Ayoka stepped inside, quiet as a whisper. She hadn't meant to leave the room—Malik had been fussy with his new teeth coming in, and Sabine had volunteered to watch him for a bit. Just long enough for Ayoka to do her task.
She'd been sent to fetch Viktor another drink—just one of her daily duties. Someone had mentioned he was running low again in the study. Before she left, she changed into something simple: a soft linen and lace number, easy to move in but thoughtful all the same. She'd let her hair down for once, curls loose and natural around her shoulders, the kind of softness she rarely allowed herself when not performing. At her waist, she tucked a single scabiosa bloom—lavender and deliberate. A puzzle flower. A quiet mystery in full bloom, even if she hadn't solved herself yet.
Just as she reached the door, Sabine glanced up from her sewing—a tiny silver-toned baby shirt draped over one arm while the other gently rocked Malik's cradle with long-practiced ease. Her eyes didn't leave her threadwork as she said, with a smile too subtle to trust, "Something's shifting near Genevieve."
Ayoka paused. The sound of that name—Genevieve—almost made her freeze. Encounters with that woman never sat right in her spirit, and though she couldn't name it, the tension stayed buried in her chest.
Genevieve had been taking up more and more of Viktor's time lately. That didn't bother Ayoka in the way people might assume. It wasn't jealousy—not quite. It was more like a collection of what-ifs wrapped in discomfort. The sort of knowing that came from watching too long without enough context, something people in history had always done: assuming, speculating, rewriting truths with prettier ink.
Ayoka's grip tightened slightly on the bottle in her hand, knuckles paling as her breath caught. She steadied herself with a shallow exhale, straightening her back before speaking, her voice carefully measured. "What does that mean?"
Sabine didn't answer directly. Her needle paused mid-air, glinting like it knew more than it should. She tilted her head slightly, eyes half-clouded and ancient in their stillness—the kind of gaze that stitched time itself.
Then she patted the space beside her and said, "Sit a moment, baby. Help me finish this hem."
Ayoka hesitated but obeyed, sliding into place without question. The bottle clinked softly as she set it aside. There was no real rush to deliver it. Not now.
Their hands moved together, fingers threading through fabric and spell-line. The silver-toned baby shirt shimmered in the light, almost pulsing with charm-work. Ayoka could feel the magic in the thread—woven safety, memory, protection. The kind of stitch only Sabine could craft.
As they worked, Sabine finally spoke, her voice low and coaxing.
"If you could choose—only one—would you always want to see the past, the present, or the future?"
Ayoka blinked at her, confused. Still was. But her chest had tightened, and her hands kept moving, slow and unsure through the fabric.
"I guess," she murmured after a long pause, eyes not meeting Sabine's. "The past would be nice to see. But I know me. I'd look too far back, searching for the moment it all went wrong."
She exhaled, thoughtful. "Still… with my people's history? That'd be more than enough. The present's where we are, right? Useful, but limited. And the future—well, that's a tricky one."
Ayoka let the thread slip slightly, catching it before it tangled. "If I had to choose, I reckon I'd lean toward the past. Not to dwell, but… to catch hold of that one soft memory before it all turned. Trouble is, I'd likely keep looking too far back—trying to find where I went wrong. Still, with the stories my people carry, even that would be worth the price."
Sabine gave a small hum, her needles barely pausing. "That's a somewhat surprising answer," she said, voice like worn velvet layered with smoke and patience.
She let the silence hang for a beat, then added with a sideways glance, "Most folk don't think too hard on what they'd rather see. They pick what hurts least, or what gives the illusion of control. But the past, sugar… that's a heavy mirror to stare into for too long."
Her hands moved with rhythmic grace, silver thread gleaming like moonlight between her fingers. "Some folks think memory's safe 'cause it's already happened. But memory's where ghosts like to dance."
She reached beside her, pulled a velvet pouch from a side basket, and set it down on the table. Inside, a locket clinked against glass. "Careful with nice things that carry old memories," Sabine said, not looking up. "They'll whisper sweet, and pull you back before you know you're drowning."
Ayoka rose, brushing her hands on her skirt as she reached for the bottle once more. "I should bring this to Viktor," she said, not meeting Sabine's eyes.
Sabine shrugged lightly, eyes already drifting back to her silver-threaded spellwork. "Take your time, baby," she murmured, voice low and knowing. "Lord knows you're gonna need it in the days to come."