for
"Us," Gustave whispered, "You have to live for us."
.
.
.
She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to say goodbye.
"You won't be saying goodbye," Sciel comforted her softly, "One day, even if it sounds impossible. We'll reunite."
Memories of her Canvas life overwhelm her, her eyes fill with tears, and she can feel her body begin to fade.
"Live for all of us," Gustave smiled
"Explore and see the world," Lune ruffled her hair gently
"And tell us all about it when we see each other again," Sciel hugged her gently.
The hold of her family is the last thing she feels as she finally leaves the murky place she was stuck in.
It hurts.
She doesn't want to leave them
...But, if she can't live for herself.
Then she might try for them.
It's what they deserve.
They deserved everything.
So she wasn't going to fail them.
...not again.
And so, with that last thought.
Alicia wakes up
・꩜・
It's bright when she wakes up.
A low hiss leaves her mouth, and she winces at the pain she feels in her throat. She raised a hand and held it there for some time before letting it flop to her side.
The ceiling of her room was all she stared at for a long time before she gained the strength to leave her bed.
Alicia stumbled before she caught herself in the nick of them. She raised a hand and frowned, her hair was longer...how long had she been in that murky place?!
She walks like a newborn deer, and she all but glares at her feet.
The halls are empty, and the manor seems like a ghost town. Was anybody home? Did she even want them to be home?
Monocco the third and Noco appear, barking at the sight of her, and she let out a silent laugh.
She missed them.
Her steps led her to the dining room, where she heard hushed voices from behind it.
They were there. The Dessendres.
Her hands rose, and they shook as she began to open the door.
Alicia shook her head.
She wasn't just Alicia anymore.
She was Maelle as well.
A member of Expedition 33.
She could do this
...she could do this.
Alicia opens the door and stumbles into the dining room.
It goes quiet
The young girl raised her head, her long hair blocking the right side of her face. And there they were. Her family...were they even her family anymore?
She doesn't say anything.
It's not like she can anymore.
Instead, she lowered her head and stared at the floor.
It was easier that way.
She hears someone walk toward her, and she shuts her eye, scared as to what was about to happen.
Only for a pair of arms to wrap around her. Her eye opened, and she caught sight of familiar Auburn hair. It was Clea.
"Foolish, stupid, girl," her sister chokes out, "Don't ever do that to me again."
Alicia's eye watered, and as they fell to the ground, her arms wrapped around her sister just as tightly. She buried her face in her sister's shoulder, and though she didn't cry as loudly as Clea, she could still feel her shoulders shake.
Hands were placed on her shoulders, and though she didn't remove herself from her sister's hold, she knew it was Renoir and Aline.
And, for the first time since entering the Canvas-
Alicia truly felt at peace.
The talk they all had was awkward.
Alicia spent most of the time by Clea's side, clenching her hand just as tightly as her sister clenched onto hers.
"This cannot go on" was the main point of the conversation.
All of their faults had been brought up, and Clea had refused to take accountability for her actions when she hadn't necessarily done anything wrong.
"I was calling you out." Her sister huffed, "If the truth hurts, then we shouldn't even be speaking right now."
Both her parents apologized; she could practically see her mother's pride shattering as she did so. She was left in silent shock as even Papan promised not to hold on so tight to them.
It was only then that Clea, begrudgingly, also spoke of her faults.
But she also stood her ground. Just like always.
"I refuse to go back to the council. I'm not going to give you any more than I already have," she glanced away.
"I'll continue to paint and to sculpt. But not for you, for me."
Alicia merely looked away when it was her turn. She wasn't going to say anything other than what had already been said.
The only thing she offered was a nod of understanding.
She'd try. As long as they did.
There wasn't much said after that. Alicia watched as both her parents departed; they seemed hesitant to be with the other. But memories of the painted Dessendres came back, and she understood why the atmosphere had changed.
Cheating was still cheating. Even if it was the painted version of your husband.
She jolts as Clea begins to pull her out of the dining room.
"Ah?"
"You need a bath," her sister grumbled smoothly, "You've been asleep for a long time. You smell horrible."
She huffed at that but followed nonetheless.
Alicia found herself in a tub. Hissing and moving as Clea washed her very long hair, which was tangled up, and Clea's brushing was not helping her feel relaxed. She looked over her shoulder and glared at her.
Clea scoffed softly, "Calm down, little shadow. It's almost over."
She turned back around and fought the wincing that threatened to escape her.
Stupid hair...stupid Clea and her calm and soothing brushing.
Alicia leaned back with a soft sigh, her eye closing as she hummed softly.
"Your hair"
"Ha?"
"We should cut it. Would that be okay with you?" her sister asked
She paused and nodded
"Alright then. Are you alright with any length?"
Alicia looked down at her hands before she nodded
"Nn..."
"...like your friend? What was her name...Sciel?"
She turned around and blinked
Clea raised an eyebrow at her
"Do you really think I would just leave you in the hands of that moron?" she scoffed. "I wouldn't trust him no matter what skin he was wearing."
Alicia turned around silently and nodded at her, "Ah."
"Alright then," Clea nodded, "Hold still."
Her head feels lighter when Clea finally finishes cutting it. As she stands, she can't help but reach her hand to touch it, humming and looking at Clea, who huffs at her.
"I know how to use scissors, Alicia."
She rolled her eye and placed a hand on her arm.
Thank you
"... you're welcome," Clea murmured softly
It was odd. A nice weird to see Clea being so...soft.
Though it made sense.
Alicia had been asleep for two months following her loss in the due. She'd just lie there, sleeping with no worries.
Who wouldn't worry?
But still...
How she envied her past self for that.
Sleeping sounded a lot better than...whatever she was supposed to do now.
The walk to her room seemed eternal, her feet dragged, and she all but leaned on Clea for support so as not to collapse onto the ground.
The feeling of her mattress was like heaven to her, and she all but buried herself under the covers. A soft sigh leaves her nose, and she gets ready to go to sleep-
Her bed shifting makes her open her eye, she's brought into an embrace, and all she does is look up at Clea. Clea's eyes are closed, and she's squeezing her gently; she tilted her head up at her sister.
"Sleep," she commanded gently. "I'm tired."
It's weird.
But, again, it's a good weird.
Alicia closed her eye.
...and fell asleep.
"Bonjour! I'm Simon," the strange man, Simon, smiled at her gently.
Alicia's eye was wide open as she stared at him. She looked at Clea and then back at Simon.
Gasp
Her hands flew to her head
You're dating someone?!
"Yes," Clea let out a long-suffering sigh
Like being all gross and cooties and things like that?!
"You're not a child, Alicia. Don't use words like that," Clea glared at her
...Is this stockhold syndrome?
Clea smacked her upside the head.
All the while, Simon watched with wide eyes.
The man, to be blunt, was the complete opposite of Clea. That wasn't to say that Alicia disliked him! Quite the opposite, actually. It was nice to see that her older sister actually managed to find someone who could handle her.
Or, to put it in better words: Someone who was just as strong as her.
So...is that-
"Yes," Clea nodded, "Aline decided to give her the ideal version of Simon. But no amount of painting would ever be able to recreate him."
Alicia hummed and glanced at him. He was getting their order from the bakery. Which gave them the perfect opportunity to talk
I saw your work. It was...
"Cruel?"
Impressive? She shrugged. Your counterpart was difficult to defeat
"You destroyed her?" Clea asked her with shock in her voice.
Alicia smiled sadly and decides not to fully answer the question.
We found her by exploring. I just...wanted her to rest. They all suffered too much because of us.
"...I won't apologize for what I did"
I don't expect you to
She shrugged
I would have probably done the same thing.
"No, you wouldn't have," Clea rolled her eyes. "It's in me, in Aline. But it's just not in you," her lips twitched. "It's what makes you the best of us."
Her eye widened, and before she could respond, Simon returned and placed the order on the table.
They spend the rest of the day getting to know each other, but all she can process is Clea's words.
It's all that she could have ever wanted to hear, rather than the disappointment she was used to.
It was far too late...but it still filled her with warmth.
Clea spends more time with her.
She's no longer constantly needed by the council and has more time to herself than she used to.
The two don't speak much, and they certainly don't talk about the Canvas. Most of their time is spent in Clea's studio, leaning back-to-back. Either with Clea sketching and Alicia humming under her breath, or Alicia sketching and Clea giving her advice on what to improve on
Alicia draws the members of Expedition 33 to the point sketchbook after sketchbook is filled with their faces.
Forgetting them would be a sin she wouldn't dare commit.
She only drew Verso once, and the page ended up getting ripped by her own hand under Clea's understanding gaze.
They make a deal.
Alicia would tell her about her life within the canvas, and Clea would tell her of her solitary war with the writers.
She tells Clea of her family in the canvas, Expedition 33, and their journey to defeat the Paintress.
Clea doesn't judge or interrupt her, not like how Alicia expects her to.
Her sister was merely listening and commenting on certain parts.
She forgot that the canvas had been created by Clea as well, and not just Verso.
Her sister tells her about areas they never got to explore.
An infinite sea of stars, a field of only flowers and nothing else. Alicia wonders what it would have been like to explore and experience them herself.
She tells some stories from her 'childhood' only to be surprised by her sister, who chuckled.
"It was weird. Watching you grow up again."
Alicia blinked and turned to face her
You watched me?
"From outside the Canvas," her sister nodded
The reveal was shocking, and she couldn't help but frown
Why? Why did you not-
"It was your journey, little shadow," Clea murmured, "I didn't have a right to get involved. Especially not when Aline erased your identity. Alicia was my sister...Maelle wasn't"
Alicia lowered her head
"But-"
She raised it and tilted her head at her
"There was one time I decided to step in. Remember when you were five? And you got lost?"
Alicia's eye widened
There was a small fire leading my way. That was you?
Her sister nodded
There was a beat of silence before she leaned on Clea and smiled
Thank you for guiding me back to Lumiere
Clea didn't respond, but the way her shoulders dropped was enough for Alicia.
It was difficult for Alicia to be in the same room as her Papan.
She knew, in theory, that he wasn't the same man who had taken Gustave from her. But he was the same man who threatened to erase her entire world, which he succeeded on.
There were times when she found herself flinching at the sight of him, reaching to hold her arm or Clea's for support.
Papan wasn't anything like Renoir; he wasn't disguising cruelty as kindness, but there were many aspects of the older man that were similar to his. His poorly hidden need for control was one of them.
It was clear that Papan was fighting himself to control them, but Alicia could see that he was trying to give them more freedom in their own choices.
As hard as she tried to be more open with her father, it was difficult to look him in the eye. Especially considering he was the murderer of her home. All she could see was her destroyed homeland and the faces of her fellow Expedition members.
There was an effort to get to know her father again. There really was!
...she just didn't know where to start.
As it turns out, she didn't even have to be the one to reach out. Not this time, at least.
He catches her staring at a Canvas.
The one depicting their entire family. Her eye bore onto Verso, and she glanced away when she realized that her papan was watching her.
"...Aline's work was truly magnificent, wasn't it?"
She nodded silently
"It looked like him...but all those decades changed who he used to be," Renoir spoke softly.
Alicia hummed
"You cared for him, didn't you?"
She nodded
"I see."
They stand there silently before he softly asked, "Do you hate him? For the choice he forced on you?"
She thinks about Lumiere and all the people who would never be anymore, the people whose lives were ruined simply because of the selfishness of the Dessendre Family. She thinks of them and mourns them still.
But she also thinks of the Dessendres and their loss they'd have to deal with. They had already lost a son. To lose a daughter would be another level of grief for them.
The duel rings hollow, but she still feels the bitterness build up inside of her.
Alicia nods
The silence that followed was very telling of what he thought about that.
Alicia learns to play the piano.
The lessons Verso gave her inside the Canvas are still in her memory, and the books her brother had left behind in her room are enough to teach her what she needs to know.
She never noticed that both Clea and Verso played their respective instruments; Clea with her harp and Verso with his piano. She wondered what instrument she'd want to learn if it weren't for Verso's piano.
Music fills the halls only when she's sure neither of her parents is home.
Clea, at times, sits beside her, listening with her eyes closed as she hums under her breath.
She stumbled at times, but she's not met with scolding but instead with encouragement.
It's odd
Alicia commented softly
"What is?"
You being nice. She paused. What changed?
Clea looked at her and sighed, "I'm tired. Of being angry"
Words so familiar that they make her flinch.
I understand
Her fingers begin to play again, and it's only the sound of the door opening that makes them both look up.
It was Maman.
Alicia immediately looked down, and Clea moved her body forward in an attempt to guard her.
Forgiveness can be earned and given, but Alicia isn't sure if she'll ever forgive her mother for what she did to her. Both versions of herself.
It was dead quiet, and Alicia's breath shook as she waited for the woman to speak or to leave. Perferably the last one.
"...will you play?"
Alicia raised her head and gazed at her for some time; her mother didn't look away from her like she did after the fire, and instead continued to stare right back. Seemingly no longer afraid or ashamed anymore.
She looked back at the piano and, after a deep breath in...
She began to play.
━━━━ ༄ ━━━━
It doesn't heal in a day, or the weeks and months that follow.
Alicia sometimes has nightmares about the destruction of Lumiere, Gustave's death, and losing everything she cares about.
There are times Clea gets angry, but it's not as bad as before. They're close, unlike before. Her sister and she still share a bed; it was nice to feel somebody near you when you needed them.
Papan was still in the council, and the work got easier for him once Maman decided to return as well. He's opened up more, and it's gotten easier to be around him. She doesn't flinch at the sight of him, nor does she feel the sensation of dread anymore.
They actually spend time painting Canvases. They don't go into them, he still thinks it's too early for that. And, despite her stubbornness, Alicia knows he's right.
She plans on painting a Canvas of Lumiere. And she already knows that the day she paints it will be the day her father will keep an even closer eye on her than before. Alicia would say that she has no plans of staying in the canvas, but...she's not too sure herself.
Aline is trying, but you can't always forgive or forget certain actions and words.
They all try in their own unique ways. The noticeable shift in their home is very noticeable.
It wasn't bad. Just different.
Verso's grave is tended to each week by them; they leave flowers and depart as soon as they arrive.
The one time she visited, she stared at the grave and, with a small grunt, wished her brother farewell.
Both of them.
She'd never forgive Verso, but she was slowly beginning to understand his actions.
After that, she only goes there to leave flowers and leaves before she gets too sentimental.
It's not perfect, but they're getting there.
"Alicia?"
She turned to face Clea, who nudged her head toward the hall.
"Renoir and Aline want to have dinner, is that alright with you?"
They hadn't had dinner together in a long time.
Alicia tilted her head and nodded after a soft moment of hesitation. She gets up from where she's sketching.
A small portrait of their family, what remained of it at least. Renoir and Aline side by side, as always, and both Clea and Alicia by the front. It's not the same as the portrait that holds Verso, but this one feels...different.
Happier.
Not healed but a bit more mended.
Her hand clasps around Clea when she offers her hand to her.
A small pause makes her falter, and after a small glance at her sketchbook, one of the many she's filled up now, she looks away and leaves.
"When one falls, we continue."
Tomorrow will come.
And so, the Dessendres have dinner together.
It was awkward. It was painful. She hated every second of it.
...but it was enough.