Nocte Yin: Anti-Villain, Anti-Hero and Anti-Everything Else

Chapter Twenty-One

Nocte placed a new mug into his hands, this one full of tea, a calming chamomile with a soothing steam brushing up his cheeks, catching on his eyelashes, mirroring his eyes. With the Tenth Month nearing to an end, the night was beginning to turn breezy and chilling. Still, Doctor remained in his numb position, hunched over in his chair, only vaguely curling his soft and supple fingers along the smooth curve of the ceramic mug. He didn’t seem to register the heat from the mug, almost boiling, steadily seeping through his sensitive palms.

The cup was replaceable, while the fan was metaphorical. But regardless of the object, the results were the same.

Messy.

Disordered.

Upended assumptions.

Nocte, with her mug of hot water and a pinch of lemon, settled back into her chair. She ignored the eyes from the guesthouse, sipping on her water and easing back. She had to admit, Doctor had rattled her for a moment, where after his cup had shattered, he’d looked rather lost and confused and vapid. It hadn’t been until he had just stood there, almost not breathing for a good minute or two, had Nocte realized that he was in shock. He’d been so shocked, in fact, that his body had been pliant enough for her to set him back onto the chair and instruct him to breathe. A moment later and Nocte had stepped back into the guesthouse to top up or, in Doctor’s case, replace their warm beverages.

She had purposely not met the others in the eye and ignored Pàn accusatory questions while she pattered around the kitchen to get a new tea for Doctor and hot water for herself. Then, just as smoothly as she had come in, Nocte had just as smoothly floated back out onto the patio, shutting the glass door in Pàn’s face with her foot. Seth had been quiet, having read the tension in the situation just fine, fine enough to silence Pricilla before she could even demand answers from Nocte.

Nocte slipped her shoes off and drew her feet under her, sitting crossed legged to fend the cold from her ankles.

Doctor was still silent and still.

Vaguely, Nocte wondered if it’d been wise of her to tell him so straight forward. (Vaguely, Nocte wondered if the Lucent had ever prepared Doctor for surprises.)

“The night of Siren’s concert,” Nocte whispered, a low hum in the bitter wind, “Ewan told me to watch her eyes.”  She warmed her fingers with her hot water, the scent of lemon sinking into her chest. “The Singer’s eyes glow.”

Slowly, Doctor blinked. Slowly, he emerged from his cloudy paralysis to set his eyes upon her. “Siren’s eyes glow too.”

“She’s a siren,” Nocte countered bluntly, giving him a pointed look.

He faltered, looking wanting to protest, and then his shoulders sunk, conceding to her point. Siren was a siren. Sirens knew magic, and magic was all about the glowing eyes. He’d been foolish there for a moment.

“I was watching the audience,” Nocte narrated, and then admitted with a bashful shrug, “and was actually kinda excited by it all. It was my first real concert.”

A small smile slipped onto Doctor’s face.

“The lights went out,” she continued, “and then I saw.”

Doctor jaw grew taunt.

“I saw Chantée’s eyes glow,” she concluded.

Silence.

Nocte took another sip of her hot water and Doctor blearily took one from his tea.

“I see,” he said finally.

“You believe me?” she asked, a little surprised.

His brows furrowed. “Would you lie to me?”