“Home…” I mutter the word under my breath, more to myself than to anyone else. This is the seventeenth time I’ve repeated this word—quite a specific number yes. But I thought it’d be fun to keep count, because I’m sure the world will hang freely in my head, if there’s a moment where my mind holds no thoughts, it’ll come back to that again, over and over. And what do you know? I’m right about myself again.

  ‘I sure do know myself well,’ I think, a dumb smile tugging at my lips. At least when it comes to what I’m empty of, what gnaws at me, what anguishes me—those, I know all too well.

  “Hey, these need drying. You need to work as well, silly.” As usual, her monotone voice pulls me back to the real world. I gnce down at the pte in my hand—it’s half-dried, the dishcloth zily hanging off the edge, with droplets of water still clinging to the walls of the pte. She pces two more ptes next to me, stacked and glistening with water. Right, I at least need to do this job well.

  “Try doing this with one hand. It’s awkward as hell,” I retort, waving the dishcloth halfheartedly. Despite her usual ft tone, she sounds… gentler this time. The fact she threw in the word ‘silly’ makes me makes me think that she’s in a pyful mood, or she has gotten comfortable with me. Eh, can’t dwell on it too much, these could just be strings of silly theories running wild in my head.

  I brush the thoughts away—for now—and focus on drying the pte. I press down lightly on the center, trying to keep it from sliding as I work. It’s… kind of effective? Although the pte rattling slightly against the marble surface makes a cttering sound that just grates on my nerves. Thankfully, the angel doesn’t seem to care about it nearly as much as I do, so that’s a relief. The other side of the pte is less troublesome. The curved edges provide just enough stability to keep it in pce, making the process a little smoother. Small victories, I guess.

  “Well, wanna switch?” she asks, setting down another pte just as I finish drying the one in my hand. Her deadpan tone makes it really hard to tell if she’s teasing or genuinely offering a challenge.

  I hesitate, trying to gauge her intent, but she quickly follows up. “It was a joke. It’d be more troublesome if we actually switched, yes,” she adds, probably noticing my confusion.

  “Ahaha…” I let out an awkward ugh, scratching my cheek with the dishcloth still in hand. The soft bristles brush against my skin, hiding my blush. I honestly feel a little bad—she’s trying to lighten the mood, and her joke completely flew over my empty head.

  A couple of minutes pass in silence, the only sounds being the running water and the occasional clinking of ptes. I finish drying my fourth pte, the atmosphere growing increasingly awkward.

  Just as I open my mouth to break it with a new topic, she beats me to it. “Don’t feel bad,” she says suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet. “I am aware of my doings. But with that, I can read people quite well.”

  Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I’m left staring, unsure how to respond. Seeing my reaction, she breaks into the faintest smile I’ve ever seen—so faint that if I wasn’t paying attention or hadn’t grown familiar with her subtle expressions, I would’ve missed it entirely.

  “See? You felt bad for not getting the joke,” she says, her tone softer but still steady. “Then you started thinking really hard to find a new topic.” Her words are… really accurate. Just how does she do this, reading me like a book?

  “I-I…” I stammer, scrambling for the right words. “Yes… that’s true,” I finally admit, my voice quiet and sheepish as warmth rushes to my cheeks, painting them red.

  “I see, so you still don’t know much about yourself…” she trails off cryptically, more to herself than to me.

  My ears perk up at her words. “What does that mean?” I ask, tilting my head to the side in curiosity.

  I was expecting one of her usual quick, ft answers, but to my surprise, she huffs softly and turns her back to me, focusing on finishing the st of her ptes. “Nothing,” she says, her tone a touch evasive. “It is merely an observation I’ve made.”

  “Wha—” I’m genuinely shocked. She can even do that? I stare at her with wide eyes. Determined to get an answer, I try again. “Tell me, please?” I ask, pulling out my best puppy dog eyes.

  It fails miserably. She doesn’t even gnce in my direction. “You still need to do a lot of drying,” she says, setting down her st pte with a faint clink. “There are three left for you, get to work. Then we’ll discuss our next pns.”

  I pout, muttering to myself as I continue drying the ptes. As she walks past, she pats my head softly, her touch as light as a breeze. My pout vanishes almost immediately, repced by a small, sheepish smile.

  I try to dull the cttering sound of the pte against the marble, letting my mind tune out as I dry. ‘Home…’ For the eighteenth time, my thoughts circle back to this word. ‘Can I… really call this my home soon?’

  It feels like a reasonable question—doesn’t it? Hopefully so. But even as the joy and contentment take root, a small thread of guilt weaves through me, whispering doubts. Is it wrong to trust her so fully? To let my guard down completely? I can’t help it, though. I want to believe in her, to dive headfirst into the warmth of her affection.

  ‘Will this be the right choice?’

  That thought sets my mind into overdrive. The past. It creeps back.

  “That’s right. You can depend on me, I’ll be here for you.”

  My chest tightens, the memory’s voice as vivid as if it were happening now.

  “N-No!” I cry out as I shut my eyes tight. I don’t want to see it, don’t want to relive it—but how do you escape something carved into your very being? The answer, as always, eludes me.

  Something in my hand shatters, the sound snapping me awake. “A-Ah…” I lift my hand up to find shards sticking and clinging to the dishcloth, along with the pte cracked into three rge pieces. I didn’t bleed, the cloth protected me, that’s how it always goes. Another being gets hurt, and I come out scotch free.

  “Oh, you broke it.” A voice I so desperately don’t want to hear—and yet need to hear at the same time, rings out from behind me. I nearly choke on my breath, hunching over like I’ve just been punched in the gut. Shame and guilt bubble up, tightening my chest. “Hey, it’s okay. Go to the room before and change like I’ve told you, alright? I’ll join you shortly after. Go.” No room for protests, as usual. Maybe someday she’d come to see that I am not worth the effort of whatever she’s trying to do.

  It’d be better if she were to kill me—

  “Hey.” She gres at me, there’s a murderous intent behind her eyes, though I know it’s not aimed at me—not really aimed at me, that is. “Go. No thinking.”

  I gulp down the thoughts to my stomach, and give her a small nod. If only there’s a switch to turn my brain off. I scurry away before my legs betray me, giving out completely.

  ***

  “This is lovely…” I mutter to no one in particur, feeling up my new clothes as I try to settle down. A simple white nightgown with long sleeves, it is silky smooth, airy and just… comfy. Oh I know it’s a simple nightgown, but being in poverty means my clothes I wear for school and work is also my pajamas. So I think I’ll be forever grateful for this moment.

  I make a small twirl before freezing when I see the angel standing on the doorway. Her eyes softens the moment she sees me, as if something has lifted off her worries. “You enjoying the new clothes?” she asks, her smile as faint as ever.

  “Y-Yes… I do…” I averty gaze away from her’s, blood rushing to my cheeks.

  “Good good,” she murmurs as she nods to herself. “Sit down on the bed for me will you?”

  I obey, keeping my head lowered, my gaze fixed on the floor. My steps shuffle awkwardly as I make my way to the bed. Moments ter, she follows, sitting down beside me.

  “Look at me,” she commands, her tone steady but gentle.

  Reluctantly, I lift my head to meet her gaze. Her arms are open, inviting me into her embrace. Her wing stretches out as well, enveloping the space between us with a quiet warmth. The gesture feels like a sanctuary, a pce where, for just a moment, nothing else exists.

  I practically dive into her embrace, my arm coiling around her back like a snake, holding on tightly, unwilling to let go. She responds by pulling me closer, her grip firm yet gentle, as her hand strokes my hair with a soothing rhythm, occasionally giving it a soft pat.

  “There, there… We’ll save the thinking for tomorrow, okay?”

  I try to respond, but my voice catches in my throat. Instead, I nod against her shoulder, letting her know I understand.

  “Okay,” she says after a moment, her tone light. “How long do you want this to st?”

  “…All day,” I mumble, my words muffled.

  “Sounds good enough for me,” she replies without hesitation. “Let’s stay like this until tomorrow, then.”

  And so, I spend another day snuggled up in her embrace, her warmth and presence anchoring me in a way nothing else ever has. Her arms, her wing, the gentle strokes of her hand on my hair—it’s all so comforting, so safe.

  I really want this to st forever.

  ***

  Zenovia