Reader x Victor

The crystalline troopers, those near faceless soldiers that guarded the threshold of The Archmother’s base, were melting where they stood. Their arms drooping, internal light guttering out. Some had already collapsed and shattered on the steps that led up to the heart of the base where she once stood.

You have your arm over Victor’s shoulder, or at least you try. He needs something to lean against and neither of you can trust that any of the walls will remain where they are much longer.He has his hand at his side where something vital is trying to escape and he keeps telling you that he’s fine. Which is obviously a lie but the words just keep coming out. You can’t tell if he’s saying it to you or himself at this point.

“Move,” The Doorman says, and his voice has a weight that you hadn’t heard even once before. He’s conjured that luggage cart again and while he had used it to sweep people off their feet and into the massive walker’s laser gaze before. This time it was knocking both you and Victor off your feet. “She’s gone. The anchor is gone, and everything is unraveling.”

He means The Archmother. He doesn’t know if she is truly dead or just gone from the realm. But whatever magic was there is now dying all around and the base you had so valiantly tried to defend seemed to remember that it never had truly existed in this realm anyway. It sounds like tearing fabric.The cart’s velvet is against your back and it feels like you’re going far faster than you should have been. He’s hopped onto it, gripping onto one of the bars near the top and throws his portal open, one that leads into a long stretch of hallway and its very clear that he’s burning favors that wouldn’t easily be repaid by either you or Victor.

The Baroness receives you all in her amber-lit quiet. The door collapses and suddenly, all the pained screams and keening from the others is gone. Whatever post-battle carnage The Drifter had in his mind was none of your business now. The streets would be deadly for another reason with the Amber Hand’s champions. Order had given in to chaos and it had looked like the city was going to pay for it.

The cart’s wheels halt on wooden flooring and The Doorman steps off to push the cart himself. Everything seems too solid and permanent after the dissolving chaos that the three of you had just left behind. “There should be an empty suite right about here.”

You have Victor’s weight at your side and he’s still reassuring himself, breath hitching in patterns that worry you. “Almost there,” you tell him even though you aren’t sure yourself. You’re not sure he even hears you.

The door opens to a room, much like any other in the hotel. Art deco headboard gleaming in the low glow of a bedside lamp that someone has thoughtfully left on. The sheets are crisp and white. What a shame but none of your problem. You help The Doorman lift Victor’s weight and roll him onto the bed.

“I will return when you need me.” The Doorman steps away to take his cart out and vanish. No explanation given.

Victor’s fingers find your wrist and grip with surprising strength, “Don’t,” he manages “Don’t go just yet.”

So you don’t. You sit at the edge of the bed and hold his hand while The Doorman’s footsteps fade down the hallway.

The Baroness settles like a sigh for she too had been witness to everything.

The ceiling of the Baroness's suite has water stains shaped like continents. Victor has been staring at them long enough to try and name them. His hands shake as he tries to trace the edge of one of the shapes from where he lays.

That's what dying does to you, apparently. Gives you a sudden, urgent interest in cartography.

The sheets beneath him are damp. He doesn't know if it's sweat or blood or both, and he's stopped caring about the distinction. What he knows is that the chandelier above is casting amber light across everything, and you're sitting at the edge of the mattress with a cloth in your hands, and he can feel the warmth of you before you even touch him. He is fairly certain he's left a stain on the upholstery that no amount of apology will fix.

"You don't have to-" he starts.

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