White Flower's fork stilled, the metal clinking softly against the fine china. She wasn't looking at her own plate anymore; she was watching the way the muscles in my throat worked…a strained, rhythmic labor… every time I forced down another spoonful of the metallic sludge.
She leaned in, her voice dropping into a register that only I could hear, sharp and laced with the same clarity she used on the battlefield.
"You've always been a terrible liar, Roxy."
I blinked, keeping my expression serene, though a cold shiver traced my spine.
"I don't know what you mean, White. The stew is... rich."
She didn't laugh. She didn't even smile. Instead, she reached out, her finger…calloused and cool, brushing against the back of my hand where it rested on the tablecloth. Her eyes, those piercing, silver-flecked irises that had stared down death in Caria, searched my face until she found the truth hidden behind the mask.
"You hate it, you've despised liver since we first met. I remember the look on your face when the mess hall served it during our training, you'd rather eat gravel than suffer through this." she stated flatly, her gaze drifting to the bowl Alice held.
Alice, catching the shift in tone, froze the spoon halfway to my mouth. She looked from me to White Flower, her own face pale.
"I... I apologize, Lady White. If I had known…"
"It's not your fault, Alice. Why are you doing this? Why are you sitting here, in a servant's dress, letting them feed you food that makes you want to retch, acting as if everything is perfectly fine?"
White interrupted, her eyes never leaving mine. She turned back to me, her expression softening into something devastatingly tender.
The dining room suddenly felt suffocating. The warmth of the hearth was no longer comforting; it felt like a spotlight. I felt the familiar, frantic urge to deflect, to make a joke, to bury the moment under layers of military discipline. But looking at White Flower, seeing the honest, painful concern in her expression… I felt my resolve fray.
"I just wanted to be here, I wanted to sit at a table that wasn't covered in maps or gore. I wanted to be fed, just for a moment, without having to plan the next assault. Even if the stew is vile... the company makes it the best meal I've had in a year." I whispered, the forced cheer finally slipping from my voice.
White Flower's lips parted, her breath hitching. The guilt she felt over my missing arm seemed to intensify, her features twisting in a flicker of raw agony. She didn't press me further. Instead, she reached over, gently took the spoon from Alice's hand, and set it down on the table with a soft clack.
"Then let's stop pretending, we don't need to be heroes tonight. If you want to be here, stay. But leave the stew. I'd rather starve with you than watch you suffer through another bite of that."
White murmured, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out and took my remaining hand, holding it tight.
She glanced at Snow, who had gone quiet, watching us with a pained, knowing expression. White turned back to me, her eyes wet but fierce.
"Tell me, Roxy. Is there anything you actually enjoy, or have you forgotten how to want things for yourself?"
The dining hall felt empty like all the air was sucked out of it. All I could smell was the Liver Stew. It was a really bad smell. I held my spoon tightly my knuckles turned white. I did not look down. I could not. White was staring at me. It felt like she could see right through me.
Behind her, Snow was standing there being very quiet. She was not just watching me she was really sad. She was looking at the person I used to be. It was like she was saying goodbye. I was just sitting there eating my meal trying to act normal.
White asked me a question. It felt like it cut right through me.
"I..."
My voice sounded weird to me. I tried to remember something, anything,. Everything felt funny. It was like my memories were hidden behind a cloud.
I looked at White really looked at her. Her eyes were red. She looked really sad. She did not want me to lie to her. She wanted me to be myself again even if it meant being a little vulnerable.
"I do not know, I think I have been so busy trying to survive that I forgot what I want. I forgot what it feels like to want something." I said, quietly. It hurt to say that. I looked at my bowl of stew back at White.
My lip started to shake. I did not like that. I was trying to be strong.
"Is that what you see? Do you see a person who is just going through the motions?" I asked White, my voice very quiet.
White did not pull away from me. She touched my hand. It felt weird. It felt like she was grounding me. It also felt sad.
"I see someone who is trying hard to be strong that she is forgetting to live. It is really hard for me to watch you do that." White said to me
The spoon clattered against the plate… a sharp, final sound. The facade of the perfect, dutiful adventurer, the girl who could swallow anything without complaint, shattered. I wasn't just tired of the stew; I was tired of the performance. I was tired of being the only one who didn't know how to ask for a way out.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating, until I finally let out a ragged, shuddering breath. The facade… that carefully polished mask of the dutiful, compliant adventurer… began to crumble, leaving me feeling exposed and shivering despite the warmth of the room.
I looked at White, whose eyes were still fixed on mine, searching for a trace of the person she knew was buried under all that performative strength. As I held her gaze, the dam finally broke. A hot, stinging sensation pooled in my eyes before the first tear spilled over, tracing a silent, burning path down my cheek. Then another followed, and another, until my vision blurred into a kaleidoscope of candlelight and White's concerned face.
The dam finally broke. The polite, fragile mask I'd worn to the dinner table shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving me exposed in a way I hadn't been since the ravines. A hot, stinging pressure built behind my eyes, and before I could blink it away, the first sob tore its way out of my chest… a raw, ugly sound that seemed to echo through the silence of the hall.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, White. I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to keep pretending." I choked out, my voice cracking under the weight of months of forced indifference.
I didn't care about the consequences anymore. I didn't care that I was trembling, or that I only had one arm to hold onto the world with. I surged forward, abandoning all decorum, and threw myself at her. I wrapped my remaining arm around her, pulling her into me with a desperate, crushing force.
I didn't care that her clothes were stained with blood from her own recent battles, or that the scent of iron mixed with the oppressive smell of the stew. I pulled her so tightly against me that her heartbeat thrummed directly against my ribs, a chaotic, frantic rhythm that matched my own.
I buried my face into the crook of her neck, my tears soaking through her collar, hot and stinging. As I clung to her, the phantom cold that had settled into my marrow since the war began finally started to retreat. A sudden, radiant warmth flooded my chest… not just the heat of her body, but the overwhelming, terrifying, beautiful sensation of being held by someone who truly saw the ruin I had become.
White didn't pull away. She didn't flinch at the blood or the mess or the violence of my embrace. She leaned into it, her own arms coming around me, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
"I've got you, Roxy… I've got you. You don't have to be anything but yours right now." she whispered, her voice thick with her own suppressed tears.
I wept harder then, my body shaking with the force of the release. I felt her warmth seeping into me, an anchor in the storm, and for the first time in a lifetime, I didn't feel like I was going to break… I felt like, for the first time, I was finally beginning to breathe.