The door swung open immediately. There stood Shoko, his mother - tall, with a tired face. She'd clearly been about to scold him for returning so late, but froze upon seeing his companion.
"This is... who?"
"Celia," Eliot managed, swallowing hard. "I met her... in the woods. She's a traveling... herbalist. And she... has nowhere to go." Shoko studied Celia intently. The girl stood calmly, meeting the mother's gaze without flinching - reserved but firm.
"A traveling herbalist," Shoko repeated slowly. "And why bring her here, of all places?"
"Because..." Eliot scratched his head. "No one else would help. And I... couldn't just walk away."
A pause. His mother's eyes moved between them. Finally, she gave a slight nod:
"Fine. But tomorrow she helps me with the herbs, if she's really an herbalist."
"Thank you," Eliot exhaled.
"Dinner's cold. And keep quiet. Everyone's asleep."
They stepped inside. The house enveloped them in warmth and the scent of soup. Celia walked beside Eliot, somewhat restrained but with a new, unfamiliar calmness.
"See?" he whispered as they entered his small room. "Not so scary."
Celia examined the narrow bed, the old wooden shelf, the simple fabric curtain.
"It's... cozy." Said Celia
"Yeah. My fortress. Just... very compact."
The room was quiet. Outside, the wind whistled softly, and occasional sounds drifted from the kitchen where his mother seemed to be tidying up. It was warm inside, but an awkward pause lingered. Celia stood by the wall, staring at the floor, while Eliot sat on the bed, absently twisting a corner of the blanket in his hands.
"Well..." he began, then fell silent himself. Finally, he looked up: "If you want... you can change. I'll... step out. Or turn away." Celia nodded slightly.
"Thank you."
He turned toward the corner and suddenly became acutely aware of how stiffly he was sitting back rigid, ears burning. He could almost hear Celia carefully unpacking her bag, the soft rustle of her dress fabric.
"I've... never stayed in someone else's home before" she said suddenly. Eliot gave a small chuckle without turning around: "I've never brought a witch home before either."
A brief silence fell, then suddenly a light laugh. Gentle, fragile, as if she hadn't expected to genuinely laugh like that. "Can I turn around?" he asked.
"You can."
When he turned back, Celia was sitting on the very edge of the bed, wrapped in a thin gray blanket. Her hair was slightly tousled, her face tired but calm. Again - silence. Awkward. Neither knew what to say. "Um..." Eliot began, rubbing his neck. "Do you think... you'll be able to convince my mom tomorrow that you really know about herbs?"
I'll try, she whispered. "But... I'm nervous"
"I'm nervous enough for both of us," Eliot said. Celia lowered her gaze. Her cheeks turned pink.
Thank you... for not sending me away. I thought... after everything... you'd be afraid. Eliot exhaled quietly and said: "I am afraid. But not of you."
She smiled slightly, her eyes glinting. Then silence again.
He lay on his side, leaving her more space. "You can lie down if you want. I don't bite. I just toss and turn sometimes," Eliot said.
I'll... try not to bother you, Celia whispered, lying down with her back to him, on the very edge of the bed.
They lay in silence. The faint sound of breathing, the quiet thrum of heartbeats, and the warmth of an unfamiliar presence beside them. The awkwardness slowly dissolved into the hush of night. Just before sleep took him, without opening his eyes, Eliot murmured:
"Goodnight, Celia."
"Goodnight... Eliot."