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There's no sun in the sky. There are no clouds either, just a drab sky draped in white.
Azzi pulls the curtains back, pressing her lips together.
She's been at Bly Manor for four years now, and nothing has really changed. The old house still stands tall and foreboding, like it wouldn't bend, even to the end of the world, and the greenery around it doesn't do much to make the stone more appeasing.
The curtain drops.
This isn't the kind of morning that asks much of anyone, much less someone like Azzi, who finds her strength with the wind and the sunlight, but she drags herself to usefulness anyway. She isn't the type to skip out on work. Prides herself on it, actually.
Besides. It's difficult for a house to wake up without its keeper.
She picks out a midi skirt and a loose sweater to go on top, something comfortable enough to feel like a second skin. The cold seems to have seeped in during the night, so she pinches her cheeks to bring some life back into them and ties up her hair in a casual updo.
There's a lovely scent coming from downstairs. Normally, Azzi would check on the rooms, making sure everything is in order, before going into the kitchen. But the children haven't woken up yet and neither has their minder, the au pair. There's no one to run after.
So she allows herself this respite.
Every room in the manor is covered in shadow, because they like to hide things, but the kitchen is different. The kitchen shines bright even when the sun doesn't, and so does Paige, their cook.
Azzi walks into the kitchen, her steps deliberately soft. She likes not announcing her arrival when Paige is in the middle of something. The cook gets this look on her face when she finally notices Azzi there, like she's shocked and content at the same time, almost like Azzi's just come home after a long time. It makes her feel…warm.
Paige is stirring something vigorously, her tongue peeking out slightly as she puts all her effort into beating whatever she's making into submission. Her blonde hair I in a loose ponytail with wisps of hair framing her face like glitter floating in the air.
She turns, about to lean against the kitchen counter, when she finally notices Azzi.
"Azzi. Hi."
There it is. There's that look.
She smiles. "Good morning, Paige."
Paige scrunches her nose, and Azzi's smile gets a bit wider when she sees it. "Not really, is it? Bit of a shitty morning, actually."
"True," Azzi says, humming. "But I'm sure you'll turn it around."
Paige turns her head away from Azzi, maybe to hide her face. But that doesn't matter. Azzi knows when she hits the mark. That rosy red blush is one of Paige's best accessories.
She holds out her spoon towards Azzi. "Wanna try?"
"What is it?" Azzi says, leaning forward.
She pouts. "Don't you trust me?"
"Sometimes," Azzi deadpans.
Paige is a lovely cook. She has made some of the best food Azzi's ever eaten. But she likes to try some strange combinations, and Azzi has been a victim of her experiments before. She has valid reason to be a little suspicious.
Paige just pushes the spoon closer. "Just try it, Azzi."
Azzi concedes. The batter is sweet, but buttery, coating her mouth in a sensation she can't even begin to describe. But it's hard to swallow. It won't go down.
"So?"
Azzi licks the side of her mouth, cleaning her lips. She doesn't notice Paige's eyes dip down. "It's good."
"That's all?"
Azzi ignores her. Paige likes to fish for compliments she hasn't earned yet. "What is it?"
She sets the bowl down and wipes her hands on her flannel shirt before adjusting her ponytail. "They're…scones."
"Scones?" Azzi says, surprised.
"Look, I know what you're going to say–"
"Scones is baking. You're baking."
"Yeah–"
Azzi crosses her arms. "You suck at baking."
Sometimes Azzi wonders why she keeps a cook that can't bake, but by the time she found out, the kids had already fallen in love with Paige and would've thrown a fit if she fired her. Not to mention, Azzi's gotten a little attached herself.
Apparently, an impulsive cook who likes to put her own spin on things is bad at following the very precise directions in a baking recipe. Who could have guessed?
Paige wraps her hand around her wrist lightly. "I didn't do anything crazy this time, I promise. They should, for all intents and purposes, turn out edible, at the very least."
Azzi considers glaring, but then decides against it. She's learned the hard way that trying to scold Paige is one of the hardest things on earth.
She smiles instead, a small, quiet thing. "I guess we'll see."
"We will," Paige says, matching her smile with a brighter version.
She turns back to the stove, before looking towards Azzi, noticing something. Azzi looks around, confused. "You haven't eaten," Paige says, already reaching for the fridge door handle.
Azzi brushes her off. "It's okay, I'll eat with the kids."
"It's Saturday, Azzi. you know those rascals won't wake up for at least another four hours," Paige counters, grabbing some eggs. "I'll make your favorite. It'll be worth it."
Azzi leans against the counter. "You spoil me too much."
"No, I don't. I could stand to do it more often," Paige says, completely serious. "Besides, if I don't do it, who will?"
The words slip out of Paige too easily. a casual admission of care that Azzi doesn't know what to do with.
"You just relax," Paige continues.
Azzi smiles, sheepish. "Easier said than done."
"No, it isn't," Paige says, walking over to Azzi. "It's actually pretty simple."
Paige puts both hands on Azzi's waist. Azzi grabs her forearms and looks up at Paige, eyes wide. Paige's smirk is too proud for her own good. She lifts Azzi up, settling her onto the counter and narrowly avoiding the heels that had started kicking the moment they left the ground. "There. That's better," she whispers up at Azzi.
She goes back to her cooking, cracking eggs into a bowl with one hand like nothing even happened. Azzi still hasn't caught her breath. Except, there's nothing to catch.
"You're really something, Paige."
––––– ––– –––––
It's bright outside. It has been for the last couple of days, warming the walls of the house and helping it breathe. It's nice. It helps Azzi breathe too.
At least, it used to.
She's been at the house on her own for a while now, just herself and her thoughts. The loneliness has become too friendly, like an old coat she slips on when she gets too tired.
Nothing here surprises her anymore.
Azzi turns the sink on, letting the warm water flow through her fingers.
The doorbell rings. Azzi nearly jumps out of her skin as the water turns cold.
She rushes to dry her hands before running out to open the door. There's a woman on the other side, tall, blonde, with a sharp jawline that offsets the relaxed stance of her body. Her mouth is set in an easy smile like it's natural for her, and her eyes are alight, the closest thing to the ocean this drab English manor will ever see.
Azzi runs her eyes over her, trying to figure out exactly who she's looking at. She settles on saying,"Good morning," when she doesn't come up with any answers.
"Hi," the woman says, a little breathless. "I'm Paige. I'm here about the cook position?"
"Right. Of course." She steps out of the way, opening the door further. "Come in."
Paige smiles, following her into the house.
––––– ––– –––––
There's no sun in the sky.
She's back at the dinner table. The kids are talking to Emma, their au pair. They're barely paying attention to Azzi. Which is a good thing, she supposes, because she feels wrong. Like she's been falling for ages and she's still trying to find the ground. In this moment, being invisible feels nice.
it doesn't last, though. One person is paying attention. One person always will.
Paige pushes off of the kitchen counter where she's eating her breakfast out of the saucepan she used to cook it. She leaves the pan behind, settling into the chair next to Azzi. "Azzi? You okay?"
"I'm fine," she says, too quickly.
"You didn't eat this morning. Even after I made your favorite."
Azzi rubs her temple, flinching. She doesn't know why, but she just couldn't stomach it, even though the food looked so nice and she hasn't eaten in ages. "I'm sorry, I just…didn't feel good."
Paige pauses. "Did you try the scones?"
Azzi looks up at her, a bit bewildered. "No." she smiles, betraying herself. "Are they edible?"
"More than," Paige confirms, that insufferable smirk that Azzi won't admit she likes on her face. "Some of my best work, I think."
"I'll be the judge of that," Azzi says, taking a scone off the table. Paige puts her elbow on the table and leans closer.
She takes a bite. She still can't swallow. Paige tilts her head up, expectant. "What do you think?"
Azzi looks over towards Paige, coffee brown eyes warmed through and through. "It's lovely."
"Really?"
"Truly."
The smile Azzi earns from Paige isn't big, but it's soft and wonderful and everything good.
––––– ––– –––––
"Why did you leave your last job?"
Paige leans back into the chair, her hands fidgeting. "Well, I was a sous chef in Paris, and you know sous chefs don't really do a lot of cooking. Mostly just chopping, and peeling, all the tedious stuff. Here, I'd get to have a little more fun, make some of my own food instead of someone else's."
Azzi eyes her carefully. "You were in Paris?"
"Yeah, I moved there after studying in the Americas."
"You know," Azzi starts. "We need someone who's willing to stay on for a while. The kids, they need consistency. I don't know if someone who's used to the hustle of a city would fit well in a place like this."
Paige barely blinks, as casual and at home as she's been since she walked in. "I don't know. I think the quiet could be good for me."
Azzi hums. "You don't seem like the type to like the quiet. The opposite, actually."
"Am I that transparent?" Paige says, smiling. Azzi finds herself smiling back.
"Just a little."
Paige settles her elbows on her knees, looking down at her twiddling fingers. "If I'm honest, all I want is a fresh start. Somewhere new."
Azzi looks closer at those too-honest eyes. "I can understand that."
––––– ––– –––––
There's no sun in the sky.
Which isn't unusual, considering she's inside now. In the attic, if she has to guess.
There's laughter in the hallway.
The kids. I keep telling them to play outside in the gardens. Their mother would kill me if she found scuffs on the floor.
Azzi turns, ready to snap into the role of a housekeeper, but then her eyes catch on the grandfather clock that reads one pm. Three hours past the last time she checked.
She stops.
That can't be right.
Someone calls her name and she turns.
––––– ––– –––––
"Well, I was a sous chef. In Paris. Cutting, chopping, and all that. But I figured here, I could do my own cooking, not all that prep stuff."
Azzi blinks. she's back in that chair. Paige is in front of her, watching her, like there's something worth looking at. "Paige?"
"Hmm?"
"We've done this–before? haven't we?"
Paige's eyes are so kind. Too kind. Azzi wants to wrap herself up in them and stay.
"We have," she says, voice softer than honey.
"We have," Azzi repeats, mostly to herself.
"Do you remember?" Paige asks. still gentle, still quietly devastating.
Azzi smiles at the memory, shaking her head a little. "You came into this big house, wearing a flannel shirt that had oil stains and jeans that were ripped at the knees. You had that smile, you know the one, and despite everything…all I wanted to was to stay with you. near you. listen to you talk forever."
"It was a good day," Paige whispers.
Azzi's eyes start watering. "It was perfect."
Paige reaches over and takes her hand. "But you can't stay. You know that, don't you?"
"Why not?" Azzi yells, half delirious, but mostly grieving. "Why can't I stay?"
There's that smile again. "Because it's not real, Azzi.
"It's not real."
––––– ––– –––––
There's no sun in the sky. Barely any light floods in through the church windows. The wooden pew digs into Azzi's skin, pressing into the flesh of her thigh.
She looks up at the cross and closes her eyes.
There's a voice. a familiar one.
"In church already, Azzi?" Paige calls out. "It's barely 3 pm. Have the kids been testing you?"
Azzi keeps her eyes closed, but she lets a teasing lilt slip into her voice. "You've been testing me."
She hears some rustling and then a warmth beside her. "Have I?" Paige whispers into the space between them.
"You always do."
"You like it."
Azzi opens her eyes and looks over. Paige is next to her, just like she had imagined, and it feels too right. "I do."
Paige rests a hand over Azzi's. "Seriously, Azzi. Are you okay? Something feels…wrong. No, off."
"I–" Azzi starts. "I don't know."
"Okay," Paige says. "That's okay."
Azzi says the next words like a confession. "Is it?"
Paige doesn't say anything. She just breathes, as solid as she's always been, letting the earth slow down just enough for Azzi's mind to stop spinning. Azzi focuses on the feel of her hand on hers and holds onto it like a tether.
She's real, Azzi thinks. You're here, and she's real.
––––– ––– –––––
"Well, I was a sous chef in Paris. Mainly chopping, peeling–"
"You never even tried to impress me during this interview."
Paige looks up. She doesn't even look surprised by the interruption. "Oh, I was trying to impress you."
Azzi snorts. "Then you did a horrible job. You didn't even give me a resume."
"I didn't say I was trying to get the job," Paige corrects. "I said I was trying to impress you."
Azzi looks back. Her heart stops in her throat, cold and stuck.
"Did I impress you?" Paige asks, slow and confident. She's fishing again. She already knows the answer.
Azzi crosses her legs. "Uou know the answer to that."
"Do I?" she says, unsure for the first time. "You never said it. You never said a lot of things."
The light filters in through the kitchen windows. Azzi looks into it, blinking away tears. "You're right. I didn't."
Paige looks down, her face set like someone who knows the future. "Now, it's too late."
Azzi knits her eyebrows together. "It was the fall, wasn't it? I thought I saved myself in time, but I guess I didn't."
Paige doesn't say anything. She just looks at her.
"A little more. Just give me a little more," Azzi pleads.
––––– ––– –––––
There's no sun in the sky.
It's night now, an endless black, dotted with the glow of the stars and the moon.
"You could go to paris."
Azzi looks over at Paige, resisting the urge to laugh. "Paris? Me?"
Paige shrugs. "Why not?"
They're on the porch, sprawled across the bench and wrapped up in too many blankets. Paige takes the wine bottle that they're sharing out of her hand.
"What would I do in Paris?" Azzi says, biting her smile back.
Paige takes a swig, a bit of wine dribbling off her chin. She shrugs, trying to be casual, but the motion is too exaggerated for it to seem easy. "You could do whatever you want. Eat. Travel. See things you've never seen before. Do things you've never done."
"I used to want that," Azzi whispers, nearly surprising herself. "A fresh start."
"You can still want it," Paige says, her blue eyes shining purple in the moonlight.
The wood beneath her creaks, crying out into the nighttime. Azzi pulls the blanket up further, fully covering her shoulders.
"I don't know if I can," Azzi admits. "I've been here so long. I can barely think about leaving."
"What if I came with you?"
"What?"
Paige hands her the wine bottle, her smile more guarded than normal. "We could go together, with nothing but the clothes on our back. We could do whatever the hell we wanted. Just the two of us."
Azzi can't breathe. Stops breathing.
"That would be nice," she says, careful. "Paris…with you."
The way Paige's face lights up cracks something in Azzi's heart. "Really?"
"Yes," Azzi says. There's a rising feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Paige's arm brushes hers. Her heart should be racing.
It isn't.
"I'm going to take you away from here, Azzi, " Paige says, her words slurring together. "Far, far, away." Her eyes close, her head falling onto Azzi's shoulder. "And we could finally…"
Paige's voice trails off. Azzi looks over and finds Paige asleep, soft snores coming from her mouth.
She lifts her arm, cradling Paige's head carefully. Paige tucks her head in even further at the touch, and it should comfort Azzi, how right it all feels.
But instead she feels like she's signed away her life before it even began.
––––– ––– –––––
"Cutting and chopping and all the prep work. But here, I would get to do my own cooking, come up with my own recipes–
"I'm dead."
Paige stops. Or more accurately, she freezes. Her face is turned away from Azzi, which might be a mercy.
Azzi sniffs, trying to stop herself from crying."That's right, isn't it?"
"It is."
"I went out to take a walk. I stopped by the well to look up at the sky. There was no sun. And then I–"
Paige grabs Azzi's hand, stopping her. "It's okay, Azzi. It's okay."
She keeps whispering it, like the words could fix anything.
"This day was one of my favorites," Azzi says, looking up. Paige runs her thumb across the skin of Azzi's hand. "You, with all your annoyingly irresistible charm and soft eyes, talking to me like it was the easiest thing in the world. I could've stayed in this moment forever with you."
Paige doesn't say anything. She just watches with the same gentleness she's always had.
"I do want to go to Paris. With you. It's nice to dream about what it would be like if we could leave Bly. The small little apartment we'd find that would barely fit all of our things. It wouldn't matter, though, because I would bring flowers to leave on the table and you would smile every time you walked into the kitchen. You would open a restaurant, and I would find something else to do. Something lighter. And we would've had a good life. Together."
Azzi can't stop the tears anymore. She can feel them flowing, but none drip off her face onto her pants. Of course not. Crying is reserved for the living.
"I loved you, Paige."
Paige still hasn't moved.
"I should have told you," Azzi says, broken and a little desperate.
"It's okay," Paige whispers again.
"It's not," Azzi shakes her head. "It's not."
"no," Paige agrees. "it's not."
"I'm sorry," Azzi says. One last confession.
"Don't apologize, Az." Paige smirks like it's an inside joke. "It doesn't matter. It's not real."
"It's not real," Azzi repeats.
"Yes, Azzi," Paige affirms. "It's not real. And you have to be feeling it. You're slipping. You're running out of time. You have to go back."
Azzi lets go of Paige's hand. "I have to–"
"Don't worry. you can," Paige comforts.
"Thank you, Paige," Azzi says before standing up.
Paige looks up. "For what?"
"For letting me stay."
––––– ––– –––––
There's no sun in the sky. but it's almost dawn. It'll be here soon.
Paige is still leaning on her shoulder, sleeping soundly. Azzi would love to stay and just watch her, but she can feel it all slipping. She's losing time.
She shakes Paige lightly. "Paige, wake up."
"Hmm?" Paige groans, still half asleep. She blinks, taking in her surroundings. Azzi can't help but smile, saving every second before she loses it all. "Oh shit, we fell asleep. Or at least I did. Sorry, Azzi. Will saying that you were a very comfortable pillow change anything?"
Azzi laughs. The sun starts to glow around Paige's face, setting her blonde hair alight.
"Paige, I need you to listen."
Paige steadies herself at the somberness of Azzi's voice. "Is everything okay?"
"No," Azzi answers honestly.
"What–"
"I need you to check the well," Azzi says before she loses her nerve.
"The well? What's wrong with the well?"
"Just–" Azzi pleads."Listen to me."
"Okay," Paige agrees, like she'd follow Azzi anywhere. And that hurts more than anything. Because she cann't.
Azzi grabs Paige's arm as tightly as she can, but it doesn't matter. She can't feel the warmth of Paige's skin beneath hers.
She's run out of time.
"I love you, " Azzi whispers, the words falling like teardrops. "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
––––– ––– –––––
When the housekeeper's body was finally lifted from the well, broken and tired, the way homes with no one to live inside them are, there was no sun in the sky. It was blank, like it had stopped moving out of respect of a soul lost too soon. The police, after their investigation, assumed the housekeeper had just tripped and fell in. A remarkable tragedy that didn't require too much follow up or noise.
The cook didn't cry much when she found out, at least not where anyone could see. But she did stay with the keeper. She rode with her all the way back to town and insisted on staying where she could see her when they took her to the coroner. They say she even cleaned her herself, with a soft towel, a vanilla scented soap she had bought for the housekeeper once, and the gentlest of touches.
She stayed by her side until they buried her. She even stayed after. She stood over her grave, waiting for the housekeeper to place a hand on her shoulder and surprise her one last time.
The cook left Bly Manor carefully. She packed her things slowly, afraid of shifting the memories immortalized in the walls. The housekeeper didn't leave much behind, but everything she did found its place in the cook's suitcases. Nobody fought her on it. They knew it was hers to take. It was her pain to carry.
The house seemed quieter when she stepped back over the threshold, like it was trying to tell her it would miss her. She dropped a kiss on the foreheads of both kids and promised she would visit. The au pair looked up at her with understanding in her eyes and told her to call if she ever needed anything.
The world was a big place. and really, the cook could've gone anywhere. But she chose to go to Paris, where she lived in a small apartment that brightened when it had flowers in the kitchen. She opened a restaurant, a cozy place that people liked to come back to, where the laughter was loud and the love was even louder.
A picture hung in the middle of her restaurant, one of a smiling, golden face, with coffee brown eyes and unruly curls. The cook had taken the picture when the housekeeper wasn't looking and she was scolded for it and told to delete the picture after. But she never did.
The regulars liked to ask her about her cooking and whenever they did, the cook's eyes softened, taken to some other place and some other time. She'd look over at that picture and she'd say, "I made it for someone I love to try."
The cook lived the rest of her days there, her smile adorned by every wrinkle she earned, and her eyes still the soft ocean blue the housekeeper fell for.
It was never a mystery that the cook loved the housekeeper in that house, with every piece of her heart. Everyone knew it. They could see it in the way the cook would lean close, hoping for another reluctant smile sent her way.
The remarkable thing, was that she loved her after. And that she loves her still.