❝ I can't save us ❞
in which the Foxling and the Codfather exchange
trades, looks, and blue orchids in a world of war,
death, and political alliances.
❝ my Atlantis ❞
( male!oc x solidarity )
( empires smp...
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FORGOTTEN ORCHIDS | CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WAKING UP THE NEXT DAY, Atticus quickly realized that he had worked himself into a panic attack the night before. It wasn't a difficult conclusion to come to when he woke up at his desk feeling like he'd had the wind knocked out of him and his eyes sore from crying—not that anyone would be allowed to know that's what had happened.
There was a blanket wrapped around his shoulders that he knew he hadn't put around himself; likely, Jane had stopped by and left once she realized he was asleep, but couldn't let him sleep at his desk without at least making sure he was warm. If it wasn't Jane, then Atticus needed to have a serious conversation with his staff about boundaries.
Atticus pulled himself to his feet, wincing from the soreness of his body when he stretched. He hadn't meant to fall asleep at his desk, really—he didn't even remember arriving at his room after leaving the library. The days were beginning to blur together the longer he went without leaving the castle.
Before he could settle into bed, hoping for a few hours of comfortable sleep before he was truly needed by his kingdom, he noticed a letter sitting on his bed, bearing the Cod Empire's sigil as a wax seal. With a shaking hand, Atticus picked up the letter, staring at it for a moment before marching back over to his desk and shoving it into a random drawer.
He crawled back into bed and was asleep in seconds, too tired to deal with the letter's implications at the moment.
His nap lasted far longer than he wanted it to; the next time he woke up, it was well past noon, and his bed was so comfortable that Atticus almost fell asleep again. He was tempted to—sleep tugged at his eyes and a strange tiredness weighed on his body. The thought of going back to sleep was so tempting that he almost gave in, but just before he could convince himself it was a good idea, Atticus forced himself to sit up.
He yawned, rubbing at his eyes as he stood up to walk to his desk. He still had some work to finish up and if he went to sleep now, he wouldn't be able to get any rest that night—and he still needed to read the letter.
The envelope was thin, telling Atticus that the Codfather had used one piece of paper, maybe two if the paper was thin enough. It was sealed with the official sigil of the Cod Empire, so it must have been brought to Vulpesterra with haste. But other than those two visual facts, Atticus couldn't decipher what the letter could be about. The officalness of it could relate to their alliance—or the ending of it. But it could also be something good, too, and Jimmy only made it official to get it to Atticus sooner.
After a moment of internal debate, Atticus put the letter back into the drawer, more gentle with it than he had been last time. He wouldn't—couldn't—read it until he could confidently tell himself that the loss of Jimmy's friendship would not cause Atticus to spiral.
