The restaurant had grown quiet around them. It wasn't an empty silence, but the comfortable lull between courses, when forks rested on plates and conversations softened. The candle on their table had burned down to a stub, its flame flickering in a shallow pool of melted wax and casting long shadows across the checkered tablecloth.
Nimue set down her fork with a soft clink against the ceramic plate. She looked across the table at Fleur, who was wiping her mouth with a napkin. The older girl's movements were unhurried and precise. She carried herself with a natural grace that Nimue couldn't stop watching.
« Grande sœur. »
Fleur looked up at the familiar name, her sea-blue eyes reflecting the fading candlelight.
« On peut jouer encore? Demain? »
(Big sister, can we play again tomorrow?)
Fleur glanced at her aunt, Margaux, who was resting her chin on one hand and watching the exchange with raised eyebrows. Margaux then shifted her gaze toward Jane.
Jane pulled a small notebook from her coat pocket, tore out a page, and quickly scribbled something on it before handing it to Margaux.
« C'est l'adresse. Elle peut venir si elle veut. »
(It's the address. She can come if she wants.)
Margaux took the paper, glanced at the handwriting, and tucked it into her pocket. Then she looked back at Fleur.
« Tu as entendu? »
(You heard?)
Fleur nodded, her blue eyes returning to Nimue.
« Demain. »
(Tomorrow.)
Nimue turned on her heel, her white hair swaying over her shoulders. She reached up and wrapped both arms firmly around Fleur's waist, pressing her face against the girl's thick gray wool coat.
The fabric felt rough against her cheek. She held on tightly, breathing in the winter chill and faint floral perfume trapped in its heavy fibers. Her small hands gathered the material into messy folds.
Fleur went still for a moment. Her hands hovered uncertainly before she finally rested them on Nimue's shoulders. She patted the little girl's back once, then again, rather stiffly.
Nimue pulled away. She patted Fleur's hand, just as she did with Cinder when she wanted the fox to understand that something had been settled. Satisfied, she turned and walked back to her family.
When they reached the door, Nimue glanced over her shoulder one last time. Fleur was still sitting at the table, watching her. Nimue raised her hand and waved. After a moment, Fleur raised hers in return.
. . .
The apartment door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the winter chill.
Cinder reached Nimue before she could even take off her coat. He darted out of the sitting room, his russet fur a blur, his claws skidding across the parquet floor as he rushed into her legs. His tail whipped from side to side with frantic energy. His ears were flattened against his head, and he let out a high-pitched sound somewhere between a whine and a squeak. His amber eyes shone with relief.
Nimue crouched down and let him climb into her lap. He pressed his nose against her chin, then her cheek and ear. She patted his head and stroked his back, her fingers eventually trailing down to the base of his tail.
"I'm back," she whispered.
He whined again and nuzzled into her neck.
Jane took off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door. Jack disappeared into the kitchen, followed by the sound of the kettle clicking on. Saoirse dropped onto the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and stretched out her legs with a weary groan.
Jane crouched in front of Nimue, bringing her green eyes level with her daughter's.
"Morwenna."
The girl looked up from Cinder, her expression open and curious.
"Where did you learn that? The 'be mine' thing?"
Nimue tilted her head. She glanced at Jack standing in the kitchen doorway, then at Saoirse on the sofa. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember. Her hand stopped moving over Cinder's fur.
She tried to recall where those words had come from. They had simply spilled out before she had time to think, and they had felt entirely right at the time.
Jane kept her voice gentle and encouraging.
"You aren't in trouble. Just tell me."
Nimue looked down at the floor, where the wood grain appeared pale in the dim hallway light. She thought about the stories her father used to tell her. They were the ones about the library and the red-haired woman who had laughed at him.
She looked back up at her mother.
"Papa said when he wanted Maman, he asked."
Jane's hands went still on her knees.
"Papa said Maman laughed at him three times," Nimue continued. "But he asked again and again. And then Mama said yes."
Nimue looked toward Jack. He had stopped moving entirely. His coat hung open, and his face had gone blank in the way it always did when he was thinking very hard.
"So if I want something," Nimue said, "I should say it first. Before someone else takes it."
Saoirse sat up on the sofa, then walked over and crouched beside Jane. She looked Nimue directly in the eyes.
"That's for things, little monster. Not people. People have their own minds, and they can talk. You have to ask them first. Otherwise, it's rude."
Nimue frowned.
"I asked Fleur. I said, 'Can you be mine?' I didn't just take her."
Saoirse nodded slowly.
"You did, and that's good. But you asked if she could be yours. You didn't ask if she wanted to."
Nimue lowered her gaze to her hands, which were still pink from the cold. She thought about Fleur's face at the table and the way she had looked back at her.
"I asked Fleur. She didn't say no."
Saoirse opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it again, momentarily at a loss for words.
"If I didn't ask," Nimue continued, "I would feel uncomfortable. The feeling would stay here."
She pressed a small hand against her chest.
"And it wouldn't go away."
Jane drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, and slowly let it out. She placed a hand on Nimue's shoulder.
"Why do you want her?"
Nimue blinked, as though the answer should have been obvious. It was the only thing she had been thinking about since seeing Fleur at the market.
"Because big sister is so beautiful. I like it." She paused and tilted her head. "So if I like it, shouldn't it be mine? But I can't just take her away, so I asked."
Jane closed her eyes, her hand remaining heavy on Nimue's shoulder. Nimue watched her mother's face, noticing how the skin around her mouth tightened and her jaw shifted as though she were chewing on her words.
Jane pressed two fingers against her temple and took several long, measured breaths.
"Morwenna."
"Yes, Maman."
"Go to the bathroom first and wash your hands. I will come in a few minutes."
Nimue nodded. She set Cinder down, stood up, and walked toward the hallway.
Three steps later, a chill ran down her spine.
She didn't know what had caused it. The air hadn't changed, and the lights hadn't flickered, but something behind her suddenly felt dangerous. The hairs on her arm stood up, and a cold ripple traveled down her back. It had nothing to do with her magic.
She quickened her pace, her boots making loud sounds against the parquet. She didn't look back. When she reached the bathroom, she quickly closed the door. The click of the latch sounded unusually loud in the small room. She pressed her back against the wood and waited for her heartbeat to settle.
. . .
The morning light filtering through the apartment windows was thin and gray. Paris had covered itself with its usual December sky, like a heavy blanket, leaving the clouds low and the sun nowhere to be seen. In the corner, the radiator hissed and clanked. Outside, a truck was reversing somewhere in the courtyard, its beeping muffled by the double-glazed windows.
Nimue had finished breakfast twenty minutes earlier. She had eaten her bread and drunk her milk, sitting patiently at the table until Jane told her she could get down. Now she was on the sofa, restless and fidgety.
She lay on her back, then rolled onto her stomach, before turning onto her back again. Her legs hung over the armrest for a moment before she pulled them back and swung them over the other side. She turned left, then right, making the cushions squeak beneath her.
Cinder watched from the rug, his ears following her every movement. His head turned left, then right, then left again.
"Maman."
Jane was at the kitchen counter, wiping it down with a cloth.
"Yes?"
"When will she come?"
"I don't know."
Nimue flopped onto her stomach, pressing her cheek into the cushion. Her eyes remained wide open as she stared at the window and the empty gray sky.
"What if she comes and I'm not here?"
"You are here, Nimue."
"But what if I go outside and she comes while I'm outside?"
Jane put down the cloth and turned toward her daughter. Nimue had rolled onto her back again, her arms spread wide and her legs dangling over the armrest. Her eyes looked hollow, as though someone had taken something out of them and forgotten to put it back.
"Morwenna."
"Maman."
"You are squirming like a worm."
Nimue didn't answer. She rolled onto her side, then her stomach, then her back again. Her white hair spread across the cushion in tangled strands, while her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.
Jane pressed her fingers against her temple. The throbbing in her head had started the previous night and hadn't stopped since. She watched her daughter turn over again, making the sofa springs groan.
She knew children experienced puppy love. She had simply assumed she would have years before she needed to deal with something like this. Her daughter was only four.
Nimue rolled onto her stomach once more, her legs kicking against the armrest.
It seems she really loves beauty, Jane thought. I never imagined she would have this kind of quirk. I really should bring her to the Veela community, broaden her world, and drill some sense into her about this.
Jane sighed.
The lineage traits that have already appeared are the basilisk's patience, and now this. The dragon trait. A love of beauty, and potentially a desire for many partners as well.
She pressed her fingers harder against her temple.
It's been a long time since the last LeFay with this trait.
Another sigh escaped her, this one coming from deep in her chest.
The bedroom door opened, and Jack stepped out. His hair was still damp from the shower, and his shirt was untucked. He was reaching for a button when Jane's glare stopped him. His hand froze near his collar.
"What?"
Jane didn't answer. She simply looked at him with an expression that said everything.
You. You did this. You told her that story and taught her that wanting something meant claiming it.
Jack's hand dropped. He glanced at Nimue, who was now hanging upside down from the sofa. Her white hair brushed the floor, and her eyes still looked glassy and empty. He looked back at Jane.
"I didn't teach her that."
"You told her the story."
"I told her the story of how we met. That's different."
Nimue flipped over again, making the sofa squeak in protest.
Jane turned back to the counter, picked up the cloth, and began wiping the same spot she had already cleaned three times.
. . .
The afternoon light had shifted to a pale gold when the doorbell rang.
Nimue was off the sofa before the sound had even finished echoing. Cinder scrambled out of her way, his russet fur bristling as his claws skidded across the parquet. He retreated beneath the dining table.
Jane opened the door.
Fleur stood in the hallway wearing her gray coat. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders and catching the thin winter light from the stairwell window. Behind her, Margaux leaned against the wall with her arms crossed.
« Bonjour, » Fleur greeted her.
« Bonjour, » Jane replied, stepping aside to let them in. « Entrez. »
Fleur stepped inside. She wore black leather boots laced up the front, their toes scuffed from walking. She looked around the apartment, taking in the small kitchen, the sagging sofa, and the window overlooking the courtyard, where laundry hung frozen on a line.
Then her eyes found Nimue.
Nimue stood in the middle of the sitting room. Her white hair was tangled, and her shirt still had a small stain from breakfast. She hadn't changed her clothes or brushed her hair. She had simply been waiting.
« Grande sœur. »
"Nimue."
Fleur's mouth curved into a small, rare smile.
===
There's images below
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Okay, I want to address something. I'm not sure what to call it… writing style? Pace? Format? Not really sure about the exact term, but it's about how the flow continues from one chapter to the next.
Like I said before, I read a lot of Chinese web novels, and more or less, it influenced me. At first I wanted to use that "continuous flow" style you often see in Chinese web novels, but keeping that up consistently is hard for me. So there might be some chapters with a "clean break" here and there.
Sorry about that!
One chapter might be continuous flow, the next might have a clean break, then you'll see continuous flow again. I'm really sorry if that messes with your reading rhythm.
Also, I already put the character images in the "Pictures" chapter under the chapter comments. So you can look at them directly in the comment section, beside on the paragraph comments.
And a big shout out to Arc4203 for subscribing to my Patreon! Your financial support is like extra fuel that makes my drive for writing this fic burn even hotter
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Thanks as always~