nightsung | SALTBURNT 🌙 au inbox

My darling, I've taken the liberty of unpacking our things in our suite — everything as I know you like it, of course.

Well, almost. The one thing that remains is setting out your slippers. Shall we keep our usual sides of the bed, or would you prefer a switch?

What would I do without you? 🩵

Hmm... You know, I wonder if we shouldn't switch things up this visit.

The collective energy feels strange to me. I can't quite pinpoint the source. Do you feel it too?

Capital idea. I'll have your slippers on the right side of the bed.

I confess, I've also sensed something strange. I wondered, at first, if it might not simply be the sheer concentration of life forces, but it's something more than that. Stay close, dear little sister, and we'll muddle through it together, hm?

As we always do, dear brother.

I'll need a more robust shielding protocol than expected, I think. And nightly baths. It's been a while since I've felt so porous around a crowd.

Shall I make a soak for you? Unnecessary, perhaps, but it seems we'd do best not to tempt fate.

Only if you promise to join me. It's been such a long day, we could both use the respite.

Have they given us a tub big enough for the both of us? [ Teasing, because they always do, but Emmrich is among the tallest guests. ]

Nothing would please me more.

And only thorough testing will tell. After dinner, then. You'll sit with me, won't you?

Oh, no. I thought I'd leave you to fend off Saltburnt's ghouls and harpies all by your lonesome.

No ghoul or harpy is quite as fun without you, but I suppose I'll make do.

Of course I'll sit with you.

I'll find your lap, if anyone snipes the other spots.

I've my work cut out for me, then.
I'll see you soon, my darling.

[ Dinner drains Shadowheart more than she expects. Emmrich's presence grounds her, always, an anchor even when she's adrift, but she excuses herself before dessert is served, presses a hand to his shoulder to silently confer that he can stay. It's good for them to say their hellos, reconnect with all these familiar souls. She just needs air.

Shadowheart looks a bit wan, whenever Emmrich returns to their suite. She's moved the chair from their vanity in front of the open balcony door, curtains rippling in the breeze; she's still dressed for dinner, but her feet are bare, one leg tucked beneath her as one of her straps slips from her shoulder.

The door opens, and she feels him fill the room. Her Emmrich, her anchor. Shadowheart doesn't get up, but she does tip her cheek in his direction, extending her hand for his. ]

There were twice as many people in that dining room. Like each of us had a shadow.

[ It'd be a lie to say that the Volkarin siblings are always together, but it's true more often than not. Shadowheart at Emmrich's elbow, Emmrich behind Shadowheart's chair. But they part at dinner, his gaze following her until she's left the hall. He stays for only another hour, making a spare plate — a chocolate eclair and a slice of pear tart, a few raspberries — before taking his leave.

When he enters their rooms, he toes his shoes off by the door, the motion serving as the only pause in his glide across the suite. Her proffered hand is met with his, like second nature, as he holds out the desserts with the other. ]

I felt it, too, [ he says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. ]

But— nothing malign, I think. Something more like separation. A division of souls.

[ A beat. ]

Perhaps that's what's drained you so, my dear. To have access to only half of oneself takes quite the toll.

[ Shadowheart plucks a raspberry before taking the plate properly, hums in thought as she presses it to her lips. ]

I'm sure you're right. [ Though there's a small knot in her brow that suggests otherwise, her gaze drifting somewhere past the fluttering curtain. Half of oneself. For a moment, she knows with utter clarity that she's had access to so much less: closer to a blank slate, all her years on this earth wiped clean.

The feeling passes, but it leaves her cold. Shadowheart sets the desserts down on their small breakfast table, hardly touched, and gets to her feet, her hands sweeping up Emmrich's chest to cup his jaw. ]

Should we see about that bath? [ Without her heels, she nearly has to rise on tiptoe to reach him. Shadowheart grasps at a memory, as her thumb gentles in the hollow of his cheek: how she used to ride on Emmrich's shoulders, when he was a teenager and she was still small. There was a trellis with night-blooming datura in their family's garden, and he'd steady her so she could reach the tallest one. Shadowheart can still conjure the scent of them, real as anything--not a blank slate, not a lost year. ]

[ (In this moment, he thinks: she's always been this small, to him. Easy to take and carry in his arms, to hold — easy, because such closeness is meant to be. Loss had touched them early — which feels right, feels true — but they'd had each other. He'd known, then, what to do. That it was up to them to fill up the emptiness their parents had left behind.)

And in this moment, he smiles, leaning into the hollow of her palm. ]

Quite right, [ he says, gently squeezing their joined hands, ] I did promise, after all.

[ A promise sealed, now, with a kiss, stealing the faint taste of raspberry from her lips, though he's always known her to be sweet.

Into the sliver of space between them: ] Now, I believe you ought to be wearing much, much less.

[ She's much warmer with him here; the world is much warmer with him in it. Whatever unease she'd felt on their arrival melts into the kiss, and Shadowheart follows Emmrich's mouth for one more, soft and languid. ]

Is that so? [ With a coy tilt of her head as they part, and Shadowheart guides his hand to the row of buttons between her shoulder blades. She needed Emmrich's help getting this dress on, a sleek satin thing, and will need his help again to get it off.

Winding her arms around Emmrich's neck, she arches her back so her chest is flush with his sternum. Teasing, ]

Here I thought I'd get this all wet, so it clings to my skin.

( he's half kidding. it's the leaked sex tape of it all, sh. )

Do you do exorcisms?

We do, but they tend to be a last resort after other avenues have been exhausted.

What's troubling you, Stefan?

The more I learn people don't know, the less I want to talk to anyone ever again, less anything business related.

Do me a favor and don't Google my son's name.

I won't.

[ She means it. Most people would, but an intuitive woman doesn't need to scour the gossip rags for open secrets. ]

But if you want to share, I have time.

( I mean, wtf, she's never one to judge. She'll probably be amused. )

Apparently, my son wanted his own One Night in Paris without Paris Hilton but with himself. And that very private video was released. Apparently, he likes his men older, and I'm a bad father for not knowing this. And probably a bad father for not stopping it.

He doesn't need an exorcism, but fuck me if I know what he does need.

[ Ah.

Need she say what she's thinking about bad fathers and liking older men? ]

Forgive me if this is the obvious answer, but: have you tried speaking to him?

One conversation went left. I'll buy him a drink on his birthday. I think communication in person is key.

[in a silver velvet jewelry box is a bodychain with a crystal for each chakra point, all with 7 genuine gemstones, from emerald to ruby to sapphire and amethyst. attached is a letter that reads:

𝐽𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒,

𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑡.

~𝐻𝑊 ]

[ It is beautiful, of course--and likely priceless, though that matters less to Shadowheart than the yearning she feels permeating the velvet cushion as well as each gemstone.

She makes him wait a few days, though she knows it's not her kindest instinct. A holdover from different times, when he knew a different woman. ]

Would you like a picture, Henry? Or would you prefer to hunt the halls for me in person?

I love a good hunt, darling.

You haven't changed.

I'm not so easy to catch these days, you know.

Good thing I'm not going fishing, isn't it?

We both know you fish, all the same.

I don't think your wife will like you taking me for a trophy.

Hmm. You never used to care about what my wife thinks.
Is this one of your games?

Can't make the sunrise session tomorrow, make it up to you later?

You never have to make anything up to me, Armand. But I will miss you.

Do you have morning plans, or will you just be sleeping off the night's pleasures?

Both, with any luck. At least I'll be putting your advice to good use. Harnessing my inner goddess. 😜

Is the harness spiritual, or made of leather?

Oh, now you're giving me ideas, you naughty thing.

What would the goddess recommend?

Leather for grounding, but make it white for the connection to spirit.

The goddess has good taste. I should ask for her blessing more often.

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