Despite its low pedigree as far as life ships were concerned, HEG-2522 was still afforded some unnecessary amenities to ensure passenger enjoyment during the long trek across the aether. These included a water dispenser, a library of Venusian board games, and most esteemed of all, the observation deck. A quarter kilometer strip of semi-transparent chitin, gracefully curving at a 45-degree angle, it allowed passengers to take in all the wonders of the solar system as the ship journeyed to its final destination. Even when HEG-2522 crashed on that fateful day all those millions of years ago, the chitin had remained intact, something the Batavians considered nothing less than a divine miracle on Kib’s part.
Now, of course, that same vast panel lay buried beneath half a mile of sand, revitalized from time to time via stem cell transplants from more functional sections of the Monastery. What would normally have been a grand indoor promenade was transformed into an endless dark corridor. Only a small number of bioluminescent lanterns, a cheap substitute for what had come before, made navigation possible.
Vera strode ahead Azul to the wall of the formerly glorious deck, where a pair of immaculate wooden beds rested under a cozy green glow. The darkness was so great that from the entranceway they looked as if they were floating in endless space. But unlike the other hallways in the Monastery, Vera couldn’t hear a single bat chittering far above, which somehow made the whole thing a thousand times more terrifying than the halls outside. Azul couldn’t help but notice her friend was hunched over, arms wrapped around themself. They walked as though the floor was made of needles.
“A-aren’t you cold?” Vera shivered. Were it brighter, they would have expected to see icicles dangling from the ceiling, waiting to come loose and strike.
“I cannot say I am. I’ve worked in both the scriptoriums and the archives, and both are far more frigid.” Her slight, trembling, body, however, suggested otherwise.
Vera couldn’t believe someone lived their entire life like that, in the middle of a desert yet trapped in a frozen prison devoid of light. The thought made them shiver all the more. Their pace hastened.
They practically dove under the covers as they reached the bed, burrowing like the cold itself was a lurking predator, poised to strike their vulnerable flesh. Fortunately, the panotti wool blankets held in heat quite well, and before long they’d found themselves in that perfect temperature which was not so hot as to be scalding, but warm enough to calm their frayed nerves and gently lull them to slumber.
Yet slumber did not come. Cautiously, Vera peeked their head out from under the covers to see Azul slipping off into the darkness.
“Hey!” They cried, their voice echoing a thousandfold in the vast cavern. Azul turned around, yellow eyes glowing.
“My feet are cold. Would you mind warming them up?”
Azul froze. “I-I do not feel it would be best for me to be in close contact with-!”
“No, it’ll be easy! Just lay down at the foot of the bed, and it’ll warm the covers up!”
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Azul paused.
“For my sake? Pleeeeaaaaase?” Whimpered Vera, opening her crimson eyes wide.
Azul sighed and lay down at end of the bed, right over her guest’s feet. Much as the young nun-in-training hated to admit it, the soft warmth of her companion’s body, travelling up through the sheets and into her, delivered a soft comfort that allowed her to sleep easily. It felt… nice, in a way her exhausted body hadn’t felt in a long time. A way she wasn’t sure she deserved.
But for once, the philosophical conundrums could wait another night. Azul let out a great yawn, and consigned herself to slumber.
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Malagasy was tired. Malagasy was weary. Malagasy was tired and weary and exhausted and just wanted the bats over his head to shut up and stop squeaking, the cold air to stop creeping down his neck, and to join his kid snuggled in bed.
But at the moment, he could not.
Instead, he locked eyes with his former lover, just six feet away, right outside the door to the observation deck. He knew what was going to happen, what always happened every time he made his rounds at the Monastery, but certainty bought little comfort. If anything, it only made things worse. Thankfully, the children (and more importantly, the other nuns) weren’t around to see. But that wasn’t an excuse not to remain cautious. Echoes travelled far in the Monastery, and a wayward slip of the tongue could spell trouble. Fortunately, he and Creosote had developed an elegant solution during their travels long ago.
Moving her fingers, Creosote signed
Malagasy, I’m worried about you.
To which the tall Venusian asserted
Creo, if this is about me being a man, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m not sick. This is who I am.
But his former love simply shook her head.
But how can you be so certain? You’ve always been proud, Malagasy. Too proud to back down from a challenge, too proud to lay down when you’re ill. It’s okay to admit you’re wrong about something for once.
At one point those words would have been a dagger plunged straight through his chest and out the other side. By then, though, the scar had healed into an indestructible carapace.
And how can YOU be so certain? Don’t you get it?! You’ve made an assumption, but you’ve taken that assumption to be true and base all your evidence on the grounds that it is! So how can I possibly argue against you when you’ve already decided the truth? I so much as make a good argument, I’m clearly under the influence of my ‘illness’! You act like you’re smart, but you’re just as deluded as those other nuns, just as deluded as that stupid Madame Saguaro-!
Please! Protested Creosote, Insult me if you must, but do NOT insult the divine-!
And there you go, acting like she’s only trying her best, that she has this island’s best interests! That FREAK is poisoning this place with her piety. Poisoning the nuns, poisoning the kids, poisoning YOU!
And then he stood there, head bent down, breathing steady, fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t accuse his beloved of seeing him as a self-hating woman, nor the monastery of only interacting with him because, as someone who realized they were a man later in life, he was thus as dam*ed as they were. That would have been a touch too far. But he knew.
Please, Creo. He begged, You have to LEAVE! Join Vera and me. Let’s be a family. Travel together. Like old times.
And Creosote, beautiful, horrible Creosote, shook her head.
Am I being poisoned? Perhaps. But there are things I believe I can teach this place. And in being here, I can ensure the children are getting ‘poisoned’, as you say, a little less. Certainly better than just fleeing the problem in a little raft-!
See?! You’re just like Vera! Always got to fix everything and be the hero! Think you know best when you really being reckless! It’s like I’m talking to-!
Thundering footsteps interrupted his signing as bats fluttered away. Madame Saguaro was walking the halls.