When she woke, the Matriarch—Ana—was no longer beside her. But she can still smell her lingering. The note of citrus attracting her like a fresh summer drink. She sighs at that image in her mind. A cold beverage is the last thing she wanted during this kind of weather.

Rather, what she craves are the warmth that soothes her and brush her hair so kindly, it reminds her of a faraway abandoned home. Which is why she's moving onto the opposite direction of said distraction.

She can no longer deny the attraction, the unthinkable relationship she could possibly have with Ana. But she'll try not to spend that much time with her, despite the reality that her mind has already failed her.

To be sure, she'll pretend to be her guardian still, hoping that's how Ana understood her explanation instead of the obvious truth that Quinn, a murderer, would likely be tasked to killing somebody rather than protecting her.

She was in fact confident Ana would easily reach that conclusion on her own, the woman isn't naive. Unless, of course, much like Quinn; Ana chose to believe in a lie of her making.

And if that's indeed the case, then Quinn doesn't know how to feel. On the one hand, she's incredibly happy that the woman does such a thing, because it means she shares her passion; and are therefore more than possible to return her sentiment. On the other, it means she shares her passion; and are therefore more than likely to return her sentiment.

Which means, Quinn wouldn't be rebuffed. The opposite would happen in fact, and it was extremely troubling to find her longing for it to start.

So, here she was, with only a campfire to accompany her. They've returned to the fort for less than a fortnight now, and despite Quinn's contribution to their war effort, no soldiery nor portion of the clergy wants to partake a glass with her.

That's fine, she thought. Unfortunately, the weather seeks to prove her wrong. Even at the start of winter, in the coldest part of the continent: the chill still bites far more frigid than expected, too harsh was them for the combination of her cookfire, alcohol, stew, and heavy fur coat.

She's sure she would get sick if she stays out here much longer, but she doesn't have much desire to return to her chamber either. There, she would have the magical warm air of the temple flowing, smelling like Ana, making her face flush red with yearning.

Not to mention, if she does get sick: she's certain Ana would take care of her personally. Or at least, she hopes that would be the case. That would be a valid reason to have her touch her, nonetheless. And Quinn knows how far she's willing to go to have that woman touches her.

So far in fact, that she's now seeing the object of her desire standing right in front of her, draped in her habit still with eyes frosty yet not unkind. Her expression isn't severe exactly, but they certainly don't take too well on the reality that Quinn stays out in the chill, the crossed arm is proved enough.

"Well, at least my imagination knew her well," she comments as she chuckles, and before she could continue.

"Why are you out this late, in this bitter of a cold, Ms. Quinn?" her fantasy spoke, the tone reprimanding and stern, like a parent to a child.

Surprise forces Quinn to straighten her back, but only for a moment. "Matriarch!" She quickly adapts, using the momentum to stand up. "Apologies," Quinn relents as Ana's brows furrow. "I mean: Ana!" Correcting herself. "Would you be so kind as to join me?" While plastering a dashing smile in hope of cajoling her to be her company.

Quinn fails miserably. "Why are you out this late, Ms. Quinn?" Ana was unmoving, her question repeated with insistence and a hint that she wouldn't yield until Quinn gave her an exact reason.

And Quinn couldn't, she's not quite sure why she's either. Probably hoping the weather would help freeze her lust, but no dice on that end so far, and she couldn't possibly say that to her target of her adoration as well.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Which is why she didn't lie, but beg. "Please?" Also repeating herself, dripping her word in complex emotions that hides deep within her, swirling in the troubled water of her soul.

Ana sees it, and relents. She took a seat near Quinn, close but far enough to have falsifiability should push comes to shove. "Thank you," she says—tinged with sadness—as she follows her back down.

Something that they both notices, and Quinn quickly tries to erase by clapping her hands. "Now!" Injecting fake cheers to her voice. "Would you like some wine? Some stew, perhaps?" Offering Ana the bottle, she stole from the general personal collection, and the stew she made from the ingredient she asked for in the kitchen.

Ana look at each carefully but regards Quinn the longest. Their eyes meet and locked together, as if in a battle—no—dance to a music that neither side did not know came from where.

Then, the moment pass. "I will take the wine." And Ana speaks again, gracefully accepting the glass Quinn holds out to her. "But not the stew, I've already eaten inside."

"Of course, of course!"

"Is that why you're out here by yourself?"

"Hm?"

"Because my colleagues refuse to serve you food in the mess?"

An amused laugh escapes Quinn before she can answer. "No, Ana." Shaking her head. "I'm out here because I'm a charlatan! A murderer! A deceiver of mortal souls!" Before frankly explaining the reason, with little exaggeration to the truth while her hand moves theatrically and dramatically. "So, they refuse to sit with me, supper with me." There's bitterness to her tone at the end.

"I see."

"Even after I killed a man for them," she whispers. Finally concluding: "That's all, Ana. No big trouble! See?"

"I see," she repeats before silence falls onto them, both quietly sipping on their drinks, deep in thought. It wasn't an awkward sort of silence, but a comfortable one, where the two sees no reason to talk to fill the room between them because they want no space between them.

It was a long, long time of stargazing before the moment pass, but it does. And when the moment passes, it was because Ana broke the hush with a question that warmth Quinn's heart.

"I changed my mind," she says.

"Oh? That's good!" Quinn replies. "About what, though?"

"The stew, do you mind serving me a portion of it?"

"Oh, my! Not only do I not mind, Ana. I have the exact opposite feeling. But! There's meat in the stew, is that your thing?"

"It is."

"Good!" Granted confirmation of the most important fact, Quinn begins ladling the stew into a clean and empty bowl as she continues to ask about Ana dietary restrictions. When she has verified that the woman has none, she gave her the stew, then. "There you go! Still warm and simmering."

"Thank you."

"But, of course, Ana!" Quinn mock bow, a hint of sincerity in her smile as she fills another bowl for herself, finding herself elated to finally have someone to supper with since she's here.

She's not the best cook out there, to be sure. However, her skill is passable enough to be able to nevertheless made a tasty serving of something in high altitude, and that aided her a lot in this case.

The stew wasn't too thick, but it definitely has a texture to it. The vegetables she puts in helped balance the dry meat she manages to persuade the person in the kitchen to give to her. A simple food to survive by in the road, and one of her favorites.

Which is why she's glad when Ana actually began to ask for the recipe, or comment on the little things that Quinn also liked about the dish, and the stuff she never notices but is certainly there the moment Ana brings it up.

Maybe it was the fire, perhaps she's been out here for too long that she catches a cold, potentially it was the alcohol, the stew; or a combination between all those factors.

But when their conversation died out with the campfire and the stew, when the bottle she has stolen out has been emptied by both, when Ana finally manage to persuade Quinn to return to the temple: Quinn's cheeks are flushed a beautiful apple red, accompanying an honest smile.

"Thank you," she whispers as they reach the door of her room.

"You're welcome, Ms. Quinn."

"Do you mind if we do that again some other time? Soon, perhaps?"

"I don't, you may join me in my office for supper whensoever you want."

"Wait!" Quinn tries to stop her smirk widening to no avail. "Really?"

Ana waited until Quinn's grin beam in full before replying in an affirmative, a nod of the head. Conservative. Though, Quinn suspects it was because she holds the same feeling as her.

This unraveling of happiness at her heart is certainly half-fueled by alcohol. But the other half is no doubt by the woman in front of her.

So, blood full of liquid courage Quinn takes a step forward and give to her a most direct proposal: "Then! If that's the case...," she pauses, looking for the correct words, gentle words.

Ana patiently waits for her to continue with clear interest in her deep blue orbs, a porcelain against her thin face.

Until finally, the beautiful thing widens at Quinn's statement. "... do you mind if we start wintering together, Ana?" The language used is a euphemism.

And even if Ana doesn't get the euphemism, she will understand what Quinn means by her body, the way her hot breath brushes against her cheeks, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

Which is why it was a surprise when Ana nods. "My room, a week from now." And gave her promise of a tension soon to be broken.