36. Burning Heat

When I finally come home from shopping in the late afternoon, I find Castalia sitting on the couch with a tub of ice cream clutched between her knees. She’s munching on it while staring at an old Saturday morning cartoon, her eyes locked on the screen. I can feel the difference in the room’s energy, her overwhelming aura just a bit less intense than usual.

I understand immediately. She’s doing emotional management after her hospital trip.

She looks up as I walk in, floating up and immediately looking like she’s about to help. I glare at her and shake my head, stubbornly holding onto the several bags in my arms as I shuffle over to the kitchen and put them down myself.

“It was bad, wasn’t it?” I ask once my hands are free.

“It was not good,” Castalia confirms. “Children were hurt.”

Hmm.

“Isn’t that pretty common for Earth Guardians?” I sign.

“Yes,” Castalia confirms immediately. “But it shouldn’t be.”

I nod, more than a little worried about the pool of rage I feel inside her shell of joy.

“Very true,” I agree. Stupid fucking Nanaya. Getting Castalia mad at us is like the worst possible outcome to a mission. You’re supposed to be the smart one! Why did you do it!? “I was thinking of making dinner tonight. Would you like any?”

Castalia blinks.

“You cook?” she asks.

“Nah,” I answer. “I bought all these ingredients to eat raw.”

“Oh,” Castalia says. “Is it a texture thing?”

Pfft. I have my body shake with another silent chuckle.

“I’m kidding!” I sign quickly. “I’m making pasta. Let me know when you’re hungry!”

Castalia blinks, then looks down at the half-eaten tub of ice cream.

“…I am not currently hungry,” she admits. “But I should eat in the next hour or two. I will be going to bed early tonight.”

Earlier than nine? Geez. Well, that makes it easier to pick a recipe.

“Okay,” I sign. “Food will be ready in an hour and a half.”

Should be plenty of time for the sauce to simmer properly. I get to work, sorting out ingredients and kitchen utensils I ended up buying since Castalia didn’t have most of the ones I needed. Most notable is the large pot I bought; I figure it’s best for college students to make a ton of food at once and keep leftovers ready to microwave in the fridge. Microwave meals (and, apparently, ice cream) seem to be the majority of Castalia’s at-home diet, and while I have no idea if incarnate forms need proper nutritional balance I bet having a broader food variety is good for northward emotional management. Which is to say, I think it’ll make her happy. And that will make me happy.

“Are you attracted to me?” Castalia asks.

I immediately freeze in place. Oh. Okay. Alright. We’re doing this now. Hoo boy haha wowee. It’s day two of living together, but I guess Miss World Savior doesn’t beat around the bush. Ah, well. Neither do I.

“Yes,” I sign simply.

“Oh,” Castalia says. “Why?”

“…Because I am a lesbian?” I sign back, feeling increasingly awkward. That’s not all of it, of course, but it feels like the most pertinent information.

“Well yes, I know,” Castalia says. “Hmm. I probably should have started this conversation by informing you that I am an empath. I feel emotional states near me. I do my best not to pay attention to it but I cannot really turn it off. I should have told you sooner but I did not know how.”

“And this is what you settled on?” I sign, exasperated.

“I understand if it is a problem,” Castalia continues. “I know privacy is important. We do not need to room together if you don’t want to.”

I wish I could just tell her I already knew this would be the case, but I can’t. Oh, well.

“It’s not a problem to me as long as me being gay isn’t a problem to you,” I sign back.

Castalia tilts her head and stares at me.

“Why would it be?” she asks.

Uh. Huh. If Castalia doesn’t already know about homophobia I don’t think I’m up to being the one to break it to her right now.

“Most girls already get enough leering and staring from men,” I sign back. “Why would they want it at home, too? Especially if they don’t reciprocate.”

“But you do not leer or stare,” Castalia says.

“I do a little,” I insist, turning back to the kitchen so I can continue organizing things when I’m not signing. I try not to, of course, but… guh.

“Not as much as my old team,” Castalia tells me. “Thalia made no secret of how interested she was. She loved to touch things. And people.”

Huh. Thalia, again. I haven’t been hanging out with Castalia for long, but that girl seems to crop up in almost every conversation so far. That’s… weird, especially for a dead person.

“Were the two of you dating?” I ask.

“No,” Castalia answers. “Not officially. Back then, I was always too scared. But we loved each other deeply.”

I don’t want to ask. I shouldn’t ask. I have to ask. I have to know. I’m still hers. Even if she orders me to avoid her, I have to know.

“…What about your other teammate?” I ask. “Melpomene, you said?”

“Neither of us were dating her either,” Castalia says. “But sometimes I think the only reason no one tried was because we all wanted it to be the three of us. Together. Until our dying days.”

I have to suppress a shudder, doing my best to drown my revulsion in other emotions. How? How is Melpomene so loved? Why are so many people so enamored by her? Why doesn’t anyone else notice what she’s really like?

“…Are you alright?” Castalia asks, slightly scrunching her eyebrows together.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“But… you’re not,” Castalia points out. “Sorry, should I ignore that? I can, if you want.”

I sigh. Well, what lie am I going with, here?

“Right, the empathy,” I sign, acting like I had forgotten. “You don’t have to ignore it. I was just thinking of a bad breakup. Still a little traumatized by it, but it’s not a huge deal.”

“I see,” Castalia nods. “That makes sense. Thinking about relationships always makes me think about the two of them. I did not mean to ramble.”

“And I didn’t mean to make things so awkward you felt the need to address it,” I sign back. “It’s nothing too special. I just think you’re pretty.”

“You do, don’t you?” Castalia says, seeming to realize it for the first time. “Hmm.”

Oh. Not… quite the reaction I was intending. I do my best to put it out of my mind and get back to preparing dinner, chopping up vegetables at mostly human speeds and preparing the saucepot. Partway through my preparations, Castalia floats nearby, opening up the freezer to return what’s left of the ice cream.

“My apologies,” she says. “I am slightly out of sorts today. You still seem to be distressed about this topic, so please allow me to clarify. You are kind and thoughtful. I look forward to getting to know you and spending time with you. But I do not believe I am capable of participating in a committed relationship at this time. It seems… almost silly. I have been grieving for six entire years. But no matter how hard I try, I still cannot stop.”

I pause, turning to face her. This is so much oversharing. I basically just met this girl. If I didn’t have a crush on this dumbass I’d be quickly taking five steps back, but I do, and so I think about it. I think about me and her and what I want out of all of this. I guess the oversharing makes sense, if I think about it for more than a second. She’s deeply neurodivergent in some form or another, you couldn’t possibly convince me otherwise, and beyond that she’s been alone all this time. She might be an obscenely powerful yellow mage, but she can still be sad. And she is. I want to make her happy. But do I want to date her?

Castalia still has an old flame for the woman responsible for my enslavement. That’s certainly not an encouraging thing to hear, and it makes me even more afraid of what she might do if she finds out what I am. If she discovers the lies I’m telling her. Because that is the foundation of our entire relationship: lies. I’m not mute. I’m not Luna Clio Babbage. I’m not even human. And that’s only the beginning.

Even if I could tell her the truth, I’d still have Melpomene’s sword of Damocles hanging over my neck. I could still, at any moment, be turned against anyone I care about if they piss my master off. And Castalia? Oh, I can clearly tell Mel has volatile feelings for Castalia. All of this combined, the thought of trying to date someone I care about with this much between us just about makes me sick.

“I understand,” I sign. “I don’t think I can handle a girlfriend right now, either. I’d just see someone else’s face when I look at them, you know?”

Castalia, though it’s slight, relaxes visibly.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Exactly.”

I wonder if the face she’d see is Thalia, or if it’s the same one as me. Ultimately, I don’t think I want to know for sure.

Castalia heads to her room as I let time pass away, not needing much in the way of conscious thought in order to put together a basic sauce and leave it to simmer for a while. It’s tempting to just shut myself off completely, but even with her in another room I’m afraid Castalia would notice. Slowing my mind down will have to do.

The food is ready before I know it, the pasta having been cooked last to ensure it’s perfectly al dente up to Nanaya’s standards. Of course, that thought reminds me of how mad I am at her, but I can at least rely on her recipes to be good. Maybe I can treat the kids to some of her secret sauces when they get out of the hospital. That would be a funny little bit of revenge.

I briefly go knock on Castalia’s door to let her know the food’s ready before putting together a pair of plates and silverware since I will unfortunately have to obliterate some of this food to pretend I’m eating it. Such a waste, but I hope Castalia likes it. She floats back out of her room, her altitude increasing slightly as she takes it all in.

“…That is a lot of food,” she says.

“I don’t know how much you eat,” I answer. “And I bought tupperware for the leftovers. It reheats well.”

“Should I have helped…?” Castalia asks, curling her knees up to her chest and floating up over the counter to stare down into my huge pot of arrabbiata. The steam condenses a little on her face, but it doesn’t even make her blink. Wild.

“No. I like to cook,” I assure her. “You seemed down. Good food will help.”

“…Yes,” Castalia agrees. “It will. You are very kind.”

We collect the food and gather back together onto the couch, keeping a polite distance from each other as we begin the meal. I didn’t put much on my plate, and I’m careful to slide it precisely up into my mask just a couple noodles at a time to prevent any messes. It’s undoubtedly a weird way to eat, but I intend to just tell people I have issues with my throat and jaw that are linked to my muteness if they ask. It’s only mostly a lie!

Castalia, on the other hand, starts with quite a large bite. She chews it enthusiastically at first, but soon her eyes start to bulge and water while her nose starts to run. She quickly swallows, taking deep breaths through her mouth. I chuckle silently. How can I not?

“Did I make it too spicy?” I sign, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No,” she says, her eyes watering.

She quickly starts to eat more, twirling up the pasta on her fork and shoving an even bigger bite into her mouth the second time. When she finally swallows it, she lets out the quietest little squeak of pain. God.

“So boiling steam hitting you in the face is fine, but you can’t handle spice?” I taunt her.

“Those are different things,” she insists, bravely ignoring her own tears. “I am highly resistant to conventional forms of damage. But capsaicin does not inflict damage, it merely causes nerve endings to believe otherwise.”

“Are you telling me that bullets wouldn’t work on an Earth Guardian, but pepper spray would?” I ask.

“No,” she answers. “…Well, unless you aimed it into the nose or mouth.”

“I will be sure to note this weakness for my future evil plans,” I sign. “Plans mostly involving dinner.”

“Do you like spicy food?” Castalia asks.

“Honestly,” I answer, “I can barely taste it.”

Castalia nods, and valiantly continues eating. She does actually seem to be enjoying it, despite how much it’s clearly hurting her. I suppose she’s probably felt a lot worse.

“Thank you for dinner,” Castalia says when she finishes it. “It was painful. But also delicious.”

“Make sure you help me finish the leftovers,” I threaten.

“Of course,” she nods. “I will be heading to bed now.”

A quick query of the current time returns 7:09PM (and twenty-three seconds). That’s a very early bedtime, but… I guess I’m not complaining. I give her a nod and watch her head back to her room, waiting for that oppressive aura to vanish before I quietly leave the house. Even if she notices, it won’t be that weird to see someone head out at this time of night.

My destination, of course, will be. Thankfully, it’s easy enough to make sure no one is following me and no one is looking at me when I step past a nearby evacuation zone and walk into the liminal space. I wander through it in human form; getting seen here in my disguise would be terrible for my cover, but getting caught taking my disguise off would be worse in every way. It’s not difficult to locate the ‘ol castle portal, and so before I know it I’m drowning in black mist. Which is fine, of course, since I don’t need to breathe.

The mist still seeps into my systems, brushing up against my crystals as if seeking a way inside. I’m well-insulated even without my plating fully sealed, of course, but there still seems to be something almost… disinterested from the magic. It’s an odd sensation, and not one I’m sure I can entirely identify. It’s not like the swirling emotion is literally composed of disinterest. Weird. Probably concerning. Got other things to worry about right now.

I shove open the doors to the castle, sensing for the little bundle of barely-contained anger that is my friend Nanaya. Are we friends? God, I think we’re friends. That’s kind of weird, actually. For once, I feel her in her room, so I head on up and start slamming on her door.

“Nana!” I snap. “Get your boney butt out here!”

I hear a groan and some shuffling in her room, so I wait at least slightly patiently for her to open her door. She does so, squinting at me through disheveled strands of hair. She’s not wearing her usual cloak, just her chest wrappings and a pair of underwear.

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“For your sake, I hope this matter is urgent,” she threatens.

“Hi Nana, it’s nice to be back Nana, how was your day? Oh it was fun, huh? What did you do? Oh that’s right, you nearly murdered two children,” I hiss.

“This is not urgent,” Nanaya says. “I will teach you to fear my vengeance.”

“Like fucking hell it’s not urgent,” I snap. “I know you rigged my roommate application. How exactly do you think Castalia is responding to the news of what you did?”

“Depression, fear, and general increased weakness,” Nanaya responds immediately.

“Oh, yeah, and you think that ‘general increased weakness’ is going to be enough when she comes gunning for your ass over this instead of ignoring us, which she would be doing otherwise?” I demand. “Come on, you’re supposed to be the smart one! I know you understand the line you just crossed. They’re kids, Nana. You put them in the hospital! Even if you don’t care about that in a vacuum you should care about the target it puts on your back!”

Nanaya’s expression hardens.

“Pathetic,” she spits. “The hypocrisy sickens me. Countless children have died by the Preserver’s hands, and yet I am the villain because I fight back when they force the issue?”

“Yes!” I snap back at her, throwing my hands in the air. “Obviously! Jesus, Nanaya! What part of this is so difficult to understand!?”

“If they care so much about dead children, why don’t they do anything to stop it!?” she suddenly shouts, startling me enough to take a step back. “Why don’t they help anyone? Why don’t they let us help!? Why can everyone else in the fucking world murder and torment and rape as much as they damn well please but when I try to fight, I’m the monster!? That is what I do not understand!”

I take a step backwards. That… I’ve never seen her explode like that before. She might be an anger mage, but she’s always so… composed.

“…Nanaya, are you alright?” I ask her.

“Besides the fact that I’ve just been roused out of bed by someone who only wishes to scream and berate me?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Besides that.”

She glowers at me for a moment, and then sighs.

“No, I am not alright,” she admits.

“Oh,” I say, glancing past her towards a surprisingly disheveled room. “Can I come in?”