Work Text:
Marcille Donato wakes with a startle, trying to grip the nightmare she was having just seconds prior with slim fingers. She breathes deeply and unclenches her fist, letting go of the sheets as well as of her bad dream.
The full moon's light cuts through the window of the dorm room, gifting it with an eerie look. Marcille raises her hand to play with a speck of that sinister yet charming light, marveling at her skin turning silver.
The bed by the other side of the room is empty, sheets dangling at the end of it. Panic grabs Marcille by the throat, almost choking her. She de-tangles herself from her own duvet and falls flat on the floor in the rush of getting up. Groaning in pain and frustration, she massages her lower back, spitting wisps of hair out her mouth.
Getting up, she rushes to the other bed, palm flat on the mattress as if pushing down against it could reveal a secret passage. All she feels though, is the softness of clean sheets and the comforting smell of raspberries.
Ready to wake up the entire school if need be, candle in hand, Marcille notices the door that leads to the corridor left ajar. She sighs and, barefoot, she adventures outside the safety of her room.
✦
At night, the school seems to morph into a hungry creature. The floor's planks are warm but they bite at her skin and the wood creaks all around Marcille as she moves forward. She feels as if she's being eaten alive, every step a morsel to her being, until she'll disappear and the corridor will be empty except for the trail of wax of her candle.
She walks down the stairs and stops. Someone is singing in the kitchen. It's not a melody, just a perpetual humming that could easily be mistaken for a song. It's a soft, gentle thing, and Marcille is drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
The kitchen's door, usually used only by the cooks moving back and forth around the school, is slightly open, enough for the warm light of the room to reach the corridor and Marcille's feet. She shies away from it at first. Everyone is asleep and, for all she knows, there might be a thief on the other side, ready to steal stale bread and weirdly looking vegetables.
But then the humming picks up, the light on the corridor twirls, dances. Marcille opens the door.
"Hello," Falin smiles.
She's cradling a bowl with her right arm, whisking what Marcille presumes is some sort of batter with the other. She too is barefoot, and her cheeks are splattered with flour.
"Hi," Marcille waves. Unsure of what to do, she looks around. Resting on the table are different ingredients; butter, eggs, cheese, a half torn bag of sugar and a basket full of recently picked raspberries. "What are you doing?"
"Today's my brother's birthday," Falin says, not once stopping her mixing. Her face is a pleasant pink, flushed by her hard work. Marcille finds herself stepping closer to her, grabbing both her cheeks and using her thumbs to clean the spattered flour. Falin's face is warm and yet scorching hot against Marcille's palms.
"What?" she asks, trying to mask the amusement in her voice.
"Laios," Falin wrinkles her nose. Marcille still hasn't let go of her. "I'm making him a cheesecake. Taste!"
Marcille gazes down at the bowl's content. It's not batter then, but cheese. She lets go of Falin, dips her finger in and brings the creamy mixture to her mouth.
The cheese is strong but well balanced, leaving a sweet flavor on her tongue. She wonders what else she added to the mix, for only cheese and sugar wouldn't have given her this result.
Marcille smacks her tongue, licking the remnants of cream from her lips. "It's good."
Falin beams, "Really?"
The half-elf nods, stealing another scoop. "Really."
"I'm glad," Falin looks down, her lips trembling for a moment before her smile returns. "I usually bake it with him. He's more thorough with the ingredients. You must think me crazy, he can't even eat this."
Marcille shakes her head, one hand moving up Falin's bare elbow to squeeze it reassuringly. She isn't sure of the hour, but considering the tints of the sky outside the window, it must still be a few hours until dawn. She'd hate to get reprimanded after being caught using ingredients in a place prohibited to students, but Falin has already started, and she realizes she doesn't want to stop her.
"Do you need help?" she asks.
Falin's head snaps up at the words, stunned. "What?"
Marcille circles the table and grabs an apron lying on one of the chairs. It's relatively clean and she puts it on, aware of Falin's eyes following her every move. She ties the apron behind her back, pats the front of it and nods.
"Tell me what to do."
✦
By the time they're finished, the oranges of the early morning are being painted in the cloudy sky.
Marcille huffs, wiping her brows with the back of her hand and gazing down at their joined effort in the form of an ugly looking, rather tasty, cheesecake.
The sauce made with the raspberries drips on the plate, the bright color in direct contrast with the white of the cream. The shape, supposedly a circle, seems more like an indecisive rectangle and the crushed biscuits of the base definitely needed more time to rest.
"I guess that's it," Marcille says, daring a quick glance at Falin. She's standing by her side, her hands over her mouth in a silent gasp. "Is it that bad?"
Falin turns around to look at her and Marcille involuntarily takes a step back. For once, though, it's not because she's scared. Falin's smile is blinding, her eyes wrinkled in joy and Marcille wonders what'd happen if she were to step closer. Did someone ever try to caress the sun?
"It's perfect," Falin breathes, her cheeks so red Marcille worries she caught a cold. "Lets eat."
It takes a minute for Falin's word to catch up to her. Dumbfounded, Marcille asks, "What?"
"They won't be up for another hour," Falin whispers in a conspiratorial tone, "I can't eat it all alone."
She grabs Marcille by the wrist and drags her to the nearest chair before the half-elf finds something smart enough to say. It's been ages since she had cake for breakfast.
Falin hands her a fork and then sits down next to her, so close that Marcille is able to see the flour that she didn't manage to clear from her cheeks. Her fingerprints itch and she blames it on the cold.
"Happy birthday, brother," Falin says under her breath. "I can't wait for you to meet my friend."
Then, without even cutting the cake, she digs the fork in. Marcille stares at her as she bites into her piece, chews and swallow. She waits. And waits.
"It's so good," Falin nudges her, "Go on."
Marcille doesn't wait for Falin to tell her again.
It's the best cheesecake she's ever tasted.
✦
"What time is it?"
"We've got time, don't worry."
"That's what you always say."
The castle's kitchen is big, way too big in Marcille's opinion. Putting down an utensil means losing it, for it'll magically disappear from its spot to never be found again. This time, it's whisks.
Falin chuckles, mixing the cream cheese with an improvised spoon. There's spots of flour on her cheeks.
"We've still got a few hours before Laios gets back," she says, dancing around the kitchen's table to grab the ingredients she needs, "Kabru promised to keep him occupied."
Marcille stares at her. For a moment, she sees her in a much smaller kitchen, with her infectious smell of raspberries and her flushed skin. Feeling her heart grow ten size bigger in the span of a few seconds, she steps forward, grabs both Falin's cheeks with gentle hands and, on her tiptoes, plants a kiss to her mouth.
She feels Falin' smile against her lips. She smiles back.
"What was that for?" she asks once Marcille partially lets go of her, thumbs still moving back and forth on her cheeks to remove the flour.
"I don't know," Marcille shrugs, "I guess I really love baking with you."