Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nightshade had never understood why everyone was so content with being a sinner.

That was probably an odd thought to have in the grocery store, but was it really? Everywhere she looked, Nightshade saw people go about their lives in blissful ignorance. They all professed to follow the same god, of course—or, more correctly, the one and only God—but that didn't make them faithful followers. No one would dare think not to go to church, of course, but their behavior in public was more than telling. Clothing with skin-crawlingly short sleeves and hemlines creeping upward year by year, the indulgence of base instincts like open displays of affection, children who cried and whined in the lines when parents didn’t teach them how to act. Every time she saw that ridiculous pack of greasers outside the shop, smoking and always looking for trouble, she couldn’t turn up her nose enough. 

It was all so disgusting.

She didn’t think about this all the time, but the current moment called for it. Nightshade clicked her tongue at a couple her age pushing their way down the narrow, blocking it by walking beside one another rather than in single file. The girl clung to the boy like she hoped to absorb his life force through skin-to-skin contact, and gave her the usual dirty look as she passed. Her penny loafers scraped the cheap tile floor. They needed to be polished.

If you don’t want to be judged, control yourself in public, Nightshade thought at her. Young people her age were so determined to rebel, they never stopped to think if they should, if there was a point. She was better than gracing them with her time, however. Turning away sharply now that the aisle was accessible again, she dusted her gloved hands off on her long skirt, adjusted her braid, and studied the shelf of cans before her. Now, where were the tomatoes?

Just as she found and reached for them, someone bumped into her. Forcefully, if you had to ask Nightshade. She jumped, bumping her elbow against the shelf and knocking a few cans to the floor. She cringed, listening to them clatter against the dirty tile.

Nightshade dropped to her knees immediately, picking up the cans before staff could hear, and glared up at the other person. It was a blonde girl her age, clad in a frilly dress and a hint of makeup on her square face, which looked about as surprised as she had been.

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry.” The girl crouched elegantly to help her, picking up the various cans she'd spilled. Her dress was short even for the fifties, and Shadowheart rolled her eyes as it exposed her knees and a few centimeters above. “Let me help you with that.”

You should, Nightshade thought, huffing. You're the one who bumped into me. There’s plenty of room across the aisle.

The stranger pinned the cans against her chest as she stood returned them, one by one, back to the shelf. She was surprisingly short—Nightshade towered over her by maybe five or six inches. She paused, then, to study Nightshade, eyes twinkling with sudden curiosity. And recognition. “Now say, don't I know you?” She asked.

Nightshade frowned. “I don't think so.”

“No, no, I think I do.” The girl waggled a slender, gloved finger, smile growing to a grin. Great. “You go to that church school down on Rutledge, don't you? Near that public school?” 

Nightshade tensed, warm despite the air conditioner’s unending battle against the dewy spring heat outside. “How would you even know that?”

“I didn't. I guessed.” She looked as if she had just cracked a very funny joke, but Nightshade didn't laugh. “...Just kidding. I go to the school just down the other way. Ashley Hall?” 

“The private school?” Even Nightshade had heard of it. Something about it being someone’s old house the local aristocracy wanted to turn into a girl’s school. 

“That's the one.”

Great. A rich girl. “Lovely,” Nightshade huffed. She turned back to the shelf, grabbing one of the tomato cans that the stranger hadn’t touched. “Now can you explain how you know me, if we go to different schools?”

“I've seen you walking sometimes, of course.” The girl smoothed out the front of her dress, which had wrinkled some from its brief use as a can shelf. “You're very distinctive, you know. You pass by our gate when I wait for my ride.”

Well, she supposed that made sense. She did pass that way sometimes, and it wasn’t unreasonable to assume the schools finished at similar times. Still, surely she didn’t walk that ways enough for it to become noticeable? The thought filled her with unease.

“Well, much as I'd love to chat, I need to get going.” Nightshade brushed past her, looking for the fastest way to another aisle. She followed.

“Already? You haven't even asked my name.”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Why, you're awful rude. You really don't recognise me?”

Nightshade paused, looking her up and down. She certainly looked and sounded posh. Her accent was local, airy and twangy, but with a hint of something foreign that she couldn’t quite place. The clothes didn’t strike her either: they were clearly quality, the dress made of flower-pink silk and puffed out at the sides, perfectly ironed and fitted around a plump body with the narrow waist that was the fashion these days. Plenty of expensive-looking jewelry. Hair? Blonde and pinned elegantly. She wore silk gloves, and her hands looked almost eerily thin and delicate even with them. Definitely not the type who normally frequently this quaint little grocery store.

She did look familiar, but Nightshade couldn't pinpoint where. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her own mental failings even for people she’d met, or because she had just seen her somewhere by chance. She knew for a fact, however, that she wasn’t from the church.

“My memory’s not great.” Nightshade finally said.

“You poor thing,” The stranger said, sounding genuinely, horrifyingly concerned. “You've really never looked at the cover of any magazine? It's practically a pastime for girls our age—here.”

She reached into a dress pocket, and produced a neatly-folded, thin magazine. The stranger showed it to her, and Nightshade noted the very nuisance that was her was on the front cover. “Just picked up the newest edition.”

“So you're a fashion model, Miss…” Nightshade glanced back at the paper for a name. “Viola.”

“Kennaway.” Viola smiled. “Viola Kennaway.”

Wait… Kennaway? As in Viola Kennaway? Hell, she was in the presence of a celebrity. A local one, anyway. She wasn’t sharp on the details, but she’d heard enough to know they were a whole lot of foreigners—Australian, she thought—with a great deal of money and attitude problems that went hand in hand. Though, people rich enough to buy the Blacklock House tended to be like that anyway.

Don't swear, she reminded herself afterwards.

“Please, no need to be so formal.” Viola offered the leaflet to Nightshade, who couldn't have wanted it less. “And you are?”

“... Nightshade.”

“Nightshade?” Viola cocked her head. “Now that's an odd name, isn't it?”

“And Viola isn't?”

“Of course it's not. It's Latin,” Viola hummed. “Haven’t you ever read the Twelfth Night?”

“...no.” Nightshade huffed. That seemed a good place to escape the conversation. She turned away.

“Oh, no need to burn rubber.” Viola caught her arm, halting her. Her touch was light, but she didn’t let go even as Nightshade jumped. “I’m just curious. Why Nightshade?”

Nightshade swatted her hand off. She really couldn’t take a hint, could she? Maybe the stereotypes about blondes was true. Sighing, Nightshade said, “My mother is fond of flowers, that's all. I didn't choose it.” 

No point in changing it, either. It was what everyone back home, the only people who mattered, had known her as since she was a child, and she didn't exactly get out much.

“Well, strange as it is, I think it's a lovely name, Miss Nightshade.”

“Sure. Got your kick, now?”

“What do you mean?”

Nightshade didn't respond, hoping getting her answer would drive her off, and it even seemed to work. As she continued down the aisle, checking subtly over her shoulder for being followed, Viola dusted off her dress and fiddled with her basket. “Well, I best let you go, then,” She called. “Wouldn't want to hold you up too long. Perhaps I'll see you around?”

“Likely not.” Nightshade shrugged noncommittally. She'd have to find another way home without going past the private school.

That was a problem for figuring out later. For now, she seized her opportunity and disappeared deeper in the supermarket. Mother would kill her if she was late home again.

Chapter Text

The end of class was the perfect time to assess who should go on to exams and who shouldn't, in Nightshade's eyes. In the warning minutes of no school work, no orders, no academic distractions, you caught a hint of what went through everyone's heads: Dyan—better known as Bluenail, for that nail polish she got caught wearing once—fidgeted and continually looked at the clock, waiting for class to be over. Donna was always pouring over papers, making up for her lack in everything else. Tilda always seemed off in her own little world. And Nightshade herself? She was organising her notebook, already preparing for tomorrow's lesson. Whenever she found notes and questions she had run out of time to ask about, she raised her hand to get the teacher’s attention, as she did now.

That, today, was Mother Victoria herself. She finally noticed Nightshade’s hand when she finished cleaning the chalkboard, walking over. She was a short but imposing woman, whose plain, streamlined clothes belied her slightness. “Yes, Nightshade?”

“Will we be revisiting this passage in the next lesson?” Nightshade asked, turning around her notebook for the teacher to see. “Phillipians 4:13. ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’ I'm not sure I understand it, from what you said before.”

The clock struck twelve, and the bell rang, bringing with it a slight, echoed distortion. The walls of the tiny brick room had few decorations or insulation, allowing sound to bounce freely. Combined with the dim, sometimes flickering old lights, it created an almost haunting effect, sometimes. 

As per usual, everyone jumped up to leave. Nightshade remained seated.

“Sit down.” Mother Victoria spoke, voice cold. “I did not dismiss you.”

The room was soon filled with the sound of sheepish apologies and shuffling chairs, hesitantly back into place under desks. Mother Victoria turned back to Nightshade. “What about the passage confuses you?” She glanced down at the book, then at the novice. 

Nightshade suddenly felt as though she had roped herself into a surprise pop quiz, and her hands grew clammy. “Well… if those who follow the Lord can obtain anything they desire, why do so many followers of Him suffer?” Nightshade asked, preparing to take notes. “Shouldn't it only be the nonbelievers who fail to achieve what they want?”

Mother Victoria chuffed. The answer was probably obvious. No one knew the Text as well as she did, and her classmates weren't fools, either. Frustratingly, Nightshade often had to relearn the lessons over and over. Scripture just seemed to slip through her mind like water leaking from a cracked glass. An endless battle against her damaged mind holding her back from her potential, yet one that would not stop her.

“That is a misquotation,” Mother Victoria finally said, calm and understanding. Nightshade relaxed. She was a temperamental, stern teacher, but she always treated Nightshade with more mercy, perhaps because of her disadvantage. “It does not speak of personal progress. Did you write verse ten through twelve as well?”

“I did not. Apologies, Mother.”

“‘...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.’” Mother Victoria recited, leaning on the desk. How could she remember whole verses so easily? Nightshade was in awe whenever she recalled them so readily. “While I urge you all to think deeply about the words of any apostles, the meaning of this is of endurance. You must learn to tolerate, to know how to endure no matter how well or poorly your situation.”

Mother Victoria stood straight again. “You understand how this relates to our teachings, I presume?”

“Of course, Mother.” Nightshade smiled. “To live a life simply is to embrace the worst. The less you expect, the easier it is to endure.”

“Indeed.” 

Nightshade swore she caught a smile on the teacher's lips as Mother Victoria turned away, back to her desk. Nightshade took that as her cue to finish packing up. “You are dismissed,” She said, and the class eagerly fled.

Nightshade finished packing as the room finished emptying. Last to leave today, as per usual. Careful to align her books in her bag perfectly and adjust her clothes before she walked out, Nightshade paused, as always, to address the teacher: “Thank you for class, Mother Victoria. See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, see you tomorrow, Nightshade,” Mother Victoria replied, now sorting through a stack of papers. She paid her little heed as she did—not looking up. Her attention was rare, fleeting, even for Nightshade. Something to be valued above all else. She was the Mother, the leader of their flock, after all. “Do not forget to arrive early for prayer tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Tomorrow was Sunday, and Saturday classes were shorter than those on the weekdays. Normal schools had those days off, Nightshade had heard, but she couldn't fathom why. Most schools were secular now, even, Nightshade thought with a shudder. You were supposed to dedicate every day to the Lord. There were no days off from prayer. 

Bowing as she stepped out, Nightshade found herself trailing at the back edge of everyone leaving. They moved in two rows of stiff, slow, but orderly lines: one toward the dorms, and one toward the yard. Running out once the bell rang, even after being dismissed, was poor manners, and nobody wanted a ruler snapped across the hands or ankles for their haste. The thought of it made Nightshade rub one of her hands at a phantom pain.

As she shut the classroom door, a familiar voice rang out beside her: “Sucking up to Mother Victoria again?”

Nightshade turned, finding a certain rectangular-faced redhead smiling teasingly at her. Nocturne peered out from behind the classroom door, as if hiding from the view of everyone else. Well, actually, she might be. Nocturne was something of a… black sheep amongst the others. 

“I'm hardly ‘sucking up’, Nocturne,” Nightshade scoffed playfully. “It's just basic manners.”

“Right. And I'm sure you'll stay after to clean up after service tomorrow too…”

“We all should be,” Nightshade elbowed her. “Don't you want to be a justiciar someday?”

Nocturne shrugged noncommittally, as she often did. Nightshade had never really understood their hesitation. They had the privilege of being boarded at the only church in all of the South, maybe all of America, that let women preach. What was there to fear? Nocturne had a keen mind, keener than any of their classmates. She knew the scripture better than anyone.

“Well, I need to go to the library,” Nightshade turned, reshouldering her bag. “Want to come with?”

“I'm alright—I’m on dinner duty today.” Nocturne mimed gagging, making Nightshade giggle. “Besides, you know I don't like going out.”

“Fair enough.” Nightshade shrugged. Nocturne didn't usually accept her offers to go out, so she didn't mind yet another rejection. People weren't usually kind to her outside the convent. “See you at dinner, then?”

“Yeah, see you. Don't get into trouble without me!”

“Pft. Speak for yourself.”

Nightshade waved her off before heading out, finally escaping the, frankly, kind of claustrophobic school halls—they had a way of feeling narrow and tight even when empty— and out into the courtyard. She sighed in relief at the fresh air and headed for the gate.

The courtyard only had a few lingering students about, who never paid her more than sharp looks, so the last thing she expected was for someone to stop her outside. Particularly not someone who materialized from nowhere and immediately shoved her face in Nightshade’s.

“Hello~!” The stranger chirped. She was oddly familiar, with an upturned nose and pale, square face framed by elegant curls of thick blonde hair. She stood straight and on her toes, making up a rather significant height difference. “Seems I did come to the right exit!”

Nightshade stumbled back, clutching her bag to her chest. The girl blinked in surprise, and several novices nearby glanced their way. Great.

“You?” Nightshade sputtered, finally pinpointing where she'd seen her before: the grocery store. The insufferable princess who had bumped into her and roped her into a most unpleasant conversation. “What are you doing here? You can't be here,” She hissed.

The girl cocked her head. “Why not?” She said, looking toward the high, iron-bar fence. “I'm outside the property.” She spun a open parasol, which she carried on her shoulder, indifferently.

“You're not a student. Get out of here.” Nightshade huffed and pushed past her, trying to escape the gaze of her peers. She had enough problems with her reputation. She didn't need this outsider making them worse.

The stranger followed, because of course she did. “Well, look at that, we happen to be walking home the same way!” She chirped. “How convenient.”

"I don't suppose you've ever heard the phrase, ‘make like a tree and leave.’” Nightshade stopped, glaring at her. Damn it, what was her name again?

Don’t swear, She reminded herself. Why did that give her deja vu?

“Well, I can't,” The other girl replied. “I also have to walk this way.”

“You could cross the street.”

She glanced at the other side. “There's no sidewalk.”

“But there is a road.”

“Well, it's not good for my feet. Particularly not here—this road needs some serious tender love and care.” The girl tapped a set of small white heels against the pavement, tutting at the old asphalt. 

Nightshade eyed the shoes critically. Their uniform required loafers, so she assumed most other places did the same. Who wore heels to school?

…Wait a second. It was Saturday. Surely not even a faffy private school like Ashley Hall taught on weekends.

“Did you come here looking for me?” Nightshade huffed. “Do you have some sort of problem?”

“I don't have any problem,” The girl hummed. “I was just passing by from the store, see? The little markets have better apples than near home.” She opened a small tote on her shoulder, showing some fruit. “Then I saw you all leaving, and I thought it was odd that your school runs on weekends, that's all.”

“...right. So you decided to jump me.”

“I did not jump you.” The girl clicked her tongue. “I greeted you. Or do you not remember me?”

“I don't, actually.” Nightshade started walking again. If she was going to be harassed by this princess the whole way, she might as well get to the library and shorten her suffering. 

“Well, now you're just lying,” The girl hummed, trotting after her. She sounded like she was enjoying this. “Otherwise you'd have asked me who I was, like last time.”

“I don’t lie,” Nightshade snapped. “That's a sin.”

“Oh, right.”

Silence.

The girl broke it first. “So how wasn't it a lie?”

“I don't remember your name.”

“Oh. It's Viola.” She smiled. “It's Shakespeare, remember? Before you tell me it's odd again.”

More deja vu. Nightshade didn't give her the pleasure of a reply, walking faster. Unfortunately, that, just like last time, didn't silence her.

“So, do you always walk alone this way?” Viola asked, pointing her parasol upward to shade them both. That was probably how she was so sickly pale, Nightshade thought. “A bit dangerous, don't you think? How far away do you live?”

“That’s really none of your business,” Nightshade replied.

“Well, I won't fault you for being cautious. I suppose you do barely know me…” She hummed thoughtfully, gazing off into the distance. “But it just wouldn't be right for me to let you walk home alone through downtown. Why, if some greaser tried to trouble you… I'll come with you.”

“You mean follow me.”

“Well, yes, that's sort of how walking together works, isn't it?”

“So I suppose you'd have no issues if I did the same to you.” Nightshade huffed. She had no intent of such a freakish thing, but she hoped it might get her point across.

“Of course not!” Viola chirped. “Most everyone already knows where I live, though I don't think you'd be very fond of my family~” Her threat had the opposite intended effect. Viola spun her parasol again. “And it’s quite a ways from here. I have to wait for my driver at Ashley, but he's usually late, so I usually have him pick me up from the café in the Borough.”

“A driver. Must be nice.”

“It is. I hated walking with my sisters.” She tutted disapprovingly. “And I hate to imagine if I had to go to Gaud, with how busy Broad is, and all those rowdy boys… It was bad enough when we all went to First Baptist all together.”

Nightshade glanced sidelong at her. “You went to religious school?”

“Of course. I think my family would kill me if I didn't.” Viola chuckled, a soft, whispery sound. “I liked the church part. It's the mathematics and the science and everything else I didn't,” She said. “It's hard when all your teachers expect you to be as smart as your siblings before you, after all. Hmf!”

Nightshade chuckled, then stifled it. What was she doing? Talking to an outsider was one thing—a slap on the wrist the first time she got caught. But befriending one? She couldn't let that happen.

Nightshade cleared her throat and turned back to the road. “Well, you got to Ashley Hall now, so I suppose it doesn't matter. Last I checked, they're secular.”

“Well, I do still go to a church, of course.” Viola nudged her, making her frown. The touch made her skin crawl. “What denomination is yours, anyway? They don't have a sign for it on the door.”

“...Catholic.” She answered hesitantly. That wasn't exactly true—they were their own branch, but no one had ever heard of it. For good reason. People always, wrongly, assumed the worst.

“Catholic? Well, I suppose that can be overlooked…” Viola sighed dramatically, then smiled. “Just teasing. Perhaps I ought to pay it a visit. Baptism never really spoke to me…”

“You'd be interested?” Nightshade’s eyes almost certainly glittered. Mother Victoria would be thrilled if she converted someone. That was the hardest part of being a novice, frankly. None of them were very good at that part. If she could prove she could do that, though maybe she could even take the Exams early, get a head start on the others…

“Of course. I did say the theological side of school was the only one I enjoyed,” Viola said, noting her turn in eagerness. “Take me there sometime? I'd hate to intrude.”

“You already did by standing at the gate, but… well, certainly. We welcome everyone.” Nightshade rummaged through her bag, finding her little wallet of coins and cards. She produced a small pamphlet, creased at the edges, and handed it to her. “I can tell you more about it at the library, if you want. I suppose I can sacrifice the time.”

“You’re too kind.” Viola smiled. “Which library? Towell’s quite a ways from here…”

“Not Towell. Daniel.”

“Daniel Library?” Viola balked. “Heavens, Nightshade, that's over half an hour’s away. You walk there every day?”

“Not every day. Only my days off.”

“‘Days off’?”

“You know, from cleaning, cooking…” She counted on her fingers. “I attend boarding school. The students maintain the church themselves. To build character.”

“I see. How… quaint.” Viola frowned, and Nightshade was struck with a sudden fear she'd lost her. “I suppose that saves on the janitorial fees.”

“It's nicer than it sounds,” Nightshade tried to reassure her. “Besides, it gets a bit cramped there. The library is quiet, and I like to have the walk time to myself. Which I'll kindly remind you that you interrupted.” That, and she was banned from Towell Library… best not to admit that, though.

Viola cocked her head. “Why not take the bus?”

“I don't have that much money.” Nightshade rolled her eyes. Mother Victoria thought she went to the park next door to relax and study. She wouldn't have liked to hear she was visiting a library instead, when they had one at home already. Too many heretical texts, though Nightshade simply avoided those ones. “The church covers our expenses, so no need for large allowances.”

Viola’s frown deepened, and she hummed displeasantly. “Well, here, then,” She said, reaching into her purse. She produced a small wad of dollars, offering them to her. “Take the bus from now on. I am not walking that far for some old books.”

Nightshade looked between her and the stack. “I… can't accept this.” 

“Of course you can. It's a gift!”

“No, please, keep it.” Nightshade pushed the money back. It was, frankly, an irresponsible amount for someone her age to keep, and more than they were allowed. If it didn't get stolen, someone would snitch on her to the Mother. Did every teenager really get to just walk around with so much? “If you really insist, then you'll have to pay my fee, at the bus, for me.”

“That's… awfully inconvenient, but alright.” Was she really agreeing to that? Viola looked increasingly puzzled, but returned the money to her purse, looking uncannily like a kicked puppy. She was strangely… dog-like in manner. Not that Nightshade had ever had one, but she’d heard of the little creatures.

Nightshade squirmed. “...Look, I'm not ungrateful,” She sighed. “I simply have my own reasons. Besides, the Kennaways like you aren't supposed to be so… nice.”

“Ahem, I believe you mean generous.” Viola set a hand on her chest in mock offense. “Besides, my family simply gets an unearned bad reputation. I don't think Charlestonians take kindly to foreigners—I've spent years perfecting the art of just making it so people see us as we are.”

“Pft. Whatever you say.” Nightshade rolled her eyes, smiling thinly. “Let's just find a bus stop, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Viola had made an unfortunate habit of stopping Nightshade after every school day, a routine that grew strangely comfortable after, what, two or three weeks? Nightshade swore she must not have had any friends, to have so much free time, but she certainly didn't have the attitude of an unpopular girl. Quite the opposite, really. She hadn’t missed the girl playing with the cord of the pay phones outside the library, smiling and giggling as she talked to other girls on the other end. That really made it all the odder she was so determined to befriend Nightshade, but the acolyte had given up trying to guess why.

Still, Nightshade had given up her hopes of the ditzy blonde leaving her alone after the first week of it all passed. Today, of course, was no different. Except this time, Nightshade was determined to tell her no. Mostly because she had plans with Nocturne, which she was very much looking forward to. A quiet evening at the park, a quiet evening without worrying about the Mother Victoria finding out about her transgression, was sorely needed.

She just had to say no. God, that seemed impossible.

Quietly chiding herself for the use of the Lord’s name in vain, Nightshade gripped her bag tightly as she walked toward the gate where the girl always waited. Nocturne, walking beside her, cocked her head. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Nightshade sighed. “I just…” She glanced around, seeing who all was nearby. As per usual, nobody. “I suppose I haven't told you, have I?”

“Told me what?”

Nightshade paused. This might take a minute to explain. “You can't tell the Mother.”

“Of course not. When have I ever ratted on you?” Nocturne smiled comfortingly, giving her a little nudge.

“Right.” Nightshade chuckled. She knew Nocturne would never tell on her—she’d said less for worse things Nightshade had done—but that couldn't ease the knot in her stomach. “There's this girl who comes to see me after school. She goes to that private school down the road. I ran into her by accident, and now she won't leave me alone,” She sighed. “I suppose she thinks we're friends?”

Nocturne hummed thoughtfully. “Want me to chase her off for you?”

“No, that might just make it worse.” Nightshade folded her arms, knot tightening. She felt nauseous, sick, and her hand was throbbing again. If Mother Victoria found out… “Just don't say anything. I want to bring her into the church eventually, but today, well… I just want to spend time with you. If she’ll listen to me.”

Nocturne nodded, taking her turn to scan the courtyard, though Viola wouldn't be there. She'd be just outside the gate.

So, she led her way outside, finding Viola there, as always, wearing a frilly pink dress and cardigan. Did she only show up after the others had all left? Nightshade had never heard any mention of her among the other members of the cloister. Almost like she was Nightshade’s personal ghost, a phantom only she could see.

Viola’s expression lit up when she spotted Nightshade, matched with an eager wave and a skip in her direction… until she saw Nocturne. She froze, frowning. “Who’s this?”

Nocturne immediately matched her energy, standing taller. “I should be asking who you are.”

“Not now, you two.” Nightshade pushed between them. “Viola, this is my friend. We have plans today. I can’t hang out today.”

“Why did you wait to tell me?” Viola clicked her tongue, glancing between her and Nocturne with daggers in her eyes. “I waited out here for you. Now I've wasted my time?”

“I never asked you to do that,” Nightshade huffed. “And we planned this sort of last-minute.”

“...fine. But next time, give me a notice first.” Viola huffed. "I guess I'll walk home by myself today.”

“As you've done plenty of times before.” Nightshade averted her gaze, feeling strangely… guilty? Why did she feel guilty? She wasn't even supposed to interact with people outside of the cloister. And Viola wasn't exactly giving her much grace, either…

“Will you be free tomorrow, at least?” Viola asked, pouting.

“I can't. I'm on cleaning duty.”

“Right. Tuesdays.” Viola eyed her critically. “Bargained your way out of this one?”

“Bluenail was put on solo duty. She was late to class yesterday.”

“Well, how about Wednesday, like usual?”

Nocturne glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “‘Like usual’?”

“We just go to the library together, sometimes.” Nightshade grew warm. Why did she let Nocturne walk out with her? They should have just met at the park… “It's a quiet place to study for our exams, and she's…”

“Preparing for college.” Viola smiled, folding her gloved hands primly in front of her. No parasol today, it seemed.

“You? Go to college?” Nocturne looked her up and down none too subtly. Nightshade did have to admit, Viola did not look the most scholastic.

“Not to learn, silly.” Viola chuckled softly. It was almost too soft, too bell-like and melodic, as if she'd practiced it. Maybe that was what rich people did to pass the time. “My parents are sending me there to find a husband. Or, at least, they intend to, if I actually graduate, hm~!.”

Well, at least she was honest. Nightshade cleared her throat. “Well, Viola, we really need to go,” She said, taking Nocturne by the arm. She did so awkwardly, not so used to physical contact as Nocturne was. “I'll see you later.”

“Wait a minute,” Viola said, turning with them. “You didn't answer me about Wednesdays.”

Rats. She'd noticed. “...sure. We can go to the library on Wednesday.”

“Wonderful!” Viola clapped her hands together, brightening like a dog who'd just heard the word ‘walk.’ That was what Nightshade had heard they were like, anyway. “Well, you two have fun, and don't be late tomorrow, Nightshade~!”

She wiggled her fingers in a playful goodbye before spinning on her heels, her shoes of the same name clacking softly and satisfactorily as she sauntered off.

Nocturne watched her go, then added when she was out of earshot, “Good grief, what a brat.”

“A bit of one, I suppose.” Nightshade shrugged. “But I did catch her off guard. She's usually nicer.”

“I hope so.” Nocturne made a face at Viola’s disappearing figure. "I don't see what you see in her.”

“Well, when I bring her to one of our services, I'm sure you'll get the chance.”

They ended that conversation there, moving on to the topic of their upcoming exams as they headed for the park. There wasn't that much else to talk about, after all. School, church, clean. An empty mind was a good one. What better to achieve that than a simple life?

-

Her and Nocturne had gone to the library. Or, Nightshade thought they had. Or… no, no, it had been Viola. Yes, that was it. The park yesterday, the library today.

Nightshade had another headache, strong enough to wake her up. Careful not to disturb Nocturne sleeping peacefully on the other side of the room, she tiptoed out of bed to go find the Mother. She'd need treatment. Again.

Chapter Text

“So, what are these exams?” Viola asked Nightshade as she sipped a milkshake, leaning daintily—almost purposefully posed to look nice—on the diner counter. She had put her cardigan over the surface so she didn't have to touch the sticky tile. “Are they like college entrance exams?”

When had she mentioned those? “Not exactly,” Nightshade replied, fidgeting with the straw of her soda. She'd politely refused a milkshake, but been pressured into accepting a Coca-Cola. A favorite of the average teenager, she'd been told. Nightshade hadn't ever had either. “They're tests to become a preacher at our school.”

Frankly, the whole diner was foreign to her, yet gave her a strange sense of deja vu. A long ceramic bar, raised wooden stools, glass displays and extra tables behind her and a hurry of cooks darting around before her. Everything smelled like grease and meat, the air filled with a loud chatter from nearby civilians that was only occasionally interrupted by the sound of the milkshake mixer, which sounded like it was always on the verge of breaking. There was something familiar about it. Had she been here before? Nightshade wondered. 

No, of course not. It wouldn't be allowed.

“A girl preacher?” Viola tilted her head. “Is that even allowed?”

“At our church, it is,” Nightshade said proudly. There was a strange privacy to the chaos of the room. It was so loud, even when she raised her voice for Viola to hear, nobody noticed what she said. It was practically as private as being alone. “Most churches only say they welcome everyone. Mother Victoria actually does.”

“Mother Victoria? Is that one of your priests?”

“Not just any old priest,” Nightshade chuffed. “She's our leader. I can't imagine what she's had to do to get there. She practically built the place from the ground up.”

“Oh, I think I heard about that. Took over after her husband died young, didn't she?” Viola said. “All over the news~! My church was in upheaval when they heard a woman was taking over the place. I'm half surprised nobody tried to burn the place down.” She hummed that last bit far too sweetly. Perhaps it was just an unfortunate consequence of her voice.

“She'd probably kill anyone who tried first,” Nightshade huffed, exaggerating only slightly. Mother Victoria could be harsh to those who stepped out of line, intense in demeanor or with a belt, but she had never actually killed anyone. “She's not some housewife. She's someone who always gets what she wants, even if she has to twist some arms to get it.”

“Oh, I mean no offense. She sounds impressive.” Viola chuckled. “I'd much like to meet her.”

“Well, don't chicken out of service on Sunday, and maybe you will,” Nightshade said, amused. “It's invitation only, so don't try to just ‘show up’ whenever you want.” She picked at the label on her Coca-Cola. As you have a habit of doing…

“Of course not,” Viola hummed, taking a long sip of her milkshake—strawberry pink, of course. She then noticed Nightshade hadn't touched her own drink. “Something wrong with your soda? It’s going warm.”

“Hm? No, no, I just… I've never had one of these before.”

“You never had a soda?” Viola looked positively aghast. “Dear me, have you lived under a rock these past years?”

“Sorry that I don't just indulge in anything I want like the rest of you.” Nightshade rolled her eyes. “One error leads to another, and soon enough you've gone too far down a slippery slope of sin.”

“...from drinking a soda.”

“It's about the idea behind it.”

“Right.” Viola chuckled. “Here, may I?” She held out a hand for the bottle.

Nightshade frowned, unsure what she was getting up to. “Sure?”

Viola took the bottle and sipped it, grimaced, then daintily wiped her lip with a napkin. “There, how do I look?” She asked. “Like a sinner?”

Nightshade snorted. “Positively.”

“Delightful. Sinners are always the most beautiful ones.” Viola offered her the bottle, smiling. “Now, you won't let me go to hell alone, will you?” 

“I don't think so. I saw that face you made.”

“Well, that's because I don't like soda.” Viola wiggled the bottle. “Come on, just a sip won't hurt.”

Nightshade sighed, but took it. How could she not, under that expectant stare? Wiping the lip of the bottle off with her sleeve, she sipped it.

And almost immediately gagged. It burned on the way down, attacking her tongue and soft tissue. Nightshade coughed, covering her mouth so she didn't spit the vile liquid out everywhere. “Good grief, what is that?”

“Oh, well I suppose you don't like soda either.” Viola cocked her head innocently. “My bad.”

“I trusted you…” Nightshade wrinkled her nose and pushed the bottle away. Where was the server? She needed water. The drink had left a horrible, sticky-sweet aftertaste in her mouth.

“Well, that was your first mistake,” Viola giggled. “You did say anyone who drinks soda cavorts with the Devil. Of course I tricked you.”

Nightshade chuckled. Okay, that was a little funny. Just a little. “Right,” She said, rolling her eyes. “My mistake for not considering that. I’ll give penitence later.”

She flagged down the waiter and ordered a glass of water, content to have just that while Viola enjoyed her milkshake. The strange blonde also enjoyed talking up a storm, mostly about the latest drama—of which there was much—at her school. Something about another girl getting thrown out? Nightshade frankly struggled to keep her eyes from glazing over. The petty worldly problems of the city or posh girls rich enough to attend Ashley Hall really couldn't interest her less…

“Oh, right, here.” Viola suddenly veered off topic to dig in her purse, something inside crinkling. She produced a small card and offered it to her. It was stamped with the name of the library. “Here. For you.”

“What's this?” Nightshade took it by reflex, glancing between her and it. 

“A library card. You said you didn't have one the other day.” 

She had mentioned that? They had gone to the library… Nightshade frowned, unable to recall the details, beyond that Viola had made her take the bus. “Don't you need a name and address for these?”

“Well, yes, but that was easy.” Viola closed her purse. “Your name’s Nightshade, and you live at the church’s boarding school. Easy-peasy, see? Now you can check out all the books you’d like.”

Nightshade, frankly, was surprised she remembered all that. It was, what, Friday? Two whole days since she'd grumbled about not being able to take any books home. Though Viola had completely misinterpreted the reason why for that, it was a… strangely kind gesture.

“You're sweet. Thank you.” Nightshade turned over the card, tracing the tiny, embossed letters with her fingers. ‘Nightshade.’ The card really doesn't need a last name?

“...by the way, it's Abbey,” Nightshade said, meeting Viola’s gaze. “If you're going to go out and do this sort of thing, my last name is Abbey.”

“Oh! How quaint.” Viola’s baby blue eyes glittered. “I'll remember that.”

Nightshade grunted, turning back to her soda as she stowed the card. Should she take another sip? Felt a shame to waste it. Maybe it wouldn’t sting so much this time? At the very least, she wouldn’t forget how awful it was… “Oh, and before you, like everyone else, have to point it out: I’m aware the full thing sounds like a church name. It wasn’t intentional.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, don’t worry,” Viola hummed. “I’d tell you mine, but you already know it…” She cupped her hands back around her half-empty glass, drumming her fingers on it and leaving thin, finger-shaped prints in the frost. “You’re welcome to some of this, if you prefer, by the way.”

“I'm alright. Thanks, though.”

“You sure? I can order you a new one, if drinking after me is what bothers you.” Viola reached for her purse.

“It’s not that. I’ve simply never been much of a fan of sweets.” Nightshade wrinkled her nose at the sickly pink drink. “Besides, sugar isn’t good for you.”

“Well, neither is living your whole life in a stuffy ol’ boarding house, but you do that anyway,” Viola teased. 

Nightshade was surprised not to find herself offended, just annoyed. “Is that how you see us?”

“You described it that way yourself.” Viola nudged her. “Big? Boxy? ‘Plain in decor’?”

“Really? When?”

“The other day! Don’t you remember?” Her expression must have been quite puzzled, because Viola cocked her head and pursed her lips. “At the library?”

“...ah, right.” Nightshade lied. She really hadn’t the faintest clue what Viola was referring to, and thinking about it was already bringing on a headache. Great. “Still, fun to see what you think of us…”

“I didn’t mean it like that, my apologies.” Viola frowned, reaching out to touch her hand apologetically. Nightshade yanked it back, and Viola hummed softly, unreadably, in response. “I hope me inviting you out like this isn’t an imposition… I just thought it might be nice for you to have some space sometimes. Without being alone, that is.”

“Well, maybe I like being alone.”

“You seem to get along with that Nocturne well enough. He’s quite protective of you, it seems.”

“She.” Nightshade snapped.

“Apologies. I just thought… well… she looked… oh, never mind.” Viola shook her head, glancing aside. Nightshade could practically hear her mental backpedaling, searching for a better topic to switch to. Being impolite, at least to your face, was practically a sin for people like her. “By the way, what time is service on Sunday? Wouldn’t be good of me to be late, if Mother Victoria is as serious and uptight as the building…”

“Eight AM.” Shadowheart snorted. Unfortunately, Viola did have a point there. The church was built not too different from a military fortress, only with cracked purple paint and a peaked roof. “And it’s not like all of us can afford to build things quite so opulent as Ashley Hall.”

“Well, perhaps I ought to make a donation this Sunday, then.”

“Hah, I’m sure that’d put you in the good books with the Mother,” Nightshade snorted. “Though the other novices might call you a suck-up.”

“Oh, you get used to that at Ashley. All gossiping and drama, as if people have nothing better to do.” Viola clicked her tongue. “Did I tell you about that one girl who got in trouble for trying to sneak her boyfriend into the halls once? Got them both thrown out, I hear. All that nonsense for a boy… tch…”

That set Viola off on another little ramble, taking the heat off of Nightshade. She sighed softly in relief, and found she’d been squeezing the Coca-Cola bottle without realising it, clenching against a phantom pain in her palm. She released it, tugging instead at her gloves, nodding along when appropriate to Viola’s story so as not to raise questions. Not that she could focus on the details.

Eventually, the time came to leave. Nightshade was on dinner duty. She had to be back, and it certainly wouldn’t look good to be late. Viola offered no complaint as they left, and, against Nightshade’s protests, paid for both their drinks on the way out.