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Chapter Text

The Carmine mansion feels cold. The windows are open, inviting warmth from outside. Considering the ever increasing temperature of acid rain outside, the heat should've been blanketing the mansion by now. Carmilla goes as far as lighting the fireplace that was supposed to be decoration- a resemblance of the home Carmilla had when she had been living, a taste of life before the afterlife- in attempt to make the mansion less cold. She brews kettle after kettle of warm tea. But it's not enough to heat the chill that seems to have settled in the marrow of her bones. As honest as Carmilla was, she still turned a blind eye to certain things, especially when it was regarding herself. And if she were honest with herself, instead of claiming it to be melodramatic, she would say that the real name of this coldness she feels etched into her existence was actually loneliness. But no, she's just cold. She pushes aside the fact that she is in hell and there is no damn way a demon could feel cold within this firey place.

Clara and Odette have moved to the Hazbin Hotel as per their request. The oldest Carmine woman regrets allowing her daughters to go- not really, she just wishes she weren't so cold. When her daughters were in the house, she never felt this cold. Rosie was never one for sleepovers, despite the hollow-eyed woman's frequent visits. That left Carmilla alone each night in a house that felt entirely too big, with too many rooms that won't seal the heat in. She stays busy enough throughout the day, working at the warehouse, balancing the books, assisting in the craft of her Angelic steel weapons, even having tea with Zestiel on the occasion. Some days are easier than others, some days she smelts the steel with her own hands, ofte crafting delicate pieces of silver, angelic steel jewelry. She had started withholding certain pieces of information that would later prove to be necessary to effectively run her business, only to swoop in at the last second and save the day. It serves as her excuse to feel needed, she suspects that her personal assistant at the office knows, for if it were truly happening out of incompetence, Carmilla woud not have been as calm as she was when she would fix said problems.

She comes home, the biometric system granting her access with nothing but the beep of a scan and the sound of the pneumatic door system. She treats herself to self-made vodka cocktails and the occasional cigarette. She finds herself smoking a lot more often than she would like. She tells herself it helps to keep the warmth in, to chase the persistent cold away.

It's another not-so-cold night and Carmilla is pleasantly buzzed from her little cocktails, dancing to Swan lake on her recorder. She had traded her angelic steel pointe shoes for her regular ones. Black stain slides on hardwood floors; oh how she misses doing pas de deux. She had been dancing since she was young. Ballet had become a sort of escape from the life she lived. An arabesque had her thinking back to how she had mercilessly killed when she was on Earth and danced the guilt away. It's incredibly ironic how she hadn't taken a single life in her afterlife but had a kill count in the thousands when she was alive. She was doing better, morally at least in her afterlife.

A loud bang on her doors rips her back to the cold of her mansion. Her current reality washes over her like a wave of icy truth.

"Come on old hag! Lemme in!"

The youngest of the Vees stood at her door, drenched in acid rain, hissing at the rain continued pouring, the temperature increasing with each drop. Another loud bang of the dolls fist on the door. "Open the fucking door! I'm melting out here!"

Carmilla makes her way to the door and lets the tri-coloured hair woman in. "Thanks." mutters the fashionista as she walks in, sneakers scuffing the floor.

"Velvette? What are you doing here?" The white haired woman asks, an eyebrow raising, arms crossing over her chest.

Velvette eyes the arms dealer. A black fitted leotard, no tights and black pointe shoes contrasted starkly with grey skin and red eyes. Carmilla seems to have forgotten that. Even her hair was not in it's usual updo, instead a loose bun sat atop her head, bangs still resting on her forehead. Perhaps it was the way the younger woman stared, expression supringly unreadable- or because only Rosie had seen Carmilla this vulnerable, this unguarded that had the older woman feeling particularly exposed.

"Are you lost?" Carmilla bites, suddenly defensive.

Velvette rolls her eyes, crosses her arms, and just as defensively says, "Look, fossil," her speech is slightly slurred, "I'm drunk off my arse, it's raining fucking fire out there, my phone's flat and I'm pretty sure some stupid fuck spiked my drink. This shit hole was the first place I recognised. Just need a fucking charger and to wait out the storm and I'll fuck right outta your wrinkled face again."

Carmilla rolled her eyes at the younger woman's hostility. But took pity on her nonetheless. "Come."

She led Velvette to the guest bathroom, handing her one of Clara's hoodies and telling her to get cleaned up and then make her way down the winding staircase to the kitchen. Carmilla quickly removed her shoes, replacing them with slippers before covering herself with a robe.

The white haired woman did not know when she had last made a meal for someone other than Rosie or her daughters. She figured the fashionista needed the nourishment. Despite the constant disagreement between the duo- Carmilla being far to bothered with Velvette's disrespect and social media demon not giving a fuck, perhaps, Velvette was cold too. She tried not to overthink why the fashionista would turn to her in such a vulnerable state. Perhaps it was, just as she said, the first place she stumbled upon with a familiar face.

The demon continued her motions, the aroma of Spanish scrambled eggs filling the air. Come to think of it, Carmilla was rather hungry herself. She plated the dish and placed it on the kitchen island. It was far too domestic for her liking, but a small part of her- perhaps the slightly intoxicated part, found it comforting. Despite her companion for the evening being an inane brat, it was rather nice to have a reason to cook. She served the dish with two cups of tea, one for herself and one for the younger demon; she had been sure to include activated charcoal and black seed to counter the possibly unwelcomed drugs in Velvette's system.

When the fashionista eventually joined her, she was dressed in comfortable leggings and nearly drowning in the white hoodie. Carmilla handed her a charger before inviting her to eat. Velvette made a comment about feeling ridiculous and not wanting to eat 'grandma food' but scarfed the dish down nonetheless.

"The fuck is in this dirty ass water?" Velvette spat after taking a sip of the tea.

"It'll help counteract the intoxication." Carmilla answered simply.

"Yeah well it tastes like shit!"

Carmilla said nothing as she sipped her own mug. Velvette swallowed each sip with disapproval before chugging the other half hoping that she could swallow fast enough for the liquid to not linger on her tastebuds any longer.

When the tea runs out, the acid rain storm continues to pour outside. It's not exactly safe to leave just yet, and if Velvette were honest with herself, she would say that she actually doesn't want to. Not yet anyway. Instead of saying anything, she brings her knees to her chest, eyes glued to her phone. The volume is surprisingly low and the younger demon is surprisingly quiet too.

"You're awfully quiet," Carmilla comments, placing the empty mugs in the sink.

"Oh piss off. I'm just fucking tired." Velvette answers before adding, "And it smells like your oldass perfume and a whole lotta boring. Makes me tired."

Carmilla rolled her eyes, "You're welcome for the hospitality, Velvette."

"Yeah yeah whatever. When's the fucking rain gonna stop. I wanna get the fuck outta this coffin."

"You're welcome to stay the night. Or take your chances in the acid rain. Should you choose to stay, guest bedroom is up the stairs, the third one on the left."

"No bones or funny shit in the mattresses right?"

"Cotton sheets, silk pillowcases." Carmilla answers plainly before walking off. "Goodnight, Velvette."

"Hey uh, thanks," the younger demon murmurs.

♡♡♡

A blood-curling scream pierces the stillness of the Carmine mansion. It tore through the space like a blade.

Carmilla's eyes snapped open. Her first thoughts were Odette. Then Clara. Then- realisation. Neither Odette nor Clara lived in the mansion anymore. Velvette was in the guestroom down the hall. The screams belong to Velvette.

The white haired woman rose with grace. It was instinct, something her body, despite it's changes upon arriving in hell, remembers; it's second nature. She slipped through the darkness, barefoot, in only her silk nightgown to the source of the noise. Another scream- almost childlike in its rawness erupted.

She opened the door to find the younger demon violently thrashing around. Her limbs bound by invisible restraints, hair sticking to a flushed, damp forehead. The bed made the doll looked even smaller in appearance. 'No no no no, Stop! Please-'

"Velvette!" Carmilla's voice interrupted the consistent pleading. She threw her leg over the other woman in attempt to ground her, using her weight as an anchor. She pins her wrists with one hand, and with the other shakes the mocha toned demon by the shoulders. "Wake up."

Velvette gasped, eyes wide and unfocused. Her arms lashed out.

"Get the fuck off me, you old bitch!"

Carmilla slipped off her, hands raised, without flinching. "You were having a nightmare. What happened?"

Velvette took a breath, "None of your fucking business, fossil!"

Carmilla didn't respond, didn't react the the hostility. She simply waited for the other woman to stabilize her breathing. "How often?"

"Fucking hell, Fossil," Velvette hissed, "Again, none of your business !"

"I'm assuming often enough that sleep does not come easily most nights."

"Oh fuck off, hag!"

"You ripped your wrists away from me like the touch hurt," Carmilla continued, and then softer, "Why?"

Velvette huffs, rolling her eyes with a scowl. If it were anyone but Carmilla, they would not have noticed that the flush of her cheeks were now of shame. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She felt so stupid for even wanting to cry. But fuck. No one's ever asked why. No one's ever wanted to Listen.

"Because someone fucking made me like this." Despite the volume, there was no bite to her words, "He cut me at the fucking joints- 'til i looked like a fucking doll. Then left me to fucking bleed out."

No. No no no.

Guilt sank into Carmilla's stomach. But her hand reached out to Velvette. The younger demon flinched subtly- it did not go unnoticed- before turning away.

"I'll never forget how that fucking blue blade felt cutting into me. I don't even fucking know why."

♡♡♡

Carmilla paced her bedroom. Guilt, guilt, guilt. It was Not her doing. It was Not her guilt to carry. She crosses her arms as if though the act would hold her from falling apart.

"He cut me at the fucking joints- 'til I looked like a fucking doll. Then he left me to bleed out."

The words Echo. Haunt.

Carmilla's hands tremble as she rans one through her hair. She then lights a cigarette. She shouldn't smoke in her room. But Fuck.

Dollification is the act of slicing the skin at ones joints and sewing them back to leave permanent scarring, ensuring the victim resembles a doll. This was a torture method designed by Carmilla when she was running her empire on Earth. It was meant to mark- to brand traitors and theives. It was done by professional surgeons and the victims were released at hospitals to ensure medical care.

Carmilla was appalled. Dollification was not meant to murder. You mark a traitor. You do not let them die. You let them live and remember. She was a curator of fear, not a butcher. When she killed, she did so almost mercifully. A single gunshot to the head. No needless suffering.

"I'll never forget how that fucking _blue_ blade felt cutting into me."

Blue-silver. Her Earth empire's trademark. Daggers and blades carved of blue-silver. Etched into handles, hilts, grip plates. Her weaponry craftsmanship was international. She had connections world wide. All of Europe knew her name. Her mark.

Carmilla never intended for her blades and arms to do anything but harm. But dollification? That was sacred. That was for traitors. And it fell into the hands of someone who perverted her methods. Used it to kill instead of mark. Someone turned it meaningless. Mindless. It disgusted her.

And Velvette's death?

"I don't even fucking know why."

Not political.
Not an Empire's punishment.
Just pure senseless, mindless cruelty.

It was not Carmilla's doing that led to Velvette's death. But her hands are far from clean.

She cannot undo what has been done. So she'll offer peace. Even if it's a sliver.

♡♡♡

Chamomile tea is made and offered to Velvette as a means of comfort; as an atonement. The white haired woman knows the other demon would not accept care freely, so she makes herself a mug too.

"This should help you sleep better," Carmilla says, handing a mug to the social media demon who is uncharacteristically, not on her phone.

"Thanks, fossil." The tri-coloured haired woman murmurs.

"Do the other Vees not hear you scream at night?"

"Get with the times grandma. Room's soundproof so I can fuck in peace."

"Hm," Carmilla hums, then sits more comfortably on the edge of the bed. Her mug is empty. Velvette sips lukewarm, sugarless tea as if it would keep Carmilla there longer. She hopes the vulnerability is not evident.

"The fuck you still doin' here? I'm not letting you fuck me as a thank you."

"You flatter yourself."

A pause. Then- "Would it help if I stayed a while?"

"Pfft. What am I, Six? Stupid oldass bitch."

A longer pause. A raised eyebrow. An eye roll. Then the blanket shifts.

"...It's just cold. Keep your huge ass hands to yourself."

Velvette turns away from Carmilla, doesn't bother reaching for her phone when she sets the empty mug down but visibly relaxes when the other woman slips under the covers. The irony is not lost on Carmilla. I'm cold too. She thinks.

The duo lies for some time, facing away from each other until sleep welcomes them both.

In the darkness, sleepy limbs tangle and Velvette's head is tucked under Carmilla's chin. They're tucked into each other each in a deep sleep. Within the silence, something shifts. A warmth. The cold lingers, but does not dominate. And for the first time in what feels like forever, they both sleep through the night, bones slightly less cold than before.

Chapter Text

It happens by accident. At least that's what both women tell themselves. It's not intentional when unspoken comfort becomes routine. Carmilla tells herself that she invites Velvette into her home out of pity; it is atonement, to somewhat right the wrong she had created when running her Earthly empire decades ago. She does not factor in the waking moments the duo lingers after overlord meetings in complete silence, each doing their own thing, simply existing in the space together. Nor does she consider how many hours are spent with her cooking up a storm for the mocha toned woman. Then again, Carmilla chose to not be honest with herself about the blooming warmth seeping into her chest either. She dare not even think that the younger demon were the reason the cold lessens, but her body betrays her anyway. She doesn't feel as cold.

Carmilla discovers that Velvette is not utterly hopeless in the kitchen; she's quite the chef. She even manages to practically make paella on her own with vague instructions and instinctual measurements. Carmilla is perched atop a stool at the kitchen island, writing up an incident report for a ton of spilled gunpowder; the doing of a new employee as Velvette continues moving in the kitchen. Pop music set at a reasonable volume, the wooden spoon used as an occasional mic when Velvette blared out a few lyrics. They were not physically bumping hips or wiping sauce off each other's chins but the warmth still snuck in emotionally. A shared, fluffy blanket of comfort and intimacy metaphorically draped around them, the scent of paprika slowly becoming rebranded as home.

"Fuck. Nearly forgot the garlic, Luv. How much so it tastes like old people?"

A chuckle from one, then a smile paired with a faux glare from the other. "You measure garlic with your heart, Cariño."

"For fucks sake, 'Milla! You're always bullshitting me with measurements. What if my heart tells me 2 whole garlic bulbs??"

Velvette doesn't know when her name became 'Cariño', nor does she care enough to think back and pinpoint it. At least, that's what she tells herself. She definitely does not remember it being around the early evening where she and Carmilla were both intoxicated- high of all things, and trying to fix a rip in Velvette's tights for at least an hour before some logic showed up. 'Pero, Cariño, can you not snap your fingers and have it fixed?'

Carmilla doesn't know when her name became 'Milla' and or 'Luv' either, nor does she care enough to remember when the shift from 'fossil' and 'old hag' to 'Carmine' to 'Carmilla' and now 'Luv' and 'Milla' happened. She absolutely does not remember how after the third nightmare, Velvette had called her by her last name and thereafter she was never called an insulating nickname again. She also does not remember how one night while Velvette was snuggled against her, she sleepily mumbled 'You're warm, 'Milla. 'Tis nice.'

Velvette is still frustrating at times, with her foul language and casual chaos. She once brought what they called an exploding rose into Carmilla's home. A potted plant with a seemingly normal rose that would explode once the bud had opened completely. Velvette had stolen it from one of Valentino's sets and brought it home because it was 'cool'. Carmilla promptly set the plant on the outside patio, away from her precious decor and leather furniture.

Surprisingly, Velvette had kept their not-relationship rather private. The younger woman had not made a single post about it, not directly at least. Cryptic posts about MILFS being her type and Velvette's upcoming fashion shows were often found. She introduced Carmilla to Sinstagram and struck some controversy when she added herself to Carmilla's followers list. The older demon found that she had quite the liking for watching animal videos. Velvette often sent her what was referred to as memes, and it often left the arms dealer quite confused. One of Velvette's favourites went something like 'that's what she said'.

On a particularly normal evening, the tri-coloured haired woman was stubbornly eating the last plate of pasta that Carmilla had specifically said was too spicy for Velvette to handle when the white haired woman decided to quote it. She had double checked the internet on context and appropriation for quoting the meme and felt this was definitely a good moment.

"I can't- Fuck. It's too much. I can't finish-'

"That's what she had said." A smirk on dark lips, mischievous glint in red eyes.

Velvette froze. Her tongue was on fire, but she was too stubborn to listen when Carmilla had said she accidentally added maybe two whole habanero peppers, thinking they were bell pepper strips when she found them in the fridge. But now she couldn't breathe. Carmilla had just quoted a meme; sure she added some proper grammar or whatever but she quoted a damn meme. That was basically like her wearing denim booty shorts for no other reason than knowing Velvette would want her to.

It is so not Carmilla-like. All the things she does both for, and because of, the mocha skinned woman. From cuddling with the fashionista demon night after night to adapting little things- like adding sugar in her once bitter tea, even when the tri-coloured haired woman was not present. She supposes it must be that she is melting like butter, perhaps the warmth was a bit too much than she accounted for.

♡♡♡

A soft ding at the door pauses Carmilla's work in the kitchen; she lowers the stove and silently hopes the fish will fry the same as she goes to collect her package. A discrete box from the Lust ring rests in her hands, rather heavier than she expected; though she shouldn't be too surprised, they do have the best quality when it comes to such things. She hides the package within an empty sitting room, just out of sight before returning to the kitchen to finish the fish and chips she had been making for herself and Velvette.

Over dinner Velvette informs Carmilla that she will not be coming over the following day as she has a party to attend. The white haired woman nods, she'll have the chance to open the box and make use of its contents.

The following day, Velvette enters the Carmine mansion quietly. The party was boring her, drunks, drug addicts and whores all surrounding her, getting their sweaty selves in her space. She already feels the old Velvette rolling in her grave- since when does Velvette choose a quiet evening with Carmilla Carmine over an epic party? She returns home sober, barely buzzed from the fruity vodka cocktail she sipped on; Carmilla made them better anyway.

She hears faint music, orchestral rock from the sitting room in the west wing. A proud smile graces her lips, Carmilla's improved taste in music was her doing. She struts with a cocky stride to the source of the melody. And then she nearly Dies for a second time.

Carmilla is in the air.

Scarlet silk wrapped around toned calves and ankles, the woman suspended in the air where the chandelier usually hangs. Her body hangs gracefully stretched in a perfect split, throat bared and toned arms extended, glowing under the light.

She is a Vision. A living statue in midair, wearing an aerial unitard- solid black, sleeveless, fitted, with not much to be left to the imagination.

Velvette's eyes are comically huge, a loud gasp echos over the soft music, "Holy Fuck!"

Carmilla's eyes fly open in utter shock. Her body instinctively tenses, a hiccup in grace as the silks shift slightly. Blood pumping frantically through her, she adjusts to maintain balance.

"Velvette!" She practically barks out with rapid speed and unfiltered harshness. "Mierda! Do you mind?"

It's venomous. Velvette flinches, tenses.

"...Damn. Sorry for breathing, I'll just go fucking kill myself," she mutters with a scowl.

Carmilla flinches, internally curses herself for snapping. A deep breath, a long pause before she gracefully lowers herself from the silks with practiced ease. She lands with bare feet atop the giant protective mat, a blush forming on her cheeks. Her gaze is lowered, one arm rubs the other in comfort. When she speaks again, it's softer, gentle. "I didn't mean- I wasn't expecting you tonight. You had a party..."

Velvette crosses her arms, "Was boring as fuck so I came for a decent cocktail, but it looks like you're too busy rebranding boarderline pornographic acrobatics as- wait, the fuck is this even?"

"It's... exercise... aerial silks." Carmilla's blush deepens. "It requires discipline, trust... It's... a language of its own."

Velvette snaps her fingers, her outfit shifting to a unitard as well, except it's hot pink, with alternating navy blue and white hearts adorning the bodice. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Now show me how, I'm naturally flexible, ya know?"

Carmilla smiles with an eye roll, but still voices an apology for snapping so harshly at the fashionista. Velvette simply entwines their fingers and drags Carmilla back to the centre of the mat where the silks lie.

♡♡♡

Days pass in calm, rhythmic routine, shared dinner, nightly cuddles and quiet intimacy- until something new interrupts the peaceful flow. One evening Carmilla comes home and hears the notes of an awfully familiar song, but played with an electric violin, filling the usual silence of her home. She follows the melody and finds Velvette alone on the patio, bow sliding over the violin; she is the source. Carmilla doesn't realise how her jaw has dropped and just how much she's staring until Velvette makes a comment on her possibly catching flies.

"You play electric violin?"

"Nah, That's my twin sister," Velvette teases, "I'm just holdin' it for her real quick while she takes a piss."

"You play beautifully, Cariño. I am impressed."

She turns to change into more comfortable clothes. She still cannot believe her eyes, or ears. Velvette is a lot more complex than she thought.

"Hey 'Milla," Velvette calls after her, "Bring your pointe shoes when you come back. Wanna see if your old ass can still dance."

Warmth. Comfort. Home.

The Carmine mansion is no longer cold, but filled with warmth. Carmilla is no longer cold, neither is Velvette.

The evening seems to have passed in slow motion, Carmilla dancing en pointe to the melodies Velvette plays. It ends pleasantly, like all their nights now do. A shared dinner, Carmilla doing 'old people things' like building puzzles, or doing crosswords and Velvette scrolling social media and working on designs for her new fashion lines.

♡♡♡

Carmilla doesn't smoke as often as she used to, she no longer feels the need to chase warmth through smoke. But some days are more stressful than others, and who can blame her for reaching for a cigarette for the first time in weeks. Besides, Velvette was busy that night, so she would be left to her own devices.

She sits at the edge of the pool, feet bare and dangling in the water softly playing some alternative music Velvette had introduced her to. A lit cigarette rests between large fingers after she takes a drag, smoke swirling all the way up to the night sky.

"Fucking hell! Shut up! Milla?? Are you smoking a fucking fag?"

The fashionista's voice booms through the air, startling the arms dealer, a blush gracing grey skin. She responds almost defensively, "I'm allowed to smoke, Velvette."

"And here I thought I was fucking crazy when I smelt ash on you. Thought it was me. Anywho, pass the fag Luv."

Carmilla did as requested and the two shared a few cigarettes, talking about afterlife stress and other trivial matters. Velvette explains how she and Vox had a nasty fight this evening because she told him to let the Radio demon go and move on because they're not getting back together. Velvette sits cross legged beside Carmilla as they talk; their knees brush and the touches that occur when they pass the cigarette linger just a little too long.

When they were down to the last one in the box, Velvette held it between her lips as Carmilla lit it. When it's Velvette's turn to pass, instead of handing it over, she held the cigarette between her fingers and lifted it to dark lips. Carmilla took a drag while the mocha skinned woman held it; eyes glued together. Their hearts pounded in sync as the smoke lingered between them.

Then they leaned in- slowly; red eyes glanced between a youthful gaze and an adorable lip bite. Breathing shallowed and a blush graced grey skin before black lipstick met black lipstick. Warm lips brushed against each other before the kiss could actually be named one.

When they pulled apart, the duo did not say a word, did not continue; it was just a moment of vulnerability. It meant nothing. It was just a chaste kiss. They continued passing the cigarette, leaning on each other but without another word. Comfortable silence kept them warm.

The kiss was not spoken of again. Though the intimacy, the cuddles, the affection- it never stopped.

♡♡♡

The domesticity of it all nearly sneaks up on her, were it not for Rosie beaming with delight over a cup of tea as she commented on the increasing time Carmilla spent with the youngest Vee.

"You and Velvette are getting awfully close, Carm. I hear she's leaving your place nearly every morning. Not that it bothers me- though you have been rescheduling our tea for quite some time. But nonetheless! It's lovely to see you warming up to love these days!"

The comment has Carmilla choking on a sip of sweet tea. She was Not warming up to 'love'. She was not falling for a foul-mouthed brat who smells like strawberries and audacity and feels like the only place she exists without armour. No. Absolutely not.

"That is not the wording I would use. But thank you, Rosie."

She's more thankful for her friend's approval than she would care to admit. But now she is oh so aware of it all. She notices when their shoulders bump when they cook together, and how when she goes to make herself tea- with sugar, she instinctively makes Velvette a mug too. The white haired woman doesn't hesitate to open her arms to the tri-coloured haired woman when night comes, she had even added Velvette's print to the biometric system to let herself in- and this was months ago. She justified it by convincing herself it was easier than being interrupted by a loud bang everytime the doll showed up. Velvette is still plagued with horrific nightmares of her death, but it's not nearly as frequent as it used to be. At the sound of a single whimper, Carmilla is already awake, gently nudging the other demon to consciousness with a caress on dark skin and a whisper of "I'm here, Cariño.”

There is a very, very thin line, Carmilla realises, between atonement and devotion; and she's not sure when the lines blurred into one single emotion she dare not name.

Chapter Text

She officially makes peace with Velvette being the source of her warmth a month later. The younger demon was just a source of warmth, that was all. That's all that this was.

Rosie insists on calling her a hopeless romantic with the way she cooks Velvette her favourite comfort foods and allows the shorter woman to not only watch, but engage in the little things that give her a sense of purpose.

Carmilla no longer subtly self sabotages at work to feel needed. She no longer drowns in self-made vodka cocktails and calls it little treats instead of naming it for what it is, a poor coping mechanism.

She's given up on correcting Rosie when she tells her Velvette must be in love too. The fashionista is a little more respectful at overlord meetings, no longer calling people 'fossils', though the tone and cadence she uses when saying their names somehow feels more insulting.

She once brought every overlord a single boiled egg of all things, printed with a caricature of their face that was definitely hand painted and tucked in a little crocheted cover. 'Figured you lot were acting like a titty collection of mums, 'oh no we can't livestream the shit they do in that hotel' or 'no we can't kill them so they get to heaven faster' pfftt. Fuckers. Anyhoo I took the liberty of providing egg babies before they end up in ya stinkin' faces! Ha! No need to thank me.' Rosie claims that Carmilla's had barely any bite to it, her deadpan expression caught with exaggerated lips, and that Velvette was just looking for an excuse to do something nice for her.

That was absolutely not true. If Velvette wanted to do something nice for Carmilla she simply would. Like when she used her power to break in the arms dealer's new red pointe shoes instead of having the white haired woman do it manually. Or the time she couldn't get Carmilla to leave the study, or take a break from work so she brought their supper upstairs and almost force fed her the dish. ’Milla if you don't swop that pen for a fucking fork I'm shoving this down your throat with plate and all.' Or even the time Velvette helped pin her hair into its usual horns when Carmilla was tired and hungover from the cocktails they enjoyed the night before.

On second thought, those were all nice things Velvette had done for her, but they were almost mindless, as in, they weren't made into a big deal. Carmilla doesn't know if that's better or somehow worse. Because if it's the latter, then perhaps Rosie is right. Perhaps Velvette is falling (too) and doesn't even realise how soft she's both become for, and because of Carmilla. She still can't decide what's worse- if Velvette is doing these things knowingly, or unknowingly but won't admit it.

"Rosie, stop overcomplicating it. We have a simple arrangement. For warmth. That is all."

"Oh Carmie, dear. You're not having sex. You're falling in love. Nothing simple about dating without the label. If you were just having sex then that's simple. But there are feelings involved, the doll practically lives with you too, dear."

Rosie takes another sip of her tea. "Don't lie to me darling, you haven't even kissed her, have you?"

Carmilla then starts to strongly dislike having tea with Rosie.

♡♡♡

Velvette sketches beautifully, because of course she does- she's a designer. There's another acid rainstorm pouring outside the Vee towers. It was not often that Carmilla would stay at Velvette's for the night, but tonight was one of those rare nights. The tower was void of both Vox and Valentino, as it always was when Carmilla came over. The scent of paprika, of home lingers as Carmilla checks on the roast in the oven before returning to her place where she leans against the sink, half-reading a book Velvette deemed too ancient to be interested in. The almost harsh overhead lighting from the kitchen somehow makes Velvette look magnetic, majestic and Carmilla just wants to touch- to feel.

She contemplates snapping a picture, just for memories sake but that would reveal just how sentimental she truly is. She's not that far gone, she thinks. As if though not acting on the tooth-rottingly adorable thought neutralised it altogether.

When Velvette looks up from the sketchbook, Carmilla feels the air being stolen from her lungs. There's a smudge of graphite on Velvette's cheek from when she had moved her hair out of the way to continue sketching. She's unable to withhold any longer, tells herself it means nothing, Velvette's face is just dirty. Carmilla reaches over the kitchen island and wipes away the mark from Velvette's cheek; she pretends not to notice the rising heat under her fingertips, nor the way the demon subtly leans into her touch.

A loud notification from the fashionista's phone breaks the spell. Carmilla's hand drops and she goes back to leaning, and reading, Velvette checks her phone. Just like that, the moment passes; the duo definitely does not tuck the tender moment into memory to smile about it later.

They're afraid, both Carmilla and Velvette but they lie to themselves and decide this is just warmth, nothing more. They've accepted each other as a source of warmth, though acceptance can only go so far when denial accompanies oxygen. They are absolutely not hopelessly in love.

Velvette watches Carmilla read books on psychology and influence- for fun mind you, under lamp light in her bed. The white haired woman feels the other's gaze on her and she feels flattered, no, nauseated. The fluttering in her stomach was just nausea, she must've eaten too much roast at dinner.

Nonetheless, she holds Velvette that night, sweet strawberry invading her nostrils even more than when she lingered in Vees' kitchen. Each Vee has their own room big enough to be an apartment on its own, and Velvette, as expected, had the biggest one of the three. Loose fabric strips, discarded clothes and paper littered the space, and if Carmilla was being honest, it was quite messy- though it did not bother her as much as it should've. Perhaps she was slightly desensitized because of the way Velvette would leave her sneakers around the Carmine mansion, her jacket in the middle of the bedroom and her sketchbook in the strangest of places.

Velvette scrolls mindlessly, Carmilla's one arm looped around her waist, the other holding her book as she reads. When Velvette grows bored, she puts her phone down and snuggles into Carmilla. The white haired woman looks down affectionately, uses one of Velvette's glitter pens as a bookmark then places her book down. The tri-coloured haired woman has her natural curls out tonight, an adorable poof atop her head, the other has hers in a messy bun. Carmilla bites her tongue before it can reveal just how breathtaking Velvette looks in this moment. Large fingers start massaging her scalp gently, causing a sigh of contentment to slip out. Carmilla then leans down and places a kiss on Velvette's forehead. The act leaves both with pounding hearts and affectionate glances.

It happens so slowly.
Velvette reaches up, Carmilla leans down.

Breath by breath they come closer til the space is barely a hairline away. Lips collide gently, a dance of restraint and tenderness. Lips lock and they kiss like two teenagers sharing their first kiss. It's tentative, sweet, and oh so careful as if though one might break the other.

Carmilla short-circuits as warm lips carefully continue pressing against her own, uncharacteristically tender for a woman made of chaos and sass. Velvette trembles in her arms, and Carmilla realises for once, the confident fashionista is unsure, afraid that a boundary is being crossed, overstepped. To reassure the dark skinned demon, she cups a flushed cheek and presses a little more, as if to say, I want this too. As if to say that the fashionista had definitely not misread the signs and that Carmilla is absolutely (not) completely and devastatingly in love with her.

Velvette shifts, straddling the taller woman and gently caresses Carmilla's jaw causing a groan to slip out. Velvette takes the opportunity to slide her tongue between wet lips and Carmilla is truly utterly undone. She can't think of anything other than how warm, how comfortable and how safe she feels.

Velvette guides Carmilla's hands to her waist, and then her ass, encouraging her to touch. Dark hands play with the edge of a silk nightgown riding up grey thighs, nails scratching lightly. Another low moan slips out, and they're not sure who it came from, not that it matters- all that matters is how good, how nice, how warm this feels. Velvette grows bolder, kissing a sharp jaw before trailing down to a sensitive neck. A gasp echoes in the soundproof room, eyes dilated into dark voids. Velvette leaves a light mark that's sure to fade by morning before moving to a new spot.

Hips rock, chasing pleasure, lips swollen and breathing ragged. "Fuck, Milla," Velvette breathes, eyes closed.

As sweet and as sensual as it sounds, it shatters their bubble of intimacy as Carmilla feels guilt clawing at her chest. The white haired woman removes her hands from where they were placed and rests them on the others' shoulders.

"Velvette, wait-" She is interrupted by teeth claiming her bottom lip, nibbling lightly drawing out another low moan.

When Velvette is satisfied, she looks up at the flushed women infront her, a smirk plastered on her face. In that moment Carmilla swears she could melt into a puddle of need, want and dare she say, love. But instead, guilt gnaws at her throat. "Cariño, there's something I-"

Velvette goes back to scraping her teeth against tender skin, sucking lightly on a sharp clavicle. Carmilla swears she nearly sees stars, but that ugly feeling won't leave. So she tries again.

"There's something...ah, mierda!... there's something you need- to know about me."

Velvette is breathless, "I don't give a fuck, if you're lesbian virgin. We can go slow," is all she says, hips still rocking.

"But Velv-"

"Please, Carmilla," she pleads, chest heaving, hips slowing down, but still moving.

Heaven above, Carmilla nearly shatters into a million pieces. She caresses a flushed cheek, swallowing the guilt almost auditably. How could she deny Velvette when she looked at her like that.

Lips collide once more and Carmilla decides that she will carry this guilt just a little longer. Because Velvette is asking her to not fuck her, but to make love to her, how could she say no?

The need to care for, to show the fashionista that she is beautiful, she is loveable and she is worthy of good things overrides guilt. For the time being anyway. What does help in the slightest is that Carmilla's hands are technically clean. Yes, she created dollification, yes, she crafted blue-silver blades but it was not her doing that claimed Velvette's life. It was not her fault. It was not her fault. It was not her fault.

It is not her fault. Her hands are clean.

Affection overrides overthinking and Carmilla decides that she will make love to Velvette, just this one time before it all falls apart. She's deeply in love but she's still carrying a heavy heart weighted with guilt. But tonight, it will not taint this any more than it already had. No. Tonight, Carmilla Carmine will translate every shared affection, every glance, every longing gaze into physical touch. Although she knows this couldn't last, she'll pretend for now. Just for tonight. She grabs a towel from Velvette's cupboard and lays it down before slipping her nightgown over her head.

Carmilla takes her time tracing large fingers and trembling lips over the doll's joints and scars. With every kiss, "Beautiful," is murmured as prayer against strawberry scented skin; while ’I'm sorry,' echoes in her head. She brings the tri-coloured haired woman to climax with praises born of admiration and respect. 'I love you. I love you. I'm in love with you'. Over and over again. She etches devotion and love into each touch, her words blanketed with genuine warmth, and commits the essence of Velvette's soul to memory.

When Velvette is utterly spent, limbs filled with a delicious ache, Carmilla retrieves a warm washcloth from the doll's en suite and cleans her up. She finishes with a kiss to the fashionista's forehead. The sheets will have to be changed in the morning.

Carmilla does not allow the shorter woman to bring her to climax despite the way she aches; a self-inflicted punishment. She lies, saying she's not quite ready, and Velvette accepts the lie reluctantly.

When the fashionista is asleep, hair unruly and body marked with love bites, Carmilla slips out of bed and heads to the bathroom. She stares at the reflection in the mirror.

She doesn't see the woman she's become- the woman changed by love, by hope, by warmth, but rather the monster she once was on Earth.

She washes her face, and hands, scrubbing til her hands begin to burn as if though she could wash the guilt away. She almost laughs when she catches her reflection again and sees Lady Macbeth scrubbing a nonexistent spot of blood, the same way she scrubbed already clean hands til water felt like acid rain after hours of pouring.

Minutes pass like hours before she eventually sinks back into bed, still bare and pulls the shorter woman's sleepy figure impossibility close before kissing her forehead once more.

"Lo siento, Cariño. Te quiero mucho."

She prays the other woman does not hear her whispered confession. She prays the woman does.

Chapter Text

Carmilla wakes to the scent of coffee and something sweet she can't quite name yet. She finds Velvette in the kitchen, frying crepes and playing a song about sex. Very appropriate. She's wearing an oversized tee Velvette had specifically kept aside for when she would spend the night, and stay for breakfast.

"Mornin' Luv!" Velvette beams, pouring batter into the pan. She looks happy, dark skin glowing with satisfaction, a subtle smugness in the air.

"Good morning, Cariño," Carmilla responds, moving closer to the radiant chaos she's grown to love.

Her body moves before her mind can stop her as she snakes her arms around the shorter woman's waist, kissing her cheek. Velvette wants to say something sarcastic, something snippy, but the words die on her tongue when she catches their reflection in the microwave screen.

For a second, she falters- they look... cozy. Disgustingly domestic. Content. It unsettles her- the silhouette of two women from a damn love story. But they weren't in a stupid romance novel or some dumb movie about love. They just fucked, that's all. And it's just good manners to feed the hand that fingers you- or however the saying goes. They do look happy though- which wasn't supposed to be the point. So naturally, she ruins it.

"Well fuck me. Didn't realise one night of pussy'd have ya all housewifey 'nd shit."

The white haired woman freezes, pulls away. Embarrassment washes over her as she averts her gaze to the floor to ceiling windows. Insecurity sneaks into her voice, "I hadn't meant to-"

The way Carmilla shrinks instantly makes her regret speaking. It's far too late to take it back, but fuck, she wants to. She wants to say something to fix it, but what leaves her lips is: "Fucks sake Milla, I was fucking with you." Velvette snorts, flipping the last crepe with exaggerated flair as if though that would remedy the situation. She reframes it as if though she hadn't said something shitty and insensitive. "Geez. Ya know, for someone who acts all proper 'nd shit you're such a fuckin' pussy sometimes."

Velvette removes the crepe from the pan and shuts the stove off, Carmilla still standing almost awkwardly, pretending to watch the view outside. In an attempt to make her words forgotten, the shorter woman grabs the front of her companion's tee and pulls her down for a kiss. It doesn't last long, and it's not highlighted with lust- not that Velvette would ever admit it, not aloud at least.

They pull apart smiling affectionately, the song about being choked during sex mere background noise. Velvette then asks Carmilla to set the table and pour the coffee while she finishes up.

Velvette tends to her succulent plant- the one had Carmilla allowed her to steal from the patio. She calls the blossom dramatic for soaking up the water as quickly as it did before she serves breakfast. Over breakfast Carmilla focusses on enjoying her breakfast while Velvette scrolls on her phone, sex songs still playing.

A lyric about cunnilingus has Velvette singing along then lowering the volume just enough to tease Carmilla. "Ain't no fuckin' way you're a lesbian virgin, Milla. That shit you did with your tongue? That's experience, ya freak."

Carmilla smirks, despite the subtle blush before raising an eyebrow. "I take it you're impressed?" She lifts her coffee mug, a slight tremble in her hand that Velvette misses.

"No shit hey! Can we fuck again after breakfast?"

♡♡♡

Carmilla knows she has to tell her. She packs in leftover pasta for when Velvette leaves the Carmine mansion, and it's in the back of her mind; this dirty secret that's sure to ruin everything. They lie in bed, limbs tangled after multiple rounds of sex and the words are rubbing against her teeth, but she can't bring herself to shatter the moment. Instead she excuses herself to the bathroom and washes her hands a bit longer than necessary. She still refuses to have Velvette pleasure her; she feels undeserving of such affection, such devotion. She already has so much of Velvette that she doesn't deserve, she couldn't possibly take this too.

Sometimes they watch movies in bed on Velvette's laptop, mostly rom-coms. It was supposed to be a joke; it was supposed to annoy the taller woman when Velvette first put one on. Instead it became a guilty pleasure for Carmilla, a rather embarrassing one at that- watching foolish humans fall in love under fake rain and pointless miscommunication.

They also share bubble baths with scented candles paired with classical music of Carmilla's choosing. One time Velvette added a glitter bath bomb that left Carmilla shining until well into the next day. She was not impressed to say the least- and to make matters worse, Velvette had swapped the pen on her desk for an identical one with glitter ink. Not only was Carmilla Carmine covered in glitter that Tuesday, but she had signed a contract with a glitter pen too.

At tea with Rosie that week, she catches the faint glint of glitter on Carmilla's shoulder and points it out, calls her soft. Carmilla's first instinct is to get defensive, to nearly snap at her friend. But then a text from Velvette pops up on her screen, and she smiles without meaning to. The hollow-eyed demon clocks it immediately.

Rosie says that the fleeting, uncontrollable smile is exactly what she's talking about, and she applauds the white haired demon's restraint at overlord meetings. She panics internally, thinking if Rosie noticed, then everyone must know she's going soft. But Rosie reassures her that everyone is too caught up in their own melodramatics. Suddenly Carmilla doesn't have the heart to fight it anymore, not with Rosie at least.

♡♡♡

It's not that she wants to tell Velvette that she created dollification, or that blue-silver was her Earthly empire's trademark. It's just that Velvette still has horrific nightmares and asks why it happened to her, and what sick bastard even came up with the idea of it all. Sometimes Velvette is so unwell, disorientated from another nightmare that becomes physically ill. Guilt had become a permanent third party in their not-relationship, being especially loud when they'd have sex, essentially turning it into a threesome.

There was a night when Velvette had a terrific fever, the doing of yet another nightmare. Carmilla had held the shorter woman down with one hand and pressed a cold washcloth against her forehead with the other. Velvette becomes almost child-like when she's unwell; screaming cruel, venomous things she doesn't mean, refusing to drink water and stubbornly curling up in bed. Most times Carmilla has to medicate herself as well, to cope with the nausea guilt inspires, waves crashing like orgasms.

Carmilla confides in Rosie one afternoon and breaks down in her friend's arms. She confesses everything; dollification, blue-silver and how devastatingly in love she is with a woman she doesn't deserve.

♡♡♡

"Carmilla fucking Carmine."

The words shouldn't make her flinch ever so subtly, they never have before. But when they come from the woman you love, and you're harbouring a disgusting secret, who can blame you?

She takes a deep breath and accepts it, this is the end. This is how it happens- no blood, no fanfare, just words that can never be taken back.

This is the part where Velvette tells her to choke on a dick and die- and mean it. Guilt is knuckle-deep in her, pushing her closer to the edge of confession.

"Tell me why Rosie was the fucker askin' what I got my girlfriend for her deathday?" Velvette glares, arms crossed. Carmilla didn't think the day she died should be celebrated, especially with Velvette's situation.

Guilt pulls out, lingers but doesn't walk away, it rarely ever does. Sometimes she feels like she's cheating on the fashionista with guilt itself. She lies (by omission), redirects, and won't let Velvette touch her- like she's already been claimed by another.

"One, I didn't know she knew about us, and two why the fuck didn't ya say anythin'?" Velvette was in her personal space at this point, jaw tense and adorably upset about something so deceptively simple.

Guilt scowls at Carmilla, wiping its fingers on her before leaving the room with the promise to return at the worst moment again. Now Carmilla can focus on the shorter woman in front of her.

"Girlfriend, hm?" She teases with a smirk.

"Not the point, Milla. The fuck didn't you tell me?" She crosses her arms tighter, fingers tapping almost impatiently in a rhythmic pattern.

"Because it's not important, Cariño." Carmilla offers an explanation, not that it's a lie, she never celebrated it since Clara and Odette had moved out.

"There goes my excuse to fuck. Anywho, since I'm too 'inane' to know not-important things, I'll just fuck right off." She turns away defensively, nearly knocking her elbow against the wall.

Carmilla reaches out, a firm grip on the fashionista's hand before pulling her closer until she's in her arms. "I see you are upset, but Cariño, I mean it. It's not important to me," she says, placing a kiss on Velvette's forehead.

"And you don't need an excuse if you are in need of attention or craving something... indulgent." Carmilla then kisses her, black lipstick mixing before smudging.

When they pull away, Velvette is smiling again, so is Carmilla. "It seems I have the most dramatic girlfriend in all of Hell," she says fondly.

Velvette swats Carmilla lightly, "Fuck you!" But the words lack any bite. "I'm the baddest bitch in all fuckin' rings and you're lucky to have me."

♡♡♡

Velvette tries baking Carmilla's favourite boring cake, a vanilla sheet cake with buttercream frosting. She's failing miserably. Clearly, her skillful cooking does not extend to the baking department. She had somehow flopped it three times, each with a different problem. First she created edible chalk that somehow hadn't burnt, but was rock solid. Then she dropped an eggshell in the mixer and it practically blended into an eggshell smoothie- and the same batter had decided to spill across the counter and make a huge mess. The third time she tried, she somehow managed to burn the top but the cake remained in liquid form. She doesn't know what went wrong this time. She swore the batter was perfect.

When Carmilla walks in, she finds Velvette on her knees in a mess of flour that looks a lot like a cocaine deal gone wrong. The shorter woman looks defeated, screaming at the video playing on her phone that's supposed to be guiding her to make the damn cake.

"Can't fuckin' get it right Milla! I tried. It's all a fucking mess."

Carmilla drops to her knees, lifting her girlfriend's flour-covered chin. "Oh Cariño, te amo mucho regardless." It slips out unconsciously, unintentionally- in her mother tongue.

Velvette's lip quivered lightly, "Even though I fucked up your very late deathday cake?" Carmilla nodded, caressing her cheek.

Realisation hits, Velvette visibly reacts. "Wait! The fuck did you just say?? Pretty sure 'amo' means love. Did you just confess your undying love for me???" A smirk formed on her lips, eyes glinting mischievously.

Guilt was not holding Carmilla's hand today, but it still tapped its fingers on her shoulder. She mentally swatted its gnawed hands away. Not today. Not when her girlfriend needs her to say one of the things she's been holding back since warmth became routine.

"Perhaps," she teases with an eyebrow raise and a ghost of a smirk.

"Say it again?" Velvette nearly winces at the vulnerability, it leaves a sour taste on her tongue.

Carmilla notices, presses their foreheads together in an attempt to ground her, then pulls back to look at her. "Te amo, Cariño."

A lengthy pause fills the space. Velvette is torn between how to respond. Naturally, she chooses the most appropriate option.

"That's hot as fuck babe! Hm, hm. Got my knickers soaked through already!" Velvette has a smug look on her face and just a tinge of a blush- she may not be lying.

Suddenly she bursts out laughing, Carmilla is thoroughly confused. "Ha! Ya said it first! SIMP!"

"Hm?" The white haired woman's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Is this another one of your memes? Really, Velvette?"

"Not my fault you don't got a sense of humour!" She declares proudly. "You said ya love me in a language I don't even speak! Too pussy to say it in English?"

"You haven't even reciprocated, and I'm the coward?"

"Touché. Anyhoo. Ya gonna kiss me or should I call my ex?"

"Are you going to keep deflecting?"

A huff, and an eye roll before Velvette answers, "Argh, fine. I love you too. Happy?"

She hates how natural those three words roll off her tongue. Hates how her sassy smirk evolves into a genuine smile. And worst of all, she hates how much lighter she feels now- like she's finally spat something out that's been lodged between her teeth for months.

That night, something shifts. Guilt stands in the corner of the room, eyes glued on Carmilla, but it does not engage. Perhaps this was her reward for finally saying the words she's been swallowing like dry cotton. Carmilla, for the first time, allows Velvette to bring her to climax. She doesn't protest when Velvette kisses grey skin, trailing down until she's seated between bare, trembling thighs.

"You sure?"

Carmilla can only nod; chest heaving, body burning.

Velvette takes her time, smudging black lipstick over bare skin, leaving love bites and scratches- proof that she was here.

Proof that Carmilla Carmine- overlord, arms dealer, friend, girlfriend, lover, mother and other is loved, adored, worshipped.

She comes utterly undone at Velvette's touch. Stars cloud her vision. A high-pitched moan tears from her throat, and for a moment, all she feels is pure bliss- she doesn't even see Guilt still standing in the corner, its arms now crossed.

Relief baptizes her and leaves her boneless, one hand losing its grip on Velvette's hair, the other releasing the sheet slowly. The shorter woman wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before crawling up and peppering kisses across flushed skin til they reach swollen lips. She kisses her sweetly, thanking her for allowing her to touch in true Velvette fashion; saying something along the lines of thank you, my tongue has a new favourite flavour.

Carmilla hears something along the lines of praise and love before her eyes close and peace welcomes her with open arms.

Chapter Text

Things run smoothly for them, save for Velvette's occasional sleeping terrors, given the recurring nightmares. Carmilla realises that for the first time in both her life, and afterlife, she's in a stable relationship. Guilt tells her she's an amazing actress. Says that it cannot be a stable relationship when she's harbouring secrets from her lover- not that she has forgotten altogether, it's just that she doesn't need a constant reminder. She's noticed that Guilt sometimes wears her face when Velvette is particularly unwell, and leans over the fashionista, like its breath keeps Velvette's fever going.

That being said, with Guilt aside, she truly is genuinely honoured to love someone as amazing as her beautiful girlfriend.

What she's noticed as of late is that when Velvette says 'I love you,' Guilt seems to shrink, and keep its distance for a little while, though it never quite leaves.

Only their closest friends are privileged with the knowledge of their secret relationship; kept loyal through love and threats in equal measure. Which makes it all the more annoying the way Velvette rambles Vox and Valentino silly with constant choruses of "my girlfriend this" and "my girlfriend that". Neither of them have a say when it comes to hearing about Velvette 'bagging a hot MILF' who actually loves her. Even when they're turning her out and telling her to shut up, they still have to endure the torture of hearing about the thing Carmilla does with her tongue.

Carmilla, in turn, confesses her softer moments to Rosie with a lovestruck fondness she no longer tries to hide. Rosie is always happy to listen, and even happier that Carmilla no longer denies being in love.

♡♡♡

The time that passes between the official establishment of their relationship and where they are now is not long in the slightest. But somewhere between the months of what would have been autumn on Earth, something changes. Something rotten begins drawing attention to its decay. Velvette notices, but pretends not to, it must just be her insecurity of growing irrelevant that's got her knickers in a knot. That must be the reason Carmilla is sometimes so distant; present, but not there.

Or maybe she's just bored of the fashionista now. Maybe they were holding on to something that was never meant to be in the first place. Everyone knows the brightest flame burns out the fastest. But it wasn't all sparks and wildfire, right? They'd taken the time to light the spark, nurture the smoke and add wood to keep the gentle fire burning, didn't they?

Maybe Carmilla was just exhausted from the stress of work and what it takes to maintain a romantic relationship. There was this one day she'd come home, asking Velvette for space. Not wanting to help with dinner or even help Velvette learn that new pose on the aerial silks. She looked tired. Perhaps Velvette's nightmares, her neediness was taking its toll on Carmilla- she is always the one giving. Her time, her attention, her affection. She's patient when Velvette needs space, doesn't take it personally when the doll says harsh things she doesn't mean; surely Velvette can grant Carmilla some grace too.

The day Carmilla had come home like that was the day she visited the warehouse. One of the blacksmiths accidentally created blue-silver angelic steel and proudly presented the beautiful blade to her. The white haired woman snapped, demanded for it to be smelted down, discarded and never spoken of again, or replicated.

It did not feel like coincidence given Velvette had thrashed about the night before, crying about blue-silver slicing her skin. Guilt must have orchestrated it all, and if not, it definitely ensured that Carmilla would feel the echoes of her past. It held her around the waist and kissed her shoulder the moment she laid eyes on the angelic blue-silver.

Guilt had latched onto Carmilla's neck, leaving the most prominent love bite only she could see. She tries to be kind, Velvette didn't deserve her little tantrum. But she couldn't bring herself to pretend everything was okay. Velvette cooks a rich stew, and it smells like home again. Guilt releases the possessive grip it had on her hip and finally she feels she can breathe again. It still lingers behind her. That night, Velvette holds her instead. Carmilla laces their fingers together and locks Velvette's arms around her waist like a safety harness. She just wants to sleep. She wants to break up with Guilt. She doesn't want this emotional love triangle she's been forced into. She just wants to be happy again.

Velvette places a kiss on her shoulder before speaking, "Night, Luv. Feel better in the morning, yeah? I love you."

It heals and hurts in the same breath. Carmilla decides to come clean the next day.

♡♡♡

As expected, her self-made promise broken by the break of dawn, or rather, when she wakes at nearly noon. She must have slept through her alarm. Another bullet point on the list of problems Carmilla will have to deal with. She negotiates with Guilt, asking for just a few more days. She needs to compensate for not being Velvette's strength the night before. She doesn't even know if the shorter woman had slept through the night; if she got any rest at all.

Velvette walks in, balancing a tray of strawberry and vanilla tea, and pancakes. "Was just about to wake ya sleeping beauty ass." She says with a smile as Carmilla sits up in bed, stretching.

Guilt places a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room and Carmilla exhales verbally. "Don't worry your pretty pussy 'bout work. Already handled by yours truly. Anddd I made breakfast. Well brunch."

Velvette declares that it's self-care Saturday, despite it being a Wednesday because she decides they need it. She runs them a bath and drags the taller woman to the steaming water. Velvette takes her time lathering shampoo into white hair, paying extra attention to the single black streak. The way her fingers dance on her scalp has her girlfriend sighing in relief. The fashionista doesn't ask how to help, doesn't push the arms dealer to speak about what's happening in her head. She simply offers care, comforts her girlfriend with tender touches and random kisses. When the conditioner has been brushed through, she ties her long hair into a bun atop her head. Velvette doesn't have to wash her hair, it's not dirty, and a simple snap of her fingers would do just as well.

"Lemme get in to play lifeguard before you drown in a fuckin' bath- lookin' all bubble-blissed 'nd shit." Velvette teases, trying to lighten the mood. It brings a small smile to her girlfriend's lips. Guilt practically spits in her face and backs away, arms crossed as it glares from the corner of the room.

Carmilla moves to take her place on the left side of the tub, but Velvette offers that they alternate this time. She holds the taller woman from behind, snuggling into her neck before kissing her cheek.

The water grows cold and Velvette helps her girlfriend step out and hands her a towel to dry off. She snaps her fingers, dressing Carmilla in a casual tee and leggings, then does the same for herself. 'Mother fucker' is printed in pink glitter on the fashionista's tee. Carmilla turns to the mirror to peek at what's printed on hers. In loopy glittery print, she sees the word 'Mother'. Doesn't think much of it, she is a mother after all, it makes sense.

Velvette hands Carmilla a cannabis gummy, says it's to take the edge off. The white haired woman contemplates, then surrenders, it'll help her cope.

She doesn't remember when it hit, all she knows is that one moment the bed was just a bed, and the next it felt like a cloud of comfort. She would have thought Velvette lying on her chest would make her feel like the reason she'd sink straight through the mattress, though all it felt like was a blanket of love draped over her.

"Oh you're fucked, Milla." Velvette says looking up at her with a toothy grin.

She scrolls through her phone and puts on a ridiculous love playlist, and sings along- loud, off-key, shameless. The action lightens the weight in Carmilla's chest and she bursts out laughing before practically squeezing her girlfriend and nuzzling into her hair. When Velvette says something about not being able to breathe, she releases her hold and kisses her.

It's the first time in a long time that Guilt doesn't shove its tongue down her throat while she kisses Velvette. It does not approach, instead it turns around, as if it is disgusted by the sight of them kissing. Carmilla closes her eyes as the kiss deepens, with every second, the stench of guilt lessening. When she opens her eyes, Guilt is gone, vacant from the room, its stink being replaced by strawberry.

It’s the most peace she’s felt in weeks.

She tries not to dwell on the thought of getting high permanently to save their relationship as it crosses her mind.

Carmilla sighs contently, caressing her girlfriend's cheek. And for a moment, she lets herself believe that this might be enough.

What was it that Velvette said once? Delusion is the solution, or something along those lines, but in slang. The fashionista had said it confidently, wobbling on pointe shoes despite having no ballet experience- simply because Carmilla said she missed dancing pas de deux. No grace, no technique, just raw love and Velvette-trademarked chaos.

"Cariño, I feel the oven calling my name, saying we should bake something."

♡♡♡

Things are better most days since 'self-care Saturday'. It is of no relevance that most days Carmilla pops a gummy into her mouth an hour before she leaves work. She schedules her highs like business meetings. The timing set so that she's perfectly buzzed, yet fully functional by the time she sees Velvette in the evening. The fashionista brushes it off as a phase, maybe Carmilla just rediscovered the brilliance of weed, and who is she to judge? Everyone gets high now and again. Besides, their sex life has been enhanced since- the bliss of an orgasm while high feels like the closest thing to heaven they'll ever experience.

The arms dealer tells herself that she can stop when she wants to, tells herself it doesn't count because she's sober some days. Laughter comes easier now, Guilt keeps its hands to itself and maintains a vast distance. Their routine repairs itself and everything feels good, feels secure again.

Carmilla guides Velvette on perfecting the archer pose on the aerial silks, and teaches her the art of baking. Velvette introduces Carmilla to social media trends that leave them nearly crying with laughter at the results- not that they'll ever post their silly videos.

On the nights that Velvette's nightmares haunt her, Carmilla ensures her cannabis dosage is twice as strong- to keep Guilt at bay, and to be the fashionista's pillar of strength. She does it out of love, to maintain their relationship. And because if she doesn't, if she's sober- Guilt practically fucks her senseless right infront of Velvette's eyes.

She suspects that Velvette is starting to become aware that when she's sober, the doll is not the only partner she entertains. Carmilla hates how Guilt stains her hands with its essence after sober sex, hates how Guilt won't let her orgasm when she's sober. There is an obvious solution to this problem and Carmilla will do whatever it takes to stop it from destroying the greatest love she's ever known.

It's late at night and they're unable to sleep, both glued to Velvette's phone as she doom scrolls. They come across a crochet tutorial and decide to try it out. Carmilla teases Velvette for doing 'old people activities', Velvette barely justifies herself, saying something about stabbing the wool differently which makes crochet cool, and knitting boring. Carmilla doesn't quite enjoy it but the hobby becomes a sort of obsession for Velvette. She consumes crochet media, even makes crochet the star of one fashion show.

She crochets a white swan for her girlfriend, and a red scarf too. She's rewarded with a brand new, hot pink electric violin and something she's never been given before: the secret ingredient to Carmilla's orange loaf. A recipe that was reserved strictly for special occasions, like Odette or Clara's deathday, a rare successful and productive overlord meeting, and days when Velvette's light had dimmed

And sometimes, just because Carmilla had had a particularly wonderful orgasm that felt like it extended her high.

♡♡♡

Rosie opts for brunch instead of tea the next time Carmilla sees her. The choice could not have been more perfect- company with her best friend, and a cure for the inevitable munchies.

The cakes are delicious, the flavours slightly heightened by Carmilla's high. Her posture is immaculate, she's saying all the right things, tone still holding that warmth Rosie's noticed since Velvette reciprocated her feelings. But something is off, the cannibal queen concludes. Rosie refills their tea cups, eyeing Carmilla carefully. A sound of satisfaction humming from her friend's throat reveals all- that was uncalled for. It was nothing special, nothing new, just the scones Rosie always serves.

"You're high."

It hits like a slap. No one's noticed before. Carmilla's smile falters. She feels exposed. Rosie tilts her head in the slightest, concern written on her face in bold letters. Without a word, Rosie hits the nail on the head, lets the silence ask all the questions- it loosens Carmilla's tongue.

She takes a deep breath before speaking, "It's the only thing that keeps the monster away. Keeps me in control. I'm... managing."

The unfiltered truth is out in the open, bleeding all over their lovely brunch. She doesn't even flinch when the words spill out, like she's accepted this as her new reality. Rosie sets the teapot down a little too gently, like any sudden movement may startle her fellow queen.

"Sweetheart..." She reaches over, places her hand on Carmilla's, squeezes reassuringly.

Her friend offers her a small smile. "It's fine, Rosie. I'm fine. It's nothing to worry about. Just a phase."

Rosie doesn't call her out, doesn't argue. She simply says she's here for her, should she need her. Rosie’s concern never hardens into judgement. But it never softens into dismissal either. Carmilla will come to her when she's ready.

♡♡♡

Velvette pretends to not notice Carmilla still withdrawing even when she's exhausted all attempts to fix whatever the unspoken problem between them is. If Velvette's pattern recognition and memory served her well, she noticed the withdrawal was only present when Carmilla was sober. The thought left a vile taste on her tongue. Was she truly that insufferable that her girlfriend could only want her when she was intoxicated?

The day she finds sober Carmilla scrubbing her hands furiously after sex makes her world shatter into a million tiny shards.

Velvette takes this as confirmation of rejection. She's fuming, almost foaming at the mouth. But she's using it as a shield, as a single line of thread that's holding her brokenness together. Just like the thread of the stitches that would've tied her skin together, if dollification was done correctly.

She could ask Carmilla if she's okay. She could whisper something soft, reassure her that she still loves her. But she doesn't. She Can't. Not when this hurts so much. Not when she's been trying every trick in the book, every social media suggestion to justify Carmilla's behaviour- and still failing to do so.

"Am I really that fucking disgusting? You scrubbing your hands like you've touched a fucking dirt and shit smoothie."

Carmilla freezes. She's been caught. Guilt kisses her cheek affectionately, caresses her neck.

While trying to respond, she shuts the faucet off but still wipes at her hands before drying them. "What- No. Cariño, it's not that- I swear-”

"Don't fucking lie to me! I'm not fucking blind, Fossil." Velvette spits the word out like venom, crosses her arms defensively. "And you're always fucking high these days. And when you're not, you're like this."

The words cut like blue-silver, Guilt taking it as an invitation to hug Carmilla from behind, hovering over the spot it previously caressed. "Cariño, I-"

She bursts out laughing, but it's bitter- better angry than broken. "Don't. Don't call me that. Just say you're sick of me. I'll fuck off. Won't stay where I'm not wanted."

"Velve-"

"What. You tired of faking love? Done pretending touching me doesn't make your precious hands filthy?"

"No, it's not that. I do love you. So much that it hurts. I just- I need to tell you something that's been plaguing me for the longest time."

Carmilla's heart sinks to her stomach. There's no going back. Guilt's hands are all over her, chapped lips kissing the flesh where neck meets shoulder. Its breath of rot invades her nostrils. She swears Guilt laughs as it says 'You won't tell her.' before taking sensitive skin between its jagged teeth.

"It's about your nightmares.”

Chapter Text

"It's about your nightmares."

Velvette retreats both physically and emotionally, the colour drains from her face. They don't talk about her nightmares, not when the night is over and darkness turns to light. They simply do not mention it. The doll's eyebrows knit together, eyes searching her girlfriend's desperately hoping that this was just her attempt at some fucked up kind of humour.

"What about them." It's more a barked statement than a question.

Carmilla confesses that blue-silver was her Earthly empire's trademark, and that she didn't know it would cost Velvette her life.

Velvette is almost offended by the absurdity. Carmilla's been acting like this because she used to be an arms dealer on Earth too? It's not like she's the one who trailed the blade across her skin. Velvette is more confused than anything. Why was this bothering her so fucking much? She's dead now. Even if Carmilla created the weapon that killed her, it's not like it could be undone. She didn't know, it wasn't her fault. No biggie. So why did Carmilla let this silly thing become a thing? This Guilt was not hers to carry.

It softens the frost of anger, but now the snow has melted into sludge. Ugly, but manageable, able to be cleaned up as if it never existed with some time and the right tools.

Velvette half-laughs, she's still trying to process the ridiculousness of it all. "For Fucks' sake Milla. That's what's been fucking you up, been fucking us up? Babe, I thought you're fucking cheating on me or something."

She laughs again, shaking her head and just the sliver of a relieved smile creeping up. She steps closer, "Babeee. And you call me fucking dramatic? Bloody hell, Milla. Makes me wanna slap your pretty face silly."

But Carmilla doesn't soften, she doesn't react. The worst is yet to come. Guilt's hands are around her neck, threatening to steal her breath. It's furious. How dare she. She was trying to throw it away like their relationship meant nothing. Like she didn't let Guilt mark her, like she didn't like the way it edged her and stopped before she could confess so that it could keep its hold on her. Guilt even tries to negotiate this time, tells her that Velvette doesn't give a fuck about this thing, she can buy time. She can tell her about dollification some other time. They can be happy for a little longer, just the three of them.

Velvette takes Carmilla's hand into her own, kissing her knuckles. Guilt has her other hand, digging its sharp claws into her palm as a warning. Carmilla is trembling, Guilt is grinding its teeth in her ear. 'Don't you fucking dare. Don't ruin this.' It growls, immediately dragging its disgusting nails down Carmilla's spine.

"Milla, it doesn't matter. I'm happy now. I love you, regardless." Velvette reaches up, caresses her cheek.

Guilt pulls away like it's been burned, cusses, hisses roars in her face, its rotten breath and vile spit hitting her like a gust of warm wind. Carmilla's unable to react. Unable to reciprocate, unable to say anything- or even move.

"Oh wait! What'd ya say that first time, 'tear amor mucho regardless' or whatever. Anyway." She kisses her hand again, steps closer.

"There's more." It's curt, but filled with too many emotions to name.

"What? It's not like you killed me. Unless you were some smelly old perv on Earth, right?" she laughs. "Promise I won't judge if you used to be a man!"

"Velvette." It's strained. She can't find the right words to soften the blow.

"Yes, Luv?"

Guilt rings her neck, she chokes on the words."I- I created dollification." She blurts to it, taking a shaky breath, tears threatening to fall.

A pause that could last at least a lifetime fills the space between them. Velvette says nothing.

"But- I- it wasn't meant to murder! It was meant to mark. Traitors. And, they'd be stitched up afterwards. Someone perverted my method. I- I'm sorry, Cariño." She rambles, scrambling to hold it together while Guilt nearly shatters her ear drums with its screeching.

The dam breaks. No warning, no crescendo- just tears, sudden and merciless, like gravity had betrayed her.

Velvette rips away, physically pushes Carmilla, causing her to stumble backwards.

"Fuck off."

She reaches out, in an attempt to comfort her, but she hesitates. Guilt throws a tantrum and storms out, Carmilla flinches as the door slams. Velvette doesn't bother stopping the tears.

"Cariño-"

"No! Fuck. Off. You- you fucking knew. And you didn't say shit!" Humiliation. Hurt. Betrayal.

Carmilla knew and she let Velvette fall in love anyway.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she chants it like a prayer for forgiveness, a plea for a second chance. She reaches out again, trying to reach the woman she loves; she is once again rejected. "Please. Just- tell me what you need."

Velvette swipes furiously at the tears that refuse to stop falling. Carmilla's chest aches. She wishes she could take it all back, but she also doesn't regret taking Guilt's power away. But now, her girlfriend won't let her touch her. And why would she? Carmilla fucked it all up. She ruined this. She's the reason Velvette looks utterly broken.

Another pause. Uncomfortably long. She wishes Velvette would scream, shove her, cuss, anything.

The sobbing stops abruptly.

"Space." She gasps, chest heaving heavily. "Need to go."

Carmilla feels helpless, but she tries anyway. "Cariño, I don't think-"

"Carmine." A punch to the gut. Not Luv, not Milla, not even Carmilla. Fucking Carmine. "I want to fucking go home."

♡♡♡

Grief. Love. Distance.

Carmilla spirals, she's lost Velvette. But she still loves her. Guilt is replaced by Grief who snuggles lovingly into her arms at night. Grief is not as warm as Velvette, it offer lukewarm comfort. It keeps her company, never pushing, just present- even when she's high. It asks to hold her hand, asks if she needs a hug, offers to hold her at night. It never takes more than its given. The way Grief clings like a shawl to keep her warm is nothing in comparison to the cold that sneaks back into her life. Carmilla distances herself from Rosie too. The Carmine mansion is no longer filled with warmth, no longer feels like home.

Velvette avoids Carmilla like the plague. But she still loves her. She starts feeling cold again too. She avoids overlord meetings, sending Vox or Valentino instead. Velvette throws herself into her work, mass producing fashion lines. But sometimes, she still crochets; little swans, or swan-themed sweaters that she'll never show anyone.

She still remembers the night of the fallout. How could she ever forget? She had woken up screaming in a bed that felt like it was made of snow. Gasping for air, hands searching for warmth, for her- though all she found was Grief. It offered to hold her, rubbing its fluffy paw in circles on her back.

Grief becomes a shared lover, offering company to both. It alternates between which woman it'll spend the night with.

♡♡♡

The male Vees try their best, offering drugs, throwing parties, even resorting to fucking movie nights that did not include porn. But nothing works. Velvette is a shell of who she used to be. Her emptiness only witnessed by Vox and Valentino in the Vee tower, her social media still holding up the facade.

Rosie, on the other hand, is done giving her friend space. She refuses to let Carmilla spiral any further after the third time she cancells tea. The cannibal shows up at the arms dealer's doorstep and refuses to leave. She finds the white haired woman in a pajama with a tee that reads 'Mother' and her eyes void of light. She's drowning in paperwork and the mansion smells like weed. Rosie helps where she can, cooking a decent meal, tidying up the usually spotless place and lets Carmilla break down in her arms.

♡♡♡

She shows up in Carmilla's study after letting herself into the Carmine mansion like she used to. She is once again acid-rain-soaked, like she had been the first time. Her face is blank, expression blank. "I know what to do."

No cuss words, no Velvette-trademarked flare. Just a solution. Raw. Unfiltered. It hurts.

"Anything," she breathes, "I'll do anything."

"Call in the favour Alastor owes you. Make me forget how I died."

♡♡♡

Alastor arrives with a flourish of smugness, his grin never faltering like it was stitched into place centuries ago and cursed to rot there forever. He hates that Carmilla had requested the meeting at the Vee tower of all places, but a debt is a debt. And if it meant he no longer owed the arms dealer a favour? Oh he was thrilled to be rid of it.

The radio demon walks in to find Vox, Valentino and Velvette all present in the lounge as well. The male Vees are silent but Vox looks like he's one twitch away from throwing a punch. Alastor notices immediately, of course. He wouldn't miss an opportunity to provoke him.

"My my, a full cast? Didn't realise it was a group project. Should've brought popcorn and a lovely broadcast for the uncultured."

Vox wants to take the bait, his fist clenched tighter, restraint a fragile thing but Valentino shoves him back. "You're here for business. Get on with it."

Alastor chuckles, "Always the professional, even beyond your distasteful-"

"Can we skip the fucking dick-measuring and get this shit over with." Velvette snaps, her voice raw with exhaustion. She just wants to sleep.

He pretends not to notice when he sees the look on the great Carmilla Carmine's face. She's wearing all black, and not in a sexy way. It's mourning, not couture. How delightful. Oh, this will be fun. He notices Velvette mirrors her, not physically, but emotionally- the correlation is obvious. A breakup, most certainly. How scrumptious.

He leans on his staff, raising his eyebrows and speaks, "Well, well. If it isn't the secret lovers on the edge of a breakup. How delicious. How may I serve you sinful sapphics?"

No one laughs, or reacts really. Vox scoffs, Valentino glares and the couple barely blinks, Unamused by the radio demon.

Finally, Carmilla speaks, saying they need a memory erasure spell. He perks up at that, saying it's been a while since he'd done one. Vox rolls his eyes from across the room, Valentino eyeing him carefully. Alastor hums with delight, asking who had cheated- as if the assumption was the objective truth. Carmilla simply says they need to erase how Velvette died.

"A bold request. But I do love a challenge!" He says, voice growing slightly more static with sadistic excitement.

He says he needs a moment with Velvette alone to begin so they retreat to her bedroom. The radio demon spins once, then twice, then a third time before the room is clouded in shadow. His eyes glow and an eerie old-timey tune fills the space, echoing off the walls and sending a chill through Velvette. The distorted, demonic language doesn't sound like Latin, or any other languages she recognises. But it makes her feel fuzzy. Detached. The spell allows Alastor to hear the memories, to draw the connection lines where actions took place and to bundle them all up.

When the song concludes, the shadow turns to smoke, pouring over her, her hair now feeling heavy. They step back into the lounge and he proudly says it's nearly complete. He rambles on about sweet subconscious files having been accessed, and says it's nearly done. He chirps the words out, clapping his hands together as if to applaud himself. Alastor then explains that the final steps would be to tether the thread that anchors memory- and then, simply go to sleep. Upon waking, Velvette won't remember a thing. The price is not steep given the fashionista's ability to grow or shorten her hair as a result of her magic, but it feels like an insult either way.

The room fills with disbelief from all parties. Valentino voices their concerns, Alastor responds calmly saying all magic comes with a price. He elaborates, saying magic loves hair, clings to it. If it's snipped off, so is the pain.

"Fine. If it means I'll forget, then I'll do it."

"Oh no, no, she must do it." The radio demon turns to the arms dealer, "You called the favour, dear. You hold the scissors. Finish the ritual, or it's void and you've lost a favour. No take-backs."

Vox seethes quietly, the very sight of the radio demon a provocation. Carmilla is uncomfortable, disapproval evident in her posture. Valentino looks skeptical, so does Velvette. The fashionista questions if the spell would erase the memories of how she died, and nothing else. Alastor grins before chuckling darkly.

"Oh doll, I never said that. Did I forget to mention a tiny detail? Silly me! Trauma is taffy- impossible to separate from anything it's touched."

"The fuck does that mean!" Vox snaps, storming closer, but not yet pouncing.

"Spit it out, radio demon," Valentino sneers, right behind Vox.

"She'll wake up tomorrow without a single memory of how she died. Or why she couldn't sleep. Or who was holding her when she did. Simple, really."

He dusts off his shoulder before turning to leave, saying he had held up his end of the deal and concluding with, 'A pleasure doing business with you.' and vanishing with a deafening screech of static.

When the noise disappears, Vox and Valentino offer their fellow Vee support. Velvette is torn. She wants to, needs to forget the hurt, the pain. But the thought of forgetting Carmilla completely makes her burst into tears the more she thinks about it. Vox and Valentino are quick to catch her, hugging the mess of a demon she's become. It feels like hours that Carmilla watches the love of her life being forced to choose between two horrible decisions. When the sobbing slows down, she lets go of the boys, says they'll see her in the morning and retreats to her room with Carmilla.

Her girlfriend catches her when her knees betray her, and the tears return like a flood with unfinished business. She scoops her up, reassures her that it's okay, that it's the only way. Carmilla's tears burn as they roll down her face, she cries silently but it hurts all the same. She wants to scream, to demand an alternative. She even for a second contemplates begging Velvette to choose her, to remember. She knows it's beyond selfish. She knows she has no right. Though the words ache to be said regardless. But it's not fair on the shattered soul she'd had a hand in the undoing of.

"I don't want to forget you," Velvette whimpers hopelessly," But I Can't live like this."

Carmilla hugs her tighter, trying to keep her composure, breathing shaky. "I know, Cariño. I know. But you'll forget the bad too."

When their tears dry out, Velvette weaves a single braid and cuts it herself. She hands the tri-coloured hair over, makes an attempted lighthearted comment about Carmilla being sentimental. Her girlfriend cuts her hair, first with scissors, then a clipper. It takes less than ten minutes before the floor is covered in pink, white and blue strands. The taller woman moves to clean up the mess but Velvette tells her not to, saying it'll sell whatever lie Vox comes up with in the morning.

Velvette rips the cutting cape off, running her hands over her now bald head. Carmilla tells her she's still the most beautiful woman she's ever had the honour of loving.

Velvette forces a crooked smile before responding, "Face card never declines, babe. Even bald." She's trying to lighten the mood, her efforts only resulting in bittersweetness.

They pack up Carmilla's spare clothes, including the tee Velvette kept for when Carmilla spent the night and stayed for breakfast. Her toothbrush removed from its place alongside Velvette's. They erase every trace of the arms dealer from Velvette's room, and en suite.

Once completed, they share a bittersweet last kiss. It's soft. Almost chaste. The kind of kiss people carve into sculptures.

Carmilla holds her afterwards, one arm draped securely around her while the other traces Velvette's silhouette. She savours the moment, tries to memorize every detail of the moment; the weight of the woman resting on her chest, the smell of strawberry still lingering and the feel of warmth she knows she won't find again.

They exchange their final 'I love you's, clutching each other like lifelines.

Carmilla slips out of bed when Velvette falls asleep, but not before kissing her forehead one more time.

"Lo siento, Cariño. Te amo muchísimo," she murmurs, tears threatening to fall again as she grabs the evidence of her influence in Velvette's life.

♡♡♡

Carmilla Carmine is in love with a woman who is the embodiment of chaos. A woman who uses cuss words like punctuation marks, wears audacity like perfume and somehow softens her bluntness just enough to be both vulgar and sincere. The overlord is loud and disruptive and the Vees would be nothing without her. But she also plays electric violin, sketches like an art student who'd graduated at the top of her class, and is an amazing chef. Velvette is patient when explaining trends and memes to her girlfriend, and particularly stubborn when she's unwell as a result of her nightmares. The woman is a constellation of sarcasm, inappropriate humour, inspiring passion, and ferocious love. The fashionista loves with her whole pussy and makes devotion look casual.

Carmilla loves her tremendously. So much so that she's willing to sacrifice everything to grant her peace.

And when the night is over, the woman Carmilla would do anything for, won't remember a single thing about her.

Or the love they shared.

Chapter Text

The Carmine mansion is once again cold. Nothing seals the warmth in. Not open windows, not the fireplace, not the cup after cup of tea. Not even the red crocheted scarf Carmilla wears in her house. Sure, it helps. But she still feels cold. Again.

She feels like she's surviving in second person, and sometimes third- like she's watching her body as a ghost. She watches herself go through the motions, conducting overlord meetings with ease, cooking simple meals just for sustenance, and trying to shut Rosie out- to no avail. Rosie is persistent and exactly what she needs. Though she would not admit it.

Grief is confusing as a lover. Not exactly hot and cold, just... inconsistent. Sometimes it stops Carmilla from reaching for cannabis, or alcohol. Tells her Velvette wouldn't want her to call it indulgence instead of naming it for the poor coping mechanism it is.

Sometimes it guides her to her study, encourages her to reach for the top shelf liquor, or reach down to the bottom drawer of her desk and open the prettiest wrapped gummy that just so happens to also be the strongest one. It tells her it doesn't matter what Velvette would've thought, she's not here anyway, and the cannabis and or alcohol will bring some comfort into the coldness she feels.

Sometimes Grief looks like a teddy bear. Sometimes it looks like her. Same toothy grin, but less warmth.

It hurts. It feels like a new flavour of pain each day, with its own unique scent and the consistent feeling of loneliness, no, coldness. Each day feels like the same angsty quote written in a different font with the same black pen.

Sometimes, the font is rather beautiful, despite the message it's relaying.

The day the pen runs out of ink is the day Carmilla feels nothing. Not cold, not hurt, just numb. And everything tastes bland again. Too-sweet tea tastes like nothing. Spicy pasta tastes like nothing. Cannabis gummies taste like nothing. Alcohol tastes like nothing.

Everything felt pointless.

The aerial silks gather dust she doesn't bother cleaning anymore. She won't be needing them anyway. Her pointe shoes remain tucked away beneath the cupboard. Most likely deteriorating due to disuse, nonetheless it didn't matter. She didn't need anything. Not dance, not movement, not exercise. Not even those silly rom-coms she used to watch with Velvette.

Music does nothing either. The sound of silence is deafening, but any attempt to silence it is futile. Music becomes useless too. Orchestral rock, absurd pop, classical, all now under one category: not-needed.

There's no point in being alive, but who's to say a second death would bring any change? Carmilla has tea with Zestiel. Lunch with Rosie and dinner with Grief.

Carmilla tells herself Velvette was just a distraction. Just a temporary fix. She decides that it is coincidence- her daughters’ ascension to Heaven and how not long after, Velvette brought warmth back into her life. But Grief holds her hand when it asks, 'Then why does it still hurt to the point of numbness?' She fucking hates Grief. She almost wishes Guilt was there instead. That way she'd still have her girlfriend, Velvette would still remember her.

Rosie invites Carmilla for dinner one night. Grief, of course, tags along to hold her hand- to remind her to try and be present while her friend rambles about Susan being Susan.

Carmilla tries to enjoy the meal Rosie's made for her, tries adding sugar to her tea again, but everything is still bland. Nothing changes, but now she wishes something did.

She wishes she could order a new black pen to begin the angsty poetry again- just to feel something.

♡♡♡

It's another pointless day when Valentino arrives at Carmilla's office to order more weapons. Her assistant moves to assist him but the arms dealer insists she can handle it. As much as she dislikes the inane man, she needs to know about her. She's never really had a conversation with her fellow overlord beyond a few passing comments at overlord meetings. But Grief isn't here to stop her from asking how Velvette is. It stayed at the Carmine mansion that day, saying the bed was too comfortable to leave.

Valentino explains she's doing well. Says that when she woke the day after that day, they told her she shaved her hair while drunk off her ass, she simply shrugged before snapping her fingers and fixing her hair. The overlord also mentions that Vox had wiped Carmilla's name, number and pictures from Velvette's phone when Carmilla had left that night so the fashionista wouldn't get suspicious. The pimp mentions, almost offhandedly, that Velvette had been stocking up and sipping chamomile tea lately- which she never drank before Carmilla.

The white haired woman almost forgets Valentino is there for business, abruptly interrupts him, telling her assistant to handle the matter further. She excuses herself before practically storming out, her chest growing tight, eyes filling with tears as the spell of numbness suddenly shattered.

♡♡♡

Velvette doesn't realise it, but the residue of Carmilla lingers- in her daily routine, in the little things she does (or doesn't do.)

She now enjoys chamomile tea before bed, like a boring old person. She puts her phone down when she feels sleepy, snuggling into her blankets instead of passing out with a video still playing. It's very unlike her, but she supposes that it must just be that social media is becoming predictable. She doesn't dwell on the thought.

She once came across a crochet video and figured she'd give it a try with her own hands, instead of using her magic. She brushes off how quickly she masters it as just being a natural. She finds herself making a white swan, accidentally adding a single black thread without knowing why. Since then, the swan has been upgraded with a little red scarf and now sits on her nightstand.

She finds long white strands in her most comfortable clothes and disregards it as her own hair, never lingering long enough to see the texture is wrong.

One Sunday, Vox finds her baking- a vanilla cake of all things. She says it's a treat, because according to Valentino- who'd represented the Vees this month, the overlord meeting went surprisingly well. Vox doesn't say anything. He watches her move through the kitchen with muscle memory that isn't hers.

Velvette does not bake.

He keeps his suspicions to himself even as Velvette plays pop music at a reasonable volume instead of blasting it through the loudspeaker. He also does not mention that Velvette doesn't even like vanilla cake- Carmilla does.

But she doesn't know that. And he's not supposed to either. He's also not supposed to know about the thing Carmilla does with her tongue- but he can't help but cringe at the thought anyway. Velvette had practically burned the words into his motherboard back then.

♡♡♡

Carmilla nearly drops her coffee when Valevette walks into the monthly overlord meeting just a minute late. She sets the cup down with trembling hands as she watches the fashionista end her video call with the other Vees. Once concluded, she leans back in her chair. For a moment she looks like she wants to put her feet up on the desk- but doesn't.

"Whada miss, old fuckers?" She asks, sass dripping from her smirk.

Carmilla takes a deep breath before responding, saying that nothing was missed. Velvette smirks at that, sarcastically apologising for being early.

During the meeting, Carmilla finds herself doing everything to avoid looking at Velvette- and still, her eyes betray her by sneaking a few glances. She notices Velvette is on her phone, but the volume is...low, muted even.

After the meeting, Velvette lingers as everyone else filters out. "Velvette. Did you need anything else?" she says, tone steady, pretending the words aren't laced with Grief, and restraint.

"Mahn. I don't even know the fuck I'm still doing in this shit hole," Velvette responds casually before standing up, her phone now at her side.

Carmilla pretends not to notice her cheeks burning with all that's unsaid, or the thick tension suddenly present in the room. Velvette pretends not to notice the deja vu, the way this feels like something they've done a million times before.

They're not sure how much time passes while they continue staring at each other. Velvette swears she sees yearning written all over her face, she wants to feel smug about it- the old fossil probably wants to fuck her- but the unexplainable feeling gnawing at her ribcage almost mirrors Carmilla's.

Carmilla hates how her heart is pounding, how her head is fuzzy, how Velvette, but not her Velvette, is staring at her. She clears her throat, immediately slipping on a mask of professionalism as her palms grow sweaty.

The moment shatters. Velvette bolts out the door, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by nothing.

♡♡♡

Carmilla immediately clears her schedule for the day and leaves. The cold Carmine mansion is waiting for her. So is the liquor. She's hoping to find _something_ at the bottom of the bottle. Grief tries to stop her when she storms into the study, reaching for the top shelf. Says she doesn't need a drink, she was doing so well. Carmilla is persistent. She doesn't care.

Grief tries again, "You finally feel something again, is that not progress? You're hurting, which means you can still Feel."

But Carmilla doesn't care. She uncaps the bottle and chugs. The raw burn in her throat feels like nothing in comparison to the ache in her chest. And the hellfire tears that won't stop running down her face.

When the bottle is empty, she throws it across the room. It shatters- colour blossoms against the white wall, and even Grief flinches. It hurts.

Her knees finally give in and she breaks her fall with outstretched hands. Between the tears she sees the bottom drawer. Disgracefully, she makes her way over to pop a gummy in her mouth too. She doesn't care. Grief tries pulling her back, telling her to at least stick to one source of intoxication. But she rips her wrist away, still reaching for something she shouldn't.

She's not even sure of the why- she doesn't even know what she's looking for.

She doesn't have the strength, nor the dignity- to even think about how out of character this mess of a person she currently is, looks like in the mirror. Pain does funny things to polished people.

♡♡♡

Meanwhile, Velvette is utterly confused. That felt... not wrong. Sharing the space with Carmilla felt... normal. Too normal.

Why?

And why did she suddenly know that Carmilla sometimes smokes in secret? She shakes her head, broken thoughts linger- Carmilla something something warm, Carmilla something something vanilla, something something... cary-in-yo? Was that Spanish? Velvette doesn't speak Spanish. Maybe she fucked that hot Latina from the club called 'Consent'?

Nothing made sense. It was foggy and confusing and fucking annoying. Just a whole lot of nothing- maybe her stupid sapphic yearning, and mommy issues- trying to mean something.

Her first instinct is to reach for some sort of drug, but her second thought tells her to write down her thoughts and feelings instead. Or sketch them. She doesn't know when she started having second thoughts- or even thoughts before actions. Weird. Gross. And yet, she decides to listen to the second voice. Why not? Velvette pulls out her sketchbook and starts.

The short pencil glides across the blank slate with lazy, passionate strokes. She blends with her fingertips, graphite smudging against the cool page. The picture that forms is a kitchen? Not the Vee kitchen. Some place... sophisticated. Marble countertops, an extravagant spice rack and, a glass kettle. With transparent mugs holding tea for two. She wants to add a figure but in her head it's just a smudge of grey. Blurry and undefined. All she knows is that whoever the fuck this person is, feels... warm?

♡♡♡

It hurts. It hurts. It Hurts.

Hurt is all she feels when she's sober. She doesn't know how to feel functional when she's not intoxicated. She doesn't know how to not fall apart without something anymore.

Grief tries its best- rubbing her back and holding her hair when she's hungover and throwing up; keeping her company in the kitchen when she makes snacks to satisfy the munchies, and even going as far as avoiding saying her name. It tells her she's going to be okay, tells her that it'll get better. But not even Grief believes the words it whispers to a broken woman curled up in the dark.

Carmilla is back to scheduling highs like business meetings, consuming an edible just before the effects of the previous one wear off. She becomes functional again after this routine. She likes to believe that she's getting better now. Maybe it's a lie for now- but someday, it won't be. She hadn't climbed the aerial silks, but she had cleaned the dust off them. She hadn't danced en pointe, but she had done some barre work in them. It still hurt, but each action made it hurt just a little less.

She even baked orange loaf with Rosie when the cannibal showed up unannounced one Saturday afternoon.

Rosie doesn't like how dependent her friend is on cannabis, but she can't deny that she's almost thankful Carmilla found something to live for. She was most definitely judging, and trying to get her to be less dependent, though Rosie was never harsh with her wording. It was rather concerning when Carmilla was 'unavailable' for nearly two weeks after the meeting Velvette showed up at.

It was a rather uneventful Monday evening when something eventful happened, something rare- Carmilla found herself humming as she reached for her pointe shoes. She wanted to dance. She set the record on the dark swan solo track and began moving. It felt Good. Comforting even. The high did not affect her balance nor her grace. Grief cheered her on, smiling as it leaned on the doorframe.

For the first time in a while, Carmilla Carmine was smiling- still hurting, but smiling nonetheless. Maybe she really was healing.

Bang. Bang. Beep.

"Mahn, what the fuck?!"

Carmilla nearly rolls her ankle on a pirouette at the voice echoing. A wave of panic, of nausea slams into her like a tsunami.

No no no no no. What is she doing here?? Mierda- and Carmilla forgot to remove her bio print from the system.

Was Carmilla not convincing enough that other day?

 ♡

The overlord meeting had concluded without a hiccup. Not one Vee was present, but even if Velvette were, Carmilla felt ready, prepared. This time, she was prepared to see her ex(?) girlfriend and be so professional that her performance would be award worthy. She'd armed herself with cannabis and the restraint of a teen not giving into peer pressure. She was ready to do absolutely *nothing* about Velvette's presence. And the brat had the nerve to not show.

Or so she thought. As everyone walked out, Velvette strolled in. Carmilla raised an eyebrow; the fashionista's expression was unreadable.

When the room was clear, and only the duo remained, Velvette crossed her arms and glared. "I know you, Carmilla."

It was the first time Velvette had said her name since That night. She blinked. Eyebrows up. Heart pounding. Professional. Professionalism. She cleared her throat.

"We are both overlords, Velvette. Of course you know me." Restraint. Neutral tone. Controlled breath.

"Bullshit. I *know* you." Velvette spits back. She's growing impatient. She wants answers. She deserves them. But it's for her own good.

"We have established this, yes." Tone even. Palms grow sweaty. "I'll have todays meeting minutes emailed to you. If that will be all, I best be going."

Carmilla slips her laptop back into its bag and turns to leave. Her ribcage feels like it's going to explode. It hurts. But what good would it do to do anything but lie, lie, deny?

"Fucking Hell Milla." Carmilla freezes mid step, but recovers quickly. Her heart stops before throbbing like an open wound. Breath now shallow.

"I *know* you," Velvette presses, "Shit I shouldn't know. I know you like swans and seafood. I know you dance ballet. I know you never used to drink sugar in your tea until suddenly you did. I know the way you almost tear the sheets with your grip while being fucked."

Each sentence is a step closer. Carmilla feels the blood rush to her face. "I fucking *know* you, Carmilla."

Carmilla holds her breath, tapping her fingers. Lie. Lie. Deny. Professionalism. Remember?

"Well..." she turns around to face a fuming, confused Velvette and nearly falters- but doesn't. "I certainly am flattered by your... sapphic tendencies. However, I do need to excuse myself. If that is all, Velvette."

She didn't turn around a second time, didn't hear what Velvette said in response. She just had to get out before she slipped up.

 ♡

"Carmilla." Velvette barks, crossing her arms tighter. "We need to fucking talk. I thought I was going batshit crazy. But the way your stupidass system let me in? Oh fuck no. Some funky ass shit's goin' on here. And you're going to tell me."

Carmilla stops the music. Tries to act casual. "All overlords have access," she tries to lie, tries to act normal. Velvette is unconvinced.

"Bullshit. You're a fucking horrible liar. If your tone doesn't give it away then your fucking face does. I don't fucking understand. Why? Just- I don't get it. You told me I'm crazy. And I am. But not that fucking crazy." She's hurting, she's furious, she's confused.

"Tell me why I know all these fucking things. I know you like stupidass rom-coms and animal videos. I know you like orchestral rock music and that you fucking smoke in secret."

Velvette runs a hand through her hair. "Fuck! I know all these things about you and I KNOW, without a doubt, that for some fucked up reason, you love me."

Carmilla doesn't even know when she started crying, and now that she's realized it, it's too late to shield her face. She can't mask her emotions fast enough from the breaking woman in front of her. She's hurting her. Again.

"For Fuck's sake Milla. I know all these things. But I don't know why, or how I know." She breathes with desperation, fists clenched, sobs wrecking through her, "I need you to tell me why. Please."

Carmilla doesn't know how to respond. Doesn't know how to act. She doesn't know why Velvette remembers these things either. She shouldn't remember these things. She feels lightheaded.

"Get out." It hurts. It hurts. It Hurts. "Please, get out. I Can't- just. Go. Please."

"No. I'm not going anywhere." Her nails dig into her palms. She knows they're going to leave marks.

"You're going to explain what the fuck is going on!"

Chapter Text

"You're going to explain what the fuck is going on!"

"I Can't!" Carmilla screams, "I can't. I don't know- you're-" A gasp so exasperated it's evident that she's been holding her breath, and then, a broken whisper-shout: "You're not supposed to remember!"

Velvette laughs, but it's humorless, it's disbelief. "See! I'm not fucking losing my shit!" She's practically shaking with untamed emotion, "And the fuck you mean I'm not supposed to remember?!"

Carmilla sobs without grace. It's ugly, messy, raw. "Go. Please." She's holding herself so tight she might shatter. "I- I'm sorry. Please, Velvette. Go."

It's something. It's not everything but at least Velvette has confirmation that the blurry, fuzzy thoughts are real. But she still can't understand. She needs more. She needs the why.

"No." She leans in- all fire and anger and hurt, "Tell me."

Carmilla alternates between wiping tears, struggling to breathe and holding herself. "It's- complicated..."

That only upsets Velvette more. She stomps closer, pointing as she shouts, "No! You know what's fucking complicated?"

She wants to shove her, but her pointed hand turns to a fist at her side. "What's fucking complicated is drinking tea without sugar even though you love sweet shit because it makes you feel more connected to someone. Listening to fucking classical music and actually liking it because someone made it feel like something. Associating the scent of fucking paprika with the feeling of home. Waking up in the middle of the night- for no fucking reason other than reaching for a warmth, for a person who's not there."

She's out of breath, gasping, sobbing, shaking. "That's fucking complicated. I'm not whole, Carmilla. There's a fucking piece of me missing and it's fucking shaped like you."

A beat. Velvette is clenching her jaw so hard that her teeth might snap at any moment.

"I know you, and you fucking love me!"

Carmilla is feral, frantic. Massaging her temples, running her hand through her hair, wiping her tears. Trying to keep breathing. "You're right."

"Then why don't I fucking remember? What did you do?!"

Carmilla's clutching the barre like a lifeline. It hurts. Her head is pounding, her chest heaving. This was never supposed to happen. She must look pathetic. Broken. And worst of all- she is.

Velvette grips the front of Carmilla's leotard. "Why don't I remember?"

She wishes she'd just slap her, punch her, do something violent instead of looking this shattered. To be subjected to violence would be easier than witnessing this pain.

She has no choice. There is no lie grand enough to pass as even plausible. "You chose to forget. Because of how you died."

♡♡♡

They relocate to the lounge. Grief is nowhere to be found, unable to share the space with Truth. Each woman now nurses a glass of liquor.

Carmilla explains it all- as much as she can: Love. Domesticity. Dollification. Death. Blue-silver. Guilt. Alastor.

They summon Alastor. Upon arrival the sadistic demon perks up at the sight of the two broken women. Delicious tension, he thinks. Quite the beautiful mess. He wants to comment on it, but is interrupted by Carmilla.

"Do not." It's stern. Final. "Hold your tongue, radio demon."

Alastor is taken aback. My my, Carmilla Carmine looking like a trainwreck and striking like a snake. Interesting.

"Fine." His eyes shift between the two overlords, eerie smile still plastered on. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Carmilla's tense. Jaw stiff, shoulders unmoving. "She remembers. We need to know why."

"Ah, my dearest arms dealer, the deal was simple: she forgets, you remember. And forget she did! You never asked if it would last."

It echoes like a gunshot. The betrayal. Carmilla called in her favour, desperate for a solution. She suffered. For nothing. Velvette felt broken, incomplete. For absolutely Nothing. This was never meant to last.

Alastor shrugs casually. "You also failed to mention that you..." He says the words with a tinge of disgust: "...love each other."

"Why the fuck does that matter?!" Velvette barks.

Alastor tuts condescendingly, "That matters greatly. The relevance, my sinful sapphics, is that that affects how long the spell lasts. Lovers turned bitter are easily parted. Resentment hinders the formation of connections. But in your case... the resentment was minimal, practically nonexistent! And love-" he shudders before making a mock gagging sound, "-has a way of ruining perfectly good deals."

It doesn't land. It detonates. Shards fly.
Disbelief. Resentment. Anger. Betrayal.

The mind is powerless when Love has been etched into existence.

"Now now, no need to be upset. She forgot. For a while. But like I said, trauma is taffy. Sticky stuff. Same with... love. Sticks to places, songs, scent, ritual. We are not meant to be numb, dear."

"You lied to me." Carmilla spits.

"Tut tut- no! I withheld the fine print. And really, Carmilla, I thought you of all people would understand the importance of terms and conditions."

He takes in the spectacle one more time, satisfied by the mess he's had a hand in. "Well then, my sinful sapphics, I must be going. Unless you'd like to strike another deal?"

"Fuck off, shitface!"

Alastor laughs, he's proud of himself. He bows dramatically before disappearing, his smile somehow wider, more disturbing.

♡♡♡

With Alastor gone, the room feels even more suffocating. Not that his presence offered anything but annoyance and betrayal- just that now, there's no buffer at all.

Their glasses have been refilled too many times to count. Two empty bottles sit on the coffee table like centrepiece displays. Sad little participation trophies in a rigged game that no one could win. They say nothing. But the air won't shut up. They won't stop communicating. The unsaid words bounce off the walls. Each woman struggles to avoid the other's gaze.

Thunder booms outside and a sinner screams. The storm is as sudden as this unraveling. Acid rain falls steadily. Time somehow speeding up and dragging simultaneously.

Carmilla is still in her leotard and pointe shoes, her bun being held together by sheer will. Grief taps her shoulder. Says it's time to go- someone else needs its company more than she does. It kisses her on the forehead, says thank you. Reminds her that the woman she loves is sitting directly opposite her. Grief gestures towards the empty bottles, then nods in the direction of the kitchen bin before leaving.

She doesn't know what this feeling is called. But the absence of Grief makes reality feel... a little more bearable. She moves to untie her pointe shoes, movements once again graceful. Velvette watches her, expression unreadable. She herself doesn't know how to categorise this feeling- other than calling it shit.

Carmilla stands, pointe shoes in one hand, now barefoot. She takes the empty bottles into her other hand and gestures for Velvette to follow. They don't say a word. They don't need to.

In the kitchen, the empty bottles are discarded and Carmilla switches the kettle on. She prepares the same two transparent mugs from Velvette's sketch- chamomile tea, each with three spoons of sugar.

The arms dealer takes a seat alongside Velvette on the bar stool. They sip their tea in silence. Carmilla doesn't show it, but for the first time in a very long time, sweet tea tastes sweet again. The familiarity of ritual brings both warmth. To Velvette the tea tastes better than any mug she's made in the Vee kitchen. It tastes like intimacy. Like love.

They don't notice when they start leaning in. Closer and closer. Or when they end up leaning on each other.

A yawn from Velvette interrupts the moment. Carmilla gives her a small smile before standing. When her hand reaches for Velvette, she hesitates- until Velvette reaches for her and laces their fingers. The storm continues raging outside. Carmilla almost laughs at the irony. It's not safe to leave, just like the first night Velvette slept over.

"You could sleep in our- my bed... if you'd like to. Or the guest room."

She makes a comment, an attempt at a joke- it's reflex, armour. "Could've just asked me if you wanted to fuck," Velvette teases. But it doesn't land with the same lightheartedness it usually does. The heaviness in her chest still bleeds through. The words come out brittle instead of biting.

In the bedroom, Carmilla hands her a set of pajamas that was most definitely created by Velvette. It smells like strawberries- like her. She's definitely worn this before.

Carmilla retreats to the en suite to change, and give Velvette privacy. When she returns in her black silk nightgown, she finds Velvette already on her side of the bed. She's tucked under the blankets, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly with the volume off.

She almost imagines that none of it happened- not tonight, not that night. But it's short lived. Fleeting. Silly. Because when she wants to slip in beside her, to pull Velvette into her arms like always- she doesn't let herself. She has no right. Instead, she turns the opposite direction.

"Goodnight, Velvette." She whispers to the darkness.

There's no reply. She doesn't expect one.

Muscle memory overtakes them in the dead of night. Sleepy limbs tangle as they always did. Peace blankets them, just for the night.

♡♡♡

Velvette wakes first. Head rested on Carmilla's chest, the taller woman holding her tightly even in sleep- as if though she might slip away. She's not hungover- two bottles are a joke to her liver, fast metabolism and sheer practice. But she does feel heavy. The weight of emotion, of familiarity, settles on her. Maybe she's emotionally hungover. Which is gross. Because feelings are gross.

Velvette listens to her heartbeat. Feels the way she calms down at the rhythm. Takes in the subtle scent of cigarettes and the stronger scent of vanilla and alcohol. Lingers in the feeling of being held, of feeling safe, warm- a little less empty than before.

She shifts, trying to stretch, but the sleepy woman below her tightens her grip. A groan of disapproval follows suit. Red eyes blink slowly. Her head is throbbing. This was not the alcohol's doing- she's endured way more than two bottles in the company of Grief, and still woke without being hungover. This is the consequence of feeling, of emotional depth.

"You're drooling on my hair, woman." Velvette mumbles, voice hoarse, still pressed against her chest.

Carmilla pulls her arms away, lays them awkwardly at her sides. "Sorry."

But Velvette doesn't move. "You're drooling on my chest," Carmilla croaks out- a line that would've been teasing, if her voice didn't crack.

Velvette guides her arms back to where they were. "You stayed." Carmilla sighs, tracing mindless patterns on her back.

"Acid rain, didn't want to melt." She responds casually, but snuggles closer.

"Ya know," she continues, not moving from her chest, "It's still... a lot. Fuck it's still a shit load. But this feels... nice. Did we do this cuddle shit a lot?"

"Every night, Cariño." Carmilla's response comes instinctively. She doesn't even realise what she's just called her.

The connection is made. Cary-in-yo. Cariño. Carmilla.

A piece clicks into place, but all she can bring herself to say is: "Muscle memory, huh?"

Carmilla's hands slowly move to Velvette's hair. "Yes. Sorry."

"Eh, it's aight." She responds, trying to act casual again. "I have a feeling you're a sentimental bitch. True or false?" Velvette's trying to lighten the weight in the air.

"Cariño means 'darling', or ‘sweetheart’," Carmilla responds softly, dodging the real question.

"You didn't answer me, babe. Anyhoo. Let's play true or false. We fucked. True or false?"

"True."

"Nice. I bagged a hot MILF. uhh... you're a bottom. True or false?"

"Why are all your questions sexual?"

Velvette doesn't want to answer. Doesn't want to admit that if she stops asking sexual questions, they'll have to dive back into the depth of them. This is easier. She deflects. "So you are a bottom bitch."

Carmilla doesn't miss it. The disguise. The careful tread of uncharted territory. It is easier. "You're projecting, Cariño."

It continues for a little while. Sexual true or false questions, each more absurd than the last. Carmilla's hand continues playing with Velvette's hair. It's a start at rebuilding. The beginning of the healing.

It grows incredibly awkward when Velvette's stomach rumbles. She doesn't want the moment to end. She wants to stay in this faux intimacy bubble. She wants to know if they ever tried kinky shit. She doesn't want to get up. But Carmilla's hands are on her hips, gently encouraging her to get off. It's not rejection, she knows this. But it Feels like it, so she turns away.

Carmilla slips out of bed gracefully, that dull ache still lingering in her skull. Without saying anything, she reaches for the bedside drawer and pulls out a velvet pouch. She hands it to Velvette who opens it with curiosity.

"You cut this off for me before we shaved your hair. I couldn't bring myself to part with it."

Velvette raises a judgemental brow. "You kept my hair? Damn you really are fucking sentimental, huh?"

Carmilla doesn't respond. Of course she's sentimental. Of course she held on to a single braid of tri-coloured hair. She was forced to let the love of her life go. Forced to erase herself from the fashionista's memories. Of course she kept the damn braid.

"Huh, wonder what'll happen if I used this as an extension. Ya think it'll bring the memories back faster?"

Carmilla frowns at that. "Velvette... there's a reason you wanted to forget."

"Yeah but now I wanna remember. Wanna know if you're still pretty after a good fuck, ya know?"

"I- We-" She wants to say they could just have sex again. But she can't bring herself to say it. Not because she's a prude. Just... wrong, given the context. Carmilla shifts lightly, fingers now playing with the hem of her nightgown.

"Calm your granny panties. I'm fucking with ya. But really. I do wanna remember. And like, it's not like this'll actually work. So... why not?"

Carmilla is not satisfied by the justification. What if it does work? What if it just causes more confusion, or hurt? What if-

She doesn't even have time to spiral before Velvette begins braiding. She doesn't hesitate. Maybe because if she did, she might stop. Carmilla watches nervously as skilled hands twist the hair like she's adding a knotless braid. It doesn't take longer than a minute before she's done.

"See? Noth-"

Without warning, Velvette clutches her head. Curling up into the fetal position, hissing with pain.

It stops as quickly as it started. Velvette's eyes are glossy, her breath ragged and her limbs shaky. "Fuck! I-" a gasp. "Milla, I remember everything.”

Chapter Text

It starts slowly. Just like it did the first time. They don't acknowledge the lack of resistance when unspoken comfort turns to routine once more. The journey of healing, of growth happens naturally. Unhurried. The Carmine mansion has warmth floating through the air like the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. It no longer feels like a cold graveyard of what once was. Home feels like home again.

Velvette still has nightmares. Not as often, nor as vicious as they used to be, but often enough for Guilt and its friend to visit. Some nights Velvette is curled up against her chest, nightgown soaked with tears. And when a mocha hand clutches vanilla scented silk with a firm grip, Carmilla feels Guilt rubbing circles on her back and Regret staring at her awkwardly. On those nights, the only words Carmilla knows are: 'I'm sorry', 'Do you regret it?' and occasionally, a shaky 'okay' is in her vocabulary too.

The first time since the remembering that Velvette's nightmares leave her ill, she barely has the strength to say hurtful things she doesn't mean. Carmilla cooks her favourite foods, and bakes orange loaf when she naps on the couch. The way Carmilla coexists with Guilt and Regret when her nightmares resurface doesn't go unnoticed by Velvette. Even between her brokenness, she tries to reassure her lover that she doesn't regret it, she doesn't feel guilty for choosing to remember- for choosing to be loved again.

The words 'I don't regret choosing you, Milla', become a spell, exiling Guilt and Regret from Carmilla's side. The shorter woman is unaware of the extent- the strength of the power her words hold. But she sees the way Carmilla exhales, comes back into her body. Carmilla never finds the words to express her gratitude.

They have tea with Rosie on the occasion, and Velvette is surprised by the cannibal's mutual love for crochet. She's received the whole 'break her heart and I'll have you served as supper' speech- which should have been the slightest bit frightening because Rosie definitely means it, but it comes off as more endearing- to know her girlfriend has such an amazing friend. When Carmilla joins the Vees for lunch, she finds that her suspicions were correct. She tolerates them at best. She appreciates that they care for her girlfriend, but their personalities and preferences clash too much for anything beyond civility. She finds Vox is the more rational of the two, and the one that voices the threat of destruction should she be the reason Velvette comes back crying. She assures him she only has good intentions, and he says something approving (she assumes) in pure slang. Carmilla spends hours trying to understand before Velvette confirms what exactly it means.

Weeks turn to months, and months to Earthly seasons. By the end of what would've been Spring, Carmilla asks Velvette to officially move in. It happens during a marriage proposal scene in a silly rom-com. Carmilla's head is on Velvette's lap and the fashionista is running her hands through white locs. She sprinkles in little braids for no reason at all. She's mid braid when Carmilla sighs happily before asking if she's staying the night again- and staying forever. Velvette almost misses the forever part, until Carmilla continues: "We could do this more often, Cariño."

Velvette is giddy for the rest of the week. She starts packing her bags every time she's at the Vee tower. Vox and Valentino credit their sniffles and teary eyes to allergies and drugs, but Velvette knows better. She tells them that they'll still be the Vees, and they can still hang. When weekend comes, she shows up at the Carmine mansion with her models dragging five suitcases behind her.

The arms dealer is confused, and slightly concerned about her current closet space. "Cariño, I thought you were just bringing essentials?"

"These are essentials, Milla. Did you want me walkin' around with my tits out?"

Carmilla smirks. She looks like she wants to say something flirty in response. But Velvette cuts her off before the thought can fully form. Her models are here and she'd rather not give them a taste of her soft side. It's enough that Carmilla just called her 'cariño' in front of them.

"Shut up. Nevermind-"

♡♡♡

Days later, Carmilla secretly forges her lover an angelic steel bracelet, and waist chain too. The bracelet is a simple cuff; engraved with a pattern of hearts, swans and skulls- each engraving done by Carmilla herself. The waist chain is simplistic in design as well, its only charm being the gem dangling at the end. The charm itself is heart-shaped with a ruby embedded in it. Her intention was to have it be subtle enough to not be the focal point, but bold enough to amplify her girlfriend's fashion sense. She also adds a subtle engraving on the inside of the cuff: 'Para: Cariño'.

When she hands the angelic steel gifts over, Velvette squeals nearly shatter the windows. The fashionista jumps, arms sling around her shoulders, legs around her waist, and Carmilla barely has time to hold her girlfriend up before they both topple. Velvette clearly does not care, her lips already peppering kisses all over Carmilla's face before passionately landing on her lips.

Velvette only finds the engraved words later that evening while Carmilla cooks, her excitement at that time of receipt causing her to overlook it. A gasp leaves her lips when she runs her finger over the words. She then proceeds to repeat her kissing shower of her earlier reaction. Carmilla has to practically peel her off before the food starts burning.

The shorter woman proudly wears both pieces of jewelry on the daily. She's beyond devastated when she loses the ruby charm. Carmilla immediately assumes she had had a nightmare when she finds Velvette crying. But between the tears the fashionista says no one's ever gifted her jewelry- not to mention Carmilla made them herself from fucking angelic steel- and it means the world to her, and now she's lost the charm. Carmilla reassures her that it can easily be fixed, that she loves her, and would mend it a thousand times over if need be.

♡♡♡

Velvette's transition from the Vee tower to the Carmine mansion goes smoother than either of them expected. Carmilla gives her an empty room to use as a home studio- and to leave as messy as she likes without any commentary. They bicker occasionally, but not as often as Velvette sets off the smoke alarm in the kitchen. It never fails to amuse Carmilla how her girlfriend cooks extravagant meals with ease but somehow still manages to burn toast every time.

Carmilla notices how much Velvette values the jewelry she'd gifted her. The way she unconsciously plays with her bracelet when thinking, and always removes it before swimming or baths. But she never mentions it. Velvette feels appreciated. So does Carmilla. Quietly, wordlessly, they both notice.

The arms dealer tries not to fantasize about crafting a silver ring- with a flashy diamond for her, but sometimes Velvette just looks like forever and a day- when she's showing off her new skills on the aerial silks or even just taking a nap in front of the TV. The fashionista tries not to imagine how nice it would sound to be Mrs Carmine, or how beautiful a diamond on her girlfriend's hand would look.

They move through the motions together: arranging and rearranging, finding a routine that works now that they live together. Learning to grow and heal becomes a part of their routine. Some days Velvette does the emotional lifting, some days Carmilla does. Healing is not linear, nor is their relationship perfect, but they work through it all, both ease and hardship- hand in hand.

♡♡♡

Velvette starts stealing Carmilla's clothes and wearing too big t-shirts like trophies in the house. She once styled a red button up shirt as a skirt and Carmilla had only noticed when she undressed that evening before her shower.

That day, they tried showering together. They thought that if it went well they'd try shower sex too. It was an absolute fail. Carmilla set the pressure on high, set the water to boiling point, and hoarded the shower stream while Velvette froze. She preferred less pressure, water warm- but not boiling, and the cherry on the sundae was Carmilla blocking the stream with her tall-ass body. She even somehow managed to get soap in Velvette's eye when trying to kiss her. Disastrous.

They tried a shared shower once and vowed to never shower together again. They'd rather enjoy shared baths and cuddles after. The disaster shower was never mentioned again.

♡♡♡

There was a day when Carmilla woke without Velvette. The fashionista had already left for work; she vaguely remembers being kissed on the cheek by her girlfriend in the early hours. When she finally woke she found Guilt caressing her cheek with its gnarled hand and Regret awkwardly sitting on the bed, cross-legged and admiring her. The duo encouraged her to stay in bed for a little while longer, saying it is her day off after all.

It was around noon when Regret finally had the courage to touch her. It gently shook her awake, asking why she was still asleep when she knew Velvette hadn't slept well the night before. Carmilla didn't know what to do besides drown in her emotions. Thankfully, her rumbling stomach gave her an idea.

She made her way to the kitchen, despite the duo's protests- and them trying to pull her back to bed. In the kitchen she preps her coffee and toast then goes to brush her teeth.

'There's no point. The taste of us will linger after you kiss the doll,' Guilt laughs. Regret snickers beside it in agreement.

Once Carmilla's had something to eat, she goes to tidy up around the house. Guilt stays within the room but only watches. Regret mirrors her every move. 'She's still hurting. Because of You. She says she wouldn't take it back. But do you really think I don't visit her too?'

The duo torments her throughout the day. Condescending questions, mocking statements and accurate accusations linger like Velvette's perfume. They taunt, tease, poke, prod. Everytime she checks the clock they tell her there's no point, Velvette won't be back. Not soon anyway. Why would she want to come back to the source of her pain? Carmilla almost reaches for the bottom drawer in her study. Almost.

Instead she wraps the red scarf around her, and holds the crocheted swan in her arms. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and the bed itself makes her feel glued down. She just needs to wait. They'll go away. They'll be back, but they'll go away soon. Velvette will be home soon.

They coerce her into falling asleep with a haunting duet. And she reluctantly falls into an uncomfortable sleep.

Velvette comes home with a bouquet of red and white roses. She's humming as she slips her shoes off and wanders around the house in search of her lover. She finds Carmilla asleep on their bed, clutching the swan, red scarf slipping off. She must be having a bad day. Velvette places the flowers down, changes to comfortable clothes and plops herself onto Carmilla. She kisses her face everywhere causing her girlfriend to smile. Her eyes fly open in shock when Velvette licks her cheek, then bursts out laughing.

"Hey babe," she smiles before kissing her, "Brought ya flowers. Didn't know you were sad as shit though. Could've brought chocolate too."

Carmilla just smiles. "Should've told me you're feeling like shit. Would've come home sooner." Velvette pulls her against her chest, the little swan squished somewhere between them.

"I love you, Milla. Even when you're fuckin' sad. Next time, lemme fuck them bitches up, yeah?"

Carmilla simply snuggled closer. Guilt and Regret disappeared again. For now. But for now Carmilla was safe, and held, and loved. And for now, that was enough.

♡♡♡

Velvette is seated on Carmilla's lap, one hand cupping her jaw the other on her back as they kiss. They pull apart for air, smiling, the movie in the background long forgotten. Carmilla runs her hands on her girlfriend's sides, then smirks before tickling her. Velvette catches her hands to stop the attack as she giggles uncontrollably.

"Not fair! You know you're not fucking ticklish," Velvette giggles, holding Carmilla's hands against the couch.

Carmilla smirks but it quickly morphs into a smile as Velvette eyes her. Slowly she releases her hands, eyes playfully narrowed. With her hands free, she places them back on her girlfriend's hips and drags her closer. Red eyes lock with red, Carmilla leans in as if she's going to kiss her, but moves at the last second to her cheek.

Velvette's face is covered in black-red lipstick. Carmilla had said that she was trying a new shade and somehow they ended up on the couch kissing. Velvette's own lipstick had long since been smudged and wiped off with the back of her hand. Carmilla's, despite the transfer, was still holding up fairly well. The fashionista wiped the excess lipstick from her girlfriend's bottom lip as some sultry pop music continued from the TV in the background.

Then- she gets an idea. When Carmilla notices the mischievous glint in her eye, she knows it's not a good one. She raises an eyebrow in question and Velvette responds with a giggle and a soft, "Wait here."

She disappears up the stairs and returns with what is clearly her large make-up bag.

"Velvette..." It's a question and a playful warning in one.

She's already seated back on her lap, digging through the bag. "Yes, Luv?"

"Cariño, what are you doing?"

Velvette pulls out makeup remover wipes and starts wiping Carmilla's eyeliner and lipstick. She grins as her girlfriend holds her questioning gaze, but makes no move to stop her.

"Make overrr!" she sings-songs, grin somehow growing.

Carmilla sighs, shakes her head but can't stop the smile creeping onto her face. Velvette makes no move to clean her own face. When her girlfriend's face is bare, she scoots closer, Carmilla's hands go to Velvette's thighs. The fashionista leans in, face close, fingers feather light as she traces Carmilla's face before deciding what she's doing. She applies the product and Carmilla's eyes flutter before closing, the brush feels soothing on her face. She assumes Velvette adds eyeliner and eyeshadow after a few other products. She doesn't bother confirming, too absorbed into the intimacy of the moment. When she feels the movement on her face stop, she opens her eyes.

Velvette digs again before pulling out a glitter pallet. "Aight. Poison purple or Princess pink?"

Carmilla is amused. "What are you doing to my face Cariño?"

"You're always going for sexy so I'm doing subtle." Velvette states proudly.

"You're adding glitter. How does it go... ah. Is the subtle in the room with us?"

Velvette laughs, she always does when Carmilla tries including internet slang, and referencing memes. "For fuck's sake Milla, it's going to be subtle! And since you won't decide, I choose Poison purple."

Velvette continues doing whatever it is she is doing and Carmilla lets her. When she's done, she snaps her fingers and Carmilla's clothes change from her lounge wear to a white flowy dress with light purple embroidery. The dress has an off-shoulder look with a thigh high slit and she sees her shoes have been replaced with pastel purple stilettos.

Velvette looks proud of her work. She swings her legs off her lap and extends a hand, leading Carmilla to the ballet room for its floor to ceiling mirrors.

Carmilla does not recognise herself. She looks... soft. Beautiful, yes, but soft. She runs her hands on the light fabric and takes in the look from all angles. Velvette is beaming behind her. Carmilla doesn't quite know how to feel. She doesn't feel like herself, but it doesn't feel too uncomfortable either, just... different. She's not quite sure it's a good kind of different.

"You look so fucking beautiful, Milla. Whatcha think?"

Her cheeks taint pink and she becomes almost shy. "It looks good, you did a wonderful job. But this is not me, Cariño. Perhaps it's a little too different..."

Velvette clocks the discomfort immediately. "Luv it's a silly makeover, ain't a lifestyle change. Just fucking around with shit. Ya know?" She shrugs, walking closer. "Ya don't gotta keep it on, 'specially if it ain't gotcha feeling as good as you look."

Carmilla awkwardly rubs her arm in comfort, and offers her a small smile. Her eyes anywhere except on her reflection. Perhaps it's just that looking this soft makes her feel vulnerable.

"Lemme kiss you before you ruin my hardwork," Velvette reaches up, Carmilla leans down. "Princess," she teases before kissing her with a dramatic dip.

Carmilla smiles as she reciprocates, cheeks still burning.

♡♡♡

Velvette's nightmares seem to have built a regular visiting schedule. When she's lucky they visit once a month. When she's not as lucky, they visit three nights in a row.

Velvette's latest nightmare came Tuesday night, which left her drained on Wednesday. With the added stress of her new fashion line airing on Saturday, she just felt tired. Her models were not doing her designs justice. Vox and Alastor decided to play cat and mouse in her studio, and Valentino decided to poach her favourite model for his new stupid porn movie. It was just a lot. She didn't think much of it that night when Carmilla tried initiating sex, and she declined. She was just tired.

Her girlfriend, on the other hand, felt rejected. For reasons she herself could not name, she'd been especially needy that day, and Velvette not reciprocating her advances made things worse. She was the slightest bit embarrassed to be feeling so needy and insecure, but that did not stop the ache. She just wanted to feel wanted, to feel desired.

Carmilla's day at work the following day was disastrous. Her assistant had booked three back-to-back meetings, and the warehouse had had an incident which would cause at least a week's delay in shipping. Her coffee decided to try and mimic an ocean, using her paperwork as its fish. She texted Velvette, asking her to start dinner as she'd be home a bit later, but received no response. Everyone and everything was annoying her. Even her girlfriend.

She returned home and the lights were still off. Velvette was not home, and still hasn't replied. She slammed her paperwork down in the study and marched to the kitchen for something to nibble on, and a glass of red. There was no way in hell she was cooking after a day like that.

As she made her way through the house, she heard Velvette coming in, still on a call. Carmilla nearly tripped on a loose sneaker in the middle of the floor and it felt like the final straw. She was tired.

"Velvette! Do you ever pick up your damn shoes?"

The fashionista was taken back by the tone and volume. She promptly concluded the call, saying something along the lines of having to deal with her girlfriend being mad about shoes. The comment only agitated the situation- fuel added to an open flame.

Velvette pocketed her phone reaching for the sneaker. "Okay, first hi babe, sorry I'm late. Also I'm sorry about the shoes, I forgot. Butttt, ya don't gotta throw a tantr-"

"Do not finish that." Carmilla cuts in, voice low. "I'm always cleaning up after you because if I don't I'll end up falling over your things that just lie everywhere." She rubs her temples. "Mierda, it's like I'm dating a child."

It lands like a slap.

Velvette’s brow arches. She's got enough shit to deal with as is. Now this. “Well, shit. Sorry I forgot to put them in their fucking sacred shrine. I didn’t realize living with me was such a goddamn burden.”

Carmilla sighs. She knows it was wrong of her to say. She's just irritable. Tired. "It's not... I just- stop leaving your things everywhere. It's childish and annoying."

Velvette feels her own irritation grow. She doesn't need this. "Oh so I'm fucking childish and annoying? Noted."

Carmilla sighs. "Velvette, that's not what I said-"

Velvette throws her hands up. "Oh no, babe. Message fucking recieved. You're dating a child and I'm dating a fucking fossil. Congrats to both of us then."

It hits hard enough to echo.

Velvette storms out, grabbing her shoes and heading to the bedroom. Carmilla runs her hands through her hair. Her stomach growls. She's starving and exhausted. She huffs, jaw tight as she heads to the kitchen. She doesn't want to cook, but she doesn't find leftovers in the fridge and they need to eat. She scrambles some eggs, some for herself and some for Velvette. She doesn't know how to apologize for what she said. Doesn't know how to explain that she feels rejected and unwanted and that eggs are all she has left to give at the moment.

Velvette appears in the kitchen with a suitcase rolling behind her like a statement. She's dumping all of her belongings that lie scattered throughout the house into it. Shoes, make-up, glitter pens, sketchbooks- all thrown into a glittery pink suitcase. Carmilla feels Guilt's hand on her shoulder again. But she's not in the right headspace to apologize yet. She doesn't stop her girlfriend's movements either. She simply pushes her plate closer to her. Velvette rolls her eyes but pauses, and sits down to eat.

The air is tense and uncomfortable. Regret sits between them, holding each girlfriend's hand as a connecting force. They eat in silence and simmer in the tension. When Velvette is done, she doesn't place her dish in the sink, but instead washes it and leaves it in the draining rack. Carmilla says nothing as she leaves.

Carmilla finds her in the study, working on designs and planning the programme for the fashion show. Velvette's eyebrows are knit together, though it is not due to concentration. She's upset. The taller woman knocks, letting herself in before approaching.

"Velvette... I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just, I'm overwhelmed. Yesterday I wanted to have sex, but you didn't. And I felt..." She trails off, unable to say the words. Instead she clears her throat and continues: "Today was horrible and when I tried reaching out, you never responded to my texts. And then I almost tripped over your shoe... I'm frustrated. I still should not have called you childish. I'm sorry, Cariño."

Velvette sighs. She feels just as overwhelmed. "I get it. Shit's no better with me. I'm so fucking stressed, and then this shit show too. I didn't mean to call you fossil, it just slipped out." She bites her lip, Regret smiles at her, "I'm sorry, Luv... Also, I didn’t want sex last night. I wanted sleep, 'cause I was tired as fuck. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want you, Milla."

They move to the study's couch and continue talking about their worries, troubles and stresses until the conversation turns lighter. Regret disappears again, leaving just the couple in the room. They share a kiss, accept each other's apologies and decide to go to bed early. Cuddles turn to kisses and kisses become heated. Hands start exploring, slipping under material as lips continue crashing together.

When they pull away nearly breathless, hips now seeking friction, Velvette speaks, "Next time you just wanna fuck, Luv, lemme know. Ain't no fucking way we're fighting when all we gotta do is fuck our feelings out."

Carmilla chuckles at that, pulling Velvette impossibly closer. It's not the wording she would use, but she'd have to agree with the message of it. Perhaps all could have been avoided with better communication, and Carmilla admitting that this time, she was in need of attention- and indulgence. They would need to discuss further at a later stage. A deeper dive on effective communication and understanding would help to prevent a repeat.

When they're left breathless and spent, tangled in the sheets and each other, they're both quiet. The silence is welcomed, comfortable. They are not perfect, nor cured of their struggles. But they're trying. And growing, and healing. Together. With love.

Velvette thinks about how much she's grown, and how she can with certainty say that she's found the woman for her. The woman who loves her, adores her, inspires her. Sometimes Regret does remind her of its existence, reminds her of the remembering, and its pain. But if given the chance, Velvette wouldn't change the past at all. She'd choose the woman she loves everyday, even when it's hard. The heartbeat thumping under her serves as a reminder that they'll get through anything, like they always do- together. She smiles, fingers trailing over the heart-shaped love bites she's left on flushed skin.

Carmilla dwells on the thought of being loved by a woman so inspiring, patient and understanding. And for the first time in both her life, and afterlife, she can, with absolute certainty, say that she is loved and adored exactly as she is. She traces mindless patterns on bare skin in admiration, her touches light but grounding. She sighs with content before kissing the top of Velvette's head. How can she be anything but worthy when the woman she loves chooses her every single day?

Their eyes grow heavy and they share a sloppy, sleepy kiss before snuggling closer, the sound of movement filling the silence in the room. All that is felt is warmth and love. Perhaps if either of them would say it aloud, the sound of wedding bells would be heard too. The scent of strawberry and vanilla allows the smallest of smiles to linger on their lips as sleep claims them for the night.