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Chapter Text

Verso Dessendre steps out of  the frame, eyes locked on his mother, he reaches a hand towards her, not expecting to feel the fabric of her dress and warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. 

He pulls his hand away as though he's been burnt, eyes darting around wildly, squinting at the brightness. The woman, Aline, seems to break from a trance, clearly pushed out of the canvas. She stares at him, bewildered, before pulling him into a suffocating hug.

“I thought I lost you,” She sobs into his chest. “I never thought I'd get to hold you like this again!”

Verso wraps his arms around her, feeling the heat of her body, leaning forward to rest his head on top of hers. His head spins, he feels something pounding in his chest, he thinks he might be dying. She pulls away, hands sliding down his arms and grasping his hands. She stares into his eyes, but Verso can only look at the wall behind her. He briefly glances down, her cheeks are tear-stained, and her eyes are tired. He doesn’t know what to say.

Two people step from the canvas, an older man, and a young woman, whose face is scarred. He knows them, at least a version of them. Renoir and Maelle, no, Alicia. His father and sister. He stares again, his arms hang loose in his mother’s grasp. There was frustration on his fathers face, Alicia looks blank, her head hangs low in defeat. Blood rushes in his ears, Aline’s voice seems muted, she pulls away from him facing the older man. Renoir says something, his voice is cold, he looks right through Verso, as though he isn’t there, the sound doesn’t quite reach his ears, but he thinks the man is speaking to him. His breath comes in short bursts, the feeling in his chest, Verso thinks, must be his heart. Aline touches his arm. His head snaps towards her.

“Come,” She says. “Let me show you to your room, and you can rest. I’m sure you are tired after all that .”

She pats his arm and takes one of his hands, she looks happy, he lets her pull him away from the others, down some grand hallway, a sense of familiarity fills the space, dim lighting soothing his senses. He takes slow deep breaths attempting to ground himself in this new world. Aline finally stops in front a single dark wooden door.

“This is your old room,” She says. “I’ve put out some clothes for you, and there are others in the drawers. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to sleep in those filthy things.”

Aline acts like nothing is different, as though Verso had returned from a lengthy stay abroad, but it doesn’t feel right. Verso had never stepped foot in this room, it didn’t belong to him.

“There is a bathroom through there, so you can wash up.” She continues, but Verso can’t focus. 

When he doesn’t respond she quietly exits the room, the door closing with a soft click. He stands alone, still barely registering his surroundings. He focuses again, on his breathing, and looks down at his hands. They are still stained with dirt and blood, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He wonders if he could turn back now, return to the canvas and force it all to disappear, he wasn’t supposed to be here, he didn’t even know how this was possible.

His shock gives way to anger, the energy in his blood runs hot, how could she do this to him? Why couldn’t she just let him go?

He paces the room, thoughts racing. He needs to go back, this needs to end, he doesn’t think he can go on any longer. He takes a few short strides towards the door with new-found resolve, and reaches for the door knob, when his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of hushed angry voices. He does not know if he cares, but presses his ear to the door anyway.

“How could you do this, Aline?” He recognized the voice as Renoirs. “It shouldn’t even be possible!”

“How could I not?” She responds. “He deserves a chance to live!”

“Live?” Renoir shouts back. “That is not your son! He died! You cannot play with things you do not understand!”

A third voice interjects. Verso has heard it before, only not here.

“This is ridiculous.” It says. “We have more pressing things to worry about. Just leave it be, if it will get her to stop this nonsense, I don’t care.”

It’s Clea, ever the realist. He doubts she wants him there any more than Renoir does. But she seems worried about other things.

Verso jumps at a soft knock on his door, he feels he knows who it is. He opens the door just a crack, and Alicia slips in. The real Verso would have been a source of comfort for his younger sister, he can’t act surprised that she would seek him out now. She doesn’t say anything, but moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He closes the door and joins her, leaving a gap between them. She still doesn’t speak. She can’t.

“Why?” He asks, maybe not of Alicia, maybe he just needs to say it. “I don’t want to be here.”

Verso suppresses a sob, his chest feels tight. Alicia places a hand over his, her expression unreadable. 

“I don’t belong here. Don’t you understand?” He feels anger and grief catching in his throat. 

“Please.” He begs “Send me back, end this. Let me erase the canvas, please.”

Alicia’s silence is deafening. The sound of muffled voices leaks in from the gap beneath the door. Verso heaves a breath, fighting the tears that threaten to spill over his cheeks. He feels tired, so tired. He wonders if this will ever end, if he will ever be at peace.

“I am not your brother,” He whispers. “I don’t belong here.”

Alicia looks up at him, “I’m sorry.” She rasps. The two words take great effort to say. Her breath comes in rough gasps.

He turns away from Alica, and pulls his hand away, pressing them into his face, and lets himself cry. 

***

Sciel stares into the empty space where the canvas had been, her body feels numb. She turns to her party, Lune’s eyes are vacant, staring at nothing, and Monoco seems to be waiting for something to happen. Sciel lets her weapon dissolve.

“Is that it?” Sciel asks no one in particular, throwing her hands up. “What happens now?”

Monaco starts to walk away, he looks almost sad, though he has no face. Lune’s eyes flick towards her.

“I don't know.” She responds. “Maelle said they’d come back, that they were leaving the canvas for a bit. She promised she’d  fix things.”

Sciel grabbed Lune’s hand, pulling her towards her, and holding her in a hug.

“So we just wait," she says. “Maelle wouldn’t abandon us. You too Monoco. It will be okay.” 

She turns to the Gesteral, Lune still in her arms. Monoco only glances back, but he does not stop walking. Sciel feels the warmth of the body in her arms, Lune’s heart beat pressed against hers, she hopes she is right.

Chapter Text

Life outside of the painting felt slow, painfully slow. Maybe it was the way Aline doted on him, or how Clea never met his eye, or how he never felt hungry, Verso wasn’t sure. Sunlight streams through the window of the bedroom, curtains still open from the night before. Verso squints against the brightness, he throws his arm across his eyes. He wishes it had all been a dream, but a week had passed since he stepped out of the canvas, and he was sure that it was permanent now. Briefly, he wondered if he could die now. He wondered if he should try.

The only person who had spoken to him in the past week had been Aline, she acted like he was her real son, asking if he’d eaten enough, if she could do anything for him. Verso wasn’t sure how he should act, he didn’t know if he wanted her to be his mother. Another part of him wanted to fall into the delusion with her, she seemed happy. Regardless, he was getting restless. Spending so long doing nothing would make him feel worse than he already did. He needed to move, to take action, but he felt so hopelessly lost. What could he do in this new world?

Pushing up from his bed, Verso readied himself for the day, and set out to find someone to talk to, figure things out. He wondered if the world knew he was here, or if the Dessendre family was keeping him hidden away, locked in a cage with a different form. He wanders the halls of the Manor, it does not differ too much from the version in the painting, if Verso is remembering correctly.  As he wanders he comes across a room, door slightly ajar. He takes it as an invitation, and lets himself inside. His eyes land on a large canvas in the middle of the room, Clea is seated on a high stool in front of it, engrossed in her work. Around are what seems like hundreds of other paintings in various sizes and states of completion. She doesn’t notice him when he approaches. She jumps when he taps her shoulder.

“Oh,” She starts. “It’s you.” There's something behind her cold stare that Verso can’t place. He hadn’t seen his Clea in an age, never-mind the real version of her.

“What do you want?” She asks, turning back to her canvas, determined to never look at him for too long.

“I want to do something.” He says, hoping that their goals will align enough that she’ll help him. Then. “I want to erase the canvas.”

He thinks maybe that will fix this, it’s probably the only thing that can. Clea pauses her painting, and turns to him, finally looking him in the face.

“I wish that was possible,” She said, her eyebrows furrowed. “But Papa erased it last night, Alicia wouldn’t stop trying to make him let her go back. She hasn’t left her room since. Not that that is any different than usual.”

Clea’s voice carried no emotion, Verso knew she cared little for the lives inside the canvas. Words fail him, he’d never be able to go back now, never be able to apologize, never be able to rest. He thought he was past feeling sorry for himself. He straightened up, feeling Clea watching him.

“I’ll check on her.” He said, what else could he do? Without looking at her, he turns and leaves, feeling her eyes on him till he closes the door.

Verso stumbles, catching himself on the wall, he clutches a hand to his chest. His heart is pounding again, it’s something new since he left the canvas. The feeling is painful, he needs to catch his breath before he sees Alicia, he wonders why she needed to return to the canvas so badly, why he didn’t disappear when it was erased, why he hadn’t felt anything. He sucked in a breath, a reminder that he was still alive, and that the people he spent so long with are gone. Monoco, Esquie, even the expeditioners and all of Lumiere. If he was alive, why did they not deserve the same chance?

Verso slides down the wall holding his head between his knees, his breathing slows, and his heart stops hurting. A part of him feels relieved, he knows without the canvas Renoir and Aline may finally heal, and even be able to focus on other things. Another part wishes he had gone with it. He heads to Alicia’s room.

***

Verso presses his hand to the wood of Alicia’s door, he takes a moment, then knocks twice, though he doesn’t expect a response. After a minute of nothing he announces;

“I’m coming in.” 

Verso enters the girl’s room, eyes scanning for signs of life. The room is dark, even in the bright sun of the afternoon, the curtains are drawn tightly shut. He spots Alicia, back towards him, sitting at a desk. He approaches slowly, careful to make his presence known lest he scare her. She turns to face him, he can tell from her face that she’d been crying. On her desk sat an open journal, words were scrawled messily on the pages. Verso could just make out what they said.

“You can’t bring them back,” He said, kneeling beside her chair. “I know it’s unfair, but the best we can do is honour their memory.”

Alicia shakes her head, like she is insisting there is something they can do. Verso’s nerves are frayed, he doesn't think there is anything he can say that would comfort her anymore than it would him, he can only sympathize, wishing he could have done more for the lives in the canvas. She points to a line in her journal, his eyes skim the page. He reads the line out-loud to himself.

“Re-paint…What Maman did, fix canvas…” Verso sighs. “I don’t know what she did, I doubt she even knows what she did. Even if the canvas is re-created, I don’t think they will be the same.”

Alicia looks distraught, a sob escapes her, Verso clenches and unclenches his fists, feeling a familiar beating in his chest.

“We can try,” he forces out. “But I am not promising anything.”

Chapter Text

The Manor is quiet, Verso roams the empty halls, tonight sleep eludes him. He paces ballrooms and stops by windows, but he will find no comfort in these walls. He stands on a balcony, he thinks he is in the east wing, but he has been wandering for so long he is not sure he remembers. The soft tap of house-shoes approaches. He doesn’t turn to face them, eyes wander out over the sweeping gardens and white fountain, if he listens hard enough he can imagine the sound of Monoco’s voice or Esquie’s laughter, see the Sciel and Lune sitting by the fountain. He thought he had stopped getting attached to the expeditions, but their presence lingered in his mind. He supposes they were his whole life, he may have Verso’s memories and name, but that did not make him the same.

The shoes stand beside him, equally silent, he turns his head to acknowledge them. Renoir looks older in the moonlight, he dons a housecoat and slippers, making him appear like the father he is. Verso bristles, he knows the man cares for his children, but their relationship had never been the best, in or out of the canvas, the softness in his eyes now is unfamiliar, the room feels cold. He wraps his arms around himself regarding Renoir politely. Renoir looks out over the grounds and breaks the silence.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, emotion bleeds into his voice. 

Verso supposed that Aline and Alicia weren’t the only people that had suffered a loss. Everyone deals with grief differently. Verso doesn't look at him when he replies.

“I am well.” He says, and it’s not a complete lie, he isn’t injured or fighting. He is fine. “I am comfortable.”

Renoir looks at him like he is lying, and maybe he is. There’s a sadness behind the older man’s piercing gaze, somewhere he may still regard this version of Verso as his son, even if he knows it is not true. He places a hand on Verso’s shoulder, forcing them to face each other. 

“I understand this must be difficult for you,” He says, he looks like there is something else he wants to say. “I feel I need to tell you that your existence here is not something known, outside of our family.We have company tomorrow evening, and I cannot have you be seen.”

Renoir had never been known for his tact, he stumbles through his emotions, and choses to distract rather than face them head on. His care lies with his real family, Verso knows this.

“I understand,” Verso says.. Renoir pats his shoulder, there is so much left unsaid, a storm of emotion beneath both of their masks. 

“Well then,” Renoir said. “Goodnight.” He turns to leave.

“Why did you erase it?” Verso calls, regaining his voice. “Why did you do it? Don’t you think I could have gone back, that I could have disappeared too? Is that not what you wanted, for me to disappear?”

Renoir paused and turned to face his pained son. He looked like he was about to speak.

“Didn’t you think that I may want that too?” He said, quieter now. “That I did not want to exist like this? Did you not offer me that release?”

Silence hangs in the air, Renoir’s brow furrows, he approaches Verso, looking into his eyes.

“I cannot imagine how this has all affected you, some choices will not make sense to you, but I swear I do it out of love for my family.” He has no remorse or regret in his voice. “I wish there was more I could do to help you, but the canvas needed to be erased, I already lost my family to it once I could not bear to see it happen again.”

Verso feels anger curl in his chest, the man still did not see him as a person, more a thing to be pitied.. Verso wants to understand, but he still feels and still hurts, he wished Renoir would have let him be erased as well. He cannot think about it for too long, he lets it go. 

“I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same,” He finally responds, his tone flat. “I just wish I could have gone too.”

Renoir looks troubled for a moment, before a neutral mask slides back into place, he nods and walks away. The two part ways, Renoir to bed, and Verso to his counterpart’s room, though he was sure neither of them would be getting much sleep. 

Verso lays down and stares at the ceiling, he wishes, not for the first time, that he could see his friends again, he imagines Esquie’s airy voice and Monoco’s teasing, he even imagines Lune and Sciel, being with expedition 33 is the last time he remembers truly laughing. 

But tomorrow comes, and he must be a ghost once again. 

***

In the morning it is quiet, Verso listens to the quiet call of birds outside his window. He is not used to this peace, his body has not adjusted to this new world, he still jumps at loud noises and peeks around corners. His hair stands on end with every new sound.

“Oh Verso!” Aline says. “It is nice to see you up. It's a shame you can’t join us this evening.”

Clea only glares at him.

“It is,” Verso agrees, sounding happier than he is. “What’s the occasion?”

“Only some diplomats,” Aline says. “It will be dreadfully boring, but it needs to be done. Then we can put this whole thing behind us.”

“They are not just some diplomats,” Clea says, indignant. “They are part of the Writers faction, we’re finally getting somewhere, but Papa wants to have peace talks.”

She rolls her eyes, she hasn’t given up on her war. 

“Oh but won’t peace be nice,” Aline says. “Besides, we have our Verso back and all is well.”

Clea doesn’t meet Verso’s eyes, she returns to chipping vegetables, only with much more force. 

“That does sound a lot better than a war,” Verso says. “Speaking of the meeting, seeing as I cannot attend, I was hoping to get out of the house a bit.”

He crosses his fingers, he is starting to get restless confined to the walls of the Manor. Aline smiles sadly.

“I am sorry, mon couer ,” She says. “Renoir would not agree. I know it must be boring, being stuck here, but we have yet to be public about your return. It would be unfortunate if anyone were to see you.”

Verso nods, not letting his disappointment show on his face.

“I understand,” He says, smiling passively. “Is there anything I can do to help here?”

“Oh no,” She responds, gesturing to Clea. “I have all the help I could need. Perhaps you could see where Aicia has gone.”

Aline grimaces at the mention of her youngest daughter, Verso simply nods and makes to leave the kitchen.

Verso finds Alicia outside, she sits on the edge of the white fountain, staring into the rippling water, a small bag hung over her shoulder. Further down the path, something catches Verso’s eye, he makes a note to see what it is later. Alicia sees him coming and pulls a notebook from her bag and begins to write something. He sits next to her and waits. Once she is finished she turns the book toward him.

Hello, come to see me? Or just to get some air?

Verso smiles fondly, she may not be his Alicia, but he cannot help the warmth that blooms in his chest. 

“A bit of both really,” He says. “I am getting tired of being stuck in that house.”

Alicia smiles at him, she puts her pen to paper. 

I am truly sorry. I did not expect Maman to drag you out like this, or for Papa to erase your canvas. I miss my friends.

“I miss them too.” He places a hand over hers, they share a quiet moment of understanding.

“Maman wants you to be present for their meeting,” Verso says after a moment. “She asked me to come get you.”

I don’t want to go. She writes, No one will speak to me anyway. AND, you won’t be there.

“I know,” He says. “They won’t even let me leave the damned Manor, we are both trapped.”

He stands and gestures for Alicia.

“Go on, it’s best to get it over with.”

She nods and stands to leave, she lingers by his side for a moment, then pulls him into a hug. Verso watches her leave the gardens, he doesn’t move until he knows she is inside, then, he turns his attention to what caught his eye earlier. He makes his way across the garden and down the path, he follows it toward a set of wrought iron gates, in front of him sits a headstone. It belongs to Verso Dessendre. He can only stare at the words, his brain not really reading the words. He wishes that it was him, that he could trade places with the real version of himself, that he was dead and the real one alive. If none of this had ever happened, he wouldn’t be caught in this mess. Verso’s mind tangles with thoughts, lingering in places and flowing through others, he can’t help but feel he may be going over the same things, stuck in his mind as he is stuck in the Manor. He doesn’t notice the sun set, or the air getting cold. 

Chapter Text

Verso can tell the guests have already arrived when he slips back into the Manor. One of the grand dining rooms has the soft flickering light of candles escaping from the gaps in the doors. He is thankful for the doors, they keep him hidden from view as he creeps back to his room. The fresh air from the garden has him feeling slightly better, and though he does not have a plan, he feels some sense of determination. Voices bleed from the room, and he cannot help himself but to listen. 

“Your hospitality is second to none,” A man's voice says. “It is good to know there is still some civility between us.”

He does not recognize it, he hears Renoir chuckle. 

“In times such as these it is a much needed reprieve.” He says. A second man’s voice chimes in. Verso thinks he’s heard it before.

“Shall we get to business then?” He says. He hears the scraping of chairs, and scrambles to hide. 

He watches from a dark corner of the hall as his family and two others exit the room, one of the men glances in Verso’s direction, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes, before he turns his attention back to the group. There is no way he saw him, is there? He looks familiar, but Verso can’t place it, he watches their backs as they leave, and catches sight of the man’s left arm, only it wasn’t an arm, in its place was a shiny black prosthetic, its joints clicking a whirring with clockwork components. Verso’s heart drops into his stomach, it can’t be. He watches them turn and head down the hallway, his heart is in his throat.

His head spins as he returns to his room, he shuts the door behind him and slides down the wall. He supposes that Maman’s designs must have come from somewhere, but he always thought that man was supposed to be loosely based on him, another brother for Alicia to lose, a way to get Maelle to the paintress, to convince Alicia to leave the canvas. But Maman didn’t want to leave the canvas, so could he have been real? He wasn’t real. Alicia was in that room, he thinks, where is she now? Did she see him? His head spins, it’s all too much, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how much time has passed, he hopes that she hasn’t got the wrong idea.

Verso leaves his room, disobeying Renoir for the second time that night, and seeks out Alicia. He creeps through the halls of the Manor, his footsteps quiet. He reaches Alicia’s room first, and knocks tentatively. He receives no answer, not that he expects a verbal response. He waits with baited breath, then knocks again.

“If you don’t answer,” He whisper-shouts. “I am coming in.”

He waits, his heart skipping beats, nothing comes. Verso steels himself and pushes the door open, Alicia’s lights are out, he squints in the darkness, eyes adjusting. He scans the darkness, moving through her room. Nothing. Where could she be? He wracks his brain for the answer, The garden. That’s where she had been before, when she was avoiding her family, hiding from reality. He swiftly makes his way to the gardens. Finally, he spies Alicia, only this time she is not alone. 

She stands with the two visitors, their back to him. They speak in hushed voices, and he can hear some quiet tears. They are reaching for each other, embracing. Verso halts, he stands awkwardly at a distance, he wonders if he should approach. 

“I am sorry we can’t stay longer,” He overhears the unfamiliar man say. “But we all have to keep up appearances.”

The other man nods in agreement.

“Tings have been so strange since we awoke here.” he says. “I just wish we had more time.”

The three embrace a final time, then both men straighten up and turn to leave, all of their eyes lock onto Verso. The immediate dread is evident on their faces. Alicia shies away, hiding behind them, as though Verso is the stranger.

“I just want to understand what is going on.” He says in a low tone, as though not to startle a frightened animal. He holds his hands up in a surrender.

The two men look between one another nervously, frozen in place.

“Your name is Gustave, right?” Verso says, looking at the man with the prosthetic arm. “You don’t know me, but we both know Maelle.”

Gustave seems to relax a bit at the mention of Maelle.

“We are trying to find out for ourselves.” He says. “One minute I think I’m dead, and the next, I appear in some strange version of Lumiere.”

“I think I understand.” He grimaces. “Listen, now is probably not the best time for explanations."

The unknown man nods.

“He’s right,” he says. “We need to come up with a plan.”

Verso switches on, he may no longer be in the canvas, but his body remembers. He pushes down his emotions, and removes himself from the equation, just like he always has.

“You have to understand,” Verso says. “In this world, if you’ve aligned yourself with the writers, that means we are not friends. At least not publically, we need to be discreet.”

The man holds his chin in his hand and thinks for a moment.

“What if I told you where we were staying?” He suggests, though he isn’t addressing Verso. “That way you can reach out when the coast is clear.”

“We’ll write.” Verso says, looking at Alicia. “Do you still have the notebook with you?”

She nods and fishes it out of her pocket, handing it to the man, who scribbles down his information. He hands the book back to Alicia.

“We’ll figure this out, just not here.” He says.

Alicia nods, she seems to communicate with Gustave with just her expression.

“Don’t lose hope, Maelle,” Gustave says. “If Lucien and I are here, that means there must be others. We’ll figure it out together.”

He hugs Alicia and squeezes tight, like it is the last time he’ll ever get to see her. Then the two men leave. Verso turns to Alicia, who is suppressing a smile, he takes a deep breath. He reminds himself, this is just like the canvas, he knows he would do anything for this family, he just needs to hang on a little longer. His shoulder sag with the weight of it all. Alicia’s smile falters. She reaches out to him, but he steps away from her outstretched arm.

“We should get inside.” He says. “And, uh, let’s not tell anyone about this yet, yeah?”

She nods, the both part ways, heading to their respective rooms. Verso closes the door  behind him. He stares blankly into the room, a room that never belonged to him, he presses a hand to his chest, it hurts again. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening, he rolled the events of the past few days over in his mind. First he is ripped from the canvas, forced into yet another life he does not want, then he learns the canvas has been erased, and all hope of release is lost. He attempts a shaky breath and continues, then he sees people, who really should not exist, standing alive and well in the real world.

  It will be fine. He thinks. I can figure this out, I will make it right, I have already gotten so close before.

Verso steels himself, it is going to be a difficult journey, but he will manage. He thinks wearily of the Dessendre family, a family he is not a part of, not really, he wonders if he should care at all, if this is truly his burden to shoulder. He drifts in and out of consciousness, his mind a jumble of thoughts, twisting like vines. Finally, he falls into a restless sleep, his head drops into his chest, back still against the bedroom door.

Chapter Text

Verso wakes to a banging on his door, he jolts and jumps up, prepared to fight, his heart is pounding, eyes darting around the space. He scans the area, and finds himself in a familiar room, someone is knocking on the door again. He looks down at his clothing, and stretches out his neck, then opens the door. Alicia pushes her way inside, she looks distressed, and sounds as much, pained groans escaping her lips. She wails for a moment, flailing her arms and making wide gestures, Verso stares in shock, his heart still beating. She finally clams, letting out a last gasp and approaches Verso, resting her head on his chest, but does not reach out to hold him. He tentatively pats her head.

“I-” He starts. “What’s wrong?” 

Alicia whimpers, her hands make fists in his shirt. He feels her tears wetting the fabric. After the excitement of the night before, Verso cannot even begin to imagine what has her so distressed, her breathing begins to slow, and her sobs fade into silent tears. Verso pushes her away, hands on her shoulders and crouches to meet her eyes. 

“Please,” he says. “Just tell me what’s going on. I can’t help unless you do.”

She nods, and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. She pulls out a small notebook and pen from her pocket. Shakily, she begins to write.

It’s awful, she starts. Papa wanted to send me away! He says  I need to “get out more” and that I “can’t stay cooped up at home forever!

Verso stares at the tear stained paper, reading her words.

“I don’t understand,” He says quietly. “Where are they sending you?”

Papa says it’s a school, somewhere I can learn more about the world, where I can “escape my grief.” But I don’t feel any grief! And there are things to do, with Gustave back-

Her pencil stills, and her eyes water again, she looks up at Verso, pleading. She is hysterical, and Verso does not know how to help. He is silent for a moment as he tries to imagine a solution.

“Listen,” he says. “I doubt I can change Renoir’s mind, but I will be here while you are away, I can… keep an eye on things.”

He pats her shoulder awkwardly, hoping his reassurance will be enough.

Do you promise? She writes, staring at him.

“I do,” Verso nods. “I will do what I can here, and I will write.”

Slowly Alicia nods too. She seems satisfied with his answer for now, but no less upset at the prospect of being away from home. Verso’s mind flashes with memories that aren’t his. A fight with Renoir, a long carriage ride, followed by an even longer train ride. He tries not to make his headache obvious as the images burn themselves into his retinas. He thinks Renoir may have done this to the real Verso too. He wonders if Alicia would have remembered. Alicia picks up her pencil again.

What do you think it means? With Gustave and Lucien here, do you think the others could be as well?

“I don’t know.” Verso says. “It might, it might not. I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

They are both silent for a moment, deep in thought.

“Even just for me to have been expelled for the canvas,” Verso starts. “It would have taken an immense amount of power. I wonder if it is even permanent? And with the canvas erased…”

Don’t say that. Alicia writes. Even if it’s temporary, we’ll find a way to keep them alive. We have to.

Verso’s brow furrows.

“We don’t know if it’s temporary.” He says, though he deeply hopes that it is. “You don’t have to worry, I’ll look into it while you’re away.”

You’re the best.

Alicia smiles up at him.

Would you help me pack?

***

Alicia sat in the middle of her room surrounded by clothes, books, and various other things in her possession. She huffed and threw her hands up.

“You don’t have to bring everything, you know?” Verso says, glancing around the room. “It looks like a nevron’s been through here.”

Alicia put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. He put his hands up in mock surrender.

“If you had started sooner we wouldn’t be in this mess.” He laughs.

“Look,” he says. “They’ll provide you with books and pencils, so you don't need to bring those. And I’m pretty sure there’s a uniform.”

Alicia tilts her head, she looks momentarily confused, before recognition flashes across her features.

“Verso did this already.” Verso says, trying his best to seem good natured. He had personally never been to an academy, but the real version of him had, and his mind was made up of scattered bits of his memories. 

“You’ll do great.”

Alicia smiles warmly up at him, she starts to fold some of the clothing on the floor, putting some in her trunk. Verso crouches to help. He lifts an item for her to inspect, and folds it into her trunk if she approves. The two work in amiable silence for a while. They enjoy the quiet of each other's company. Alicia turns her head to her open room door, hearing someone before they arrive. Verso looks up.

“I see you’re finally making some progress.” Clea stands at the door, her arms crossed over her chest. 

Alicia nods, and returns to her task. 

“I remember my days at the academy,” She continues, ignoring Verso. “I learned so much about artistic theory, and met so many talented people.”

She glances at Verso for a moment, not holding his eye.

“Your brother started a year or so after me.” She trailed off. “I know it’ll be tough being away from home. But you’ll learn so much, and you may even make friends, unlikely as that is.”

Alicia shoots a glare at her, and slams her trunk shut, almost catching Verso’s fingers. She stands up and marches out the door, taking the heavy trunk with her. 

“Would it kill you to be nicer?” Verso says. 

Clea doesn't say anything, though she lingers for a moment, her brow furrows, she looks almost conflicted. Then she turns and leaves, following Alicia to the Mannor’s foyer. Alicia’s room feels empty, there are no books on the floor, or dresses on her bed anymore, Verso pushes himself to standing, and sighs. He has no idea what he is going to do. He had been so aimless for the past few weeks, and finally he has a goal, and. He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn;t want to know that his stay in this world could be permanent. And if it’s not, he doesn’t want to find a way to make it so. 

“The things I do for this family.” He whispers, closing the door behind him as he leaves.

“The carriage will be here at any moment.” Renoir's voice carries down the hall. 

“Are you ready to go?” He asks, Verso can hear the fondness in his voice.

He approached the three Dessendres. Aline is not present. 

Alicia nods, allowing herself to be embraced by Renoir.

“Don’t forget to send letters.” Clea says. “You know Papa will worry if you don’t.”

Verso ruffles her hair.

“Don’t work too hard.” He says, stumbling back a bit as she hugs him.

The four of them help Alicia carry her things outside as they wait with her for the carriage to make its way up to the Manor, then they load all of her things up, Renoir helps her into the carriage. They all wave her off, Clea is the first to go back inside. Then Verso turns to leave as well. 

Renoir watches the carriage until he cannot see it any longer.