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Five years and some months later, Vi can still recall the very moment her eyes first gazed upon vibrant blue with clarity.
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At the makeshift forge on the sidelines of the encampment, she had been working on arrowheads for hours; an exhausting, repetitive, and delicate work. With sweat gathering at her brow, and the muscles of her arms setting into a deep ache from the exertion, she solely focused on the movements of her hammer. It had been weeks since she had last managed more than a few restless hours of tossing and turning in the cot she had been provided.
She barely noticed someone in her peripheral, eventually looking up to see a woman standing tall and imposing, even in just her gambeson. Vi had heard about her, the newly appointed marshal of the small territory they were meant to defend at the eastern front, her power granted solely due to being the daughter of a duchess. Or at least, that was the gossip between the soldiers.
Much later Vi would learn Caitlyn could have stayed in her shiny vast estate, but had requested to partake in the frontlines instead, against her parents’ wishes.
“Greetings,” Caitlyn had stilled in front of her, just across the counter she had been working on, and Vi barely spared her a look. “I have a request for shields and knee armor.”
Vi did lift her head at that. People barely ever paid her much attention, asking for her father instead, not deeming her worthy to do the job she has been learning ever since she could walk. Caitlyn had extended her arm, holding a piece of paper. Vi had cleaned her hands on her apron to take it.
“Five to seven days, if the iron shipment arrives by tomorrow noon,” she had stated, expecting the usual scorn high ranked military men would give her and her family, along with an urge, or at times a command, to half the time.
“Understandable,” Caitlyn had nodded her head, and Vi could see the tension on her shoulders. “Please call for me, when all is arranged.”
She had already left, without any fanfare, walking towards the sea of tents south of their makeshift forge when Vi properly scanned the paper in her hands, eyes falling on the neatly scribbled signature. Caitlyn Kiramman, Marshal .
They would see each other often the following weeks. Caitlyn had been recently appointed, and while their resources were limited, she was doing her best to limit their manpower losses, recognizing that proper attire and weaponry could save some of their soldiers.
Their interactions were always short and to the point, Caitlyn favoring her, even when Vi’s father was at the forge and able to take charge. They would exchange orders, Vi stating the materials needed, Caitlyn noting the equipment pieces in demand. During those first months, their army was on the defensive, running drills and preparing rather than engaging in battle. It had created a false sense of security, making them blind to the dread they should have been feeling while getting news of the enemy forces moving closer.
“Should you be here at this hour, Violet?” It was late, way after sundown, Vi keeping the fire in the forge going, working on standard issued swords. The only way she had found to keep her thoughts from spiraling during the night.
“You know my name?” She says in lieu of an answer, doubting that even the soldiers knew of it, let alone someone higher in ranking than a knight. She stared as Caitlyn dismounted her horse, a tall, pitch black stallion, and moved closer to the counter.
“Of course I do,” she replied, her hair for once untied and falling in slight waves over her shoulders. “You and your family have been working here for months now, and…people talk about you.”
“Huh?” Vi had spent her whole life in a village about 15 kilometers south of where they were stationed, making cutlery, farming tools or the occasional weapon for a local lord. She was by no means worth being talked about. “Who?”
Caitlyn had laughed at that, a tiny, melodious sound, over too soon. Vi had relished in the way the muscles of her face relaxed for this brief moment, Caitlyn allowing her a peek of the little gap between her front teeth. At that moment she was more handsome than intimidating, but still, way out of anything Vi could ever wish to hold.
“Everyone with eyes,” Caitlyn had replied, somewhat cryptically. “And an appreciation for fine things.”
“Oh,” Vi had found herself blushing, hoping that it could easily be blamed on the fire burning right behind her instead of the embarrassment of being noticed in this kind of way.
Caitlyn was wearing her full armor this time, towering easily over Vi as she stepped closer, seemingly unaware of the feelings she had caused. “I also heard you are from around here.” From up close she looked exhausted, and older than she probably was. “Would you care to see some of the maps I’ve been drafting and give an opinion, Violet?”
“Of course, Marshal,” she had straightened up, trying to clean the soot off her hands and face. “Please, just call me Vi.”
“Well then, Vi,” she had said, taking a seat in one of the stools and pulling a bundle of papers out of her belt. “Please call me Caitlyn, too.”
It became a sort of a habit for them, meeting in the dead of the night, exchanging words, and on occasion, a few stolen glances. Vi would stay in the forge after everyone had already left, working on menial tasks, cleaning or organizing the inventory, and Caitlyn would come to her after her patrol was over.
Sometimes Vi would give pointers over the geography of the region: where it could work to their favor or slow them down. With a river and an array of mountain sides between them and the constantly moving enemy, they had to prepare to use everything to their advantage. They used to come to these plains with her family before the war, spent the summers working the fields. She had to accept that she would soon see blood spilled on that same land.
Some of those nights Caitlyn would talk about her family. How they wanted her to stay with them, spend her time ignoring the looming war and collecting taxes from the poor, hoarding rations while at it. “They believe this piece of land we’re standing on is already lost,” she had said. “That’s why they gave it to me.”
“And you will prove them wrong,” Vi would tell her. She had seen the fire burning in Caitlyn’s eyes, the quick mind, the dedication, the eye for detail. They would be outnumbered surely, but they could use the terrain to their advantage.
“Thank you,” Caitlyn would reply, with the softest of smiles, and when she brushed a gloved hand on Vi’s thigh, Vi would pretend that it was nothing more than a sign of her appreciation.
Almost half a year of waiting, and the first time they could see enemy fire on the horizon, Vi wished they could spend another half too. The enemy army was getting closer to their border by the day, messengers coming back with estimates of manpower and weapons and days left until war would be at their door.
“They will be here by sunrise,” Caitlyn had stated one night, looking towards the mountains, enemy smoke swirling up the cold evening air. “I thought I was ready for it, but I have my doubts.”
Vi is the one to reach this time, with a trembling hand, placing it on Caitlyn’s shoulder. “If you can’t do it, then nobody can,” she had said, trying to not make her own fear apparent. She would have to stay back, keep the forge functioning and replenish the equipment set to be lost in the battle as fast as possible.
“Vi,” Caitlyn had exhaled, shoulders dropping as if she was deflating, her usually proud posture shrinking. “There are many things I still yearn to do,” she lifts herself up from the stool she’s been using, standing tall in front of Vi, eyes unfocused, and unsure. “I cannot die, just like I cannot lose this war.”
“You won’t,” Vi said, and even if she knew close to nothing about war and strategies, she felt she already knew enough of Caitlyn, fully believing the words she spoke. She couldn’t imagine a word where Caitlyn could simply…cease to exist, where their evening meetings would come to an end. “I will see you tomorrow night,” she had said, a promise to herself, and an oath for Caitlyn to keep.
Caitlyn leaned in, slow enough that Vi could see her fingertips shaking as they cupped her cheeks. She smelled of sweat and earth as she leaned closer, her lips chapped and unsure. It was Vi’s very first kiss, and years later, she will find out it was Caitlyn’s too, her way of leaving with no regrets if she wasn’t to see Vi ever again. “Tomorrow night,” Caitlyn confirmed in their shared space. She mounted her horse before Vi had the time to catch her breath.
Caitlyn came out of the battle victorious. And the next one too, and eventually Vi stopped keeping count as instead of just defending, they started advancing into enemy territory. Caitlyn kept her promise, renewed in whispers between them every so often, and came back to Vi in the evenings. Sometimes there was a gash still oozing blood on her check and other times her legs were unsteady from hours on horseback. Vi started keeping a medical kit by her equipment, slowly teaching herself how to patch the worst of it up.
They talk about the lives they left behind. About their childhoods. About their days. They shared kisses that started turning less shy and more desperate as the weeks turned into months. Vi was fully aware of her station, especially compared to someone like Caitlyn. She knew that if they made it out alive they would have to go their separate ways. Vi back to her village – if it was still standing – Caitlyn to her estate, on her way to marry into aristocracy. Yet, between the soft sounds Caitlyn made as they kissed, and how her hands didn’t seem to get enough of touching her, Vi sometimes allowed herself the hybris of thinking this could be something more, that she could have Caitlyn, in some capacity greater than stolen kisses in quiet nights.
They moved further from their – previous – borders, news and rations becoming both scarcer. Morale was high though, faith in Caitlyn unwavering, her strategic uses of the landscape allowing way more than they had been initially asked to do.
Vi, while on the move, living out of a cart and working on a shaky bench, started what would be her most challenging project; an intricate breastplate and a matching sword and sheath for Caitlyn. It took more than two months of spending her every waking free moment in the forge, scraping materials and letting her hands bleed as she worked the designs onto steel. The Kiramman family crest, a hound and an elk on either side of it as Caitlyn had one night proclaimed her love for hunting, flowers surrounding them. She didn’t know if Caitlyn could tell flowers apart, if she could tell that Vi had incorporated violets in the design, or if she truly wanted her to know.
She kept it a secret, perfecting every single detail over and over, until she was half satisfied with her craftsmanship, hoping that Caitlyn would accept it as a gift, even if she could commission anything she would ever want from the Royal Forge back at the palace.
Fires were burning all over the battlefield as the enemy catapults were being taken down and their lost soldiers were being laid to rest in makeshift tombs. Vi, in the aftermath, waited. There was the frantic energy that followed every battle, almost familiar by then. She helped where she could with her siblings and father, until she realized that Caitlyn’s black horse wasn’t running in circles around the camp with her checking on everything, that no word of her was spoken between the soldiers. A deep, unsettling feeling settled in her bones, and a fear the likes of which she’d never seen before made her bolt on her feet.
She had to ask around until someone finally uttered a word that had her stumbling in the infirmary and holding her breath over the smell of blood and burned flesh. Trying to find her way between the sea of wounded bodies, she panicked the more time passed and she didn’t spot Caitlyn. Until she finally did.
She was sitting on a crate, blood oozing off her face, dripping down her half-undone armor. Vi called her name, but she didn’t react, not until Vi was on her knees, right in front of her, taking Caitlyn’s hands into her own.
“Oh,” Caitlyn’s chest heaved with the exertion of making the small sound, and Vi took a moment to understand what was happening between the dirtied skin and muscle of her face. Her left eye was gone, the empty, bloodied socket to be haunting Vi’s restless nights for years to come. “Violet,” she called, impossibly soft, and there was blood and spit coming out of her mouth.
“I’m here,” Vi said, pushing her head on Caitlyn’s chest. “I’ll call someone-“
“I told them to look at the others first,” Caitlyn said as Vi ripped her apron off and tried to stop the worst of the bleeding, replacing blood with soot. “I won’t die, and my eye…it’s gone already.”
“It’s okay,” Vi breathed out, “it’s okay.” And it was the first time she told Caitlyn something she didn’t fully believe, but she prayed to every higher power out there that this wouldn’t be the end, not when Vi had started wanting things for herself, not when Caitlyn had promised her, one more time, to come back to her.
An arrow straight to her head, while she had a dagger in her gut. Not fast enough to react, Caitlyn had paid with her eye. A small thing to lose, for one more battle won , she had said one of the nights she was recovering with Vi by her side. She had bounced back fast, way faster than any of the medical staff expected, or would have allowed her to. She had asked Vi to keep guard at her tent, sleep there, help her with her personal hygiene and her planning, never stopping to catch her breath for even just a moment. And Vi, of course, had no right to refuse her, nor the willingness.
She didn’t dare ask why Caitlyn would prefer her over the long list of personnel she could have at her side. Vi would help her bathe and apply paste on her wounds, clean the liquid oozing out of what was left of her eye, keep close when Caitlyn started riding her horse again with limited sight.
“I made you something,” she had entered Caitlyn’s tent the night before a fight was expected to break at sunrise. Caitlyn was standing over her table, papers and maps and numbers spread in front of her. She straightened up to Vi’s voice, being the only person to ever grant Vi that type of undivided attention.
Caitlyn’s eye zeroed in on her, and it was intense, making Vi feel small, powerless, even if she knew Caitlyn would never hurt her. “What is it, Vi?”
Vi takes the breastplate and sword out of the bag she had used to carry them from the cart, presenting them to Caitlyn, feeling heat rising up her cheeks, feeling more exposed than ever. She wondered if Caitlyn could understand that this was the manifestation of Vi’s adoration for her. Something that maybe she would want to keep even when they parted ways.
Caitlyn took long moments staring at the items wordlessly, brushing her fingers over the designs, frowning like she was trying to understand what Vi wanted to tell her without words.
“If you don’t want them, of course-“ Vi gulped down. She had to remind herself that Caitlyn had expertly crafted armor and weapons, leagues above anything a blacksmith from a small village could ever make.
“You made these for me.” Caitlyn stepped closer to her, illuminated by the couple lamps burning oil hung around the tent.
“I did,” Vi confirmed, looking at the face she could see even with her eyelids closed. She could never admit her feelings, not when she was born to keep her head down and serve.
“Violet,” Caitlyn was looking at her, at her lips, her face. Vi did not know what to make of it, of the adoration in the way her gaze softened. She never thought it was something she would have, that she could allow herself to, not with someone like Caitlyn. “You should find me hideous.”
“Gods,” Vi let herself want, lifting an arm, touching Caitlyn’s shoulder, the side of her neck, her hollowed cheek until her thumb caressed her shut eyelid softly. “Never.”
“Do you mean it?” Caitlyn was never the one to ask for reassurance, but her eye looked soft, almost scared. Vi knew the soldiers respected her. But they were also scared of her, seeing her as aloof, unapproachable, cold.
“Of course,” Vi breathed in Caitlyn’s scent, mixed with the burning oil, the medicine, the humidity. “You are…breathtaking.”
When she finally gathered the courage to meet Caitlyn’s gaze, she was already being pushed against the table, strong arms pinning her sides as Caitlyn’s breath ghosted over her lips. They hadn’t kissed in weeks, and Vi was craving her, aware that ever since their first kiss, she always would.
“I would burn the whole world down to end this fucking war if it meant I could keep you safe,” Caitlyn’s lips were on her own, desperate, restless, for the first time almost possessive along with her palms sliding on Vi’s skin under her ratty clothes.
“I would never ask for that,” Vi came for air, wondering if her gaze was as glassy as Caitlyn’s has turned. “Just for you to keep returning,” she muttered, not allowing herself to complete her thought, to utter the to me sitting at the very tip of her tongue.
They kissed until heaving chests started asking for something they were not yet ready to give each other. They shared Caitlyn’s cot for one more dreamless, restless night, until screams and drums woke them up forcefully in the earliest hours of the morning.
Caitlyn became appointed Commander of the whole eastern front. Vi was with her before the messenger arrived with a letter waxed shut with the royal seal. They had taken care of their wounded, finished an initial count of losses in both manpower and heavy equipment, and Caitlyn had finally returned to her tent, where Vi had been waiting.
Vi remembers her as she opened the flap of the tent, the sunset illuminating the world in orange hues behind her as she had stepped in with a small, relieved exhale. Her own blood splattered on her armor mixed with the enemy’s, her sword unsheathed in her hands, dripping red on the ground. Vi felt her heart swelling at the sight, Caitlyn alive, and victorious. She met her in the middle.
“Vi,” Caitlyn took her helmet off before they collided in an embrace, letting it fall with a dull sound neither cared enough about. The smell of iron clung to her as Vi kissed her while working on taking her armor off, slow and sloppily. “I’m here.”
“You are,” Caitlyn’s hands were on her cheeks, staining them with mud and grime and blood. She created some space between them, only so she could help Caitlyn take the heavy pieces of her armor off before they seeked each other’s touch again. Few words sat on the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t afford to utter. How silly it would be of her to talk of things like love in the middle of the battlefield, to a person that could never be hers. “I just want to hold you,” she said, and Caitlyn indulged her, neither acknowledging the clean up they desperately needed.
They ended up tangled together in Caitlyn’s cot, Vi inhaling the scent of her skin as she pressed kisses on the side of her neck, Caitlyn above her, hands wandering on the marred skin of Vi’s stomach. They slowed down as the adrenaline started leaving their systems, exchanging whispered promises and kisses and touches that were gentle enough to leave their garments on.
Caitlyn at some point managed to extract herself from Vi’s greedy hands, moving to the barrel tub at the side of the tent and picking a piece of cloth. “The water hasn’t been changed since yesterday,” she said, as if they could be picky. “But it will do.”
It was then that someone – a messenger – announced their presence from the other side of the door. “A letter for the Commander,” they said.
“I’m not a Commander,” Caitlyn replied as she exited the tent, Vi listening to the exchange from inside.
“Her royal highness has just appointed you one, two days ago,” the messenger’s voice was strained, no doubt from the journey, but kind. “Commander Kiramman of the eastern front.”
Caitlyn’s new responsibilities required her presence more intensely than before. Vi hammered the hours away, waiting for the telltale trot of a black stallion, or to be summoned to the Commander’s tent. She worked on her craft between orders and repairs, on intricate designs and various alterations of their standard weapons.
The days passed slowly, highs of the battles giving way to the almost mundane familiarity of the days in-between. They kept advancing, sometimes resting at villages that surrendered to them without blood having to get spilled. Caitlyn’s name became known far and wide, and Vi saw lands she never thought she would traverse in her lifetime.
It was on such instance, resting at a small town that had surrendered to their forces civilly and fast, when Vi heard word of the war being almost over, of the palace finally being sated with the new lands that had fallen into their hands. Her father’s exhausted face seemed a little lighter after the news, even if he stated disbelief. More than five years on the road, of using their craft for bloodspill, it was difficult to imagine a day when they wouldn’t have to do it anymore.
“Is it true?” she asked Caitlyn as they walked the path to the flowing river close to the town. “That the war is about to end?” It was a summer night, quiet and warm and humid, and Caitlyn had wanted to bathe in freshwater, asking Vi to accompany her.
“Maybe,” the reply came as they reached the riverbank, the water shallow and gentle. “Diplomats have been sent, but no formal instructions to us yet,” she undressed, and Vi trailed her hardened form. The muscle, the scars, the wide shoulders trained to fire arrows and swing swords. “Won’t you come?”
Vi shook herself out of her trance. They had seen each other bare before, and she did not understand why embarrassment coiled in her stomach this time, why under the moonlight, she felt like Caitlyn had never looked so beautiful before. She took her clothes off, leaving them on a pile as she stepped into the water, moving closer to Caitlyn.
It was hard to ever feel clean on the road, Vi humming to the flow of the water washing the grime from her skin. She opened her eyes to Caitlyn watching her, only a breath’s distance between them. “Back home, there was a small waterfall. We would spend summer mornings swimming there.”
Caitlyn’s eye softened, in the way that it often did when Vi talked about the before . “You should take me there,” she told Vi, who felt unsteady on her feet, trying to find traction against the moss of the substrate. “When the war is over, you can show me.” It sounded like a promise, and a plea. One that Vi did not know what to make of, couldn’t allow herself to think that for Caitlyn, she could be something more than a mere friend, and a wartime indulgence.
It was two more months, until the war actually ended. A messenger on horseback came from the capital and screamed the news for everyone to hear, that soon they’d all be able to return home, showered with the highest honors. Vi spent the day laughing and crying and exchanging toasts with them, until her consciousness clawed at her, reminding her of the inevitable, of losing Caitlyn. Wasn’t peace, wasn’t staying alive, all she should have wanted for them?
“I have been summoned to the palace,” Caitlyn said in lieu of a greeting when they met that night, a letter in her hands. “There have been…talks.”
“Talks?” Vi stood in front of her, hoping that the depth of the grief that was overtaking her on such a joyous day did not show.
Caitlyn took her hands, looked into her face, with that determined look that meant she was planning, using her strategist mind. “Promoting me to an army General,” it was almost a whisper, and Vi did not know if it was because of disbelief, or wariness.
The highest rank Caitlyn could have achieved. A place in the palace, by the Queen’s side. An acknowledgment of everything she had been spilling blood for. “This is…incredible.”
“What about you, Vi?” Caitlyn pulled her down, to sit on the cot with her, on that piece of wood and fabric they’d spent countless nights holding each other through nightmares.
“Me?” Vi didn’t understand. In the next few days she’d be throwing her belongings on top of a cart, squeezing herself with her family to take the long way back to her village, to pick up where they left off, figure out how to settle back into the life war ripped from them.
Caitlyn breathed in, measured. Even in the low light of the tent, with worry in her eyebrows, she was handsome. Vi wondered if she could ask her for one more thing, for a parting gift. “Would you follow me?” Caitlyn said four meagre words, and Vi’s whole world came tumbling at her feet.
“To the palace?” Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. A blacksmith from a small village who had never had money to buy shoes was the last person that would ever set foot in the palace. She thought maybe she’d misunderstood, because Caitlyn would never be as cruel as to make such a joke.
“To the palace,” Caitlyn confirmed, and her features softened as she waited for Vi’s answer, tongue wetting her lips in anticipation.
Vi leaned in to kiss her, to stop herself from saying I would follow you to the end of the world and then some, Caitlyn.
-
Vi did not remember the last time she felt clean like that, her hair cut, her face scrubbed with a proper sponge. She was wearing a loose white shirt and soft brown pants, the new shoes she was given foreign but not unpleasant on her feet.
She was in the palace, surrounded by golds and deep blues and greens, allowed to stay in a room with a proper bed and a window that overlooked the royal gardens. You can soon start working in the Royal Forge , Caitlyn had told her a couple of days after their arrival. But for now, rest .
It had been a bit over five weeks since they had left their last encampment, Vi saying her goodbyes to her family, following Caitlyn and a small team of soldiers as they made their way back to the capital, to the palace. She didn’t miss the weird looks her way, and neither how fast Caitlyn had been to shut them down. They had arrived with fanfare in the city, and Vi had even gotten a glimpse of the Queen herself, before Caitlyn was called for audiences and meetings.
It had been a week in the palace, and they had barely managed to talk, as Vi had been granted this room to rest, while Caitlyn spent her every moment on meetings about things that Vi probably wouldn’t even dream of understanding. She needed Caitlyn though, she needed to know what role she had to play in her -their- new life. She knew that Caitlyn keeping her around as a lover, as a side-piece in her, no doubt, upcoming marriage, would be way more than Vi would ever deserve. Even if she wanted more, Vi would be happy with whatever scraps of affection Caitlyn was willing to give her. This was the life Vi was trying to brace herself for.
It was on an otherwise inconspicuous evening that Caitlyn entered her room with a smile, seemingly in a good mood. She wasn’t in her full armor, but the breastplate and sword Vi made for her were there for the whole world to see. It filled Vi with pride, and an affection she didn’t know how to further put into words.
“I trust that you find your quarters satisfactory?” Caitlyn asked, shutting the door softly behind her. “Please let me know of anything I could further provide for you.”
“Caitlyn,” Vi gulped down. “Your generosity is more than appreciated and…this is really wonderful but-“ She was unsure what to say. She didn’t think she deserved it? Caitlyn didn’t need to waste more of her time on a lowly blacksmith?
“I was skeptical about this arrangement at first,” Caitlyn took a few steps towards her, steady and sure, until they were chest to chest. “I understand that it was out of line to proposition to you in the ways I did during our past years together, but please be assured I intend to amend this by proper conduction.”
Vi furrowed her brows. Half of the words Caitlyn has just spoken to her did not make much of a sense. “What do you mean…proposition?” Caitlyn had barely touched her ever since the end of the war, and Vi had been bracing herself for bad news of some kind. Caitlyn just gave her a curious look back.
“I kissed you, Vi,” Caitlyn’s voice was low, as if anyone could hear them through the wooden heavy doors. “We slept on the same bed, and while I always intended to officiate our union, I never got the chance to court you properly, for which I ask your forgiveness-“
“Wait,” Vi’s stomach was doing somersaults, her hands coming up to Caitlyn’s shoulders, trying to tether herself to the reality Caitlyn was talking about. “Court me? Officiate? What do you mean, Caitlyn?”
“That I am in the process of courting you prior to our marriage?” Caitlyn wetted her lips, the blue of her eye tainted with worry. “Unless this is something you would not want, Vi.”
Vi had never wanted anything more in her whole life. Except maybe, for Caitlyn touching her in all the ways that had been playing inside her head. It made sense in retrospect, how Caitlyn’s hands would stop wandering upon touching skin, how she would draw back and lie on her other side when their shared kisses would become heated.
“You cannot marry me,” she whispered. She knew it was the truth. There should be a long line of suitors waiting for a chance with Caitlyn outside the palace’s door. “You could have anyone else you want, Caitlyn.”
“As of today, I have been appointed General of the army,” Caitlyn’s hair was tied up, Vi tracing the countless marks of the old wounds that decorated her face like medals of honour. “Do you understand what this means?”
“I do not,” Vi shook her head. She understood the base implications, the heaviness of the title, the position it offered in the Royal Council. But she did not understand what Caitlyn’s new position would mean for herself.
“That nobody, except maybe the Queen, could deny me something that I want. And I want you ,” Caitlyn replied, Vi watching her as she took her gloves off and let them fall on the floor. A hand was placed on her chest, pushing her back, towards the bed with slow steps. “Do you want me too, Violet?”
Vi didn’t remember how long it had been since she realized she was falling in love. How many unsaid words she had almost confessed during their shared nights. A simple “Yes,” was the single thing she could utter.
“Good,” Caitlyn smiled, taking Vi’s hand and placing them on the clasps of her breastplate, silently asking her to undo it. “Then you will have me.”