[M|IC] The Price of Life (Ashen and Naming)

[Namingtoohard]

“I did tell you that I’m working tonight” Zula pointed out, but in a more conciliatory tone than before. Now that her blood had cooled, she couldn’t really blame Froste for forgetting. Not after all the other shit that had gone down between them today, and everything they’d done in the time since. Or perhaps it was her outfit throwing them off. Zula hadn’t missed the way Froste had eyed her attire, and she didn’t really look like she was dressed for any sort of traditional labor, by design. Regardless, she waited patiently as Froste shuffled past her, before pushing the front door closed behind them.

Once the latch clicked into place, Zula turned to face her guest again. She folded both of her arms across her chest and leaned against the hallway wall, her expression contemplative. For a brief moment, she considered excusing herself, citing work as her excuse. Zula didn’t need to clock on and off at specific times, the way most people did, but Froste didn’t know that. Then they called her name, and Zula promptly decided against it. A few extra minutes wouldn’t make any real difference to her plans, and lying now would only bite her in the ass later. She needed to make this work, and if Froste was ready to talk, then hearing them out was the least she could do.

Zula hadn’t been expecting an actual apology, just because she wasn’t in the habit of giving them, either. But Froste had always been overwhelmingly polite, and it appeared that this was no exception. Her expression softened at their words, in much the same way her tone had earlier. “We do” she conceded, before chuckling softly at the joke that followed. Zula turned her head away from Froste, then. Her eyes roamed the blank wall opposite, and she chewed on her lower lip absentmindedly, as she considered where to go from here. Thankfully, it didn’t take her long to come up with an answer.

“My employers don’t really care how long my work takes me, so long as I get the results they’re after. If everything goes according to plan, then I’ll only be gone for a couple of hours, and I’ll still get paid a sizeable amount.” Zula knew her words were frustratingly vague, but the last thing she wanted was to scare Froste away again. If they knew the full story, they’d probably think she was some sort of psycho, and…well, that assessment wouldn’t be completely unfair. “Tomorrow, we’ll use some of that money to get you your own phone and key, so there’s no risk of you getting locked out in future. And maybe a couple more sets of clothes, so you don’t have to wear the same thing every day. We can talk about your new magic then, too.”

While Zula spoke, something else occurred to her. She hadn’t given any thought to how Froste was supposed to feed themselves while she was gone. There weren’t many groceries left in the fridge - they were another thing she’d planned on buying with her upcoming paycheck - and she wasn’t sure how much Froste knew about cooking, anyway. “I didn’t really arrange anything for dinner, but there’s a decent kebab place just down the street. If you’re willing to brave the rain again, you can use my card.” She pulled out her wallet and flipped it open, before pulling the piece of plastic from its sleeve. Zula held it out in offering, then. An olive branch in disguise.

“All you’ve gotta do is tell the workers there that you want to pay by card, and then wave it over the scanner when they hold it out to you. Like you saw me do with my phone yesterday.” She was struck by the urge to ask if they could handle that, but in a rare display of maturity, she resisted. The last thing either of them needed was another argument. Besides, they’d proved themselves capable of surviving at least one afternoon without her. “When I get home, I’m probably going to collapse straight into bed, so I’ll see you in the morning.”

Feeling considerably better about their situation now, Zula excused herself. The question of makeup completely forgotten, she bade Froste farewell, before turning for the door. Once she had double checked that she had everything, she slipped out onto the landing, before pulling it closed behind her. Then Zula started down the stairs, heading towards the front doors, and everything that waited beyond.

[Ashen]

Though Zula assured them that she’d be bringing home a nice paycheck, Froste found it difficult to take solace in all the things Zula thought to get them tomorrow. They frowned at her as they looked over her outfit again. She was so strange and vague about her job, and Froste wondered if she was in some sort of bad business. Was it possible she was going out at this hour dressed like that to sell drugs? Or maybe she was a sex worker off to entertain a regular client. Froste cringed, but they quickly wiped the expression from their face. What room did they have to judge someone trying to earn a living—for them, no less—when all they knew about themselves was from the glimpses they got of a life far worse than what Zula could have been doing?

They nodded along to her instructions about paying for food, and once she handed over her card, Froste ran their fingers over the sleek plastic, wondering how they could pay with a quick wave. They knew how to use a credit card, of course, but this whole contactless thing was bizarre. What if it didn’t work? Or what if their stomach revolted against food? In the excitement of the day, Froste hadn’t gotten the chance to realize how famished they were, but the thought of food was making their mouth water. They thanked Zula and saw her off, hoping, wherever she was going, she would be alright.

After she’d left, they took a moment to ground themselves. It had been such a long day, and they hated leaving so much unresolved, but keeping Zula from her job would have been selfish. They needed to decompress, take a shower and find some clothes and eat something. Nodding to themselves, Froste decided to start on that mental checklist, and they went to the bathroom. As the water ran down their back, they looked over their hands. Their new, ugly scar joined the many others all over their body, and they thought again about how they had fixed themselves. Necromancy. Thinking about it made their head hurt, so they ended their shower early, dried themselves off, and wrapped themselves in a robe that was just a bit too small.

They hadn’t realized how tired they were until, an hour after sitting down on the couch, they opened their eyes again and cursed themselves for dozing. After a quick check of the apartment, Froste confirmed Zula wasn’t back yet. They put on the same clothes they’d worn that day, still damp from the rain, and grabbed Zula’s card to find that kebab place she mentioned. Luckily, it wasn’t too hard to find. They returned to the apartment quickly, relieved that no one had broken in in the time the door had been unlocked, and sat down for their meal.

As they ate in silence, they let their fragmented memories wash over them. They were too tired to silence them. The hollow lab, the beeping monitors, the agonized screams. The thundering explosions, the bursting of ice, the revival of dead skin. Froste stared blearily at their food, suddenly not feeling up to eating.

They fridged what they did not finish and changed back into the robe before plopping down on the couch. Tomorrow would be another long day, and they weren’t looking forward to that conversation with Zula, but they hoped it would spark something new in the foggy expanse that was their memory. Zula clearly thought they would be staying awhile if she was willing to secure them a phone and key. There were worse fates, they considered. Though when they thought of helping Zula, remembering the magic to fix her affliction, that familiar dread returned to them like a warning, and an aggravated sigh escaped their lips as they struggled to understand what any of it meant.

When they did fall asleep, Froste was plagued by more nightmares. This time, they could feel Zula’s flame spreading to every inch of their body, blackening their skin and scorching their hair, disfiguring them so severely that they did not know the person in their reflection. They woke gasping, phantom burns retreating all across their body. They blinked the world into focus.

It was still dark. If Zula was home, they didn’t want to wake her, so they tried to ignore how thunderously their heart beat. Though it took ages, they were able to fall asleep again and slip right back into the same nightmares. Froste whimpered in their sleep, their hand twitching every so often, as they tried to forget the reminders of their dreams.

[Namingtoohard]

The neon sign outside Club 77 glowed like a beacon. The falling raindrops and growing puddles distorted and reflected its artificial light, bathing half the street in a shifting, dizzying kaleidoscope of cyan and magenta. Zula rushed towards it, her chin lowered, and her jacket pulled tight about her slender frame. She had always hated this place. The drinks were overpriced, the bouncers were assholes, and the music choice was just as bland and uninspired as the club’s name. But despite her best efforts, she was soaked to the skin, shivering from the cold, and looking forward to the shelter it promised. To say nothing of the paycheck waiting inside.

Zula charged through the open entrance and into a small antechamber of sorts. Her momentum carried her straight past an unattended desk, before dying a few steps short of the bouncer guarding the inner doors. Dressed all in black, he towered over Zula by at least a meter. With a barrel chest, arms like tree trunks, and no neck to speak of, he looked more like a bull than a person. A radio hung from his belt, looking absurdly small compared to the rest of him. While Zula got her bearings, the man stared at her with an impassivity that suggested he’d seen some real shit during his time on the job. Enough to be confident she wouldn’t be any sort of problem.

Yep. Definitely an asshole.

Instead of approaching him straight away, Zula spent a moment trying to wring the excess water out of her hair and clothes. Once she felt a little more presentable, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Thankfully, it seemed to have survived the downpour. She unlocked it, then opened up the official government app where her digital ID was stored. Finally ready, she stepped towards the bouncer and held it out in offering.

The man took the phone and examined her ID in stony silence. After a few seconds, his eyes flickered up over the screen and met hers again. When he spoke, his voice was every bit as deep as his appearance suggested. “You here with friends?”

Zula nodded. She’d spent enough time at clubs to know that bouncers tended to be wary of people who showed up alone, and for good reason. “They’re already inside. I’m just running late” she lied easily, sounding more composed than her appearance might’ve suggested.

The man stared at her in silence for a little longer, but Zula stuck to her guns, resisting the urge to fidget beneath his stare. After what felt like an eternity, he handed back her phone and reached for the door’s handle. “No cover charge tonight. Have fun.” With those parting words, he pulled the wooden door open and flicked his head towards the open frame. Zula suppressed the urge to sigh in relief. Instead, she made herself give the asshole a smile and a nod of fake gratitude, before she stepped inside the club proper.

As soon as Zula stepped over the threshold, she was enveloped by a wall of noise. Some heavy synthetic bullshit, with so much bass that it felt like her teeth were trying to rattle their way out of her skull. The air was hot and sticky, reeking of both smoke and sweat. Already fighting to tamp down her annoyance, she cast her attention around and found that the place looked pretty much how she remembered it. A stained and chipped wooden bar, decorated only by shelves and shelves of spirits. A handful of standing tables, shadowed booths, and a dancefloor filled with writhing bodies. Zula surveyed them briefly, hoping for a glimpse of her mark, but the low light and flashing strobes made it feel like an impossible task.

Pointedly aware of how awkward she looked without any friends hanging around, or a drink in hand, Zula beelined for the bar. She picked an empty space between two other patrons and stepped into it, slipping between her neighbors with all the grace she could muster. Zula rested a forearm atop the polished wood and leaned against it, her eyes searching out the nearest bartender. When they finished serving their previous customer and glanced her way, Zula was quick to seize upon her opportunity.

“Rum and coke, please. Double shot.” Normally she stuck to the lighter stuff while she was working, but hell, she’d had a shitty week. A shitty several months, really. And since today was payday, she could afford to splurge a little. Zula watched idly as the bartender grabbed a glass and set about making her order, only for the back of her neck to prickle. A moment later, someone stepped into her personal space. A hand grazed her lower back gently, while an unfamiliar voice sounded in her ear.

“Let me get that for you.”

Zula turned towards her unexpected company, her free hand already tightening into a fist. The strobe lights above the dancefloor flashed, and she caught sight of some messy brown hair, a collared button-up, and a face with a strong jaw. She opened her mouth to tell the stranger to fuck off, but a moment’s hesitation was enough for Zula to change her mind. He wasn’t entirely unpleasant to look at, and willing to pay for her drinks. A little company would help her blend in a little more, too. Maybe, if she was lucky, he’d also be interesting enough to help her pass the time until she spotted her mark.

She made herself smile at the stranger. Leaned in to make herself heard over the thumping music. “I’m Amy” she offered, by way of thanks. Her new ‘friend’ grinned toothily, and offered up his own name, which Zula promptly forgot. When the bartender set her finished drink on the counter, he made good on his promise and flashed his card. Zula sipped from her drink, smiled at him in thanks, and let him lead her away from the bar, towards the nearest empty booth.

~~~

Zula’s attention wandered around the dancefloor whilst she nursed her fourth drink of the night. Her new friend sat next to her, his hand resting on her knee beneath the table. When he’d first placed it there, she’d prepared to break a couple of his fingers, but he’d had the good sense to avoid moving it any higher. So far, anyway. Unfortunately, Zula’s hopes that he’d be interesting had already been crushed. He just rambled about his financial degree and crypto and his family’s vacation home, using a whole lot of words to say nothing at all. She listened to him speak with half an ear, paying him just enough attention to make it seem like she was interested, and keep him talking.

“Oh my god, really? That’s so impressive” she answered, for what must’ve been the fifth time that night. Her words sent Jake on another spiel, which she promptly tuned out. If the first handful of times were anything to judge by, that’d be enough to keep him going for another five or six minutes. Not for the first time, she found herself regretting her decision to accept his offer. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before her mark got his shit together and showed his face.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d wasted on James when her prayers were finally answered. The lights above the dancefloor flashed again, and Zula froze. She waited for another glimpse, just to be sure, and…yes, there he was. The man whose photo Sam had texted her earlier. He was near the middle of the crowd, grinding up against some blonde teenager dressed in a lacy bodysuit and a skirt so short it was practically a belt. As Zula watched, he leaned in and whispered something inaudible in her ear, and the girl threw her head back in laughter. How long had he been here for?

Sitting here, halfway across the room, Zula could only imagine that he was already using his magic on his prey, subtly bending her emotions to his will. Coercing her into doing things that she never would otherwise. The very idea made Zula’s heart race, made her vision turn red. All of a sudden, she found herself struggling to stay in her seat. A part of her wanted nothing more than to rush over and confront him straight away, before he could push things any further, but…no. If she tried anything now, security would be all over them before she could accomplish anything meaningful. She needed to wait for the right moment, or she’d lose her chance. Zula forced herself to take a deep breath, and leaned back into her seat. She gave Jayce a reassuring smile, and settled down to watch.

Ten minutes later, Zula’s target finally gave her the opportunity that she’d been waiting for. Blissfully unaware they were being watched, the asshole grabbed his dance partner’s hand and started pulling her out of the crowd. He led the blonde towards an innocuous door labelled ‘Staff only’, which he pushed open without hesitation. Zula caught a brief glimpse of a dimly lit hallway with white-washed walls before the door swung closed, and then they were gone.

Relief and anticipation flooded Zula’s system in equal measure. After tossing back the last of her drink, she set the glass down and began the process of sliding out of the booth. She was almost free when John’s voice reached her ears, reminding her that she had company. Zula threw a glance back his way, hesitating for just a moment. “I think I just saw some creep grab one of my friends. I’ll be right back’ she lied. Without waiting for an answer, she slipped the rest of the way out of the booth and rushed after her target.

Pretending that she couldn’t hear Joel’s protests over the thumping music, Zula elbowed her way through the crowd, her attention fixed on the door. She pushed it open, stepped over the threshold, and found herself in the same white hallway that she’d glimpsed just a few moments ago. Her target stood just a few meters away, with the girl that he’d made into his prize. He had her pushed up against the wall, trapped beneath his body. His mouth was on hers, but her eyes were open. Distant. Uncomprehending. One of his hands was pushing up her skirt, whilst the other groped at her chest through her top.

As Zula started towards them, the rapist reluctantly pulled his mouth away from that of his victim. He turned to look at her, his features twisting into a look of anger. “The fuck you want? Mind your own damn business and piss off” he spat, annoyed. With those simple words, Zula could feel the man’s strange magic tugging at the corners of her mind. If she hadn’t been a mage, or if Sam hadn’t warned her about his magic, she probably would’ve stammered out an apology and turned on her heel without realizing what was happening. Instead, she shrugged off his enchantment and barreled forward.

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk more shit, but his complaints were cut short when Zula’s hand shot out and grabbed his balls through his cheap jeans. And while the rapist had probably been planning on his night ending up here, Zula wasn’t going to be anywhere near as gentle as he’d hoped. She squeezed them hard enough for the man to hiss through his teeth, and the sound was like music to her ears.

“Seems like you’ve been having a little too much fun recently” Zula offered, speaking with forced nonchalance. She called upon her magic, and channeled the power straight into her hand, which jumped from cool to warm to hot. She was even able to pinpoint the exact moment her target realized the heat was unnatural, by the way his eyes widened even further. “I’m not sure how long you’ve been at this, but I’ve been paid good money to make sure it stops. Though, to be honest, I’d do it for free. Just for the pleasure of castrating a scumbag like you.”

The temperature of her palm was approaching scalding now. It was enough to make the front of the rapist’s jeans start to blacken, enough to make him stifle a scream. He reached out and grabbed the front of her jacket, but Zula had been ready for that sort of escalation. She tightened her grip on his nuts and twisted, the small gesture heavy with promise. Just another few seconds, and she’d-

“Wh…what’s going on?”

Another unfamiliar voice. Zula glanced towards the source on reflex, and saw that the man’s victim was waking from her magic-induced haze. Unfortunately, that one small moment of distraction proved her undoing. While her attention was diverted, her mark swung. She didn’t realize what was happening until her head snapped back, her cheek exploding with pain. Zula released the man’s balls on reflex, stumbling back a few small steps before she caught herself. She straightened, her entire body tensing in preparation for a fight, but the follow-up never came. Her mark was already gone. She turned just in time to see him disappear through the door again, escaping into the club proper.

Zula rushed after him, smashing the door open and charging back out into the club proper. She charged straight into the crowd, using her elbows liberally, and knocking at least one person on their ass. Then it was out the interior doors, past the bouncer, through the antechamber, and into the rain beyond. Zula slowed only when she hit the street. She glanced around, squinting against the pouring rain, but found nothing. Either she’d been too slow, or her mark had taken another path and given her the slip. He was gone.

“Fuck!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, screaming the profanity into the night before she could think any better of it. Zula stood there for several long moments, chest heaving, until she regained enough control to forget her target, and focus on the matters at hand. She turned and headed back the way she had come, slipping into the antechamber and approaching the bouncer, who was watching her with measured concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine” Zula answered automatically. She could tell by the expression on the man’s face that he didn’t believe her, but that wasn’t her problem. “I just caught some fucker feeling up a chick in the service corridor. I think he drugged her. Could you…?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

While the man reached for the radio at his belt, Zula turned away. She forced herself to take a deep breath, all the adrenaline leaving her system in one big rush. That was one less thing to worry about, at least. She still had to figure out what she was going to tell Sam, though. Zula hated leaving jobs unfinished, and she doubted that this particular rapist would come back to this club any time soon. Hell, if he was any type of smart, he’d lay low for a good long while. Still, there was nothing she could do about it tonight. Her mind whirling, she stepped back out into the rain and headed for home.

~~~

Zula was in a foul mood as she climbed the steps outside her apartment. Not only had the rain drenched her again, but the walk home had also given her plenty of time to reflect on all the ways her life had gone to shit recently. She’d accelerated her condition by using magic, and her mark had still escaped. Her cheek throbbed and ached with every step, and Zula was confident that she’d have one hell of a bruise tomorrow. That was bound to make Froste ask questions, and her relationship with them still felt a little tense, even after their discussion earlier. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it felt like the universe and any higher powers out there were conspiring to fuck her over.

When she arrived at the front door, even the simple act of fishing her keys from her pockets seemed to test Zula’s patience. It was only when she stepped inside, and the sound of gentle snoring reached her ears, that she remembered that she had a guest she needed to avoid waking. Instead of dumping her shit on the cabinet the way she normally did, Zula reached for the wall. Using her sense of touch for guidance, she tiptoed along the darkened hallway, before stumbling into the empty bathroom. Only once she’d closed the door as gently as possible did she risk flicking on the light.

After emptying her pockets and stripping out of her wet clothes, Zula grabbed her towel, and dried herself off as best she could. She spent a moment examining her cheek in the mirror, and found her fears confirmed. It was already starting to turn red, and would only get worse overnight. She poked and prodded at the new bruise, wincing slightly with each little touch, until she confirmed that her cheekbone wasn’t broken. That was something, at least.

She glanced at her phone, and the display quickly confirmed that it was well past midnight. She still needed to figure out what she was going to say to Sam, and how she’d explain things to Froste, but maybe that was better saved for a time when alcohol and fatigue weren’t muddying her thoughts. Resolving to deal with both of those problems tomorrow, she chanced the small dash across the hallway in just a towel, and slipped into her room. Once the door was shut, she dumped her towel on the floor in an unceremonious heap, crawled into bed, and quickly succumbed to her growing exhaustion.

[Ashen]

Froste woke more exhausted than when they’d gone to bed. They groggily sat up on the couch, rubbing at their neck and waiting for the lingering nightmares to fade until they were only left with a vague sense of dread. Their legs ached as if they had actually been running from the dark memories that might have been fake, and they felt like they hadn’t gotten any rest during their sleep. Later, they considered, they would have to ask Zula for some kind of sleeping aid.

Zula. Froste perked up, looking around the apartment for any sign of her. It was morning now; the sun was filtering through the blinds to leave haphazard stripes of light across the room. Froste got up and went to the hallway to check in her room, but they stopped outside her door. If she was home, it would be rude to just barge in and potentially wake her. So, they pressed their ear to the door, aware of how creepy that looked, and listened. A minute later, when they heard her shift on her bed, they let out a breath. Zula was home. Safe.

They hadn’t realized how worried they had been until they walked away from her bedroom. It made sense, of course; without Zula, Froste had no idea how they would survive in this world, or how they would ever get their memories back. But there was something more, too. Pity? The sight of her arm drifted to their mind, disgusting and dying. Froste didn’t want any bad to fall on Zula, not when the poor woman was dealing with so much.

And they needed to help her. Once more, the sense of urgency, the need to fix the disease slowly killing her tore through Froste’s thoughts. They couldn’t force their memories back, so they needed to find another way to help her. They looked down at their hand, frowning. If they had revived their own dead cells, could they bring Zula’s back, too? Maybe what they’d done yesterday at the library had been a fluke, and if they tried to replicate it, they hurt her. No, they weren’t confident enough in their mysterious magic to try that again so soon.

Overthinking about their situation wasn’t helping their exhaustion, and the headache from last night revisited, reminding them of the uselessness of their thoughts. Froste sighed. If nothing else, they could make themselves useful. Zula would surely be awake soon, and she would probably appreciate some breakfast. A real breakfast, of food, not the cup of instant sludge she’d made for them both yesterday.

It was strange being in a kitchen again. Some of the appliances were exactly as Froste remembered them, but others were altered so subtly by the shift of technology that Froste felt stupid being confused by their displays. They rummaged through Zula’s fridge. There was the partially-eaten kebab from last night and… very little else. Froste cringed at the expiration date on a mostly-empty carton of eggs, found a few slices of bread in the cupboard, and decided to make do with what that.

This, at least, did not make them feel useless. Froste knew how to scramble an egg, though truthfully, it was difficult to mess up something like that. They added salt and pepper, basil and garlic, and in a separate pan, they let a pat of butter soak into their toast, evenly coating it in a delectable golden sheen. When they were sure everything was cooked and seasoned to perfection, Froste served everyone artfully onto two plates and set the table.

They stared at their work, biting their lip. They should have waited until Zula was awake, but she probably would have protested breakfast anyway. Froste would give her the opportunity to wake up on her own until they finished the coffee. The electric kettle wasn’t too hard to figure out, and they found two more mugs from where Zula had retrieved others yesterday. They made Zula’s as black as she drank it yesterday, though they added some milk to their own. With breakfast served, they walked back to her door.

Froste considered letting her sleep longer. She had been out late, after all, and they had no idea what sort of work she needed to recover from. But they didn’t want breakfast to get cold, and besides, the two of them had things to do today. Conversations to have, and next steps to plan. Only mildly self-conscious they were wrapped in her robe, Froste rapped their fingers against her door. “Zula?” they called in a voice she’d probably say was too chipper for this time of day. “Are you awake? Breakfast is ready.”

[Namingtoohard]

When Zula finally woke, pulled from the depths of unconsciousness by Froste’s incessant knocking, it took her a long moment to realize that the pounding wasn’t coming from inside her head. And that the dull, throbbing ache in her face had nothing to do with the hangovers she typically associated with long nights spent drinking at a club. Groaning softly, she rolled over and reached for her bedside table, where she’d left her phone. A quick glance at its illuminated face was enough to confirm what she already suspected. It was way too early for her to be awake just yet.

She briefly considered asking her guest to politely fuck off. Then she considered pulling the covers up over her head, closing her eyes, and waiting out their attempts to disturb her. But now that she was awake, the demands of her body started clamoring for her attention. She needed food, water, the chance to use the bathroom, and maybe some painkillers. And as Zula’s brain slowly kicked into gear, she reluctantly accepted that she didn’t need to fuck up her sleeping schedule any worse than she already had. Not when she had Froste to worry about now. Their relationship already felt a little tenuous, after the last incident, so maybe telling them to fuck off so she could avoid them for longer wasn’t the best idea. Not when her survival might literally depend on staying in their good graces.

With a great deal of reluctance, Zula forced herself to throw back the covers and climbed to her feet. “Just a second. I’m coming” she grumbled, hopefully loud enough to be heard through the closed door. Next, she cast her attention around her warzone of a bedroom, hunting for clean clothes. One clean pair of panties and an oversized hoodie later, she felt modest enough to consider opening the door. But first, she glanced in the direction of her vanity, and grimaced at what she saw there. As predicted, the bruise on her face had grown spectacularly overnight. There wouldn’t be any hiding the giant purple mark, no matter how hard she tried, and that was bound to raise questions. Just great.

Still, there was nothing for it. Sitting here and moping wouldn’t help with her empty stomach or full bladder. She had little choice but to get it over with.

Zula made her way to the door, reached for the handle, and promptly pulled it open. She greeted Froste with a small, tired smile that hopefully looked a little less awkward than it felt. “Morning” she offered, before stifling a yawn. Then, before Froste could ask any of the questions she wasn’t yet awake enough to answer, Zula barreled on ahead. “I need to pee real quick, but I’ll join you in a second.” With that, she slipped past them and into the bathroom opposite, before closing the door behind her again.

Once she’d finished her business, and splashed enough cold water on her face to drown an elephant, Zula finally left the bathroom behind. She made her way down the hall and into the living room, where she caught sight of the meal Froste had prepared, and promptly froze. Her attention flickered across the table settings, the steaming coffee mugs, and the fresh food in quick succession. “Did you…make this?” she asked, before immediately feeling stupid. She seriously doubted that Froste had figured out online delivery just yet, so there really wasn’t anywhere else it could’ve come from.

Still looking and feeling a little stunned, Zula walked over to the table, pulled out her seat, and dropped into it. Now that she was closer, the smell was strong enough to make her mouth water, and her stomach grumble. She didn’t normally eat breakfast, but refusing after Froste had made all this effort felt rude. Maybe some extra carbs would help make up for the lack of sleep, too. She fumbled with her cutlery for a moment, before lifting a forkful of eggs to her mouth. Maybe it was just her hunger talking, but they seemed both impossibly fluffy and perfectly salted. “Oh my god” she moaned softly, before realizing that she was being rude. Feeling a little sheepish, Zula turned her attention to Froste and gave them another awkward smile. “It tastes incredible. You… you didn’t have to do all this. Thank you.”

[Ashen]

Zula took forever to respond, but when she did, she sounded irritated and more than a little sleep-deprived. Maybe Froste shouldn’t have woken her after all. They took a step away from her door while they waited for her. She was awake now; there was no use worrying about that.

Froste was smiling when she opened the door, but it quickly fell from their lips when they saw her face. The jumbled mess of red, blotchy skin immediately drew their attention, and Froste swallowed their pleasant greeting, stunned into silence. She hurried off before they even could address it, leaving them watching after her with their mouth agape. Her curse was progressing so quickly. Froste thought they would have more time figuring out how to stop it, or slow it at least, but if things were already this dire… Panic surged through their veins again, and they racked their brain for a solution to this impossible situation. Their only friend’s face was rotting, and all they could do was watch, helplessly, as their memories continued to evade them.

They returned to the kitchen while Zula used the bathroom, and when she joined them, they tried not to stare. They failed. Another look at her face told them they’d been wrong: this marking looked nothing like her arm, actually, and was just an ordinary bruise. They were relieved at that, but that feeling too died when they considered the implications of that. Zula had been hit? In the face? Who would…? Froste tried to remember what she’d said about her work, but she’d been so vague that they only had their assumptions to go off of. Did she feel she had to endanger herself for money? Froste shifted, feeling guilty. They really needed to figure out a way to not be such a burden on her.

Before they could ask, Zula was marveling at their breakfast spread. “I thought, while we’re dabbling in magic, I’d teach myself some conjuring spells,” they replied dryly, their joke lost somewhere beneath the concern they felt for her. Froste sat across from Zula, and at her uncharacteristic praise, their cheeks warmed, and a small smile parted their lips. “Imagine how much better it’d taste if the eggs weren’t expired,” they teased. They tasted a bite of their own breakfast. Zula’s comments weren’t entirely unfounded, and they let out a sigh of relief, taking comfort in knowing they could at least do this.

“Zula.” The sight of her bruise, and their imagination supplying all the possibilities of how it’d been made, made their appetite waver. Froste set their fork down and waited until they had her attention. “Are we going to talk about the elephant on your face?” Their gaze flicked to it again, and their expression softened. “What happened?” they asked gently. “I was right to worry about you. Are you in trouble? Are you okay?” They felt oddly maternal, and they hated that. Froste idly wondered if they’d had kids of their own—were their little ones missing them now? Where were they?—but they shook their head. Their memories could wait until they better understood what Zula was facing, and how they could help.