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Pearl sits in the middle of the big sofa in front of the fireplace, her back resting against worn cushions that smell faintly of dust and time, one leg stretched along the length of the seat and the other bent with her foot tucked beneath her thigh. Cleo lies with their head in her lap, and her white hair spills across the dark fabric of Pearl's pants. A heavy blanket covers them both, or mostly both, as one of Cleo's pale hands has worked free and grabbed Pearl’s knee.
Pearl reaches down and tucks the thick and soft blanket back around Cleo's shoulder. She knows Cleo doesn't need the warmth, vampires don't feel cold the way humans do, especially in the late stages of their condition. But it’s about being comfortable, and caring about each other, and… Pearl sighs. Maybe it’s also about her need to hold onto her own humanity, just a little bit.
The fire burns low in the hearth, warm amber light plays across the stone walls, casting shadows that shift and dance with each small movement of the flames. It warms Pearl's face and hands, it doesn’t care if she’s human or not.
Outside, the world is silent in the way that only comes with heavy snowfall that consumes everything in its white endless belly. Pearl can hear the absence of sound beyond the walls. No wind whistles through cracks in the shutters. No distant animal calls carry through the winter air. Just the thick, blanketing silence of snow piling up in the courtyard, against the castle walls, across the frozen river and empty fields of Oakhurst beyond their gates.
We should plant sunflowers there in the spring, Pearl thinks. I bet pigs would like to have some… and it would be an appropriate thing to bring to Martyn’s grave.
The fire crackles quietly. Occasionally, there’s pop and hiss of sap heating and evaporating in the wood – not all of it is fully dry. Pearl can hear the sound of fabric as Cleo shifts slightly, their head settling more comfortably in her lap, their fingers twitching once against her knee before going still again.
Pearl looks down at Cleo's face. Their eyes are half-open, lids lowered but not fully closed, revealing thin crescents of red between pale lashes. It's the typical vampire state of rest; their consciousness is dimmed but not entirely absent. Pearl herself prefers normal sleeping, luckily for her vampires do sleep when they are very tired from intense activities. Cleo likes to dream-while-awake though. Might have something to do with her need for control.
Pearl lifts one hand and threads her fingers through Cleo's hair. The strands are cool and fine, and she combs through slowly, careful not to tug or pull. Tomorrow, the moon will be full, so her claws are sharp and there’s grey-brown fur on her arms. She might go hunting, if the weather is good, her coat is thick enough to brave the snow.
Her hand continues its slow wander, petting over the crown of Cleo’s head, working the knots out of the white hair. She liked how the long strands coiled around her claws, liked the way Cleo’s scalp was just a little warmer than her hands. Maybe it was the fire.
Pearl sighs. Surviving this winter without the castle and all the supernatural powers would've been a challenge. She remembers one of her first nights in Oakhurst; it wasn’t even near the cold season, and yet, it got chill enough for her and Cleo to sleep together, cuddling under the woolen blankets. Before any of this, when they were both still human and cold in ways that had nothing to do with vampires or curses.
They didn’t know each other, not really — even now, they are still learning. But having some sleep without freezing was more important than the rules of polite society, and so they made it work. The house had been small, one of dozens scattered throughout Oakhurst's ruins. Pearl had chosen it because the roof was mostly intact and walls looked sturdy despite a few holes. She worked all day to make it into a decent shelter, but she needed more time, and they needed a place to stay…
So they shared the bed; Pearl felt awkward at first, but Cleo seemed unbothered, and they were very warm, and so she pressed her back to their chest until the shivering went away. Pearl remembers waking in the dark, face full of Cleo’s hair, their arm grabbing her around the torso and petting her stomach. Pearl never asked if she was asleep — Cleo does tend to hold onto her when she’s resting.
They've both lost that, she thinks. That fundamental human vulnerability to the elements. The vital need for warmth, for shelter and a hot meal, for another body to keep the cold at bay.
"You're thinking too loud again," Cleo murmurs, amused, their voice rough with half-sleep. Their eyes open a fraction more, red and shiny in the firelight.
"Can't help it," Pearl says softly, resuming her gentle stroking of Cleo's hair. "I'm just thinking about how far we've come. From that little house to here. From not knowing each other to, well, us."
"Mmm." Cleo's hand tightens briefly on Pearl's knee. "We're much better at sharing a bed now."
Pearl chuckles.
"Among other things."
Cleo smiles and turns her head away to hide her face in the curve of Pearl’s stomach.
“Are you sleeping?” Pearl asks.
“Mhm!” Cleo answers, grabbing her knee.
Pearl pulls the blanket higher, tucking it more securely around both of them, and settles deeper into the sofa's cushions. The fire burns down slowly, orange flames darkening to red embers. Outside the snow has started falling again.
Pearl probably should work on that embroidery she started a few days ago. It’s not like she’ll be able to do it tomorrow, being a giant hungry wolf and all that.
She looks down at Cleo, peaceful in their rest, and something settles in her chest. Despite everything she's lost —her humanity, her mortality, her comrades, her control over her own body during the transformation— she's found something she'd been searching for all along. Not safety, exactly, though the castle offers that for now. Not just love, though that's certainly a part of it.
Belonging.
Home.