chosen | yves

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞

It felt like just ten minutes ago I shuffled into Yves' room a nervous wreck, fiddling with her necklace between my clumsy hands.  I could still feel the weight of the pendant in my satchel, its sharp edge poking into my hip with each small step I took. But, realistically, I knew it had to have been hours. The sky outside her window was slowly darkening, her room no longer consumed by sunlight but rather by her candles; the knock at her door maybe thirty minutes ago telling us it was "time for supper" being indicative enough.

We skipped it, however.

It was just last night her father was killed in the dining room. Just last night her people were stunned to silence, her mother left a widow. Yves didn't need to voice her thoughts for me to know what she was thinking. She wasn't ready.

She wasn't ready to go back to the place she saw her father die. She wasn't ready to face her people, and in particular, face her mother.  (She was too afraid of her mom's reaction towards seeing her new cut, anyway. The way her face washed pale and she subconsciously fiddled with her hair told me enough.)

I'm drawn from my thoughts with a flinch when she suddenly speaks, her voice breaking through the silence that consumed the room.

"You are different."

I turn away from the window and look straight at her.

Yves sat with her back against the head of her bed, listening to me talk like I was a VIP movie screening. I sat-- admittedly less gracefully-- sprawled out at the end of her bed. It was almost funny to think that just days ago she wouldn't let me sit next to her. She holds her pillow close to her chest as she stares down at me, biting the inside of her cheek. I can't ignore the way a heat runs up my neck when I notice her wandering eyes. The way they scan me up and down, inquisitive. The intensity of her gaze had me growing nervous.

Pulling myself into a proper position, I stammer.

"O-oh? How do you mean?"

She shakes her head, levelling me with a reassuring smile.

"Do not overthink it, Y/N. I did not mean any harm." And then she purses her lips. "Ever since you repaired the overseer's journal you have become more... calm. You have had your moments, yes, but I do not know how else to describe it. "

For a moment I stay silent, her words weighing on me. Surely I haven't changed that much, right? I mean, I'm still me. Still the clumsy, talkative, immature girl I was eleven days ago.

But the more I thought about it, I can't help but swallow the lump that forms in my throat. I knew she was right. Hell, it was hard to ignore. Slowly but surely everything I knew was being torn at the seams, replaced. Forced to become a different person, forced to adapt to this new life. I spent so many days wishing I'd wake up and be home, but now?... Now I knew it wasn't that simple. 

I discovered I had some kind of untouched powers. Discovered that the ring on my finger was actually more than just a piece of jewellery. I watched two men die.

Everything had changed.

"I... I guess I have. I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. Moving her pillow of her lap, she shimmies herself so she's resting her hand on my knee cap. Meeting her eyes, I see nothing but sincerity swimming in their depths.

"You have grown quite a habit of apologising, are you aware? You need not say sorry for something so trivial. Perhaps I am just imagining it. But I must admit I had grown quite use to your childishness that I could not help but notice. I was just curious if something had happened." And then she trails off, her voice turning to a hush. "Besides for the obvious, that is."