Chapter Text
Things seemed to be going as planned. After a dozen nights of hot flashes, screaming, and violence, Vertin’s health slowly improved, like the gears of a clockwork doll, section by section, piece by piece, with the crisp cracks almost audible with each balking round. She killed every old cell in her body that burned with addiction, and now waited for new, vibrant, and healthy cells to grow. Soon, everyone began to believe that she could singlehandedly achieve the completion of the Ship of Theseus within herself.
The cotton rope and handcuffs were placed in the cabinet, and saw no use for several days. Priority now came to ensuring the room was free of weapons, glass and other possible sharp objects after dark, and that all right-angled tabletops were wrapped in soft materials.
Sonetto still slept in Vertin’s room. During the few nights when the effects of the medication were stable, she would huddle on the bed whilst keeping an eye on Vertin’s body temperature. There she would stay until midnight, until Vertin suffered another bout of high fever, spreading her limbs on the bed in exhaustion. Tucking her back in, Sonetto rolled her sleeping bag out on the floor next to the bed.
Lying in bed in the darkness until slumber was probably the most tender time of the day for the two of them. Sonetto couldn’t deny that she had a secret longing and desire for this brief moment of less than an hour. They occasionally talked about the delicate and complicated years of their time in the SPDM, and during this time Vertin was unexpectedly candid, which was a little overwhelming.
“Everyday, for half a month after I came back from the guardhouse, you would creep up to my bunk after the Disciplinarian’s inspection and hug me to sleep. You were probably afraid that I’d sneak away again. I remember… I’d wake up in the middle of the night feeling so hot, but I never dared to move. Whenever I did, the wound on my thigh hurt so much that I could do nothing but grimace. You slept so soundly then.”
But you still ran away in the end.
“Really? I don’t remember.” Sonetto’s tone was also deliberately relaxed; they both recognized the concern and lack of reconciliation in each other’s voices, but chose not to expose it.
How could she not remember? At the tender age of twelve, the naivety of youth shattered under the hammer of change. Since then, a nail had been buried deep into her chest, and the hammer buzzed even after all these years.
Long-dormant anxiety and worry awakened once more.
The expatriate doctor from the rehabilitation center visited several times during the recovery period, and concluded that the treatment results were good, and that the current prescription should be maintained provided Vertin didn’t physically or mentally suffer any major trauma.
Over time, the Timekeeper’s complexion had visibly improved. The dosage went from being reduced every three days, to every two days, to each passing day. In order to not hinder work, Vertin always took her injections before going to bed. This way, the drug’s effect would reach its peak in the middle of the night and decline to a controllable range in the early morning. The only problem that couldn’t be solved was lack of sleep. Sitting in front of the mirror, Vertin ran a finger over the darkened skin around her orbitals. She found a concealer given to her by a woman from an unknown era, and put on a little to give the impression that her mental state was actually better than it really was.
Spring was coming. The tree outside the window swayed leisurely in the gentle breeze, specks of green dotted its blackened branches, fresh buds sprouting from scorched cracks. The first bird of spring also came. It passed through the ever-lasting fog of the Scorched Woods, avoided the slimy hands of Manus Vindictae, and landed on the windowsill. It pecked at the stone, and then at the glass, tuk tuk, tuk tuk. Sonetto opened the window a crack and sprinkled some finely ground bread crumbs. She turned her head, and saw Vertin leaning against a raised pillow, gazing half-obscured and somewhat fondly at the pretty orange beak turning inch by inch. Sonetto sat on the edge of the bed, and raised the remaining crumbs in her hand with a smile, “Do you want to give it a try?”
“No thanks. I’m a little dizzy.” Vertin propped up her head and watched as Sonetto turned to watch the birds gathering on the windowsill. Taking the opportunity, she opened her mouth and licked up the remaining crumbs from the still open hand. Sonetto noticed an itch and slight chill in her palm and looked over, but Vertin had already closed her eyes and leaned back, the edges of her lips speckled with a few grains of evidence of her pilferage.
Sonetto lowered her lashes and brushed the knuckles of her index and middle fingers lightly across Vertin’s face, from left to right, skimming over her thin lips. Vertin didn’t know if she was choking, but the tip of her tongue suddenly felt stiff, pushing against the inner wall of her lips, and subsequently against the first knuckle of Sonetto’s index finger. Sonetto paused, and brushed away the last two crumbs with her thumb. She gently lifted Vertin’s jaw with the back of her fingers, closing slightly parted lips, before leaving her face.
Please, Timekeeper. Sonetto didn’t stop for even a moment, plate in hand. Please don’t look so vulnerable… Sometimes she really wanted to… kiss her.
So she kissed her.
It wasn’t hard for Sonetto to realize that she too had somehow degenerated into an addict. The quality of her sleep during the nights she lay next to Vertin were surprisingly good, and if Vertin had no apparent inclination to torment herself in the middle of the night, she could even sleep soundly until morning without taking sleeping pills. Alas, duty called. For the three short days Sonetto was stationed at the temporary outpost away from base, insomnia, an old friend, tortured her to the point of dizziness almost every night. She had no choice but to start taking phenobarbital in order to briefly fall asleep in an unconscious stupor. One night she couldn’t help but laugh at herself in front of the bonfire, watching the flames dance into the night sky. It was reported in the news that numerous alcoholics in Brooklyn, New York, had gathered to sober up with Coca-Cola. Unfortunately, these people became addicted to Coca-Cola instead. One addiction offset another, and now she too, was a moth flying into the flames. It was all the same.
So she returned to base at moonfall in starlight, still smelling of scorched earth, wind, and dust. She leaned against a crack in the door, and the smell of musk mixed with the slight bitterness of chemicals wafted out. She tightened the knot on her cloak with her index finger, made a final glance, and left as quietly and quickly as she’d come.
During the few nights Sonetto was away, Vertin took the pair of handcuffs from the cabinet and cuffed her right hand to the end of the bed, almost as if half crucified. Upon her return, Sonetto saw this and quietly found the key, unlocked the cuffs, and tucked Vertin’s hanging arm under the blanket. Checking her temperature a final time, she finally lay down in the sleeping bag.
She fell asleep quickly. It was still dark when she half-opened her eyelids in a daze. Her body was incredibly hot, and she immediately noticed something soft rubbing against the crook of her neck.
“Timekeeper?” Sonetto’s heart almost lept out of her chest. Her first reaction was to push Vertin away, but she stopped halfway for fear of hurting her in confusion. In the awkward pause, her hand lay between Vertin’s breasts, neither pushing nor pulling. The breasts were comparable to raised hills on a plain, stranded in between them, a tidal lowland. In her childhood, Vertin had gone through several experiments, affecting the development of sexual characteristics. The effects were apparent, even moreso, in this moment.
The shadows of the tree outside danced across the walls as the sentry spotlight passed by the window again, and with it came another kiss.
Sonetto could feel the different rhythms of their heartbeats and their contrasting temperatures. Her sandwiched hand - lying peacefully, acted as a shield, but with a slight turn, it became a double-edged sword. Lashes trembling, Sonetto squeezed her eyes shut and took a suffocated breath. An unseen hand brushed along the thin layer of cotton pajamas all the way down to her navel.
Don’t go any lower, it’s dangerous.
But the disorienting swarm of butterflies came one after another, and avoiding desire was like sailing amongst rock infested reefs. She hooked the tip of Vertin’s tongue and pushed the soft illusion into her mouth. She could feel hardened scabs, and if she wasn’t careful, the wounds would split, filling both of their mouths with the taste of blood.
As if suddenly jolted awake by the pain, or perhaps, it was better to say that she was not completely asleep in the first place, Vertin pushed herself a fingers-length away and gasped. Her breath tickled Sonetto’s ear, causing the hair around her temples to rise.
“Sorry, I just really want to... I can’t suppress it.”
Moderate use of the medication could make patients feel excited and uplifted, enhance euphoria, and increase wakefulness. It also could change one’s libido, and increase sexual pleasure. There was also a certain probability that it could delay male ejaculation time... Before Vertin’s return to the team, Sonetto had done a detailed study on the nature and function of her medication, and now, all the words transcribed in those notes jumped out letter by letter, bouncing to and from her racing thoughts.
Vertin’s voice sounded a little subdued, “I know this is a physiological sexual impulse after the medicine takes effect, so if you…”
“But if it were someone else in this room, you wouldn’t be so promiscuous… would you?”
“Of course not.” Vertin turned and lay back down, and the sleeping bag that normally easily accommodated two people suddenly felt cramped, “Because it’s you, that’s why I... I mean, I probably wouldn’t have such desire if it were someone else.”
The sentry light disappeared and the room fell into darkness once more.
“Of course, if you think it’s bad, or that it's wrong, you can use an arcane skill to restrain me.”
She meant ‘disarming’, and how the individual caught under the spell would be incapable of any aggressive behavior for a period of time. In the darkness, Sonetto imagined how Vertin would look lying next to her. She would probably look more like an oriental zombie who couldn’t stick out her tongue. She couldn’t help but smile quietly.
“Unfortunately, I’ve already locked Glasfeder away in my office… I won’t use it to hurt you.”
Well then, since you’ve given up on building the dam, you can only let the waves roll in and wet your hair, clothes, shoes and socks.
So it began. Eyes, lips, the side of her neck, the tips of her breasts, her waistline - a tropical rainforest leaves no dry soil. Vertin leaned in and held her red earlobe in her mouth. Every breath traveled along Sonetto’s ear canal and made her shiver as numbness traveled through her nerves. Dizzy, her body, like a wanderer in the snow on a winter night seeking warmth, instinctively moved closer.
The sound of water filled the world of senses. Between lips and tongues, and between legs, of which was more shameful to describe. Gasps of love interspersed, merged, and mixed in unsaid tones. Sonetto couldn’t help but trace the contours of Vertin’s lips with her raised tongue. She was silent when her lips were closed, cried when they were open, moaned when they were slightly agape, and the most amazing thing was that “sorry”, “don’t worry”, and “I love you” could be said between movements.
Every sentence was holding, mesmerizing. She opened her eyes to meet Vertin’s, whose pretty pale green eyes were now clouded with a layer of London mist, dewy and full of tender beauty.
Drowning in unbroken tears, Sonetto panted as fingers pressed against her soft labia. She was already wet, and the fingers slid in without any effort at all, brushing against her sensitive, swollen clitoris. The unfamiliar pleasure brought about the whimpers of a small animal.
“Does it hurt?” Vertin slowed down. Sonetto couldn’t say anything, only biting her lower lip and shaking her head. Understanding, Vertin tentatively inserted a second finger and started pushing against the inner wall with more intensity and speed.
Too hot... Sonetto felt as if she were being spit roasted, and her organs as if they were jolting with the advancement and retreat of Vertin’s fingers, collapsing into a soft earthquake, amidst a sporadic mountain fire, burning and blending together into one. Consciousness slowly flowed away like lava, and the tears that clouded her vision shattered in the corners of her eyes. Her vision suddenly became clear, crystal clear, and everything she needed was right in front of her.
Vertin kissed away the salty, bitter tears, murmuring softly in her ear, soothing her like the songs mothers used to coax their children to sleep. She called her name, called her longingly, apologetically, far yet near, Sonetto, Sonetto.
“No... ha... I’m willing... ah... I am willing to bear... bear everything...” Her words could no longer be connected into syntax. The end of her sentence was annihilated, lost in the last cloud of breath grasped in the palm of her hand as the world collapsed.
A slide down from the top of the mountain. When she was four years old, someone held her in their arms as they rode a hayride together. The smell of grass and vegetation surrounded her as she careened down the slope.
Morning had yet to arrive. Vertin held her again, and this time she hugged her back. It was just a comforting embrace, without any semblance of lust. Calm as a barren plain, the unending night roiled like water, and plants began to grow. Sonetto inhaled and tasted the woozy scent of their aftermath. The loneliness that had always been buried deep inside suddenly swelled, sprouted, and branched out. Before she could stop it, it had already bloomed into the size of a towering pavilion.
Tears seeped into the texture of Vertin’s skin, and trembling gasps shook against her chest. Confused, she stroked Sonetto’s back and asked in a low voice what was wrong.
The girl sobbed, “The wound… the wound’s open… It hurts.”
The world cracked, and light streamed through the thin crevices. But that didn’t matter.
What mattered was…
I love you, I have always loved you, but half a month ago I thought I would lose you again.
The calendar turned over and over, diminishing bit by bit, like the liquid within an ampoule, slowly extracted by a needle. The ampoule racks that had started out in a small refrigerator for mobile charging, had been moved to the glass cabinet in Vertin’s room for ease-of-access. Fewer doses were being delivered and the purity of the ingredients had left virtually no material that needed to be cryogenically preserved.
Vertin rarely had the urge for self-harm by now.
On the day of moving the shelves, Sonetto’s joy almost overflowed. She held two shelves the size of lunch boxes in her chest with great care, and the liquid in the containers barely swayed as she moved. She neatly placed the labels facing outwards, feeling as if she had finally gotten to see the dying seedlings that had spent the winter covered, finally bud in spring.
Madam Z’s letters were slowly stacked up in the office. The two piles of the same height next to her were the prepared battle plans and the intelligence collected within the past few days. In the heart of the Scorched Woods, the ‘core’ they had failed to penetrate, Arcana and her followers were growing like a tumor. Many of those who had gone bankrupt in the stock market and fallen into despair slipped past the Foundation’s defenses in search of the refuge and charity that supposedly ‘transcended the limitations of the times’.
Refugees, journalists, and the downtrodden aristocrats gathered here. The leads were buried longer and longer, and the hidden danger of the explosion was getting closer and closer.
The Storm was coming.
Three hours ago, Sonetto received a tip that Forget-Me-Not was about to hold a press conference in the Scorched Woods. A large number of tabloid reporters flocked there, and even the military was invited to maintain order and speak on behalf of the press conference.
According to Vertin’s calculations, there were still four hours and twenty-seven minutes left before the Storm.
The path was clear.
Sonetto fastened her cloak, and opened the metal safe that housed her wand. The tip of the pen emitted a faint light, sensing the presence of the arcanist nearby. She turned around and saw Vertin standing at the door.
Her suit had not been ironed for several days, so the cuffs were wrinkled, and the aqua lace trim on her hat was dusty with scorched earth.
Sonetto took one look and understood why she was here. “Timekeeper, I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“I must go.” Vertin pulled a thin smile, “Excluding the round trip of four hours, you won’t be able to save all the arcanists in time.”
“The Storm is coming. When the time comes, my suitcase and I must be present.”
People flowed through the door as they prepared medical supplies for the final battle of the 1920s.
The glass pen spun lightly on Sonetto’s white gloves, and she lowered her head in acquiescence.
From an early age she’d always had trouble changing what Vertin had already decided. So she gave in, but she also… believed in her.
Brushing shoulders, they looked at one another for a moment. Vertin pulled Sonetto into a gentle embrace, and kissed the tip of her nose. Letting go, she smiled, before turning and leaving in the opposite direction.
After Sonetto sent the telegram to Chicago, she passed by the health room to pick up a bottle of anesthetic before heading out.
Cold air poured from the storage unit and hit her face. The narrow-mouthed bottle containing the anesthetic was quietly placed on the lowest shelf, while on the shelf above, one-third of the ampoules were missing.
Sonetto felt the chill behind her solidify, freezing her in place. There was absolutely no chance she miscounted. When she checked last night, all of the medication on the shelf were still intact. One-third, that is, three full vials, and they were the three vials on the left, which represented the three shots of the maximum dosage… The ones Vertin had been using when she’d first returned, and were supposed to be taken back to the rehabilitation center for centralized destruction after the mission was completed.
She shifted her gaze, hearing her neck creak in the silence, and stopped upon laying eyes on the inconspicuous trash across the room. Inside, was a discarded syringe inserted into a ball of cotton, like a thorn. Next to it were three broken ampoules.
0.45 milligrams, an almost lethal dose. She’s mad, or perhaps she was already mad to begin with. Sonetto recalled the kiss at the door earlier, which had turned out to be a possible farewell.
A sharp swelling pain erupted in her chest, and Sonetto nearly missed a breath. She steadied her trembling hand and immediately ran outside.
Vertin had already boarded the car with the vanguard team that went ahead to scout out the situation. Sonetto was left to wait for the first pickup truck of the main forces.
There was a half an hour difference between the two teams.
The delay was far too great, and the longer she waited the further the tendrils of fear extended.
The truth was, sooner or later didn’t matter. When Sonetto rushed out of the truck and anxiously rushed to the outskirts of the press conference as quickly as her legs could carry her. There was only Forget-Me-Not and the military spokesman’s double act. She passed through the crowd, around the lesser-visited area of refugee tents, dodging several homeless men who’d gone mad with hunger. There Vertin was, confronting someone in the small clearing.
Across from her stood a woman with long blue hair, and golden eyes - shining more dangerously than the gold bars swallowed by the humans at the end of this era. She stood in the drizzle without an umbrella, and the raindrops followed the contours of her body. Her lips curled into a cold smile.
“My sweet ornamental puppy, art thou leaving?”
“Thine exalted light, a sacrifice… a savior for all to follow.”
“...In mere hours, thy people shall cease to be.”
There was a messy noise behind her. It was the sound of the rushing boots of their troops and the clash of arcane skills. The battle had begun; before her, Vertin was holding her suitcase in one hand, and the other hand was hanging by her side; she couldn’t tell if it was trembling or not. As Arcana waved goodbye and phantoms rose, Vertin pounced.
But Arcana was gone.
In the distance Druvis and Forget-Me-Not clashed.
Nearby, the spear of a Manus soldier was about to pierce Vertin’s back.
Sonetto forgot to feel, the anger, anxiety, and pain suddenly faded away and she recited verses at a speed she had never achieved before, waving her wand and casting an arcane skill.
Each moment now night.
An aria outside of regulations
The black-clad, beaked, Manus soldier dissipated in mid-air, and where the blade should have landed, Vertin had dodged with a dozen inches to spare.
Sonetto smiled bitterly, how could she forget? Three ampoules of the drug was enough to keep anyone awake and energetic for several days without rest. Vertin sat on the spot holding her knees. She trotted over and found that Vertin’s open palms were dripping with blood. She bandaged them and asked, “Did Arcana do this to you... or yourself?”
“I did it to myself. Arcana’s arcane skill has an impact on my nerves. It’s too easy for me to fall into a trance and hallucinate when I stand before her.” Vertin was brutally honest.
The blood oozed color through the gauze, and Sonetto didn’t say any more. She opened the first aid kit and wrapped her hands in a few more layers.
As they tried to get closer to Druvis and Schneider, more phantoms appeared, all over the mountains and fields. The battlefield gradually moved to the tent area, and the situation became more difficult. In order to avoid harming civilians, it was impossible to use large-scale arcane attacks. Even the use of single-target incantations needed to be cautious, because amongst phantoms were several Manus soldiers. The difference in strength amongst the enemies was too great. If they held back, they couldn’t defeat them all at once. If they used spells that were too powerful, innocent people would be hurt.
Ordinary and ‘normal’ people fled in panic. It was inevitable that there would be a few accidental injuries. While praying for them in her heart, Sonetto thought sadly, what would they do even if they escaped from this moment? What would happen a few hours later? The Storm spared no one, but even so she still tried her best to save them.
The reinforcements were trying to break through outside the encirclement. They fought hard, having little experience in defeating many with few.
The rain was getting heavier.
Forget-Me-Not was clearly out of energy, the piano played intermittently, and Schneider’s gunshot resounded through the woods. The birds scattered, and only the Manus who had lost the ability to judge the situation rushed forward, like moths into flames, not caring for life or death.
The troops tore a hole in the siege. There were only 80 minutes left before the Storm. This battle with heavy casualties lasted far too long.
In the ferocious battle, Sonetto always kept a glimmer of attention on Vertin’s condition. She was far fiercer, and far sharper than usual, fighting with precision like that of an eagle, but each time she straightened her neck and raised her head, she gasped for air. Every passing moment was another straw on the camel’s back.
The final song ended, and the melody melted away as the performers left the stage. 62 minutes left before the Storm.
The medical team transported the wounded. 49 minutes left before the Storm.
The logistics team was counting and transporting supplies. 23 minutes left before the Storm.
The main forces began to evacuate to the outpost, with 18 minutes left before the Storm.
At last, four figures stood silently under a cypress tree, surrounded by corpses from both sides. If anyone counted, there probably were more Manus soldiers than. Druvis bid farewell to her woods, Schneider looked toward the gray sky with a dark expression, and Vertin leaned against the trunk, covering her face with the small of her arm.
She was too weak.
The last dead branch broke, rainwater gathered into streams, merged into rivers, and washed away the mounds and dams. The floods rose, and the people did not wait for Noah’s Ark.
3 minutes. The rainbow after the flood did not belong to them, and it was time for them to go.
The suitcase opened, Druvis got in first, followed closely by Sonetto, thunder boomed behind her, and lightning flashed. A Manus soldier who was not yet dead staggered up and raised his gun to Vertin’s back, who was still helping Schneider into the suitcase.
Sonetto swung her staff, and under the sharp blade of light the soldier fell to the ground, joining his motionless brethren.
The numbers on the nixie clock jumped to 0, raindrops rose from the ground, and the Storm began.
They closed the suitcase at the last second, and a trapped droplet of rain rose above their heads and evaporated into thin air.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, Druvis set down the budding bouquet on the round table, and Sonetto’s thoughts were filled with giving Timekeeper a blood coagulation test first. She went to the entrance of the room, and the footsteps coming downstairs in the darkness suddenly stopped behind her.
A shocked gasp, “Schneider...you…”
Then came Schneider’s breathless voice, “I’m sorry, my lord, I'm not a real arcanist…”
“I have... selfishly...attempted...”
There was a dim flash of light, and Sonetto knew it was the sign of being reversed.
The doctor’s words rang in her ears. “...provided she didn’t physically or mentally suffer any major trauma..”
A muffled sound came from the darkness, and Vertin murmured, “Sone…” before the rest of her words were drowned out by the sound of her collapsing on the stairs. Sonetto’s brain buzzed, and she rushed over before she even had time to think.
She’d caught her. Spine rigid, legs weak, Sonetto fell to her knees in front of the last step, supporting Vertin who had rolled down the stairs with both hands.
Pietà.
The drug hadn’t worn off, but her body had reached its limit. Sonetto rolled up Vertin’s sleeve, and the dense pinholes on her arm were stained yellow and purple bruises. Her jacket was torn, and the cloth was dark, stained with oozing blood.
Sonetto held her breath, and Vertin in her arms opened her eyes and looked into the fireplace next to the sofa, where the flames danced.
“I won’t die.” Her voice was weak, fainter than her breath, and the corners of her lips curved into a sly arc, “You caught me, I can’t escape.”