Mother of Midnight Chapter 219 – Fragments of Us

“Renzia, sweetheart. Please co here,” Vivienne beckoned, her voice as light and sweet as spun sugar.

They had stopped for the day, as promised to Caelum, giving the goblins ti to rest and make proper use of the supplies she had so graciously acquired for them. Four tents now stood where there had been none, and the scent of cooking food hung in the air—actual food, made with proper utensils instead of whatever filth they had been used to scraping together. Progress, however minor.

Vivienne still found it irritating that she had to play savior to these creatures, but even she had her limits. The sight of them, scrawny and shivering in the cold, had tugged at sothing deep within her. Not enough to truly care, of course, but enough to indulge in a passing bit of generosity. Maybe when she finally set her fangs upon Aegis, she could leave the goblins be—perhaps even take her ti devouring their masters. She was not without her kindness.

She sat with her back against an evergreen tree, nestled in a patch of undisturbed snow, with Liora curled against her lap. The girl was still as unresponsive as ever, but there were monts—fleeting, like the flicker of a candle—where her fingers twitched, her breath hitched, her body shifted ever so slightly. It was sothing.

Renzia approached without hesitation, her eerie, fluid motion making the goblins glance up warily before quickly looking away. When she reached Vivienne, she dipped into a bow, the motion unnatural.

“How m-ay I serve, m-istress?” Renzia rasped, her voice breaking and reforming with every syllable. She knelt before Vivienne, her stiff wooden fingers folding neatly together in her lap, her faceless head tilting ever so slightly in submission.

Vivienne sighed, shifting her weight against the tree. “I just wanted to have a chat. I think it is long overdue. I don’t think I have done right by you.”

Renzia's posture stiffened further. “Miss-tress is per-fect. I am faulty. I am so-rry.” The words ca rushed, as if they were a reflex, sothing ingrained deep within her.

Vivienne grimaced. She reached out, resting her clawed fingers lightly on Renzia’s wooden shoulder. The material was smooth and cold, like sothing lifeless, but she knew better.

“None of that,” she murmured. “I have been neglecting you, and I was unfair to you when I snapped earlier. You have been doing your best despite . I promised I would help you, and I have done nothing of the sort. I’ve just used you—to guard the camp, to take my orders, to be my shield.”

Renzia didn’t respond imdiately. Her head tilted further, as if she were processing Vivienne’s words, her carved wooden hands curling slightly at her sides. Then, slowly, she raised one hand and placed it over Vivienne’s. It was an awkward, chanical motion—hesitant, unsure.

“I a-m use-ful,” Renzia said at last. It wasn’t an argunt. It wasn’t reassurance. Just a simple fact, stated without expectation.

Vivienne exhaled through her nose, letting her fingers tap lightly against Renzia’s shoulder before withdrawing. “That’s not the point, sweetheart.”

What could she even do? She was made to maim, not nd. She’d made easy promises and left them unfulfilled, let the weight of them settle in the back of her mind like dust gathering in an unused room. It had been so effortless to take up the role of mistress, to let Renzia fall into old habits of servitude without ever questioning whether it was right. She’d given orders, Renzia had obeyed, and that had been the end of it.

But had she actually helped her? Had she done anything other than fill the space left by whoever had co before? Renzia had simply replaced one master with another, a new chain for the old, and Vivienne had never stopped to wonder if that was what she even wanted.

And if she had—if this was the only way she knew how to exist—then wasn’t that even worse?

She wasn’t a solution. She wasn’t so guiding light to pull Renzia toward sothing better. She’d taken what was left of her, shaped by gods knew how many years of servitude, and done nothing. No effort to change her, no effort to help. Just a puppet left to its strings.

In fact, looking at her now, rigid and bowed before her like sothing carved rather than sothing living, Vivienne had to wonder if she was even worse than the ones before. At least back then, Renzia had known her purpose. Could she say the sa now?

Vivienne exhaled slowly, tilting her head back against the tree trunk. Her fingers brushed idly over Liora’s limp form in her lap, as if grounding herself. “Sit with , sweetheart.”

Renzia obeyed imdiately, lowering herself onto her knees in the snow. Too obedient. Too rigid. The sight of it soured sothing deep in Vivienne’s stomach.

“I said sit, not kneel.”

The mannequin hesitated. That was already a small miracle. But after a mont, she adjusted, folding her legs beneath her instead. Still straight-backed, still too precise. A thing built for instruction, for execution.

Vivienne studied her in silence. Renzia did not fidget. She did not glance away. She simply waited.

“What do you want, Renzia?”

“I wa-nt to serve, mi-stress.”

Vivienne’s tail flicked sharply against the ground. “No, sweetheart. Not what you’re made for. Not what you’ve been told. I asked what you want.”

Renzia did not answer. Did not move. If she even breathed, Vivienne would not have noticed it.

A slow sigh escaped Vivienne’s lips, a sound full of sothing between frustration and regret. “You know, I don’t think you’re faulty,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I think you’re just lost.”

Renzia remained silent. But there—just for a flicker of a second—Vivienne thought she saw sothing in that faceless tilt of a head. A question without words. A hesitation without movent.

Good.

“Sweetheart,” Vivienne murmured, voice softer now. “I don’t want you to just be sothing for to use. I do want to help you. And I think I’ve done a shit job of that so far.” She let out a breathy chuckle, dry as old bones. “I’m not really the ‘uplifting’ type, you know?”

Renzia’s head twitched slightly, almost a nod.

Vivienne smirked. “You’re allowed to laugh, sweetheart.”

“I do-n’t know how.”

The words were soft. So soft.

She exhaled slowly, curling her tail around herself as she watched the mannequin’s motionless form. Renzia sat as still as a statue, carved and set into place, waiting—always waiting. A creature of patience, not by nature, but by design.

Vivienne’s voice was quiet but firm. “I think you are capable of much more than servitude. You just don’t know how yet.” She searched for a reaction, so flicker of recognition in the stillness. There was none. But she pressed on. “We can’t really explore much of that while out here, but when we finally get to safety, we can.”

If we get to safety.

Vivienne pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter right now.

She reached out, brushing her claws lightly against Renzia’s shoulder. The mannequin didn’t flinch, didn’t lean into the touch. Just still, always still.

Vivienne let her hand drop. “Can you do a favor, Renzia?”

“Any-thing for miss-tress.”

Imdiate. Absolute.

Vivienne grimaced. She should have expected that. But hearing it—feeling how quickly Renzia surrendered herself to any command—left an uncomfortable weight in her chest.

“Not like that,” she said, more gently than before. “I don’t want you to agree just because I’m your mistress.”

Renzia’s head tilted, a fraction of an inch. Not confusion. Not curiosity. Just recalculating, as if parsing a command that didn’t quite fit her usual paraters.

Vivienne sighed. “I want you to think about it first. Really think. And if it’s sothing you don’t want to do, you can say no.”

Silence.

Renzia didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

Vivienne waited, resisting the urge to fill the quiet with more words. This was sothing Renzia needed to do on her own.

Then, after a long pause—stiff, uncertain—Renzia’s voice rasped through the cold air.

“What is… the fa-vor?”

Vivienne smiled softly, her gaze still on Renzia as she cradled Liora in her lap, the warmth of the mont not quite matching the heavy conversation at hand.

“That was the favour, sweetheart. I want you to voice your opinions more. I want to hear your input. Even if it feels uncomfortable to do so. It is sothing you need to do, and I think you are capable of it. Can you do that for ?”

Renzia remained still, her gaze focused sowhere beyond Vivienne, as if she were weighing the request in her mind. Her stiff posture was the only sign of resistance. Her voice, though, was quiet—asured.

“I... I will try.”

Vivienne’s smile widened, a touch of pride in her expression. "That’s all I ask for now. One step at a ti, alright?"

Renzia gave a small, imperceptible nod, her form unmoving but the words hanging in the air between them. The silence stretched for a mont, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a promise, fragile but real.

“For now, I want you to think about what you want, other than soone to serve. I don’t need an answer right now, just think about it.”

Renzia was silent for a mont, unmoving in that way only she could be—so utterly still that she might as well have been a statue. Then, finally, she rasped, “Yes, m-istress.”

“Thank you.” Vivienne sighed, shifting her grip on Liora. “I am going to see if I can get a volunteer to feed her now. Feel free to take a rest.”

She carefully rose, mindful of the delicate bundle in her arms. Liora barely stirred, her head lolling slightly against Vivienne’s shoulder, her breath shallow but steady. Even bundled in furs, she felt too small, too fragile, like a doll filled with sand rather than flesh and blood.

They quieted when she approached, their small, wide and expressive eyes flicking toward her. She didn’t waste ti.

“I need soone to feed Liora. Now—please.”

The word was clipped, tacked on just after the demand, a reluctant courtesy. She would do better, for Kivvy at least.

The goblins exchanged glances, but the hesitation was brief. Ortisia was already rising to her feet, stepping forward without being called.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

Vivienne tilted her head. She hadn’t needed to pressure her this ti. The goblin wasn’t even hesitating.

“Thank you. We will visit you when you sleep.”

Ortisia gave a slow nod before turning back to her place by the fire. Vivienne watched her go, then exhaled softly, glancing down at Liora. Soon.

Later that night, when the goblins had retreated to their tents, their small camp dimly lit by the dying embers of the fire, Vivienne carried Liora toward the sleeping form of Ortisia. The goblin was wrapped in a worn, pilfered blanket, her face barely visible beneath the layers of cloth. She snored softly, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Vivienne knelt beside her, brushing snow off her knees before settling Liora into her lap. The girl still hadn’t woken, still hadn’t spoken, but Vivienne could feel sothing shifting—sothing stirring just beneath the surface.

She reached out, pressing her palm lightly to Ortisia’s forehead. There was no hesitation this ti. The connection was instant.

Vivienne shaped the nightmares carefully, keeping them ta—little things, compared to what she could have made. A chase through darkened woods. Shadows lurking just beyond sight. The scrape of unseen claws against stone. Enough to send ripples of fear through Ortisia’s mind, but not enough to shatter her sleep.

Ortisia twitched, her brow furrowing as soft whimpers escaped her lips. Her fingers curled against the blanket, her body stiffening—then settling again, locked in the dream’s grasp.

Vivienne shifted Liora’s hand, pressing the girl’s small, clawed fingers against Ortisia’s arm. The response was imdiate. A slow pull, subtle yet insistent, as Liora began to drink in the fear-laced aether.

Vivienne’s breath caught. For the first ti in days, she saw sothing—a flicker of movent in Liora’s despondent eyes. Just a twitch. Barely anything.

Then, under her grasp, Liora’s claw twitched.

Vivienne’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

Co on, sweetheart. Co back to .

For a mont, nothing else happened. Liora's breathing remained steady, her expression unchanged. But Vivienne could feel it—sothing shifting, sothing reaching. It was small, barely a whisper beneath the weight of whatever had trapped her in silence, but it was there.

The barest twitch of her fingers. A slow, uneven inhale. Almost nothing. But almost was enough.

Vivienne let out a slow breath, releasing Liora’s hand but keeping her close. It wasn’t much, but it was proof. Proof that she was still in there. That this wasn’t permanent. That she could co back.

She curled protectively around the girl, glancing toward Ortisia. The goblin's expression had smoothed, her nightmare already fading into the depths of sleep. Good.

Vivienne stayed a mont longer, just listening to the quiet—snow falling in soft whispers, the low crackle of the fire, the distant shuffle of goblins moving in their sleep. It had been too long since she had felt this still.

Then she heard the footsteps.

Crunching softly over snow, slow but deliberate.

Vivienne didn’t tense. She knew that gait.

A few seconds later, Caelum erged from the tree line, his form barely visible against the night, pale hair dusted with snow. He was tired—she could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the weight in his steps—but he was here. Finally.

He stopped when he saw her, exhaling sharply, half in relief, half in exhaustion. "Vivienne."

She tilted her head, a lazy smile curling at her lips. "Took you long enough."

“I was occupied,” Caelum said, his voice tense. “There were more of them than I anticipated.”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. “Soldiers?”

Caelum shook his head, his expression tightening. “Hunters.”

Her pulse quickened. “The ones who specialize in killing aetherbeasts?”

He gave a grim nod. “Yes.”

Vivienne’s lips curled into a wide grin as she leaned in, ready to deliver her biting remark. “Good. You aren’t useless after all,” she said, her voice laced with mockery.

Caelum stiffened, his brow furrowing, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “Did you think I was?” he asked, his tone tinged with genuine offense.

But before Vivienne could sink her teeth into his response, sothing stopped her.

A soft, almost imperceptible sound—sothing like a small murmur—ca from Liora.

Vivienne’s gaze imdiately shifted, her sharpness evaporating as she looked down at her daughter. There, cradled in her arms, Liora’s eyes fluttered slightly, and her lips parted just enough to release a soft vocalization.

It was a tiny thing, barely audible in the quiet of the night, but unmistakably there.

Vivienne’s heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught, and for a mont, the weight of everything else disappeared. She shifted her attention fully to Liora, the earlier tension with Caelum dissolving in the wake of the sound.

Vivienne’s claws gently brushed through Liora’s hair, her touch tender and careful, as if she were afraid that any sudden movent would break the fragile connection she was starting to feel. The soft sound Liora had made, faint as it was, ignited a spark of hope deep within her. It wasn’t much, but it was sothing—sothing to cling to.

Liora’s eyelids twitched again, but still, there was no full awakening. Vivienne’s heart, however, swelled with cautious optimism. She leaned in closer, murmuring softly to her daughter. “Just a little more, darling. You’re almost there.”

Behind her, Caelum watched quietly, the previous tension between them lting away as he observed the scene. His eyes softened, his expression shifting into one of understanding.

Vivienne didn’t notice his gaze, too absorbed in the mont. She was focused on the subtle shifts in Liora’s expression, every twitch of her limbs, every flutter of her eyelids. She needed her to wake up. She needed her to be whole again.

For a brief mont, she allowed herself to believe it was possible.

Liora’s claw shifted slightly beneath her touch, the faintest of movents, but Vivienne’s breath caught in her chest. Her heart beat erratically as she leaned in closer, her face hovering just inches from her daughter’s, every second feeling like an eternity. “Co on, mijita,” she whispered, her voice thick with raw emotion, desperate, trembling. “I’m right here. Mommy is here for you.”

Then, like the softest echo, the sound she’d been waiting for. Another faint sound, so delicate it seed to fade before it even ford.

“Mommy.”

Vivienne’s eyes widened, a jolt of pure relief flooding her chest. The word, as quiet and fragile as it was, hit her like a wave, pulling her into a storm of overwhelming emotions. She could feel her chest tightening, her throat constricting with a wave of sobs she couldn’t hold back.

Liora’s claws flexed beneath her, the subtle movent sending a rush of warmth through Vivienne’s veins. She wanted to hold her daughter tighter, but she knew to do so would risk breaking the delicate thread between them.

Her eyes began to spill, the ichor seeped down her cheek, staining her skin as she stared at her daughter in disbelief, her heart splitting open and healing all at once.

The ichor dissolved almost imdiately, vanishing into thin air as it mixed with the aether around her, like a fleeting, ethereal trace of sothing that could never be held for long. Vivienne didn’t try to wipe it away. She let it fade into nothingness, a small part of her lost to the aether, but she didn’t care. The mont—Liora’s voice, her movent, the hope she felt—was everything.

“I—” Her voice broke, and she tried again. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” She reached out, her hands trembling, the remnants of the ichor disappearing into the air around her. “I’m sorry for everything, for not being here sooner, for—”

Another soft sound. Liora’s eyelids fluttered. Another weak movent from her claw.

Vivienne gasped, her heart leaping in her chest, but her tears flowed freely now, mixing with the ichor that seed to pulse from deep within her, only to fade away before they could even form into sothing tangible. She didn’t try to wipe them away, didn’t care about the ss of it anymore. The only thing that mattered was that Liora was responding. She was here.

“Mommy's here, mijita,” she whispered again, her voice raw. “I’m not leaving you, ever again. You hear ? You’re not alone.”

Her chest heaved with each breath, each sob that threatened to break her. The ichor—now nothing but a fleeting trace of sorrow and love—dissolved into the air. She didn’t need it. She didn’t need anything other than her daughter’s slow, but undeniable, return.