Chapter Two:
This cold again.
This cold has been a frequent companion since I arrived at the Military Academy in Alesia. Even on the day I first arrived it came, and it comes again no matter how warm it is in the dorm or how many blankets I pile atop myself. This cold does not respect things like natural laws, and certainly does not respect my wishes and desires. It respects only two things. The first is my homesickness, my desire to lay on the beaches of Kerska again. To be with friends and family again, to sing and play in the groves of Velvet and to dote upon Barcaggio's substantial cat population again.
These things bring the cold, and these things are always with me a little bit. But lying in the dorm, being utterly alone despite being surrounded by young women like me? These moments are when the cold was most harsh... It is worse tonight, and even after over a year at the academy I still haven’t found a way to overcome it completely. My nineteenth birthday has come and gone, and it brought with it the revelation that the commissary is apparently developing a taste for Kerskan delicacies. They very clearly ate everything my parents had sent from home this time, which left me with nothing but the dispatches. Thus I spent my birthday reading all about just how well my brother was doing. Everywhere I went people looked at me and saw my brother, even my very own parents it seemed. And that knowledge brings the cold harder than ever before, enough to chill my bones and make me shiver.
And in times like these, I can only cling to the other thing this cold respects. Her Majesty.
Her Majesty's portrait at the end of the dorm room is forever lit up at night with candles, and is the only thing in the room one can see when the day is done. And as long as it is here I am not truly and utterly alone. She is here, at least in some fashion, and she is always watching over me. It's reassuring, it's beautiful, she is beautiful, and while a simple painting may seem like nothing but a drop of water in the face of over a year of this isolation, I am in these moments a very thirsty girl. I can'thelp but adore my queen for being here in these cold moments, I can't help but feel some warmth, I can't help but love her... Which makes the other things I feel okay... Right?
Her Majesty really is beautiful as a painting... But my Velvet mind simply won’t let her stay a painting. Not after she chases the cold away from me, not after she is always there. I want to thank her, to venerate her, to sing her praises, to worship at the altar of Her Majesty! ... And I want her to want those things from me. I want her to want me to touch her. I want her to look at me and see Serena, not another Pollineux…
One of my hands drifts down my form, and while I try to fight it I simply cannot. I do not have the strength to resist the pull of Her Majesty... My hand finds itself between my legs and in turn finds itself utterly soaked. When did I become so... This? At this point shame simply will not stop my hands, but I am left wondering why a woman has inspired such enthusiasm from me where no man ever has. It is a hopeless dream, a pathetic dream, that the Queen would ever reciprocate my affections, that she would ever want from me what I want to do to her.
But it is a warm dream, and that was something I simply cannot fight.
As my hand graces my wetness my mind wanders away from the world around me, being consumed by a radiant vision of Her Majesty. She sits naked upon the throne of the High King of Avernia, with a smile on her lips and her eyes solely on me. And when she gestures for me to approach her, I do so. When she gestures for me to kneel, I do so. When she gestures for me to kiss her feet, I do so eagerly.
In the fantasy she gestures for me to kiss further up her legs, and I ravenously comply, more a beast than a girl and certainly more so than a future general. In reality, my fingers rub gently over my wetness, building a rhythm, provoking a little prayer.
"I love you."
In the fantasy she spreads her legs and takes my hair in her hands, gracefully guiding my head to her wetness, her command clear and my obedience absolute. In reality, I slip a hand back into the sleeve of my nightshirt to touch my wanting chest.
"I love you."
In the fantasy her legs are now wrapped around my head, tightly holding me in place, the queen sounding almost as unkempt and shameless as myself. In reality, the pace of my hands has quickened, and my hips now subtly rock with the motion.
"I love you."
In the fantasy my queen releases my head and pulls me up to kiss her deeply, the feeling of her tongue against mine enough to rock my entire body with delight. In reality... I am close to something.
"I love you!"
"Could you keep it down? You're being very distracting!"
A voice... One which cuts through both reality and fantasy, and stops my hands at a very awkward moment. A quietly whispered voice, and one with some venom behind it... It takes me a moment to realize it must have come from the comrade witch on the bunk above me, and all that shame I thought I'd overcome comes back with a vengeance. What would she think if she knew I am thinking about a woman? What would she think if she knew I am thinking about HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN?! ... She can't read my mind, I'm okay, I just have to be quieter…
"S... Sorry."
"Just because you have some sweetheart somewhere doesn't mean you get to be louder than the rest of us, y'know. Spare a thought for us hopeless, lonely sorts!"
That venom again... Wait, sweetheart?
"I... I don't have a sweetheart-"
"Oh yeah? Then what was all that 'I love you' stuff all about? I bet it's some man back home, built like a prince out of an especially boring painting." ... She was listening that closely?
"It's... It's not like that!"
"Yeah right, a pretty thing like you would have someone... Some of us have pathetic fantasies that they'd really like to be left alone with-"
"My fantasies are pathetic too!"
... I’m not quite sure what provokes these words from my lips. Perhaps the idea of being with some man is simply too repulsive to allow the bizarrely angry woman above me to continue to hold in her head. Perhaps I don't like being singled out as doing something wrong, or thought to be better off than I am... Maybe I just have to tell someone, anyone, to absolve my stupid shame…
"Oh yeah? Then who were you thinking about then, huh?!"
A smart girl would shut up right now and go right to sleep at such a challenge... My bunkmate is not speaking to a smart girl.
"... Her Majesty, the Queen... Her portrait is always there and-"
"You too?"
... 'You too'? As in, 'you as well'? While I take a second to ponder this, I hear the sounds of someone climbing down the bunk’s ladder, and for a second I wonder if I'm about to be murdered for my dual blasphemy against Wool and Steel... Instead, I feel someone enter the covers of my bed, which for a second panics me even more than being murdered... I was left at a very awkward place by this interruption after all. The bed isn't very wide, so to slip in my bunkmate-turned-bedmate has to come in a little close. Close enough that I can have no secrets from her.
"... You're also thinking about Her Grace? ... I thought I was the only one." Her tone sounds suddenly incredibly earnest, a far cry from her venom and her accusations, almost as if she is pleading with me to be real.
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And I am in this moment distressingly real. "I... Yes... I just, I miss my old friends, I miss my home… I miss a lot of things, and I don't have much here in Alesia. But she's always there."
"She's always real."
"She's always watching."
"She's always smiling."
... This girl knows what this infatuation was like so intimately that she even knows the script. It’s honestly quite scary to have someone know what I am going through… But also comforting that I am not the only one going through it. I feel a little less alone with this stranger in my bed rather than atop it. And a little warmer…
And to demonstrate just how alike we are, she keeps the conversation going without shame. "And, well... When she's so beautiful, and so present... It's hard not to fall in love, right?"
I hurriedly nod, she gets it exactly! "Yeah... And, when you fall in love-"
"It's hard not to act on it."
"It's certainly hard not to see the painting differently." I am smiling, it feels like a blasphemy. "She is wearing such a beautiful dress."
"But just imagine how divine she would be without it.” The reverence in my impromptu bedmate's voice has given way to just a little hint of mischief. “She has such a beautiful smile."
"But just imagine how pleasurable it would be to see her squeal?"
The stranger seems quite pleased by our little call-and-response game, I can practically feel her smile. "... I really didn't think I'd meet another girl here who was bent like I was... It didn't seem like an especially hoity-toity thing to be."
"Bent?"
"Into women."
I look away from where I assume her face was, suddenly more than a little off-guard by learning the words that might describe what I am going through. "Ah... Well, I can't claim to be particularly 'hoity-toity' but... I must confess, I have never found men in any way to be stimulating. They're like partially shaved bears but smaller and less interesting... But women-"
"Are soft."
"Are kind."
"Are just radiantly beautiful."
"And... Well..."
"They're warm on a cold night?"
I nod and turn my body over to face the very agreeable intruder in my bed, unable to help myself but share the shameful smile that my lips insist upon. "... I'm Serena, by the way. I uhhh, I don't like to make a big deal out of my family name."
"Wow, you really aren't hoity-toity... Serena's a pretty enough name on its own." She says it with such casualness that I have to wonder if she is intentionally attempting to provoke a blush from me, or if I am just truly and utterly bent for reading something flirtatious into a perfectly normal thing to say. "My name is Lazierte. No family name, not even Arbor... No family to be missing either, no friends... No home."
My head starts to concoct some condolence right out of a military dispatch, but stops when I realize something. "And then the Queen mustered all the witches into service."
It’s her turn to nod, sounding almost as apologetic as she is reverent. "It was the first time I was ever wanted, y'know? ... I uhhh, I shouldn't be bringing you down like this, I'm sorry, Serena-"
"Do you mind if I consider you a friend, then? It might be rather sudden, but I have no friends here in at the Academy and-"
This seems to provoke an almost violent pause from the girl in my bed, Lazierte... But a pause that is eventually answered. "... You ummm... You can continue, if you'd like. With the queen and everything, you can be as loud as you want. I won't interfere anymore."
"Th... Thanks."
I’m not sure if that is a yes or a no on being friends, but there are certain aches that I appreciate having her permission to address, as soon as she leaves my bed.
…
"W... Well? Aren't you... Y'know." Lazierte’s voice is almost as impatient as it is awkward.
And its source is still laying in my bed. Is this normal? Friend stuff? I can't say I’ve ever shared a bed with a friend before, let alone done something like this. Is this part of being a grown-up, one of those things about mainland Avernia I simply don’t know?
"Is... Is it okay? I mean, while you're still here?"
"I'm okay with it, so it must be okay! ... I've never really had a friend before, but I do know they're supposed to share things."
Somewhere in my head I reckon there has to be something wrong with Lazierte's statement, some way in which it does not apply to this circumstance or to our seconds-old friendship... But I can't think of it, and maybe it doesn’t matter if this isn’t what friends normally do together. This is warm enough, and Lazierte seemed nice, and maybe this can be a new normal just for us. She’s okay with it, after all. So I start again, though thinking about things seems to make my fantasies a little less forthcoming, and a little less obedient. It’s rather hard to indulge in a fantasy when the reality of my situation is just so… Present. I almost consider giving up when I feel something odd. Lazierte has taken my hand in hers.
She is also... Indulging some fantasies, it seems, and at some point during she must have reached for me. And somehow, with her touch, my frustration melts away. It feels more real, less fantastical… Normal. I squeeze her hand, she squeezes back, and after a final moment of tension I reach the thing I had been close to, I was unwound.
"I love you."
I pray to all the gods that Lazierte didn't hear those words escaping my lips, it would make things incredibly awkward for our now minutes-old friendship if she did... She squeezes my hand harder, almost hard enough to hurt, breathing rather heavily as she herself finishes. She doesn't say anything, nothing I can hear at any rate... I wonder if I might learn a lesson in restraint from the woman who slipped into my bed and started touching herself while holding my hand.
Even in the dark, unable to see her face, I can somehow see her joy, and I find it almost radiant... I think I am still smiling with her. Maybe this is what friends do... It feels a little tender, sharing the wetness, sharing this moment. A little vulnerable, a little open. But it isn't cold. And I trust her with this vulnerability…
"Hey, Lazierte?
"Yeah Serena?"
"... Do you want to do this again sometime-"
"I'd love to!" Her voice holds a certain irrepressible enthusiasm, as if a dam wall had just broken and could never be repaired.
"Keep it down, you damn sapphics..." A voice from another bunk chimes in, one which seems to belong to a very tired comrade witch.
Lazierte tries to be a lot quieter, but her excitement still carries. "... I'd love to, Serena..."
I slowly fall asleep with her hand in mine, wondering if she will still be there when I wake. I hope so. I'd like to be holding my new friend's hand when tomorrow comes.