perduxamour

[perduxamour]

Looking at Sciel, really looking... Julie is certain she's found the right person. In amongst her desperation, the panic clawing at the walls, knowing not whether it's really the feeling conjured by her own mind or just the latent remnants of whoever, whatever, she was before... She senses a calm amidst the storm. An acceptance.

Some of that is reflected in Sciel's eyes. Julie looks away, ashamed. She didn't ask for this. None of the returned did. And yet it's also not something she can give away. It still feels like a gift. Broken and poisoned perhaps, but beautifully impossible.

Life has meaning by trying to live your own life. It's... so simple a belief. Yet entirely too complicated when Julie isn't even certain that this is her life to live. "It feels like the life I was meant to live was taken from me," she says, before biting her lip to stop anything further. Sciel knew the shadow that crept over Julie. Knew him well, in fact. She knew that much. But how much Sciel knew about her? Best not to pry open that wound when it's still too fresh.

"So you're saying... make a new life?" Julie pauses, "From everything we have left, everything that's been recreated." Everything lost.

takes a really deep breath. if she must be really honest; all of this madness, the canvas itself - verso's lies and maelle's new power. didn't really make any sense to her but only her perception of it was : the game was playing somewhere else and she - or them, couldn't, again do much. despite of disappearing - how, how they were actually a ' human ' if - well , how life could make sense if itself death wasn't really true in this world? her mind was plagued with doubts like these while was walking down by the mansion.

these walls spoke itself, couldn't even - try to if she really wanted to fully understand how even julie, an expeditioner from '0' was really back. her heart was bumping nervous ; does she could see again her husband? how in the mist of everything - she was trying to have a grip of hope. as she was walking , shaked her head slowly; she can't lead herself to death again - that's why, when julie seek her - sciel's mind tried to be - a little more clear. it was hard for her see ' verso's companion ' back, not that she was embarrased or something like that but it was more like haunting her truly wishes: was ever a chance to bring back pierre?

her esmerald eyes reflected compassion through them. didn't really knew the answers back then - neither now. " do you mean life itself? if - it's really worth it? " her voice sounded soft. she could understand that feeling - how they were at the paintress mercy and now; that it was almost over: what it was all for? " i'm not expert but - i think it does. life itself it has a meaning by trying to live your own life. "

[perduxamour]

there's a comfortable silence that has settled over the two of them as they sit on the manor floor, sketching and doodling away. alicia has taken to be distracted, but she remains respectful as she glances over at julie's art. when the older girl glances up at her, alicia smiles a shy sort of grin before she tucks back down to work on her own piece. "do you think when you and my brother get married, you'll live here with us? the manor is so big and it's not like verso would have to move away. then i would get to see both of you," she insists, blunt and sure in the face of child-like innocence. alicia doesn't even glance up, but rather sticks out her tongue in avid concentration as she attempts to get the perfect number of whiskers on the cat she's drawn. / hear me out, hear me outttttt. how about some pre-fire alicia and julie stuff ._. alicia being annoying tiny tiny tiny baby sister.

Cool tiles beneath them, dim lights... Julie finds she can get swept away into her thoughts so easily in this manor. It's otherworldly, yet familiar all at once. A rhapsody of creative calm.

Beside her, Alicia's warm presence illuminates the way for her fingers on paper. She looks up—barely in time to catch the younger girl taking a peek at her. The minute collision of their looks has Julie wanting to giggle. Nothing spills out but a grin, mirrored with more confidence than Alicia's had allowed. Julie's hair tumbles over her shoulder and conceals her expression somewhat. She should tie it back, but this morning had been a late start. One for sliding out of bed and deciding that there were more important things than keeping hair in check.

Eyes back on her sketchbook, she continues to translate the angles in her mind into smooth curves. Nothing is harshly lined. Just people, barely traced and winding in between buildings, overcome with ivy. Curled and—

A swift slip of a pencil. A strong line cut across the page at Alicia's wholly unexpected question. Verso and her, married? Julie coughs, suddenly very interested in erasing the errant pencil mark rushing off the edge of the paper.

"I, uh..." Ah yes. An excellent, eloquent start Julie. Nothing weird about that at all. A furtive glance back over at Alicia. She's not even looking back! The cat that has her undivided attention is adorable though, she'll give her that.

As is the question, really. As the shock subsides a little, Julie starts to giggle. This time, she can't stop it. Doesn't want to.

"I don't think that'd be for us to decide," she answers, deftly sidestepping, "Your Maman and Papa might have something to say about it. Clea too. Though you're right, there's more than enough room. You're amazing for not getting lost all the time! I do."

Her smile warm, she puts down her things and shuffles lower, just enough to be able to lean her head lightly against Alicia's small shoulder. "You know I'd still come and spend time with you even if I didn't live here, right?"

[perduxamour]

offers a shell she found exploring the shore. " the pièce de résistance. for your sandcastle. "

She's kneeling over her sculpture, hair cascading over her shoulders, teeth grazing her bottom lip in concentration. The small twig she'd found amongst the golden grains is perfect for carving out the details. A little lattice on the entryway, perhaps... Or no, the fine outlines of brickwork on the front wall.

Suddenly, the warm sun on her back is shadowed away. Julie looks up, tucking a few offending stray locks behind her ear. Sciel's shell is the perfect topper to the main turret, swirled and delicate. A laugh tumbles out of her.

"What a find!" she says. "Are you sure you want to donate it? Might come in handy to throw at someone if they get too wrapped up in these bloody games." Mentioning no names...

[perduxamour]

[ You guys ever have a muse get so in your head that you start arguing with them about things you have different opinions on? Or are you slightly normal? ^^;

So that's where I'm at today, hello! I need to switch off my brain for a bit so I'll be around a little later.

Also, you guys in my inbox... I see you and I love you T_T

[perduxamour]

There's a moment, between jumping and falling, where Julie feels nothing at all. Weightless and wingless. It's as terrifying as it is exhilarating, in a small way that seems almost safe. And then gravity hooks its tendrils around her ankles, guiding her down, and the roof is much closer than she'd imagined—

She reaches for Verso, unsure how she got here. Blink and she'd miss it. The impact of the landing carreens through her body, but she's much too disoriented to care.

And then there's Verso's hand. Steadying. Grounding. She holds on to him for balance. It takes her another second to right herself as she takes in short breaths, having left the rest of the air, it seems, up on the adjacent roof. Such a stupid, small dare that somehow has made her feel as though she's soaring.

Without her permission, her hands have latched onto the only thing near. She's clutching perhaps a little too tightly onto the fabric of Verso's shirt. That's... Her eyes drop to her grip before swiftly letting go. When she looks back up at him, he's close. His eyes flicker this way and that, roaming over her until they land on her own. Looking for something. Julie's breathing slows and subsequently pauses. His hand, brushing back her hair, startles her. It's not meant to. Surely it's not meant to.

"I'm fine," she murmurs, catching herself. The easy smile that had been impossible to shift is summoned once more as he laughs. "Never been better actually. Easiest thing in the world. I should jump first next time."

She hopes there's a next time. God, something about following in his wake at this hour is infectious. The spirit of it all feels illicit, like thieves stealing away under cover of dark. Children playing pretend.

She doesn't notice her hand still caught within his. Doesn't notice even as he leads her forward, Julie trusting completely. Only in the absence of him does it finally sink in. And by that time, Verso has slipped away.

Where he's guiding her, she's uncertain. Her eyes blink rapidly to cast away the gloom that surrounds them once she follows him through the broken fixtures of the house. It's quiet in here. Forgotten. A spark of longing ignites in her for the knowledge of who might have once called this place home. Not many buildings are left abandoned in Lumiere.

It's rather obvious who has claimed this place now, however. Julie watches as Verso coaxes a kitten from its shelter, stunned into silence. Of all the things she had expected to be led to, Verso's personal stash of fostered kittens was quite low down on the list.

"Verso, what the...?" she starts. He's been caring for them here, bringing them food in secret. The image of him sneaking away at night to bring them sustenance makes her want to both laugh and cry.

There's nothing else for it, as she kneels down beside him to cordially introduce herself. The sweet little things are hesitant. Julie can hardly blame them. How long have they been alone up here? One, the smaller of the motley crew, takes a few tottering steps towards her. A quiet stop to lick a paw, before it continues to approach, assessing this new invader in their territory. This human hasn't brought food. In a peace offering, Julie outstretches her hand. Let it make the choice. She gives a satisfied little hum when she receives a tiny lick, and a sign of approval.

She watches the tiny creatures, a minute or two passing in comfortable, thoughtful silence broken only by the smallest of meows and—have mercy on her heart—jubilant purrs.

"They need names, obviously," she starts, offering Verso a smile that grows brighter as she meets his gaze with her own. The pale blue of his eyes is warmed by the lantern light. For that moment, she lets herself take in the sight of him; the place where his hair brushes his neck, the line of his shoulders, the light shadow under his jaw...

Enough. More important things need their attention.

A kitten now clambering over Verso's knee is owed a name first. Julie reaches out to them, her fingers curled inwards to invite the little one to greet her in its inquisitiveness. "This one should be Baguette. The boldest. Stronger on the outside with the fluffy centre."

"The next one—" Fully embracing the ridiculousness of the naming convention, she gestures to one now lying close to the ground, threatening a most ferocious pounce, "—is Croissant. A little chaotic, but with many layers."

"And this tiny one..." Looking down at the smallest, the most shy. "She should be Choux. Delicate and sweet, tougher than she may first appear." Julie glances at Verso. He'd better not be laughing at her. She raises an eyebrow preemptively, daring him to playfully. "Hey, don't doubt me—I just have a feeling that this one's a girl. We understand each other, isn't that right?" Well, she's accepting a few scratches under the chin, so Julie must be correct.

"I'll let you name the fourth," she teases, "It's only fair as their adoptive father." Let him ponder over that whilst she ensures these kittens are kept safe and sound. Untying the knot of her shawl, she slips it from around her shoulders and spreads it with a flick of the wrist. Once re-folded, she shuffles herself slightly to lay it next to the basket. Two kittens eagerly begin to paw at the fabric.

"You should bring Alicia here," she says softly, captivated, "I think she'd love them." If he hasn't bought her here already. In truth, she hopes he has.

But a part of her wonders at the quiet between them. The reason he trusted her with this innocent little secret.

On this single page in time, just for now, she'd keep it between only them.

was he showing off? absolutely. verso did, very much, want to impress her. though — he's not really sure how that's going, considering how slippery these rooftops are.

❝ it isn't that far, ❞ he calls across to her, grin crooked and boyish. heart thudding against ribcage from the thrill of what they definitely shouldn't be doing. but the wind rushes julie's hair around her rosy cheeks and she grins back at him like she's never been afraid of anything. and verso suddenly doesn’t very much care about getting in trouble.

he beams cheerfully at her; ❝ that would make for a terrible end to our adventure, i think. ❞ verso sidesteps to the edge of the rooftop again, testing its stability, and anchoring his other heel behind him. he holds his hand out across the gap, chin tipped up at her in a challenge he barely finishes making; ❝ come on, you can — ❞

— and she does. certainly not about to wait for him to tease her.

as she lands against the slippery tiles, verso catches her hand. the other steadying her under the forearm, and allowing the momentum to carry them both the rest of the way in a stumble. a shared, slightly nervous laugh — and then he stabilizes them, helping her gently over onto the safety of the flatter section of roof.

❝ see? easy. ❞ verso laughs again, breathless, heart beating fast. he’ll blame the chill for the warmth rising in his cheeks. ❝ — are you alright? ❞ he asks, looking her over to make sure. unthinking, he brushes aside a strand of her hair with his knuckles — tousled out of place from her leap. the moonlight haloes her in a way that makes him fumble whatever else he was going to say in that moment. his other hand still clasps hers, their palms comfortably warm against each other. loose enough that she can pull away if she wants to. ❝ just a little further, ❞ verso promises her, and gives her hand a gentle tug.

their silhouettes move past the hanging gardens, and then carefully down the slanted tiles of another mansard rooftop. he halts them, finally, by an open skylight. at which point, verso gives julie one more lingering glance to appeal to her patience.

in his defense — it isn’t a far drop; shoes thudding one at a time, carefully, on the creaky floorboards. he gives a cursory squint around, before offering her his hand up to her again. technically — it's just an old attic, in an unused building full of forgotten things. piles of books and covered furniture collecting a heavy film of dust. the cool night air whistles in the walls, but for the most part, it’s sheltered from the elements. a slightly dimming lantern illuminates the room in warm orange from the corner.

the roof is barely high enough to support verso standing without bumping any limbs on the rafters, so he settles into a crouch, gesturing julie after him. then he nods toward the other end of the room. an otherwise unremarkably dusty corner, and in a toppled wicker basket; four little balls of fur — of varying patterns of orange and white — poke their heads up out of the blankets at the commotion.

ears perk, and wide, round eyes regard the intruders. one gives a very tiny, very unmenacing little hiss. the first kitten — obviously the bravest — wanders out a short distance toward verso’s outstretched hand, stubby tail pointed up and fur slightly on end. nosing at his fingers, before promptly bumping its head into his hand. clearly recognizing one of the trespassers as the one that’s been feeding it. after a moment, and more timidly, the second, third, and fourth kittens creep out from behind its sibling. verso looks sidelong at julie, mildly apologetic, to gauge her reaction.

❝ ... i heard them, one night. so… i've been bringing them food. ❞

[perduxamour]

Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl's Love Song

[perduxamour]

Fog clears. Panic subsides, if not completely, then enough to illuminate what it had been causing her to miss entirely before.

That voice. Tones she'd heard before, spoken to people who had long since been torn from her life, and to another whose place within it she was entirely uncertain about. The familiarity had been because of him, at first. But now it's strikingly clear, as Julie takes yet more cautious steps towards this phantom, just who fate has resurrected.

Clea. It's Clea, yet that's... impossible. Utterly ridiculous, given the circumstances. The nevrons at her feet do not stir. Julie takes it as a sign to bridge the gap between them further.

Her name nearly spills from her lips, yet something stills it on her tongue. There's no cause for alarm. It certainly doesn't look that way, surrounded as they are by sleeping demons. Most crucially, Julie recognises, is that if this truly is Clea—or an echo of her—there is not a flicker of recollection cast across her face. For an indulgent moment, the old reasons why that might be rush through her mind. In the shadow of her sister's light, guided and yet gilded with that presence that so outshone Julie in their later years. Mistaken for her, time and again.

These thoughts are of no use to her now. She's alone, quite alone, with a woman whom she almost had lost hope of finding. It's as though a single thread has run through her fingertips and been caught just before it reaches its fraying end.

Julie watches with apprehension clouding her eyes, as Clea's ghost navigates the nevrons without a hint of aversion. Stance firm, ready to move should she need to.

"No, I'm not alone," she lies through her teeth. Julie has never been the best of liars in dire circumstances. Oh, the irony, when playing a part has come so naturally to her in her sister's absence. "There are others, not far away. They'll come in less than a second if we need them."

A cursory nod is offered toward the inert threats between them. "We can take them," she assures. In this, at least, she has some confidence. If Dion could make a timely appearance.

She wants to ask. She wants to ask so badly that she feels it tighten in her chest. Do you recognise me? Are you real? But this is far from the time or the place. So instead, she extends a hand, voice forgone lest it betray her in its need for answers.

THE ACT OF CREATION IS AN UNFORGIVING PROCESS, akin to scaling an impossible height, with the waiting maws of mediocrity eager for a misstep and perfection as the summit that few artists ever reach. raw talent is insufficient if not honed tirelessly. one must be willing to cull parts of themself in order to achieve greatness, by whatever means necessary. to give and give and give, seldom receiving anything in return. EQUAL PARTS PRECISION AND FLUIDITY demanded in all things. but clea has always revelled in each and every single painstakingly minute detail, from sketch to masterpiece. it starts small, a spark of intent, breathing new life into an idea. her brows are pinched together in a divot of concentration, as hands weave deft patterns meticulously, conjuring an image, an incipient form, then shaping it to her whims, LIKE GLASS OVER A HUNGRY FLAME.

chroma yields to her command with ease, manifesting in the liminal space between here and there, as the ephemeral becomes tangible, concrete. it feels like reaching into the murky waters of nothingness, this endless vacuum of potential, and pulling, rearranging the matter, then subsuming it with the kind of ruthlessness that kills on sight; A CREATURE MONSTROUS BY DESIGN. with her attention entirely monopolized, it’s much too late by the time she becomes aware of the nearby disturbance. she does, however, have the presence of mind to halt her momentum at once, stopping dead in her tracks. with her back still turned to the intruder, she waits for the marbling around her eyes to retreat in increments, dissipating completely, before she finally turns to face whichever hapless idiot dared to disturb her. oh, perfect. more of aline’s creations wandering off where they don’t belong at the most inopportune of moments. just her luck. clea can’t decide if it’s hubris or just mere stupidity that makes them so desperate to rush off into the unknown, only to end up on THE EXECUTIONER'S BLOCK.

❝ there’s no cause for alarm. ❞ a blatant lie, really. surrounded by so many of her pets as she is, though incomplete for now, they’re only a fresh coat of paint away from striking this fool down where she stands. but then, she glimpses that gaudy uniform, not too dissimilar to the ones her brother’s doppelgänger and his group were wearing upon their brief confrontation at the monolith. AN OPPORTUNITY, PERHAPS. ever the utilitarian, she schools her demeanour into something placid, nonthreatening. ❝ they don’t seem to be awake yet. ❞ an affectation of unconcern bleeds into her voice, as she takes a couple of steps forward, though her sharp gaze does not abate, staring the other down with a predator’s focus, hawk-like in her scrutiny. ❝ you’re not here alone, are you? ❞

[perduxamour]

To know is to suffer. She'd heard that once, stated so plainly. Or perhaps she had never heard it, and it's a reasoning that has haunted her mind since she awoke. More and more, she's finding memories that feel as though they do not belong.

Regardless, it chimes in her head. The echoes cascade through her and she knows, she knows without doubt, that it is true. Better to know the truth of it all and bear its burden.

"Can you really tell if they're suffering?" Her voice is quiet. Musing aloud. All the venom she had come poisoned with is lost in the face of Maelle's uncertainty. "Some would rather hide it if they cared about you. They wouldn't want you to think that you'd done the wrong thing. They'd think they're protecting you from their pain."

Cool eyes once warm flicker toward the people in the distance. Despite herself, her thoughts fleetingly transpose Verso within the crowds. And she hates him, for those split seconds, hates him enough to wish that suffering upon him tenfold. But as fast as the hatred converges, it shrinks away again.

There is no way, in any universe near or far, that she believes Maelle would wish for him to suffer.

Eyelashes flutter as Julie looks down, then up again at the painter before her. Alicia. She remembers Alicia, sees her the way one might see the reflection of another in a mirror momentarily angled away.

Someone else who was never hers to lose.

She should be grateful, really. In the simplest measure, Maelle breathed life into her one more. If Julie wanted it, should could take it as a gift. Not a curse.

"I- I'm not sure if this is what I want. But does it matter?" she says, unprepared. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear in search of something to occupy her trembling hands. "This doesn't feel like living, Maelle. Not yet."

Not yet. She startles herself with her own words. Uncertainty lingers on her tongue, tasting bittersweet.

"My reality is death at your brother's hands..." The slightest intake of breath as she catches herself. A slip of the tongue? Her twisting the past, the days before the fracture, and braiding it into this present? Or does Maelle see this version of him as family, too? Julie wishes the words back into her mouth and stumbles onward. "And now I'm here. As though it never happened. How can I move on from that?"

"I don't know if there's a need for me to move on. There's nothing left for me here. " There. It's spoken aloud. With it, a soft smile, dipped in remorse and grief, emerges. The more she admits, the less she wants Maelle to know. To hurt. This girl, whom she might once have seen as someone akin to a sister...

Well. Perhaps in another lifetime.

Julie holds out her hand, tentative. Needing, suddenly, to remember that she's real in a way only they can be. Please. I won't ask you for anything else. You've already done too much. "I don't think I can bring happiness to anyone here. I'm- I'm a reminder of everything wrong. There was never a reason for you to bring me back."

everything she knows about this woman exists in small scraps, bits and pieces not even her own. a found journal entry regarding verso and renoir. filled with rage. confusion. filled with things maelle has no right to try to decipher or even begin to assume intent behind. then, a matching one found that she feels as though she should have left alone; verso's. she remembers the look on his face when she'd come across it.

what right does maelle have to tell her to keep living? the same right anyone had in telling her to let go. the same right she had in begging verso to live, too.

nausea is a familiar friend that twists in her gut, tendrils of it drawing up to snag along her ribcage and cinch at her heart. guilt is an ugly thing, but grief is worse.

she could lie. she feels the beginnings of it pull like saltwater taffy. once upon a time, she hated liars. once upon a time, she thought she was a girl with forever ahead of her, too. at the end, what everyone knew has unraveled into a muddy truth.

"yes," she says after a second, hands wringing one another just in front of her. an old habit of her former self. "i wanted a chance to live." it's more complicated than that. it's a wound that never heals and her body back at home has all the proof to showcase for it, but all of that doesn't involve julie and the canvas.

"a chance for myself to live, yes, and a chance for the people i care about to ... not suffer. to live."

having this conversation feels like a scratched gramophone. it doesn't matter how pretty the music once was, there are parts that never get played correctly. the notes have turned sour. the phrases have repeated. it's her own fault. it always is. and in that silence, she tries to decide what an honest answer even is anymore.

"do you not want to be here?" a gentle question. not an accusation. a deflection, yes, but one with good intention. could she let those she loves go?

and what if they begged her?

unpaint me. unpaint me.

another hard swallow, her thumb rubbing a patch of skin on her palm raw.

"i tried... the best i could. when i brought you back. i thought that maybe, i don't know," she worries her lower lip between her teeth, then gently, again, eyes searching: "do you think you could find happiness?"

[perduxamour]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ💋ɞ˚‧｡⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

send ‘reverse’ for the sender and receiver to swap. adjust wording as needed!

[ ghosted ] sender leans in close but doesn’t kiss, their breath brushes over receiver’s lips instead

[ shared air ] sender presses their forehead to receiver’s, their breath warm between them as they both go quiet

[ almost kiss ] sender cups receiver’s jaw and leans in, letting their breath linger. waiting for receiver to close the space

[ sleep-close ] reciever wakes up to the sound and feel of sender's soft breathing against their neck

[ held stare ] neither of them says anything. sender just leans closer until they can feel every breath between words

[ whispered secret ] sender speaks directly against receiver’s ear, their breath warm and slow

[ slow lean ] as receiver talks, sender gets closer… and closer… until their breath brushes over receiver’s words

[ exhale ] in the middle of a hug, sender exhales slowly against receiver’s neck and doesn’t pull away

[ back of the neck ] sender leans in behind receiver and their breath hits the back of their neck before they speak

[ silence ] in the middle of an argument, everything falls quiet. their breath is the only thing filling the gap between them

[ nose to nose ] sender and receiver’s noses bump gently, close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath

[perduxamour]

[ The French VA for Julie sounds so much angrier in her journal entry and it somehow makes the betrayal she's speaking of even more personal ;; That kind of emotion is reserved for people who leave scars on you.

[perduxamour]

CLAIR OBSCUR: EXPEDITION 33 • [ 2/? ]

[perduxamour]

With each word he says, Julie finds herself cast further and further astray. Stranded with no clear path ahead. Every part of her wants to believe him. It'd be much easier that way.

His defences are raised, and that tells her otherwise. Knowing Verso, truly knowing him, or not, she can't ignore the deep instinct that he's trying very hard to bury something deep. To cast doubt on her instead.

"I wish I knew," she replies, her own temper beginning to fray, "Sometimes I wonder if you know, either. You follow your father implicitly, and I understand why, Verso, I do. But we don't have that luxury."

A reconsideration of her words in the pause that follows. None of this is a luxury. She knows it's wrong the second it's out of her mouth. "All I'm saying is that we're in the dark, when it seems like you both have a reason to..."

She doesn't finish the sentence. What good would it do? Talking in circles, begging for answers, and receiving half-truths again and again. No. Instead, she gives him the closest truth of her own that she can offer. "I trust you," she says on a resolute sigh, "I trust that you want to keep us safe. And you trust your father."

Cautiously, her tone lighter and hand running through her hair, she offers an olive branch, "I still find him as intimidating as ever, though."

Part of him aches to talk about it, and it’s not only because he wants to save whatever crumbling remnants of this team that are left. He is, bluntly, terrified: he feels like he’s going mad, like he’s lost his grip on his reality — he remembers dying. He remembers every bit of it as it happened, remembers blinking awake like nothing happened and being whole and hale. He could have excused it as a nightmare or vivid hallucination if his clothes hadn’t been torn, he didn’t have a thudding ache somewhere deep. 

And then Clea and all her revelations ———

What’s real, then? Are they? Is he? Is she? What’s he supposed to do? 

His father is still the only solid thing left he has, and so he has to trust him to know what to do. He has to. And his father said to not say a word. 

He bites his tongue at her words, gaze boring into the ground between them, because for everything he says, he feels like it just paints him further as someone not to be trusted. And is he? He’d never hurt them ——

" What is it that you think I’m trying to do here? My father believes The Paintress isn’t the threat. So do I. " And he grimaces, frustration ticking over his features — an aversion of his eyes, a stubborn set to his jaw. " I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt. That’s all. "

[perduxamour]

The remnants of the city sat achingly empty. No footsteps, no calls of mothers for their children to take care... just the steady, sputtering trickle of a fountain that used to be at the centre of the cacophony.

Julie sat on its edge, the only remaining flat surface of its exterior. They could rebuild it. They could piece it back together if they had time. Estelle's atelier had been working without pause, ressurecting fallen buildings at an alarming pace. It would only be another word on a checklist somewhere. Sketch the plans, carve the stone, and though it wouldn't be the same, it would be a reflection of what was, it would be—

She caught herself at the top of the spiral again. How many times had that been in the past few days alone? She'd lost count. Things such as counting and keeping track, had fallen apart alongside Lumiere. Since the fracture, time was measured in days without. And she had found herself slipping away alongside each day that came and went.

Her posture remained perfect. Ankles tucked, chin up. Her gaze distant, not truly seeing, but knowing all the same. On the horizon, the edges of the harbour could be seen. It was among the first areas to be fixed. The Expedition to come needed ships. They needed a place to depart.

As cruel as fate would have it, footsteps scraped the ground just beside her. Julie did not turn in their direction. She had no need. Simon carried himself with a strength that she could never understand. She'd recognise it anywhere, especially in the way he lowered himself to her before speaking.

He was right. Of course, he was right.

"I know. I know," she intoned, avoiding his face yet still. And she did know. The need to unpick the stitches of their new reality, to tie off those frayed, loose ends... it was what they all needed. "'Nothing gained from trying to fix what we don't understand.'"

Celine had assured her, without pause and with those very words spoken, that it was the right thing to do. The only thing to be done. They were as prepared as they would ever be.

Yet she could feel it all unraveling before they had even begun. Steeling herself, knowing she'd more than likely cave in his presence, she faced him. "You can't promise that, Simon. Promise something hollow doesn't make it a promise."

She knotted her hands together in her lap and pushed on. "We barely no anything about what's beyond those waters anymore. If it's anything like those creatures that keep finding their way to us, then we've hardly scratched the surface."

"I know it's necessary. There are so many we lost. I know how much you've trained, every day, and I'm thankful that you've watched over Celine—" She tripped briefly over her sister's name, "But no amount of training will make this that simple."

Another fact she knew: this pain, this desperation, should not be aimed at him. She sighed, briefly closing her eyes. When open once more, they fell on his uniform. She swallowed. Reached out to touch the edge of his coat, at once reverent and hesitant. This was their reality now.

"So please," she continued, "Don't pretend to be sure of anything. Please don't placate me."

Julie stood swiftly. A fleeting smile curving at her lips, and then fading into a solemness reserved for the occasion. "I can wait. I will always wait," she said firmly, "And I will be the one to rescue you both, should you take longer than expected. I have to put some of those skills you taught me to use at some point, right?"

✧ a thing for @perduxamour

he found her near the broken fountain. it no longer sang like it once had - the water now stilled, frozen by some impossible trick of light and memory. one spire lay collapsed beside it, split down its marble spine like a snapped feather, and the sky above - what was left of it - held colours that hurt to name.

julie looked as if she was trying to shield herself from a world that no longer obeyed the rules of peace; no soldier’s discipline yet, no masks - just the raw, trembling aftermath of a world torn OPEN. simon had grown quieter since the fracture. not withdrawn - not exactly, but more measured, like someone who had learned, abruptly, that the world could end in the time it took to draw breath.

celine and he had undergone some gruelling training, weeks of drills in cracked courtyards, blunted weapons against wooden targets; rations, emergency kits, formation memory work. they had always been strong - he, with his skilled precision and resilience, celine with her steady instincts - but this was terrifying; there was no map for the world they would now cross. and lumière was no longer a city - it was a WOUND. what once bloomed with perfect rhythm had become nonsense - gardens growing in spirals, floating rocks, buildings folding in on themselves, families split between realities, children missing. and amid it all, people like julie were asked to go on.

he stepped beside her, boots crunching over broken glass, and crouched down slightly so they were level - not as a soldier, but as someone who had known her since she barely reached his waist. a few dark strands of his long hair had slipped free from their tie, and the wind toyed with them absently; his coat stirred, heavy with reinforced stitching, the uniform of someone ready to be sent where no rescue should follow. simon's gaze softened, and his gloved hand reached out - resting gently on her shoulder - solid, steady, the way he'd always been, and said, quietly:

"we can't stay behind. if we don't understand what happened out there - if we don't try - there'll be nothing left to come back to."

he was silent for a spell, the only sound the distant groan of fractured stone - lumière still shifting, slowly collapsing into a living nightmare. and then he murmured, softer:

"but we'll come back."

he said it like a promise, but even as he did, simon felt it - that ache he never spoke aloud, the part of him that understood some of them were already ghosts walking. he didn't say he was afraid. he didn't say the stars didn't look right anymore, or that when he stood still too long, he felt the edges of the world warping like melting glass; he only squeezed her shoulder gently and added:

"you're stronger than you know, julie. but strength also means knowing when to wait."

simon was a quiet mountain carved by resolve, shaped by duty and grief; and he did not waver, because if there was even a chance to save something - to find answers, survivors, hope — he would walk into the unknown to try.

[perduxamour]

[ It's so warm here... I'm melting. We're not built for this xD

Diving into my drafts and inbox like they're one giant swimming pool tonight~

[perduxamour]

[perduxamour]

I miss you. I don’t have the right to miss you, but I do. 

CLAIR OBSCUR: EXPÉDITION 33 (2025) dev. Sandfall Interactive

[perduxamour]

hi keeley! i just wanted to drop by and say thank you for bringing julie to life. there is so much potential with her as a character and you capture it so well. i am so thankful to have you on the dash. i hope that this week brings you all the good things you deserve.

[ Oh! I- I um... I don't know what to say?? This is so incredibly kind and unexpected, thank you so much my lovely anon. I'm actually welling up a bit???! GAH.

I've been super self conscious and judgemental about my writing, that's no secret. Especially with taking a canon character and basically making her my own. I'm so honoured that you think I'm doing a good job 🥹 Everyone here has been so wonderful to write with. I actually love you all already *goes off into a corner to continue to ramble thank yous and sob*