[Mature] Rest Like You Belong Here

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 29 Hamis, 2720
The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Aremu took a deep breath. “Aurelie wanted to keep an eye on me,” he said, quietly, “because of my head. She felt I should not, uh, sleep unmonitored.”

Ahura’s eyes narrowed further. “And you agreed?"

Aremu's gaze darted up to her, and then away.

Ahura snorted. "And this is unrelated to all your longing looks at her?”

Aremu’s gaze snapped up. He winced, his head aching; his jaw tightened.

“And all hers towards you?” Ahura’s voice softened, a pinch.

“Hers..?” Aremu asked, startled.

Ahura snorted, looking down at him. “Do you think I am so blind?“ She asked.

“G-good morning,” Aurelie said from behind them, and then made her way into an apology for the state of the floor. Aremu glanced over at her; Ahura came down the last few steps, and looked back at her. The whole of her face was bright red.

Ahura smiled kindly at her. “Good morning, ada'na,” she said in Estuan. “It is only sand. No problem,” she went over and took Aurelie’s hands in hers, searching the younger girl’s face. After a moment, she grinned at her, very wicked, transferring both of Aurelie’s hands to her left, and patting them with her right.

“You come downstairs,” she told them both, competently, finding her way through her thickly accented, sing-song Estuan. “I make you breakfast. Efere is here. He wants to see Aurelie.”

Aremu nodded after a moment.

Ahura smiled sweetly up at Aurelie. She glanced back over her shoulder at Aremu, switcihng to Mugrobi. “You are too much a fool, Aremu. If you let her go, you will never forgive yourself.”

Aremu’s mouth twitched, and his gaze dropped. He nodded, after a moment, and couldn’t think of anything to say. I don’t want to hurt her, he wanted to protest; it’s the last thing I want to do. I didn’t – I never – I thought –

“Aremu very stubborn when sick,” Ahura was saying. She had tucked her arm through Aurelie’s, taking her down the stairs. Aremu followed behind them, his hand tight on the banister. “You keep him rest.” She patted Aurelie lightly on the arm. “I make food good for sick.”

Aremu found himself rather lightheaded at the bottom of the stairs. He held on to the bannister for just a moment, breathing evenly.

“Aurelie!” Efere said, cheerfully. He ran over to Ahura, and threw his arms around Aurelie’s waist, grinning up at her. “Aremu!” He ran over to Aremu next, hugging him. Aremu’s face twitched at a smile; he shifted his weight against the bannister, freeing his hand to rumple the thick tight curls of Efere’s hair.

The room was a mess, Aremu thought, grimacing. The couch was strewn with sand, damp and disarranged where he’d sat on it; there were empty water glasses, and traces up sand up and down the stairs, too, and along the second floor hallway. He couldn’t think about it too much; his head was aching. He let Efere take his hand, the little boy tugging him along, and sank a bit heavily into one of the cleaner looking chairs.

“Aremu?” Efere asked. He squirmed; Aremu sat back from where he’d been leaning forward, his eyes tightly shut. Efere climbed into his lap. “You are tired?” He asked, looking between him and Aurelie.

“Just a bit,” Aremu said, trying again to smile.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

29 Hamis, 2720 - Morning | The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Aurelie walked up only for the very end of their conversation. She didn't know what was said; she had learned, really, very few words of Mugrobi and all of them were strictly food-related. As they were not evidently discussing breakfast, Aurelie could follow none of. That, she thought, might be for the best.

Ahura's smile was kind, as she took Aurelie's hands. It tilted as she studied Aurelie's face—for what? What, precisely, was she grinning at? She had the most striking feeling that she knew. Aurelie turned a little more red, which was evidently possible. She did smile though; going downstairs seemed like a wonderful idea. And not just because breakfast and Efere seemed like much less embarrassing subjects than whatever Ahura had seen in her face.

Whatever the woman tossed over her shoulder to Aremu she didn't understand either. Aurelie knew she wouldn't ask later; she didn't think she should know. They went down the stairs, arm in arm, and Aremu followed behind. Aurelie looked over her shoulder only once, frowning.

"I can try," she said ruefully. "He is very stubborn." A smile crept across her face without her being able to do anything to stop it. She had gotten a small understanding, with the letters that mentioned his shoulder. Yesterday had certainly underscored that point. Rest, she thought, and felt that funny mix of guilt and shyness again. Thinking of his hand on her back.

Aremu paused at the bottom of the stairs. Aurelie had no time to turn and frown, because there was Efere, running over and throwing his skinny little arms around her waist. Aurelie smiled, broadly. "Good morning," she said, laying her hand briefly on top of his head before the boy was off again, running to Aremu. Aurelie looked at both of them for a long moment, still smiling. Then she looked away, out over the room.

Ticks, it was such a disaster. How could she have left it this way? She had other things to think about—health things!—when they got back. Still. She could have at least put the glasses away. Her eyes skimmed over the furniture, the sand, the clear signs of their having dripped all over everything. While she took stock of the state of the room, Aremu and Efere moved to sit together in one of the chairs.

Aurelie's frown increased slightly. Just a bit—he should, she thought, go back to bed. At least he was sitting in the chair now. "We had a very, uhm, busy day yesterday," Aurelie told Efere with a fond sort of smile. She had been here a week, she thought, and already—well. Energetic children were easy to be fond of, Aurelie supposed.

"Do you need anything?" Aurelie offered Aremu, the fondness not dropping away from her face or voice at all. "Tea, or water, or...?" You should sit, she thought. Stay right there, for now.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 29 Hamis, 2720
The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Efere grinned from Aremu’s lap, looking across the room at Aurelie. She was smiling at him, her gaze soft and sweet on the little boy’s face. She looked up and it didn’t change. Aremu wasn’t sure what he felt, not quite; it swept through him, and he was aware that he was smiling too, looking back at her.

“No, I’m all right,” Aremu said, not wanting to make Aurelie go and fetch him anything. “You should sit,” he glanced around at the chairs, and then back at Aurelie, a little hopeful smile curling over his lips once more.

Warm morning light was streaming in through the windows; they were closed still, light white curtains gleaming In front of them. The light ached in his eyes, just a bit; he closed them for a moment, breathing in deep and exhaling out slowly.

Efreet shifted about on his lap, all boney elbows and knees, feet dangling. “What did you DO yesterday?” He asked, wide eyed, looking between them and then down at the sand-swept floor.

Aremu smiled faintly. “We went swimming,” he said, “and got caught in a storm.”

“You shouldn’t swim when there is a storm,” Efere said, accusingly.

“You’re quite right,” Aremu agreed, frowning down at the boy. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Aurelie. They needed to discuss it, Aremu thought, half-remembering her apologies to him. She needed to know that he was the one to blame, not her; he was the one who had put her in danger.

For a moment the weight of it pressed down on him, like the water, half-suffocating him. His head ached, and Efere’s squirming about and eager voice was doing very little to help.

“Did you go swimming yesterday?” Aremu asked.

“Yes,” Efere said, proudly. “I went and swam a lot. I dived all the way down to the bottom of the cove.”

“Did you see any fish?” Aremu asked.

Efere nodded, enthusiastically. “Yes, loads! Little ones like this,” he stuck out his lips, pouting them.

Aremu grinned. “Like this?” He asked, making the same face. After a moment, self-conscious, he glanced at Aurelie, then back down, his grin fading.

“No, like this,” Efere made another face, crossing his eyes this time. He stuck the corner of his tongue out of his mouth, and then collapsed into giggles, shaking around in Aremu’s lap.

“I want a story,” Efere announced. There was noise from outside now, the sounds of the men and women arriving for weeding. The back door opened and closed, and he heard Ahura’s voice calling out.

“Ah,” Aremu said, his head throbbing. He smiled down at Efere, and then, after a moment, looked up hopefully at Aurelie, trying to ask her with his eyes, uncertain exactly what was on his face.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

29 Hamis, 2720 - Morning | The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Aurelie looked first to the chairs, and then to the kitchen. She should be useful, she thought. She could help with breakfast, or at least clean up a little. Aurelie looked then back to Aremu, who had such a hopeful sort of smile on his face and Efere on his lap.

"I suppose I can sit for a while," she allowed. Aurelie sat, utterly defeated and smiling. "But—if you change your mind..." She, after all, wasn't the one who had hit her head. Honestly, other than being rattled, and a few minor scrapes here and there she hadn't even noticed until she took a bath the night before, she was completely unharmed.

They should call for a doctor, she thought quite firmly. She would ask about that soon. Not quite yet; she was happy enough to sit for a while and look at the morning light coming in soft and bright through the curtains. Aside from how it highlighted what a terrible state she'd left the room in. She looked back to Aremu, Efere wiggling excitedly. She shouldn't laugh at the reproach in the boy's bright tone, but she couldn't seem to help it. He was right, after all. It was good he had seemed to have absorbed this lesson so thoroughly.

Aurelie leaned back comfortably in her chair, listening with a little smile on her face as Efere talked about his own swimming adventures. All the way to the bottom! she almost said, but she rather liked just listening. Maybe in a moment she would rescue Aremu from Efere; the enthusiasm seemed like it wouldn't mix well with a headache.

She smothered a giggle with her hand, watching them make faces at each other. Aremu grinned first, which eased something in her heart. Something else tensed when he looked at her and it fell away, but she didn't loosen her own smile. What had she done wrong then? "That's a very funny kind of fish you've caught," Aurelie told him, looking down to Efere. "I didn't know fish had tongues."

The house was getting louder, everything now awake and heading about its day. Aurelie liked the bright bustle of it, most days. She liked it today as well, if she were being honest. What she didn't like was the way Aremu's face kept tensing. He looked at her again, hoping for—for what? Rescue, she thought. She could provide that.

"I can tell you a story, if you'd like. A story my Nurse read to me when I was a little girl in Anaxas." She patted the chair next to her; there was space enough for as small a boy as Efere to sit next to her, if they cuddled up together. "About how toys can become real."

Aurelie had always loved this story; she hadn't told it in a long time, but she remembered it well. When she was around Efere's age, she had begged Nurse to read it to her over and over. She thought now that Nurse must have been terribly sick of it, but she read it to Aurelie faithfully all the same. She thought she could even remember how most of it went, word for word.

"There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen..." she began, looking for a moment at Aremu, and then down at Efere rather fondly. Her voice was warm, and the words were well-worn.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 29 Hamis, 2720
The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Efere grinned at Aurelie. “That sounds nice!” He squirmed off Aremu’s lap and ran across the room, bare feet slapping against the floor. He wriggled himself into the space between her and the edge of the chair, leaning comfortably against her.

Aremu smiled, a little relieved, watching them. Aurelie looked happy, he thought, and sort of peaceful. He knew, really, he should have asked her to get him some water - the thought of getting up and getting some himself was much more than he could bear, and his throat ached. He didn’t know why he hadn’t; he couldn’t quite bring himself to.

I’d want to, she had said the night before, even if it wasn’t my fault.

Shit, Aremu thought, and then: he really was a fool. He didn’t know what he was still afraid of, though he knew he was afraid. Obligation, perhaps. He thought of Aurelie’s shivers and little noises as he traced his hand along her spine; his hand tingled, and he curled it in his lap, and resolved not to think of that any more, not just here.

”’What is REAL?’ asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. ‘Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?’”

Aurelie’s voice was lovely, Aremu thought. Efere was listening, rapt, leaning up against her, his small bright face wide-eyed, hanging on to her every word. I know how you feel, Aremu half-thought if saying, listening as well, aware that she had captured no less of his attention than she had of the little boy’s.

”’Real isn't how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.’”

Aremu swallowed, just a little. Real, he thought, and then: if only. He tried to imagine it, toys laying around discussing their emptiness, and wondering how it could be filled. It was easier than he liked to think; it ached, squarely, in his chest, for he knew there was no way.

“’Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn't happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.’”

Ahura came out of the kitchen with a tray; she set mint tea down for Aurelie, buttermilk for Efere who took it promptly, and two glasses for Aremu, one foul-smelling and one mint tea.

Aremu smiled up at her; he took the foul-smelling glass, breathed in deep, and swallowed it all. He sat back, his eyes closing, and his stomach churning, nausea rippling through him, tingling in his jaw and down his spine.

Aurelie’s soft, warm voice went on. What is real? Aremu wondered, and he ached, his jaw clenching. His eyes opened, and he breathed in deep, in and out again, and took the cup of mint tea, holding the edges of it between long fingers, and managing a small sip.

Efere, a line of buttermilk on his upper lip, was listening as intently as ever, with no sign of having lost even the slightest bit of interest.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

29 Hamis, 2720 - Morning | The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

The story of the little rabbit, all filled with sawdust, came spilling out of her word by word. Efere was leaning against her side, and his small face was rapt as she spoke. Aurelie thought she remembered just the way Nurse had told it; for all her sighs, the woman had been very good with voices. Nurse, Aurelie thought, had been better to her than she had any right to have expected.

When the little Rabbit heard that he was happy, for he knew that what the Skin Horse had said was true at last. The nursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real. The Boy himself had said it.

That night he was almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred in his little sawdust heart that it almost burst.

To become Real; Aurelie had thought about it many, many times. There was a trace of ache in telling this story now. That she had loved it so much when she was small, before she knew what she was—and all that she wasn't—seemed almost cruel now. But she had, and she did still. She leaned into the telling of it now; the other rabbits and their mockery, and the Rabbit's sadness and shame.

Somewhere in her telling Ahura appeared; Aurelie didn't stop in her telling, but she looked up and smiled a grateful kind of look. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Aremu swallow all of what was in one of the glasses in one go. He had the particular grimace of someone doing something good for them; good, she thought.

When she got to the part of the sickness, and of the Rabbit being thrown away, she hesitated, looking into Efere's wide, dark eyes. She almost left that part out, or glossed over it. It was the hardest part of all, harder even than when the living rabbits were cruel to Rabbit. Aurelie had cried almost every time as a little girl, even though she knew it was coming. In the end she told it as it was; the pain of it was part of the beauty of the story. She would hate to leave that part out.

Nothing became Real without it hurting, after all. The Skin-Horse had said so; this was no different than all the rest of it.

It was, she though, a bittersweet sort of story. She loved it very fiercely all the same. When she was small she had asked Nurse if the boy ever missed his Bunny. After all, he had been Real to the boy all along. Nurse had shaken her head, and told Aurelie to go to sleep. She still wondered. That seemed to her the saddest part of all, that the boy never knew that his love had let his dear Bunny become Real not just to him, but to everyone.

"...He was a Real Rabbit at last, at home with the other rabbits." Aurelie finished her story with a smile. She reached for her own tea, a little cool by now. It soothed her throat, which hurt more than she had expected. Telling the whole story in such detail hadn't been the best idea, possibly. But she couldn't bear to leave any of it out—not the first time Efere heard it. It was unspeakably important to her that he heard it all, the right way.

It was only now that she'd reached the end that she realized she didn't know quite what he'd make of it. He was, after all, a very different kind of child to the one she had been. Still; she was glad to have told it, at least.

"How was that, then? A good story?" Aurelie smiled at Efere first, but she looked over at Aremu too. He, also, had to listen to her tell it. She hadn't thought about it in quite that way until now, and had the presence of mind to be a little embarrassed. She couldn't have done as good a job as Nurse had.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 29 Hamis, 2720
The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Efere listened with rapt attention; his eyes were wide, and he curled further and further into Aurelie’s side as she went along, until his head was cuddled against her, and he was half in her lap by the end of it. He gasped, his little face tightening, when the other rabbits were cruel to the stuffed one.

Aremu watched the two of them from across the room, silent. The headache gave the whole day an odd air of unreality, not as dream like as the day before, but as if he were floating, just a little distant. He listened, the waves of the story washing over him, and he felt as absorbed as Efere by the telling of it.

When Aurelie paused, looking down into Efere’s big dark eyes, Aremu watched her, the fall of her hair soft over her cheek, dressed in the bright fabric of her new clothing, a world away from the pale blues of her Brunnhold uniform. She went on, to the little boy’s illness, and the doctor’s prescription that all of his things be burnt, and the rabbit too.

Aremu cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. The mint tea was cool to the touch, and he looked down at it, trying to keep his face smooth and even. It wasn’t the rabbit he saw, but himself as a boy, alone in the Turtle; it wasn’t the rabbit he saw, but a small Aurelie like she’d been in the locket around her neck, curled up in a bed in Brunnhold. He wondered if she had cried, and he thought he would come apart in the thinking of it.

Aremu didn’t look up again as Aurelie wound the story to a close, as the rabbit came to the forest and was set loose to play with the other toys. He held the cup of tea in his lap, staring down into it, conscious and horribly embarrassed by the heat behind his eyes. He took a deep, even breath, and it caught in his throat.

“It was very good!” Efere’s voice was as bright and cheerful as ever. He giggled. “I never heard a story like that before. What does a velveteen rabbit look like? Tell me again!”

“Efere! Come and help your grandmother!” Ahura’s voice came from the kitchen, raised in a singsong.

Efere sulked, though only for a moment. “Will you tell it to me again later?” He asked Aurelie, smiling up at her. “I liked it so much,” he squeezed her in a little hug and then squirmed off the chair, and ran pitter-patter into the kitchen.

Aremu took a deep breath, shifting on the chair. He set the cup down, not wanting to press his hand to his face and give himself away. He was oddly conscious of Aurelie’s gaze on him; he didn’t know how, but he was almost sure she was looking at him. He glanced up after a moment, his throat moving in a silent swallow, doing his best to blink away the gleam of tears in his eyes.

You’re absurd, he told himself, his chest aching. This is pathetic. All of us children, he wanted to say, like toys thrown away as if it could keep the sickness from spreading. His lips trembled, and he pressed them together in a thin line. It’s a children’s story, he told himself. You’ve a headache, and you’re behaving like a child yourself. He took another deep breath, slowly, in and out, though he was nearly past the point of thinking it would help.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

29 Hamis, 2720 - Morning | The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Aurelie had laughed, happy to hear that Efere had liked the story in the end after all. Perhaps it was good he wasn't as serious a child as she had been. The story could be just a story, and that's all it would ever be. He would never... "Well," she began, "it's like—"

The singsong of Ahura's voice from the kitchen cut her off. Aurelie couldn't help but smile a little more when Efere sulked; it was brief, hardly a sulk at all, and then it was gone. Very different, Aurelie thought with an aching kind of fondness, from either herself or Aremu, too. At least she thought so. His easy affection caught her off-guard, as it seemed to again and again. She squeezed back, lightly.

"Of course," she promised. He squirmed out of the chair and ran away to the kitchen. She could hear the bright chatter of his voice floating back to them, and Ahura's too. The words were lost in the distance between.

Aurelie looked at Aremu; he was looking down, mint tea in his lap. What did you think of it? She found it terribly important to know, but couldn't bring herself to ask. It had been a different story to her as a girl than it was to her now. No less important, but she thought she felt the bitterness of it more keenly now. And she liked it more for it, perhaps. As adults so often did with bitter flavors, Aurelie thought.

Aremu put the cup back on the table, but he didn't look up. Was it so terribly told as that? Or—Aurelie frowned, suddenly concerned. His head wasn't worse, was it? When he looked up, the look on his face was like being doused in cold water. Aurelie's worried look deepened. They weren't so far apart; if she reached out her hand, she could just brush his arm with her fingertips. She leaned over, and did the best she could.

All of the room was bright, lively voices from other room and outside drifting to them from the breeze. Even the mess of the sand seemed somehow cheerful in the light of day. Aurelie looked at Aremu and the thin press of his mouth. Hard, harder than it should have been. Holding something down, or in, or back.

"Are you all ri—" Aurelie halted, the question cut off. No, that wasn't what she should ask. She knew if she asked it that way, she would only get a "fine" in response. Aurelie took a breath, thought a moment, and rephrased her question.

"What's wrong?" Her voice and face were soft with worry. She thought she would have gotten up to take his hand before asking the question, but didn't know if she should now. Not in the warm light, not with other people in the house. She didn't know if that was really her place. Still, she couldn't not ask.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 29 Hamis, 2720
The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Aurelie leaned over and set her fingertips on his hand. Aremu closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, shifting and taking in a deep breath.

Nothing, he wanted to say; it’s nothing. It wouldn’t have been a lie, not quite. His face ached from the pressure of his jaw, and the pounding in his head was worse. Just the headache, he could have said too, and he didn’t think it would be a lie wither.

Aremu had known for a long that lies built a wall, that even when there was nothing in you for them to stain, that each one placed a brick between you and someone else. It was only more recently he had started to understand the silences did the same; these truths seemed to him like a silence, in their own way.

He had a choice, Aremu thought, looking down at the pale fingers on his hand, with their little nicks and cuts. There had been a moment when he might have hidden it well enough to avoid her asking; it was too late for that now. If he told her - he felt as if he were stripping himself bare, except that he would rather have been naked before her. At least he thought she might have enjoyed that, and he wasn’t ashamed of his body.

He was ashamed of this.

I’m just tired, he might have said. What was worse, physical weakness or emotional? Did it matter? Any other answer, he knew, built a wall as much as a lie. Just now - thinking of her lying in bed and asking him to kiss her, even though he knew he shouldn’t - couldn’t - make more of it than desire - he was, Aremu knew, a fool.

“It’s what they did to us, isn’t it?” Aremu’s lips twitched; to his horror, his eyes were damp with tears. “Shit,” he half-whispered, quietly; he pulled his hand away from hers and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, breathing deeply. It did nothing for his headache, but he found he could blink the tears back, horribly away of the catch in his breath.

He wanted to finish it; he had to finish it. He lowered his hand, looking squarely at Aurelie, wishing he could pretend he didn’t feel the damp smudges in the corner of each eye. “Told us we were real,” Aremu said, evenly, “then put us out for the burning and never saw us again.”

Getting through it helped. He looked away once more, out towards the curtained windows, the bright light gleaming through them; he closed his eyes again against the headache, trying to find something even in his breath.

There was noise from the kitchen, Efere’s bright laughter as Ahura talked him, singsong, through fetching what she needed. Efere’s voice was a chirp, and then Ahura was laughing too. Aremu’s face twitched, and he felt the heat of the tears behind his eyes.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

29 Hamis, 2720 - Morning | The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum

Aurelie reached out and touched just the tips of her fingers to the back of Aremu's hand. Any more than that would have been too much, she thought; it seemed too much now, when his eyes briefly closed and he just stared at her fingers there. She resisted the urge to tense them up and draw them away, to apologize for asking. She wasn't sorry she asked; she had meant the question, and she truly wanted to know the answer.

In the end, he drew his own hand away. Aurelie looked at him, steady in her concern, and wondered if she should have taken it again. She made no effort to do so, but she left her hand hovered sort of awkwardly on the arm of the chair. It's what they did to us. Aurelie's own mouth twisted, and she resisted the urge to look down. It would be horribly unfair of her, she told herself sternly, to ask the question and look away from the answer.

She wanted to—to reach out, tell him it was just a story. Just a story about a toy rabbit that became something more, through a special kind of magic. But she didn't think of it that way either, not quite. A strange and selfish part of her was almost glad to hear him say so; she'd neither heard nor told the story in a long, long time, but she held it in her heart always. Thought of it often, of the little Rabbit and his Boy, and the terrible, wonderful pains of becoming Real.

She let her eyes drop when Aremu looked away, but she kept her hand where it was. If he should want it. She didn't think taking her hand would prove as comforting as she had found the reverse situation. Aurelie, after all, had nothing to offer to anyone by way of comfort. She couldn't even tell a story properly. She left it there all the same, just in case.

"Y-you know, I—" Aurelie began quiet, unsure. Her voice creaked with the effort of it; she had spoken too much already today, and her throat still hurt from yesterday. She cleared it, and wanted very badly to take another sip of the mint tea on the table. But she would have to turn and withdraw her hand to do it, and that seemed more important. Even though there was no reason Aremu should want it.

"I loved that story very much, when I was a little girl." She tried again, and she frowned a little. She had never tried to put the feelings into words; there had never been anyone, really, to listen to them. Aremu probably didn't even want to hear them now, but she thought she could offer them, at least, in exchange.

Sometimes I think it's about nothing. Or else it is as you say; the story of a foolish little Rabbit and his sawdust heart, tricked into thinking he was loved only to be tossed away. I don't even think there's sawdust inside me, most of the time. Lately, she wanted to say. Lately, I've been thinking it's about—

—About being loved, she wanted to say, and the risk and the pain and the beauty of it. But Aurelie didn't know that she knew what that meant, after all. She had thought so. Now she wasn't sure. Her fingers curled on the arm of the chair.

"The Rabbit wasn't burnt though. Because the Rabbit was real, more real than just... just nursery magic. Real not just to the boy, but to... to everyone. In the end." Aurelie shook her head; she wasn't saying this properly. She had tried, she really had. It didn't seem like enough. "I'm not saying this well, I'm sorry. You would think I—I never have decided, you know, what I think the story is about." Once you're real, she wanted to add, you can't become unreal. Not even if they throw you out, not even if... All children leave the nursery one day, but being real is always, once you have it.

"I'm sorry, that's all very... Maybe I should have picked a different... I think it's... Hmm." She tried to smile, or something like it. She couldn't quite bring herself to say that she was glad he'd answered her, though she was. It seemed impossible to say without acknowledging what the answer looked like it cost. It was, still, such a bright and peaceful kind of morning. Incongruous with all the rest.