The sun was just starting to set, with the last bits of the daylight reaching over the Foundation walls like long fingers dragging over the soft grass. There was a slight chill in the air and the first, cold winds of winter were just barely starting to lazily drag themselves along the ground. Kakania huddled into herself a little tighter as she walked through the emptying halls of the Foundation HQ. Some employees were hastily gathering up the last of their things, while others settled that much further into their seats and prepared for the long night ahead of them. They were busy at all hours, these researchers, what with the invention of the new Storm umbrella and the continued onslaught of new information being brought in from the various field missions going on at any given time.
I wish I were with them... and not walking aimlessly through these halls, Kakania thought to herself.
She had always been a restless one. But her rounds of therapy and general duties of trying to find a solution to her hasty hypnotism performed on her last "field mission" kept her tied to this place for the time being.
She stopped for a moment.
A wave of anguish seemed to wash over here, causing her shoulders to tighten up and her head to droop as though dragged down by the world's heaviest weight. She clenched and unclenched her hands, tapping each one of her fingers against her thumb as her therapist had instructed her.
Isolde.
The name rung in her head like a bell; soft and sweet, but insistent. Like the beating of a butterfly's wings. Just barely audible, but strong enough to cause a tidal wave should you let it. Kakania walked faster, shaking her head and trying to, subsequently, shake that name away. It left a bitterly sweet taste in her mouth. Like the taste of her lips.
No! Enough. Kakania shook her head that much more violently, ignoring how her glasses tipped awkwardly to the side and screwed her eyes shut as hard as she could.
Finally, she reached the door to her room.
While the Timekeeper was away, Kakania had been ordered to stay here and continue her treatment. Thus, unfortunately, she could not be within the warm confinements of the suitcase. Instead she had to be here, in this gray, cold, silent room the Foundation was generous enough to lend her.
She immediately noticed the chill in the room. She shivered under her coat jacket and glanced around the room, noting the root of the problem. She had unknowingly left the window open this morning. Her therapist had instructed her that to aid in her recovery, she should try doing small, relaxing things to set her mornings off correctly. Things like getting fresh air first thing when she wakes up or watching the sunrise. Kakania didn't really think it would help much, but she harbored too much respect for the profession of psychology to reject.
Kakania sighed, moving to close the window and motioning to close it. She locked the panes in place and went to go shut the curtains when she paused.
She had worn gloves daily for quite some time now. It aided in keeping away anything nasty from getting on her hands but was also the common practice of her time. It was especially useful in the winter, when her hands would become deathly cold. Though now, for some reason, they gave her pause.
Her thoughts wandered back to her, as they usually do when she isn't carefully guiding them. They think of her soft, curly hair. They think of the way her eyes lit up on that fateful day when the reversing rain gracefully touched her cheek and she handed her the most beautiful brooch she had ever seen. And finally, they thought of her hands.
The hands that would worm their way under her gloves while they stood away from prying eyes. She thought of the way it would make her breath hitch, even with it being such an innocent act. She reminisced on her fingers. They would trace her palm, tracing every scar and every mark from her eventful life. God, those marks would always make Isolde's eyes practically sink. Kakania's heart seized at the memory of her leaning closer as she broke down the cold walls of her heart. She had a way of doing that, of removing every perfectly crafted barrier Kakania created to keep herself safe.
Kakania stared at her glove some more, feeling the ghostly light touches of Isolde's fingertips along her sensitive palms and the way she would trace up to the looser ends of the gloves. She could feel the way Isolde would grip them with her teeth, muttering something about how they got in her way. She could feel the way her hand would hold onto hers, the way her fingers would intertwine and play with Kakania's.
Kakania's eyes brimmed with tears and her mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry. She felt behind her for her bed, not taking her eyes off of her right hand for even a second. The white of her gloves shown so bright, almost as bright as that damned performer's eyes. Kakania collapsed onto the soft blanket behind her, setting her left hand down to stabalize herself so she could sit upright. Kakania brought her gloved hand closer to her face, eyes softening unconsciously. She slowly brought herself closer to her own hand, opening her mouth ever so slightly. She brought her lips close to her glove... and softly kissed it.
She closed her eyes as her tears fell softly onto her wrist, flowing off and disappearing to the air below. She traced the creases of her palm, feeling the way Isolde would have kissed away her trouble. She brought her other hand up, cradling her wrist and stabilizing it as tremors took hold of her. She did not know why she shook. Was it for pain, or love? What was the difference anyhow?
Kakania brought the fingers of her left hand up, pushing them just barely into the glove the way Isolde would. A shuddering, pathetic sigh left her mouth as her tears increased.
Isolde. Isolde. Isolde. She repeated her name like a mantra, as though repeating it would make her appear before her. As if it would erase all that has happened. As if it would make her hers again.
Her grip tightened on her wrist as she buried herself further into her palm. She was truly crying now, her blubbering smothered by her hands.
"Isolde... Isolde". Her name slipped from her tongue as she slid it across her glove, leaving a dry feeling in her mouth. Her voice sounded so foreign to her. It was broken with grief and need. It was undone by the very girl it prayed to and craved.
In a final act of desperation, Kakania dragged her mouth over to the webbing between her thumb and index finger. Underneath her now damp glove she could see the indents of an old bite. Kakania opened her mouth, saliva dripping out onto her chin, and bit down. She cried out from the sting and cried out from the memory. She bit down that much harder simply to get rid of it all.
She held her glove in her mouth, convulsing from the wretched sobs that wracked her body. Memories flooded her foggy brain, taking her heart within their shadowy grips and draining it of every last drop of its love. Ghostly remnants of her touch tangled along the back of her neck, raising up gooseflesh and causing a shiver to snake its way down her spine. Her heart pounded in her ears as she grimaced and bared her teeth. After awhile, with one final shaky breath, she released her jaw, finally pulling back from her hand. Spittle followed her as she leaned backward, a final stinging reminder of her own filth.
Kakania stared at what she had done, screwing up her nose at the feeling of the damp cloth sticking to her skin. She sighed to herself, cursing her own foolishness and need. She went to go strip the glove from her hand and get rid of it, but against her better judgment, she stopped once more. Dots of red formed on her palm as a dull, throbbing ache overtook her. Kakania frowned and her eyes glazed over once more. This time however, she just briefly leaned down and, just like how Isolde would have, gently planted a kiss on the wound.
With that, she stripped herself of her own refuge and with a heavy sigh, bandaged the new bite mark she had given herself. When all of that was said and done, she removed the rest of her clothing and changed into her night clothes. Once she deemed herself ready for bed, she curled up as small as she could under the sheets.
The last thing she saw as she shut her exhausted eyes was the shining, golden brooch on her night stand. With considerable effort, Kakania reached for it and cuddled it close to her chest. With a final sniffle, she drifted to sleep, with only the gentle thought of what used to be her opera singer.