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When Imogen Temult got up that morning and put on her boots before going about her day, the last thing she expected to see was an utter waif of a woman trying to sneak into her father’s barn. She sneaks in after her, ready for a fight. Not that Imogen knows how to fight, but she is handy with a pitchfork. She finds no fight of course, just a tired, emaciated woman keen for a bit of respite. She’s not like anyone Imogen has ever met, and there is something undeniably magnetic and captivating about this stranger that compels Imogen to put down her makeshift weapon and stay.
Laudna, for her part, takes Imogen’s interest as fleeting, but indulges her all the same.
At Laudna's insistence, Imogen meets Pâté. It becomes clear to her very quickly that this is the first time anyone has really spoken to Laudna with any kind of gentleness and for longer than the necessary amount of time. And at first she is a little confused, perhaps even thinks this woman with long dark hair and even darker eyes is making fun of her. But then she says:
"Pâté, this is...?" she looks up expectantly, and Imogen realises they've been speaking for hours and they'd not yet exchanged names.
"Imogen," she says quickly, with a nervous smile.
"That's a beautiful name," Laudna replies softly before turning her head back to the rat.
"Pâté, this is Imogen, please do be polite." Imogen lets out a small laugh before she can stop herself and immediately worries she's offended her new...friend? But she glances up at her and grins. She grins like she feels seen, even if it is just for a second. Imogen finds herself wanting to elicit that same reaction again.
"'Ello there, Imogen!" Laudna puts on a gaudy, overexaggerated accent from somewhere in Exandria that Imogen can't quite place.
"I'm Pâté de Rolo!"
"Pâté, shake her hand, you know it's rude not to." Laudna scolds the little rat. The bird skull serving as the rat’s head turns to Laudna and back to Imogen.
"Ach, bollocks! Where are me manners, eh?!" Pâté's tiny paw extends and Imogen takes it between a thumb and forefinger as gently as possible, afraid she'll pull the poor thing's arm off. Poor thing? She catches herself thinking. It's a damn dead rat! The absurdity of the situation dawns on her then, but right now she's so enchanted by Laudna and little Pâté that she cannot find it in her to overthink it. (For once.)
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pâté," Imogen says daintily, laying on her own accent a little thicker for effect.
"And it's a pleasure to meet you...um," she looks back at Laudna with an eyebrow arched.
"Laudna," the woman's eyes go from mirthful to nervous as she says her name, like she's afraid Imogen wouldn't want to know her. Only her silly little puppet.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Laudna." She likes the way the name feels and sounds in her mouth. She hopes it's not the last time she gets to say it.
Laudna hums softly before releasing Pâté from his puppet strings. And that's when Imogen notices that they're not strings at all, but bands of some ichorous substance that seemed to have come directly from Laudna herself. Imogen's fingers twitch.
"That's a, uh," Imogen points to Laudna's fingertips, the black sludge receding until her long spindly fingers are back to how they are on her other hand. “That’s a neat trick.”
"What? Oh," Laudna looks bashful. "It's just a little thing." She waves it off. Be it from embarrassment or anxiety, Imogen doesn't know, but she wants to. So she does something she's been told over and over by her father never to do. She takes off her gloves and shows Laudna her hands. The scars snake their way down Imogen's fingers and stop just short of her wrists. Laudna’s eyes flicker with some kind of comprehension.
"I know what you mean," Imogen bends and twists her fingers until she conjures four little orbs of light, crackling and flashing like balls of lightnight around her head. She makes them bob softly towards Laudna until they're effectively dancing around her.
"That's lovely," Laudna sounds genuinely impressed, reaching out to prod one. "How delightful!" And Imogen is stunned into silence. No one has ever responded to her or her abilities like this. She doesn't know whether to cry or laugh, really. Laudna must see a flash of that cross her features because her eyes soften with kindness and she says "you should be proud of your skills. You needn't hide them." She gestures to her fingers.
"What about you?" Imogen challenges. She doesn't know what's come over her but this Laudna, whoever she may be, is bringing out a confidence she doesn't remember having before now. It feels like an echo of something, or someone else. Her mother, perhaps?
"What about me?" Laudna crosses her arms.
"Whatever that was, it looks like more than just 'a little thing' to me."
"Oh," something dark and rueful crosses Laudna's features and Imogen immediately wants to chase it. It feels dangerous but again, Imogen feels the ghost of that self-assurance and listens, enticed. "I don't think you want to pull on that thread."
Imogen actually laughs.
"Try me." She folds her arms too, dropping the lights. Laudna pauses. She's thinking hard, Imogen can feel it. There's a genuine care underneath the nonchalant exterior, and beneath that still, fear. Imogen wants to delve deeper but she doesn't. She doesn't want to scare Laudna away.
"I promise you it won't be fun. Or pretty. Or delightful." Laudna's eyes fill completely with a deep inky blackness.
"I'm not worried about that."
"Last chance," Laudna's voice is undercut by a hiss. The air around her goes cold and Imogen's eyes widen in wonder.
"Do your worst, Laudna."
And Laudna does just that. She grows in stature, her limbs elongating, her jaw unhinging and stretching uncannily. That same ichor spills from the corners of her eyes and dribbles out of her mouth until a shadowy veil obscures her face. Laudna drips and oozes darkness so vast and cavernous and ice cold that Imogen wonders if she might tumble into it and never come back out if she gets too close. She takes a step towards Laudna anyway and hears a cacophony of hisses and groans and growls and cackling laughter. But it's not like the abrassive racket in her head. It's different, otherworldly, and oddly peaceful. It's like Laudna's sound but amplified. Warped too, to be sure, but amplified. She steps into her space, her hands trembling.
"I warned you," Laudna's voice is distorted and croaky but it's hers all the same. Imogen gasps but her hands come to rest where she finds Laudna's face beneath the veil. She is cold to the touch but it's not unwelcome.
Then, just as quickly as she'd turned, Laudna begins to shrink once more until she is her regular size. She comes to rest on her knees, her eyes and the corners of her mouth are blackened and messy. Imogen's fingers are stained inky too but she doesn't care as she follows Laudna down to the floor, hands still on her face.
"I told you it would not be pretty." Laudna murmurs. She sounds almost dejected, bracing herself for an anguish that is yet to come. Imogen choses this moment to probe deeper into Laudna's mind. She knows the woman will feel it but she doesn't care. She'll apologise for it later.
She latches onto one thought that's louder than all the others:
What if I've scared her away? The question plays over and over and over. Imogen shakes her head and responds in her mind.
I'm not scared of you. She is gentle in her delivery, careful to ensure she says it in a reassuring way. I'm not scared of you, she says again.
Laudna flinches but then relaxes again in her grasp. Imogen realises that Laudna's skin is still cold. It's unusual, but given everything she's just witnessed, she supposes it makes sense, and it really is the least of her concerns.
There'll come a day in the future where the cool skin of Laudna's chest and arms will be an utter blessing to sleep upon but that's a story for a later time.
"You're not?" Laudna asks out loud.
"No," Imogen shakes her head again, this time with a tiny smile.
"Did you just talk in my head?" Laudna frowns, the realisation coming to her belatedly.
Yeah, Imogen responds telepathically.
"It's a nice change from the other lady in my head, I have to tell you," Laudna chuckles, pulling away and standing. "But perhaps a story for another day." She hesitates, and the nerves come back. "If you would like that, I mean."
Imogen doesn’t hesitate. "I would."
Neither of them quite know how to verbalise the bond, they've just forged in a mere handful of moments, but there is no ignoring a connection as strong as this one.