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LOVE AT FROST BITE

I. COLD HANDS, WARM HEART

From December through January, high winds gradually rise all across the Netherworld, large flakes of snow causing white-out condition. The wind howls and whistles, blades of icy gusts cutting through your clothes as frost clings to your hair and lashes. No matter where you are, you feel its glacial, bone-chilling force, and no matter what you do, you quickly find that nothing keeps you warm. You're freezing, shivering, teeth chattering. Fire and the proximity of others may offer brief reprieves, so bundle up and find a cuddling partner before you crystalize. If you don't have a Soulmate, now might be the time to search for one.

Unfortunately, when it rains, it pours. Some of you may experience sudden, intense headaches, followed by a sense of panic. Your chest tightens. Your head swims. Your lungs ice over, and you know then: someone's messing with your home in the Shadowlands.

► If you're already in your home, stay alert as light goes out: squint through the dark, and you'll soon be able to distinguish an enormous figure. Krampus.
► If you're anywhere in Stygia and are unable to teleport, crossing the Tempest is particularly perilous on your own, though if you explain what's going on to a Ferryman, they'll oblige.
► Luckily, Krampus doesn't seem extremely interested in your Tethers, but it's entirely possible that he damages a few while being in your home. He's mostly interested in you, and whether you've been a good Restless.

If you feel like your character's done a decent job at silencing their Shadow, Krampus will curse them; every full moons through December and January, they'll be compelled to tell a significant lie. A single lie can be told multiple times to different and/or the same people, and multiple lies can also be told multiple times to different and/or the same people. If, on the other hand, you feel as though they've been struggling -- or worse, enjoying its presence -- Krampus will give them a unique coin: everywhere you go, it'll loudly comment on anyone within 10 feet, giving a brief but accurate description of what your character truly thinks of them. You can't get rid of it, but after its first use, it'll disintegrate within a couple of weeks.

II. DON'T LEAF ME HANGIN'

Kiss kiss fall in love, it's mistletoe time! And its provenance is a little gruesome: some Restless have been coughing them up due to the floral disease affecting Stygia's citizens, and for reasons unknown, the plant's made itself a home in tree branches, bushes, and ceilings. Having the time of its life, probably! Some sprites have taken a liking to them, and started worshipping them as flowery entities. It's believed among them that kissing underneath the mistletoe is the greatest way to honor said entities, while refusing to is a terrible affront; the sprites will start following you and pranking you in retaliation.

► If you walk under mistletoe along with someone else and refuse to/do not kiss, you'll be followed by a sprite for 24 hours, during which they'll prank (see list below*) and just generally annoy you. Only one sprite at a time will follow you, even if you walk again under mistletoe within the 24 hours time frame.
► If you walk alone under mistletoe, this unnamed creature will stalk you from the shadows, whispering and trying to coax you closer, promising delightful kisses you'll never forget. In truth, it just wants to devour your tongue, a delicacy. It'll give up after 12 hours, and will never follow you inside your home.
► An old woman sells mistletoe berry tarts in the Marketplace, and claims it'll help anyone who suffers from insomnia. She's not wrong! One bite and you'll fall dead asleep within the hour, and only a kiss will be able to awaken you. Sweet dreams, sleeping beauty!
► If you do wind up kissing anyone under the mistletoe, you'll find it easier to deal with your Shadow through the month, a blessing from the sprites! If, on the other hand, you don't partake in kissing endeavors, your Shadow will seem louder than usual.

Additionally, many patrons in Mirth host festive and/or cozy soirées throughout December. If you feel like dancing, singing, drinking eggnog in good company and eating delicious hors d'oeuvres, wear your ugliest festive sweater and have some fun! Just be careful, as mistletoe will 100% find its way inside these venues!

PRANK LIST

*you can either RNG or choose! all effects disappear within 24 hours. can be pranked multiple times within 24 hours.

► the sprite enchants your clothing to make them colder and colder.
► the sprite swaps your character's voice with someone else's.
► the sprite steals an object that belongs to you and puts it in another character's pocket/room.
► your breathing becomes loud and obnoxious.
► when it snows, you perceive every flake as a human face.
► everything you eat tastes like ashes.
► you feel compelled to scream everything you say.
► you think you are the world's greatest bard, so sing your heart out!
► you gain a forked tongue.
► when breathing out in cold weather, you exhale black smoke instead of white breath.
► anomalous orifices begin appearing on your body, such as mouths, eye sockets, etc.
► you can now hear all heartbeats within 10 feet of you.
► you hallucinate a worm in your chest trying to eat its way out. you can’t feel it, but the skin on your torso ripples as it burrows beneath.
► you feel like your body is slowly melting, like a candle with a too hot flame. it's not.
► your ears constantly hear a repeating brief tune.

ooc note

► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► If you have questions, check out the plotting post's thread here, or ask new ones here!
► Cozy ambience for your cozy nights in Mirth!
► HAPPY HOLIDAYS ✨

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ he's always down for a good party—feels like ages already since the harvest festival, too. and it's funny that he'd run into claude here as well, or maybe they're just of the same mind.

sylvain's been somewhat more careful around the banquet spread this time, however, and while he's sampled a few food items here and there, his own hands are empty. he shoots back a lopsided smile, eyeing the glass in claude's hand. ]

Sure, but you'll have to set down that drink first. I'm wearing my best sweater.

[ he doesn't actually think claude intends to dance with (and spill) eggnog across the floor, but it makes for a funny picture. also this is the sweater in question. ]

[ That is probably a terrible idea. Claude hasn't done as great a job at avoiding the Faerghans as he would've liked, but he thinks that being cold and avoidant would only arouse suspicion. Besides, Claude is fairly good at keeping a civil face. It's how he managed most of the Leicester Roundtable.

Even with that logic, he probably shouldn't down the drink in his hand, the alcohol quickly swimming up to his head as soon as he does, but… he's feeling a little impulsive. For some reason. And he might as well get his bad decisions out of the way.

He sets the glass aside once he's downed the last of the drink, taking a moment to smile at the ridiculous sweater that Sylvain is wearing. Not that Claude's is any better. ]

Do you feel safe enough now?

[ With a wink, he takes one of Sylvain's hands and leads him over to where a few others are dancing. The music is more lively than anything they play at the stuffy Fodlan balls that Claude had attended, but he doesn't seem to mind, taking Sylvain's other hand as they begin to dance rather than settling his palm on his back. ]

Though I guess a northern boy like you isn't too bothered by the cold in the first place?

On the contrary, I'm freezing. Who knew death could be so unfair?

[ also, incredible sweater. sylvain will tell claude as much as he takes his hands with a broad smile of his own. ]

...My clothes are safe, but now I gotta watch out for my toes. And yours!

[ he can't remember the last time he danced like this, for the fun of it. post-battle celebrations don't count, and those mostly comprised of drinking and song anyhow.

...it's fun. claude's easy attitude is infectious as always, and sylvain finds it easy to fall into rhythm with him. maybe it's inevitable they'll step on each other's shoes at least once or twice before they're done, but sylvain doesn't mind. an old memory comes to mind, and he shares it on the spur of the moment. ]

You know, at the winter ball you were the first to ask Byleth for a dance. All the students were pretty shocked—if not a little jealous.

[ The persistent and the strange, unpredictable headaches have left Claude too exhausted to keep his defenses up when Sylvain and him start to swing around the dance floor, rejoicing at the warmth that spreads near instantly from their joined hands and emanating from all the bodies around them.

The relief is deafening, and his expression is genuine when he looks back at Sylvain with a pleased smile. ]

Well, that sounds about right. I'm not the type to surrender an advantage.

[ He's still adjusting to the thought of Byleth as a professor of all things (and Rhea's school, when Jeralt and his child both held no love for the goddess). They'd spoken already in a little more detail about the differences between their histories and Fodlan shortly after first meeting, curious enough to exchange questions without pause. Claude had been vague about the events of the war, focusing more on their time (or lack thereof) at Garreg Mach, and the changes that occurred in the two years since Rhea closed the Academy.

He does wonder what became of Shez in Sylvain's world, a little sad for the Claude of that timeline not to have known such a precious friend. ]

Does that include you, Sylvain? Were you fostering a little crush on the mysterious professor?

[ He is, of course, assuming that Byleth is a woman. ]

[ likewise, sylvain dances a little closer to claude than is strictly necessary, fingers instinctively curling around his dance partner's as he basks in their shared warmth. his appendages have been numb all month from the pervasive cold, a chill that now pleasantly melts as they step and twirl along to the cheerful beat of the music.

he swings back and lifts their arms so another couple can pass underneath the bridge of their clasped hands, then playfully tugs claude along so they can do just the same, ducking under another pair of arms with a laugh. ]

I wouldn't exactly call it a crush...

[ his feelings towards byleth at the time were, ah, complicated. (and also, the byleth he knew is definitely not a woman.) ]

And I wouldn't be surprised if half the students were actually jealous of the Professor.

[ he gives claude a teasing wink. ]

[ He's not surprised that Sylvain returns his teasing with a quip of his own, answering him with a smirk and a shake of his head. ]

If you're trying to butter me up, I'd ask that you remember that I don't exactly have the same power and influence now that I'm dead.

[ But he doesn't mind the playfulness, laughing a little when their boots knock together because they have to make a quick pivot to keep from running into another couple. The dance is lively and a little messy, but getting the chance to unwind and simply enjoy themselves is like a breath of fresh air.

It's nice to take a break from the calculations of daily life. ]

I have to admit, I'm surprised that you're not trying to waltz along the dancefloor.

[ Inasmuch this even is a dancefloor. This soiree is in one of the larger buildings in Mirth, the tables and chairs pushed along the walls to give people the space to mingle and dance. ]

How embarrassing, you saw right through my act.

[ he's quickly distracted from his fake disappointment by the increasing fervor as more partygoers join in on the merriment. it's impossible not to be jostled around a little by the crowd of bodies, poked here and there by an errant elbow. again, he laughs it off. ]

Oh, did you want a slow dance instead?

[ here, sylvain reels in claude for a dip, arm hooking expertly around his back as he lowers him parallel to the ground with a smug grin. the spirit of spontaneity is strong in this chilis...

—and then he notices an incoming dancer, and quickly pops them both upright again before a catastrophic collision can occur. ]

Oops. Close call. [ hopefully he didn't give claude a heart attack, though from the way he's smiling, he doesn't feel too sorry either way. ]

[ While Claude holds what is arguably the highest position among the Leicester nobles, he'd be hard pressed to say that the position has earned him any respect among his comrades (Holst excluded). Judith still treats him like a brat, and Nader is not much different. That said, with the exception of Hilda and Raphael, they rarely take liberties with him. He's their leader, and he knows that he makes himself purposely inaccessible.

So he's a little taken aback when Sylvain suddenly drops him toward the floor, lips pulling into a grimace and his now free hand gripping tightly to Sylvain's shoulder.

He's back where he should be soon enough, with only the fact that his heart is hammering and Sylvain's pleased expression as proof that the little stunt even happened. ]

You're right. [ He says slowly, his brain starting to process again and a smile returning to his face. ] I do miss a slow dance.

[ Consider that a challenge accepted. His eyes say as much as he leads Sylvain into a few sweeping steps, not following the exact steps of a formal dance because they'd knock several other partygoers over, but keeping the spirit. And as their feet move into a turn, his hands drop to Sylvain's waist to lift him clean off the ground. ]

[ it isn't insubordination if claude was never his house leader to begin with, heh. ...though it's all fun and games until it's claude's turn to flex. (what the hell??) sylvain lets out an extremely undignified yelp as he's swept off the floor, knuckles blanched where his hands clutch at claude's shoulders for dear life.

he's a little breathless by the time he's back on ground level, though his lips quirk into a smile soon enough. (he's stronger than he looks, and even bolder than he acts, and once again sylvain finds himself reassessing his assumptions.) ]

Okay. You definitely didn't do that with Byleth.

[ their "slow dance" continues, comically off-beat and out of place. they're not going so slow as to cause an immediate traffic accident, though they do try to steer towards the fringes of the crowd so the possibility is less likely.

...and then they nearly pass right under a sprig of mistletoe without noticing, but the chittering of sprites gets sylvain to look up. ]

...These guys again?

[ Their proximity, the dance and all the bodies around them bring a warmth that Claude hadn't felt in days. It's the first time in a while that he hasn't felt miserably cold, and even as they slow their pace, he's loathe to surrender it.

Though, not to the extent that he'd wish they'd get stuck under another sprig of mistletoe. He looks up when Sylvain does, looking at the plant like he's never seen it before.

He has, and he'd spent a good amount of time cursed because of it. ]

Ah. Had adventures with these things before?

[ He assumes Sylvain has, they'd been plaguing the city for at least a day already, and he doubts that Sylvain is particularly shy about sharing a peck or two. ]

Yeah, a few. Not good adventures, either.

[ he'd been trying to be a gentleman for once, and got hit with a curse each time for it... (getting his voice swapped, his taste buds modified, his phone stolen...) he now blinks down at claude, well aware they're still in slow dancing configuration. maybe he's not his first choice for a fellow mistletoe victim, but sylvain will admit he's far from the last. ]

I'm not really keen on repeating them, so...

[ he cants his head, and grins at claude. gives his hand a light squeeze too—even if it's all for the sake of dodging sprites, he can't help but try to set the mood a little. (unless he's miscalculated this about claude as well—that he's more shy than he lets on?) well, doesn't hurt to ask. ]

Care to indulge me? I promise I don't bite.

[ Claude isn't particularly shy, at least not about a simple kiss on the lips. He doesn't hate being outmanoeuvred though, so it grates on his pride a little that he apparently can't outsmart these little fiends, but in the end he can surrender to the cheer and the spirit of the festivities.

It's a little more awkward to be here with someone that he knows from Fodlan, because with a stranger he could pretend to be charming and youthful, but Sylvain might be less fooled by the act. Might look at him and remember the rumours about how odd he was while at Garreg Mach, or how questionable his inheritance of the Riegan title was.

But not awkward enough that he can't play along. Sylvain's seemed to have a good evening so far, and there's no reason that should change now, so Claude continues on with the illusion that they might be friends. ]

Has anyone ever been able to turn that charm of yours down in such close proximity?

[ He presses the back of his palm to his forehead in a mockery of a swooning maiden. ]

I'm only worried I might get swept away.

[ after five years of warring and after dying, sylvain doesn't look back on schoolyard rumors very much. besides, he was too busy dealing with (and creating) trouble his own.

if anything it's nice not to have old strings attached here—no sullied reputation to carry, no bloodline to continue. he can dance and flirt with claude, with anyone at this soiree and nothing will come of it. it would've been unthinkable back home.

so maybe he can kiss claude, too, without any consequences. sylvain's feeling too impulsive not to try, what with all this flattery being doled out. his tone of voice turns grave, equally ridiculous as claude's swooning. ]

I'm afraid there's nothing to be done. [ (he has no choice but to fall for his wiles and hideous sweater.)

sylvain tugs him a step closer, his other hand braced once more at the small of his back. leans in until his grin is barely an inch away from claude's. ]

You know, Claude...

[ he promptly decides not to finish that thought, and seals their lips together in what is unmistakably a kiss. ]

[ Well, Claude really wants to know the end of that sentence, though he doesn't want to ask when Sylvain's intention was undoubtedly to leave him guessing. He doesn't get the chance either, when Sylvain's mouth closes over his smile. And the first thing that comes to mind is a joke, told only to himself internally as he ruminates on the ridiculous situation they've found themselves in. In his head, Claude imagines himself remarking: did you close your eyes and imagine Claudia?

It's funny enough that he might actually use that later.

The second thought that hits him is that he feels warm. Being at the party had helped chase away some of the chill that had been plaguing him, and dancing with Sylvain was even better than that, though neither compared to their proximity now. That alone is enough to make the entire endeavour worth it.

Though he finds that he doesn't really mind. Sylvain is friendly and easy to be close to, enough so that Claude doesn't shy away from lifting a hand to his face, gloved thumb pressing gently against a cheekbone, the other gripping at his side. It's been a long time since he's had such an innocent kiss. He can't help but miss it, and for a second he considers enjoying the illusion. (It wouldn't take much effort.)

Why does he have to worry about morality when he's already dead, anyway? ]

[ the funny thing about being this close to someone else, about sharing a warm kiss, is how lonely it feels. not because he doesn't have trusted friends here, those whom he cares deeply for—just that he misses these simple acts of physical intimacy more than he cares to admit.

and his relationship with said intimacy is... complicated. when was the last time he kissed someone in earnest? without his usual, ugly motivations? even if he was never particularly sincere in his affections, a part of him always craved the connection.

so he can't help but savor the gentle hand against his cheek, the soft breath tickling his nose. it's a little difficult to let go, and sylvain has to remind himself where he is. who he's with. (though when he pulls back, he finds he's still smiling, and that he means it. it's a weird feeling—not bad.) ]

You know, [ he continues, as if claude had cut him off earlier when sylvain had very well interrupted himself in the first place, ] it was missing garlic and thyme.

[ the soup he'd tried making. ]

[ Sylvain's face comes back into focus, and it doesn't feel quite as awkward as he imagined, even though he'd been bracing himself for it. Instead, he finds his eyes closing again, resisting the urge to groan.

Still, sounding pleased, ] You must really be concerned about my homesickness.

[ The thought is warming where usually Claude would be horrified at being perceived. He still doesn't know what Sylvain makes of his last conversation with "Claudia", and how much he thinks that Claude was being genuine, and how much of it was part of the façade. He doesn't want to know, really, so he doesn't ask.

It's easier not to dwell on the details of his little charade, and he winds an arm around Sylvain's waist instead, schooling his features into his best approximation of what he thinks Sylvain looks like when he's trying to be seductive. ]

Have I earned a homecooked meal as Claude this time?

[ there's really no need to continue all this after they've already appeased the mistletoe sprites... so sylvain looks a little surprised by claude's teasing boldness, brows lifting for the split second he's caught off-guard. it's quickly replaced with a laugh. (he supposes there's no need to put a stop to a good time, either.) ]

Careful, I'm gonna be under the impression I'm a decent chef if you keep asking me to feed you.

[ he can't tell if claude's trying to impersonate him, or is simply trying to wheedle another free meal from him. whatever the case, it's working. sylvain pretends he's deliberating his question at great length, before he grins again, all the more lopsided as he cants his head. ]

Are you offering me consolation in Claudia's place?

[ honestly, sylvain's not entirely sure what to think of their fake(?) conversations himself. but here are his tentative conclusions: ]

...I suppose 'Claude' isn't half-bad, either. The guy knows his way around a party. Could use some work with the kissing, though.

[ Well, Sylvain's figured out the missing ingredients, so there's no reason for Claude not to be hopeful of the next meal that he puts together. Even if it's a terribly good cook, it's hard not to enjoy food that's been homemade for you.

Even if Sylvain had it made it for him exactly.

He smiles at the little remark, eyebrows rising in offends even when a sudden pang of regret hits him in the chest at hearing Sylvain suggest that he isn't entirely bad. Claude knows that he's notoriously forward-facing, even more so now that he's dead—no matter what they did in life, they all ended up here after all—but he still carries this piece of guilt with him, sullying each and every moment where he looks at Sylvain and thinks that he could have a friend.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. ]

I think you're the one who should be careful, Sylvain.

[ He looks back at him lazily, physically rising to the bait as he pushes himself up to be as level as he can be with Sylvain's gaze. ]

You're the one making it sound like you'd like me to kiss you again.

[ technically, sylvain's the one who had initiated that kiss, so it's all really on him... but it's cute that claude isn't afraid to return fire, all bright eyes and easy smiles. (did he just get up on his tiptoes?) it's hard not to be charmed by the way he carries himself, to get swept up in the moment; surrounded by festive cheer, suspended under mistletoe.

...he notes his own arm is still anchored around claude's waist, and he thinks he should just keep it there—so he does. every half-formed impulse that floats to his mind, he indulges. ]

Can't say caution has ever been my forte.

[ he doesn't think to look too closely at the mask that claude still wears. just sees what he wishes to—a friendly face. someone lonely in their own way. he touches his other hand under claude's chin, a soft warning and chance to pull away, before he kisses him a second time.

it definitely won't be as polite as the first. ]

[ Claude might not be quite the romance artist that Sylvain is, but he's never been particularly shy about physical intimacy. The warmth alone is worth it, the closeness between them chasing away the persistent chill and the press of Sylvain's mouth sending a warmth straight down to his chest.

He doesn't think too deeply about what he's doing, which is unlike him. Perhaps because he knows that if he thinks about it for more than a second he'll realize what a terrible idea it all is. What a terrible person it makes him.

But it would be better in the long run. Not only because Sylvain deserves better, but because it leaves room for an unease to crawl up his spine; a pressure that throbs like an unnatural headache in his skull. His tongue presses against the seam of Sylvain's mouth, and the heat of it clears some of the storm away.

It's a blessing, before something else comes slithering to take its place.

Two-faced liar, you carry deceit in your blood.

He thinks his grip tightens on Sylvain's waist, tension from nothing good wracking up his spine and the soft, teasing tone that Sylvain had pressed close with replaced with a bitter rigidity that Claude can't disguise for long.

The whispers rattle in his head; a painful grip around his heart as he tries to dispute the accusations that his Shadow levels against him, but whenever he tries, he finds himself back in the burning heat of Ailell, Shez' voice in his ear: Am I gonna be next?

He wrenches himself back, a hand going up to hold his temple— ] Sorry- sorry.

[ the problem with impulsive decisions is, sylvain can't tell if he's entertaining something new or indulging old habits in the guise of novelty. where physical intimacy is involved, something a step beyond chaste kisses and friendly flirting, his brain wires itself differently—like an emotional fight or flight response, except both lead to self-sabotage. (but he's dead, and there shouldn't be anything he's still running away from, or to ruin... right?)

he doesn't know what he's expecting from claude, but he kisses him like he might find the answer, open and searching. the heat of his mouth is all-too tempting, like something he can drink, but then he feels the noticeable shift in claude's body language. where he expects his partner to relax a little, he only tenses up instead, flinches away from his grasp. sylvain almost goes with him, slower to return to their abrupt reality, hands hovering uselessly in the space where claude used to be. ]

—Oh. Hey. ...Are you alright?

[ did he do something wrong...? push claude past some undisclosed limit? he suddenly feels a little sheepish for his impetuous actions, and rubs the back of his neck, looking apologetic. ]

Sorry if I got a little carried away...

[ Whatever good cheer and ease Claude had felt moments ago couldn't be further away now, frigid ice blooming where there had just been warmth. Both his head and his heart are pounding; guilt and panic so tight in his chest that it feels almost like a physical wound.

It will pass. He knows it will, because this isn't himself. This his Shadow, or the bursts of unease that follow the trouble in the Shadowlands, or the rise of the full moon, but he knows himself well enough to know that it isn't his own lack of control and logic.

It will pass, and he'll continue on as he has been, but perhaps with a little more concentrated effort at keeping a distance from the Faerghans. Sylvain can interpret it as a lingering awkwardness from this encounter. The magic and the machinations of the Netherworld will keep this as a weapon against him, but even if he were to surrender it, it would find another to take its place.

But, does he have another as dangerous as this? Would it be better for his soul, to be honest? ]

... It's not that.

[ With a sigh, he lifts his head expression both weary and polished. The same face he had when he faced Rhea, explaining to her why there could be no future for Fódlan while she ruled the Central Church. He may feel guilt for all the lives that had been lost at his command, but he would never feel any regret. ]

I told you when we first met that we weren't allies in my version of Fódlan. That wasn't the full story. [ He wonders if Shez and Judith would be glad if he was being honest, or if they'd think he's an idiot for getting soft now, of all times. ] The truth is that I allied with Edelgard against Faerghus and the Church.

I ordered an invasion Faerghus through Fradarius, that's where we encountered your father. [ It feels for a second like his brain is only now catching up with his words, but he feels as calm as ever. ] And it's where he died.

[ when claude meets his gaze again sylvain instinctively knows it can't be anything good—the way his expression is suddenly shuttered, the tonal shift of his voice from playful to deliberate. and finally, sylvain sees the mask for what it is, realizes that whatever camaraderie he imagined them building has never been more than a house of cards. it still takes a moment, however, to feel the twist of the proverbial knife, not fully realizing the cut is there until claude's already finished speaking. it's sylvain's first instinct to deny a painful truth—second to recklessly embrace it. he's been here long enough that it's no longer strange or unimaginable to experience wildly diverging histories. he should've known better.

it's his shadow that bleeds from this unexpected wound, a sudden spill of malice that colors his vision red, blanches whatever warmth he felt with the acute feelings of dismay, of betrayal, of resentment. he forgets every good moment they've shared, forgets their stupid sweaters and dancing and mistletoe, and imagines tearing through claude's chest with his relic instead. (in the absence of his weapon, he thinks it would be just as satisfying to crush his throat with his bare hands.)

thankfully, his soulbond offers a semblance of clarity, tempers the thrashing of his shadow. he digs his fingers into the collar of claude's sweater, rather than his windpipe. ]

Why?

[ it's not too difficult to see the reason behind claude's political decisions, given the church's history with faerghus and all the dangers edelgard poses. it's always been a possibility the alliance could bend to the empire, though at the moment, it's unforgivable to sylvain all the same.

but what he really wants to know, ]

Why are you telling me this?

[ why paint a target on his back, when he can keep lying instead?

sylvain doesn't want to hate claude, but it feels too close to an inevitability—even if his father is well and alive in his own world. even if the claude in his version of fódlan had chosen to ally with the kingdom instead. he can't help the way his expression twists into a smile of bitter regret.

what a damn fool he's been. ]

[ That's a good question. Why did he tell he truth?

Claude doesn't retaliate when Sylvain grabs his collar, but his expression remains cool, calculated, and unwilling to reveal anything of what he might be feeling—except that he's allowing this show of aggression up to a point.

If Sylvain touches him any further, he will defend himself. ]

You seemed like you were looking for a friend. I thought you should know not to expect one with me.

[ It's a weak argument, one insulting to Sylvain while also pretending that Claude was honest for anyone's sake but his own. He doubts that Sylvain would believe it, but that's not really his concern. ]

[ it doesn't add up. if this was claude's intention from the get-go, why entertain sylvain's company at all for the past months? whether in the guise of claudia, or as himself, there was no need to do so. he could've politely excused himself, could've coldly brushed sylvain off as he does now. there wasn't a reason to be friendly in the first place.

so the explanation leaves sylvain all the more frustrated and bewildered. but if there's one thing he recognizes, that he knows all-too well, it's that claude is protecting himself in his own way. (of course he is. he has no allies of his own here.)

serves him right, his shadow thinks.

alongside the vitriol, however, is a certain understanding of their mutual misfortune. they were both dragged into the fighting, and both suffered consequences for it. and even in death, their decisions continue to haunt them. it's only this shared misfortune that has sylvain letting go and stepping back, instead of attempting to dash his skull against the wall. he doesn't forgive claude, but killing him now won't change the outcome of either of their wars. (maybe he should do it, anyway.)

he ignores his shadow and shrugs on the same mask of disinterest that claude wears. contents himself with the sick sense of vindication in knowing that claude's life's dreams have been shattered. excises any illogical feelings of hurt he may feel. ]

...Message received.

[ it's clear there's no room for further discussion, so he leaves. ]

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