by your hands (and mine)

It was at some indeterminate point in time that Rouge realised Sable was watching her. 

Something she looked extra peeved about—though many would argue it was difficult to tell, considering Sable’s default already looked at least a little irked. Rouge, of course, could tell it was more so than usual—in the extra pronounced purse of her lips, in the single finger that tapped and tapped and tapped on her forearm from the way her arms were crossed into a near self-hug. 

‘Do you realise how long it’s been?’ Sable asks, the moment she’s noticed Rouge’s, well… notice.

A quick glance, and the answer leaves Rouge in a surprised question. ‘Hours?’ 

‘Days. Days, Rouge. Were you truly so caught up in it all that you never noticed? Never bothered to spare a second to think that you could have sent. A. Single. Word?’ The ire is an audible one, words poised to strike. But Rouge simply rolls with the punches, easily grasping the anger for what it truly was—poorly (at least to her) disguised concern.  Were it anything else, she would have playfully pointed it out, then prepared herself to quickly mollify the (somewhat harmlessly) incensed Sable. Were it… but it was not. 

‘I think I’ve lost something.’ 

Sable sighs. It’s a particularly exasperated one, rattling enough it was surely meant to both express and vent frustration in a two-for-one. Rouge has not answered her question, but Sable gets the response she needed anyway. 

‘And what do you believe you’ve lost?’

A heartbeat passes in silence, then two. Then three. There’s a cold chill in the air, and it’s only heightened by the wind that blows through Hearthouse Playground. Rouge suddenly feels silly, kneeling in bark and dirt and sifting through on the off chance she happened to find what had been lost. 

‘My mind?’ It’s an attempt at a joke, but a pathetic one, because Rouge’s voice is far too small for the shape of it.

Another exhale, but it’s quieter this time. ‘If you’re done being a comedian…’ 

‘I don’t know, Bee.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know what I’ve lost.’

Rouge stares at her hands. Her once normally blunt nails had gnarled themselves into claws, and despite the usual sorcery Rouge used to make her features human adjacent, she could not for the life—and more—of her get rid of them. 

This wasn’t the only change she couldn’t magic away, either. One day, she woke to find her teeth sharpened into fangs, the point deadly enough to pierce at even the slightest of bite downs. It was fortunate that Rouge’s lips were about as real as the rest of her, otherwise she might have bitten it away into a grisly nothingness. 

Her eyes, usually a warm, gentle brown, would have terrifying flashes otherwise—in mirrors, in waters circled with ripples… it would always be only for a moment, so brief Rouge would be left wondering if she even saw it at all, but each and every moment would stop her cold. As if a bucket of ice had been upturned on her; the frosty snapjaws of shock leaving their mark in fleeting but frightening visions: the sight of Rouge’s gaze coloured a worryingly glowing crimson. 

But the worst of it—oh, the inhumane and absolute worst of it—were the cracks that were now littered across Rouge’s body. Nothing she did seemed to deter them from the course they charted—not when she’d try to get rid of them through glamours, nor even when she’d slide a morbidly curious claw into her skin’s newly formed fissures. (To see if it hurt. To see if she couldn’t force them—herself—open. To see if—)

Some days ago, her cracks started bleeding.

‘I feel like I’ve forgotten something important.’ 

‘Should it truly be of importance, you will remember.’ 

‘Will I?’ Rouge finally looks away from her hands, searching Sable’s expression with uncharacteristic desperation. ‘How do you know? How do you—’ There’s a frown on her sleek features, and when Rouge grips her by the shoulders, it falters for an instant when Sable flinches. 

Rouge gasps, releasing her immediately. Her nails have left behind slits in Sable’s blouse—holes from where she’d punctured the fabric. Her mind reels at the sight—an apology bubbles in her throat, but the absence of anything resembling rage manages to have it sink before it can truly swim. 

‘Rouge,’ Sable says, quietly. ‘What is it that you’re so terrified of?’

‘...I think I’m going crazy.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’ The words are harsh, but the weight of a hand rests itself on Rouge’s bowed head. ‘Tell me what it is that has you so terrified, dearest shade.’ 

‘I’m… I’m scared.’ At Sable’s hum, the slightest of movement in her hand signaling an almost reassuring pet, Rouge is able to continue. ‘I think I’m losing myself… and I’m so… so fucking terrified of what will happen once I do. What if I really go crazy, Sable? What if I ruin everything because I can’t remember what I’ve lost?’

‘Then I will take care of you myself.’

Rouge looks up at Sable once more, and her gloved hand falls back to her side. ‘Promise?’ Sable nods, but it’s not enough. ‘Bee, I need to hear you say it. Please.’

‘If you do indeed find yourself irreversibly losing your grip on your sanity… then I will take care of you to the best of my ability. Rouge. Make no mistake. I will end you. I will kill you with my own two hands and put you out of your misery, and it will be my own sacred duty to do so. Do you understand me?’ 

Another nod, slower this time. ‘Good,’ is Rouge’s only response. ‘That’s… good. I want you to, if it gets to that point.’

The gold Rouge looks into are ones of unwavering steel. There is no hesitation there, but then again, Sable had never been one to hesitate. To do what needs to be done, even if it comes at a grave cost. Even if that cost was something, someone like Rouge. ‘If that’s settled, then…’ 

A gloved hand holds itself out for Rouge to take.

‘Let us make our way back home before it becomes too dark.’