Brigitte leaned forward now, voice a little firmer—but not unkind.
"Then let's unlearn it," she said. "Let's find what's left when you stop disappearing."
A pause.
"Would you let him see that version of you? Even if she's raw? Even if she's angry?"
Asha blinked hard. And then—
"Yes," she said. "Because if he loves me at all, he deserves to know who he loves."
Brigitte gave her a choice.
No pressure. No guiding hand. Just a question.
Then she stood—no flourish, no fanfare. Just an elegant shift of motion as she crossed the room and opened the door.
She didn't call for him.
He was already there.
He stepped in slowly, careful, like his boots might disturb the quiet. His coat was gone. So was the usual glamour.
Just Malvor. Raw. Tall. Tan-eyed. And strangely still.
And when he saw her?
He smiled.
Not the smirk. Not the smolder. Something warm. Something real.
He didn't rush across the room. He stood there for a breath. Then said it—earnest, steady. Soft in the way that only comes after surviving something you didn't think you would:
"Thank you for letting me be here."
That was it.
No demands. No questions. No flood of words to drown the moment.
Just that.
Gratitude.
For her. For the now. For being allowed into the part of her she used to hide even from herself.
Asha exhaled slowly.
And for once—she didn't brace for the next wound.
She let him see her.
Not the perfect girl. Not the vessel. Not Anastasia. Not Annie.
Just... Asha.
Malvor didn't move right away. His hands stayed at his sides, careful. As if afraid too much affection might crack the moment.
But gods, he wanted to hold her. Wanted to wrap her in his arms like something sacred.
"You look tired," he said gently.
Asha let out a dry, brittle laugh. "Understatement of the century."
He smiled—genuinely—but didn't push.
She gestured to the chaise beside her. Only then did he step forward. Quiet. Respectful.
He sat like someone afraid to wake a sleeping storm.
For a long time, they didn't speak.
The tea between them had long gone cold. The room didn't react. No crying walls. No sobbing furniture. No flickering drama.
Just stillness. Just them.
"I thought I was protecting you," she said finally. Her voice wasn't bitter. Just... tired. Honest. "From everything I've been through. From everything I still carry."
He turned slightly toward her.
"I never needed protection from you."
"But I needed it from myself."
That landed harder than anything else could've.
He reached out slowly, palm up between them.
An offering. Not a request.
She hesitated—only a moment—before sliding her hand into his. It fit easily. It always had.
"I'm not asking you to fix anything," she said.
He shook his head.
"I'd never try to fix you, my love. I just want to know you."
She huffed. Half-breath, half-laugh. But it still counted.
"I just don't want to disappear again."
"Then don't," he said. "Be seen. Be loud. Be messy. I will always stay."
Her fingers tightened around his.
"Even if I fall apart?"
"Especially then. Like I said—always." A pause. "Always and forever."
The chandelier dimmed above them, casting soft, golden-pink light over their joined hands.
Somewhere behind the walls, a lullaby began to play.
This one was different.
Not warped. Not broken.
Just quiet. Gentle. Restful.
Brigitte had not returned.
Asha wondered if she ever would—or if this was the final part of the therapy.
Sitting beside someone who didn't try to rescue her. Didn't rewrite her pain.
Just stayed.
"I'm not ready for forever," she whispered.
Malvor looked at her—tan eyes full of warmth—and gave the smallest, sweetest smile.
"Then stay for now."
Something inside her softened.
Cracked.
Exhaled.
Brigitte reappeared in the doorway, still middle-aged but now wielding a teacup with a tiny umbrella and what looked suspiciously like edible glitter floating inside.
Her gaze swept over them—Asha and Malvor, hand in hand. Not saying a word, but somehow saying everything.
She smiled. Slow. Knowing.
"Healing is exhausting, darling," she said, breezing in like grief in perfume. "Go nap while the universe rearranges itself."
Malvor blinked. "Is that what it's doing?"
Brigitte sipped. "What else do you think trauma processing is? Cosmic feng shui."
She winked at Asha. "You did well. Even if you hate me tomorrow."
Asha smiled. A real one.
"I think I already do."
"Perfect," Brigitte beamed. "That means it's working."
And with that, she turned—gown swaying, glittering tea in hand—and disappeared back into the palace, leaving behind the scent of rosewater and old regrets.
Malvor leaned in.
"She terrifies me."
Asha nodded solemnly.
"She terrifies everyone."
They stood. Slowly. Neither let go.
Because even if the universe wasn't quite rearranged yet—
They were.
And for now? That was more than enough.