Nimue crossed the room, her bare feet making soft sounds on the parquet floor. The polished wood felt cool against her soles, though the winter sun left pale patches of warmth on the boards. She stopped directly in front of Fleur and looked up, her green eyes meeting the older girl's steady blue gaze.
Fleur looked back, her eyes moving slowly over Nimue's face. She took in the messy tangle of Nimue's white hair and the small, faded stain on the collar of her shirt.
She lifted her hands to the buttons of her coat and slipped it off her shoulders. The fabric rustled softly as it fell away, revealing a cream coloured jumper beneath, the knit catching the light. She draped the coat over her arm, her gaze never leaving Nimue.
Nimue reached out and took Fleur's hand. The older girl's fingers were cool, but she didn't pull away, and the small hand wrapped around her own.
"Viens."
(Come.)
Nimue began to pull Fleur toward the hallway. Fleur followed without protest, her leather boots clicking rhythmically against the wood. Cinder followed a few paces behind them. The fox's russet fur glowed in the shifting light, and his amber eyes remained alert. His claws made a restless tapping sound on the floor.
Nimue pushed open the door to her bedroom. The space was a mess. The bed was unmade, the white sheets tangled from her morning restlessness. A green canvas bag sat open on the rug with clothes spilling out of the sides, and the Cold Light stone remained tucked under the pillow. It radiated a quiet, steady chill that sharpened the air around the headboard.
"Assieds-toi."
(Sit.)
Fleur looked around the room, taking in the small window, the faded patterns on the wallpaper, and the way the weak winter light fell in slanted rectangles across the floor. By the time she turned back to speak, Nimue was already gone.
The younger girl padded back down the hallway, her feet silent on the wood. The kitchen smelled of seared meat and butter, rich and warm, with the faint sweetness of bread lingering beneath it.
Jane stood at the stove, turning a steak in the pan. The surface hissed as it met the heat again, the edges already charred while the center stayed tender and pink. Beside her, a pot of mashed potatoes rested, streaked with melting butter. A tray of sausages sat nearby, browned and glistening, waiting to be served.
She glanced up as Nimue entered and smiled.
"Do you need something, sweetheart?" Jane asked, her green eyes softening.
"Milk. And tea," Nimue replied.
Jane raised an eyebrow but didn't ask for an explanation. She poured milk into a small glass and tea into a ceramic cup. Steam rose from the liquid in thin delicate curls. She set them both on a tray.
Nimue looked at the tray, then shifted her gaze to the glass jar on the counter where the biscuits were kept. "And biscuit."
Jane took three biscuits and placed them on a small plate. Nimue picked up the tray herself. Her arms shook slightly, but she didn't ask for help. She walked slowly and carefully so she don't spill anything, watching the tea as it sloshed gently against the ceramic rim.
Fleur was still sitting on the edge of the bed where Nimue had left her, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She watched as Nimue set the tray down on the nightstand with a soft thud.
"Tu n'avais pas besoin de faire tout ça," Fleur said.
(You didn't have to do all this.)
"Je voulais," Nimue answered simply.
(I wanted to.)
Nimue climbed onto the bed, the mattress bouncing under her weight. She sat close to Fleur, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and held out the glass of tea. Fleur took it and took a sip before setting it back on the tray.
"Tu as une chambre agréable," Fleur remarked, her voice quiet.
(You have a nice room.)
"C'est petit."
(It's small.)
"C'est bien."
(It's good.)
Nimue picked up a biscuit and bit into it. Crumbs fell onto her shirt, but she didn't bother to brush them off. The sweetness of the biscuit loosened her tongue.
"Est-ce que tu veux que je te raconte quelque chose?" Nimue asked.
(Do you want me to tell you something?)
Fleur tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes curious. "Quoi?"
(What?)
Nimue chewed, swallowed, and then began to talk. "Tilly fait les biscuits," she said. "Il est un elfe de maison. Il vit dans le manoir. Il s'occupe de moi depuis que je suis bébé."
(Tilly makes the biscuits. He is a house elf. He lives in the manor. He has looked after me since I was a baby.)
She told Fleur all about Tilly. She described the house-elf with the large, floppy ears who cried at her birthday every year and had a habit of talking to the jars in the kitchen. She explained how he had made her a fox-shaped cake with purple frosting when she turned three, and how he still checked on her every morning before she even woke up.
Fleur bit into her own biscuit, listening intently. Nimue shifted closer until her knee pressed against Fleur's leg, the warmth of the contact grounding her.
"Je suis allée dans un village l'été dernier. Thornwell. C'est la famille de papa. Ceux qui n'ont pas de magie."
(I went to a village last summer. Thornwell. It's Papa's family. The ones without magic.)
"Pas de magie?" Fleur asked.
(No magic?)
"Non. Ils vivent comme les gens normaux. Mais ils savent qu'on existe. Ils ont une grande maison avec un salon pour les ancêtres. Des tablettes en bois avec tous les noms."
(No. They live like normal people. But they know we exist. They have a big house with a room for the ancestors. Wooden tablets with all the names.)
Nimue talked about the oak tree on the village green that was five hundred years old, its branches wide enough to shade a dozen children. She spoke of the river where she had waded through the cool water and the smooth stone that Lucy had given her. She told Fleur about Andrew, who was twelve and had shown her the hollow tree where initials had been carved into the bark a century ago.
Fleur asked a question, and Nimue answered, her voice growing faster with excitement.
"Après Thornwell, on est allés à Londres. On avait une maison avec une porte verte. Il y avait une fille. Hermione. Elle parlait tout le temps. Trop vite. Je lui ai dit d'arrêter et elle a pleuré."
(After Thornwell, we went to London. We had a house with a green door. There was a girl. Hermione. She talked all the time. Too fast. I told her to stop and she cried.)
Fleur's mouth twitched at that, a tiny smile tugging at the corner.
Nimue told her more about London, describing the bright red buses and the park with the swings that went so high her stomach dropped. She mentioned Hermione again, whose hair was big and brown and never stayed in its plaits, and the photograph they had taken together on the front step.
As she spoke, Nimue leaned more of her weight against Fleur's arm.
"On est allés à la ferme après. Margaret avait des vaches. Des Highland. J'ai monté Bess. C'est une vache. Elle est lente mais gentille."
(We went to the farm after. Margaret had cows. Highlands. I rode Bess. She is a cow. She is slow but nice.)
She described the farm in detail, telling Fleur about Bess the Highland cow who let Nimue ride on her wide, shaggy back while the sun warmed her face. She talked about Rosie, who taught her how to pick beans and collect eggs without getting pecked by the hens, and the sheep that walked so slowly she could almost race them.
"Tu as aussi monté un mouton?" Fleur asked, and Nimue heard a hint of amusement in her voice.
(Did you also ride a sheep?)
"Oui, mais ils sont lents."
(Yes, but they are slow.)
Fleur laughed. It was a small, quiet sound, as if the girl were surprised by the noise herself. By now, Nimue's head was resting against Fleur's shoulder, though she didn't remember moving.
She told Fleur about Normandy next. She spoke of the harbour where the boats rocked against the stone quay and the gulls cried all day long. She told her about Hélène, who let her use a sharp knife to clean mussels, and the beach where the water was grey and cold.
"En Normandie, j'ai aidé une dame à nettoyer les moules. Hélène. Elle avait un petit fils qui s'appelle Mathis. Il dormait tout le temps."
(In Normandy, I helped a woman clean mussels. Hélène. She had a little grandson named Mathis. He slept all the time.)
"Les moules?"
(Mussels?)
"Oui. Avec un couteau. Il faut enlever le barbillon."
(Yes. With a knife. You have to remove the beard.)
Nimue set her empty cup on the nightstand. She held the last biscuit in her hand, breaking it in half to give the larger piece to Fleur. Then she began to tell her about the Alps. She spoke of the snow that was so deep it reached her knees and the hot springs where she sat in steaming water while the cold air bit at her face. She described the old woman with green eyes who lived in a chalet and gave her hot chocolate with thick cream.
"Dans les Alpes, il y avait une vieille dame. Grand-mère Marguerite. Elle a les mêmes yeux que moi. Vert. C'est une Evans. Très vieille. Elle nous a laissé rester dans son chalet."
(In the Alps, there was an old woman. Grand-mère Marguerite. She has the same eyes as me. Green. She is an Evans. Very old. She let us stay in her chalet.)
Fleur ate the biscuit while Nimue watched her chew.
"Elle avait un chat. Gros et gris. Il dormait sur le poêle. Je lui donnais du poisson."
(She had a cat. Big and grey. He slept on the stove. I gave him fish.)
Nimue shifted again, bringing her legs up onto the bed. She curled against Fleur's side, her head finding the natural hollow of the older girl's shoulder.
"Et après, Paris," she said softly. "Et toi."
(And after, Paris. And you.)
"Tu parles beaucoup," Fleur noted.
(You talk a lot.)
"Toi aussi, tu parles."
(You also talk.)
Fleur's mouth curved again, but this wasn't the small, rare smile from before. It was something much softer. Nimue was quiet for a moment.
"Tu es plus belle que les montagnes."
(You are more beautiful than the mountains.)
Fleur didn't say anything to that, but her hand hanging in the air for a second before it settled across Nimue's back. The touch was light, as if unsure she was allowed to hold her.
Nimue shifted once more, climbing into Fleur's lap. Her knees sank into the mattress on either side of Fleur's legs as she leaned back against her chest. Her head fit perfectly under Fleur's chin.
"Tu es lourde," Fleur said.
(You are heavy.)
"Je suis petite."
(I'm small.)
"Lourde et petite."
Nimue nodded and closed her eyes. Fleur's wool coat smelled like winter air and something faintly floral, perhaps her aunt's perfume or her own scent. Nimue shifted to sit sideways and leaned in, her head finding the space between Fleur's shoulder and chest. Fleur's jumper was soft against her cheek.
"Grande sœur."
"Nimue."
"Tu restes?"
(You will stay?)
Fleur was quiet for a long moment. "Pour aujourd'hui."
(For today.)
Nimue pressed closer until she could hear Fleur's heartbeat through the fabric. It was steady, though perhaps a little fast.
"Raconte encore," Fleur said, her voice quiet. The words hummed in her chest. "Parle-moi de Tilly."
(Tell me more. Talk to me about Tilly.)
Nimue smiled against the wool. "Tilly pleure quand je pars."
(Tilly cries when I leave.)
She began to talk again, but her voice grew slower. The words came out soft and almost sleepy. Fleur's hand moved on her back in small circles, warming the fabric of Nimue's shirt.
Nimue stopped talking altogether. She didn't fall asleep, but stayed there, breathing in Fleur's scent and listening to the rhythmic heartbeat under her ear.
Fleur didn't move her hand. They were still in the same position when Jane knocked gently on the doorframe.
"Le déjeuner est prêt," Jane said, her green eyes moving from Nimue to Fleur and back again.
(Lunch is ready.)
"On vient," Nimue replied, though she didn't move.
(We are coming.)
Fleur looked at Jane, and Jane looked back. Something passed between them in that moment, something quick and unreadable. Then Jane smiled. It was a small smile, looking a bit tired at the edges, but it was real.
"Prenez votre temps," Jane said before walking away.
(Take your time.)
Nimue opened her eyes and looked up at Fleur. "Tu as faim?"
(Are you hungry?)
"Un peu."
(A little.)
Neither of them moved.
.
After a long moment, Nimue slid off Fleur's lap and stood on the floor. Her legs felt stiff from sitting still so long. She held out her hand.
Fleur took it. Her fingers were warm.
They walked to the kitchen together, Cinder following close behind, his tail brushing the doorframe.
===
So here's the thing. Even after I put the character images in the chapter comments, they still seemed invisible to you guys. So I opened this novel on a different browser with another account, and yeah… they truly didn't show up. Both the paragraph comments and the chapter comments were blank. But when I used my second account to actually post a comment (both in the chapter and paragraph sections), then it appeared.
So yeah, I already went ahead and put the paragraph comments using my second account. Go check again!
I think you should be able to see the images in the paragraph comments now.
Sorry for the confusion, and thanks for bearing with me