Chapter Text
“Show me your hands.”
Olwynn jumps, spinning around wide-eyed. She softens slightly when it’s made apparent that it is Caelia of House Banríon standing behind her, rather than any other member of her Cohort.
She was always the most cordial out of all of them.
“Pardon?”
Caelia’s lip curls. “Your hands, Acolyte Dalwyr.” The older girl—for while Caelia was indeed older than a human’s majority, by their sub race of elf she was still a minor—gestured towards her linen-wrapped palms. “They should have healed by now, and yet you still cover them up. I intend to know why.”
Olwynn brings her hands close to her chest, curving in slightly. This move only seems to annoy Caelia further, as the elf huffs, tossing pale white hair over her shoulders.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Dalwyr,” she drawls, dropping the title with ease… as though they were two friends merely catching up rather than… what they were. “Surely you must know that.”
She doesn’t, actually—Olwynn has known nothing but hurt since the Elders deemed her Awoken—but the sheer exasperation on Caelia’s countenance gives her pause.
“They… itch.”
“…itch?”
Olwynn swallows heavily, averting her True eyes. Not for the first time, she wishes she had hair like Caelia—long enough to hide herself away from the world and Its gaze. Her hair has grown slightly since Awakening, but she’s sure Mother will come to shear her again once it’s obvious her darker hair hasn’t faded into pale blue yet.
“The excess scabs,” she explains dumbly. “It- they are still healing. To pick them would make them more…”
The elf does not respond. After a long, awkward moment, Olwynn chances a glance back at Caelia, only to find a look of something akin to shock.
“‘Excess’?” The older girl repeats. “What do you mean excess? Did you somehow ascend twice?”
Olwynn barely has the chance to open her mouth in rebuttal before Caelia is striding towards her, the vague shock on her face fading into anger.
“My family and I could suspend our disbelief once,” the girl hisses, reaching forward to grab one of Olwynn’s wrists and grasping it tight. She tries to pull away, but Caelia’s grip is firm—and, frankly, the elf is bigger than her. “That the All Knowing One would allow one such as yourself to become Awakened. But to ascend twice?” She scoffs, ripping the linen wrapping off Olwynn’s hand. “You will forgive me for not believing-“
Caelia cuts herself off, and all Olwynn can do when faced with her stunned silence is squeeze her eyes shut.
“What is this.”
Olwynn doesn’t respond.
“Dalwyr,” Caelia presses. “What in the Nine Hells is this.”
Olwynn swallows heavily. “My eyes,” she replies, her voice no louder than a whisper.
“I know they’re your eyes, you fool,” the elf hisses, “But why do they look like they’ve been carved up as though you were naught but a pheasant?”
It is at the odd yet noticeable undercurrent of panic in the older girl’s voice that makes Olwynn open her True eyes to meet Caelia’s own. Purple irises shine back at her, pupils wide with… something.
“…I moved.”
“You moved?” Caelia’s True eyes drop down to the hand wrapped around Olwynn’s wrist. It trembles slightly, almost betraying what the elf might be feeling if not for the vitriol she spews. “What, are your past lives not interesting enough for you to stay still for an hour?”
“I don’t trance.”
Olwynn doesn’t know why she’s telling the older girl this. After all, this whole conversation will only be used as ammunition against her. But she’s tired and scared and just wants to crawl back into her bed and cry.
The good thing about the confession, at least, is that it causes Caelia to drop her wrist in shock.
Olwynn quickly scampers backwards, grabbing the fallen linen scraps from the ground. She can Mend them later after all.
“Are you satisfied now, Acolyte Banríon,” she bites out, reveling in the obvious discomfort on Caelia’s face.
“…Indeed,” the older girl mutters, looking down at her own palms. “As much as one can be when faced with such Knowledge.”
There is another awkwardly long pause before Caelia inhales sharply, meeting Olwynn’s True eyes with her own.
“You will hear no more from myself on the matter,” the elf states. “Nor from any other members of our Cohort should such discussions arise in my presence.”
The statements take Olwynn aback, and all she can do in the moment is just… blink.
Caelia tilts her head, obviously taking her response as acknowledgment of whatever deal they’d made here.
“Have a good evening of rest…. Olwynn Dalwyr.”