Fandom: PMMD Pairing: Madoka (Madeline) x Homura (Honoré) WC: 605
“Ma... do...?”
“I'm Abbess Madeline,” the nun says by way of polite introduction. Though her unseen hair is tucked fully beneath her veil, her concerned eyes are a distinctive hue of soft, dusky rose, muted by the dimmed light of the lantern she carries. The color is achingly familiar. “And you are?”
“...Honoré.”
A heavy silence settles over the pair of them like a dense fog. She doesn't mean to sound so curt, but that name has never felt quite right on her tongue. Madeline... That doesn't sound entirely correct either, but whatever word she was about to utter in its place has seemingly vanished into thin air.
“I have no relatives to take me in, no prospect of marriage, and nowhere else to go,” Honoré clarifies, bowing her head to humble herself. “This is surely the will of the divine. I was drawn here by a dream in which I saw your face.”
The stone walls rise forbiddingly high, blocking Honoré's view of the interior of the convent. A white owl perched high atop the ramparts lets out an eerie shriek, eyes glittering as red as blood.
Madeline looks vaguely troubled, her brow pinching as her gaze lingers oddly on Honoré's dark braids, but she shakes off the spell first.
“This is no dream you find yourself in. Our way of life is not a luxurious one, and we house many sisters already. Between worship, we grow our own crops, sew our own clothes, care for the infirm... Can you work for your keep?”
Honoré swallows hard as Madeline clasps her hands. Madeline's palms are weathered and callused from years of laboring for the sake of others. By contrast, Honoré's are soft and unbroken. She must brace herself for the inevitable rejection.
“My heart is weak and my constitution poor, Abbess. I shall collapse if I'm sent to the fields or the laundries,” Honoré confesses bitterly. “I cannot.”
Cold dread trickles down her spine. They both shiver when the white owl overhead wings off into the shadows.
“Do you know your letters?” Madeline, somewhat unexpectedly, does not let go of her hands. “Can you read or write?”
“...Some,” Honoré admits. Hope flutters painfully in her chest, sharp as any blade. “The church that raised us bade us copy the scriptures. I have those memorized.”
“Our scriptorium could always use a younger pair of hands,” Madeline says, countenance softening into a gentle smile. “Copying manuscripts will strain the eyesight and the wrists to their limits, but it is easy on the heart.”
“I'll do anything,” Honoré beseeches. “Please.”
“You need only follow me inside, Sister,” Madeline says soothingly, lacing their fingers together. Neither of them is willing to give up the single point of contact, of warmth, between them. Madeline's searching gaze sweeps over her again, seeking something she does not locate. “It is strange, but... I feel as though I've seen you before as well. Your arrival must indeed be providence. Pray tell: what was the nature of the vision you were given of me?”
Honoré swallows hard, stumbling as Madeline leads her past the walls and into the safe haven of the convent.
I saw us laying on a green hilltop together, holding hands, just like this. I saw us as lovers in another lifetime, one where we were blessed to grow up together. And I watched you leave me every night, until your absence haunted me throughout my waking hours, until I could bear my yearning for you in solitude no longer, and I was compelled to find you at any cost.
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FILL: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-07-09 07:44 am (UTC)Pairing: Madoka (Madeline) x Homura (Honoré)
WC: 605
“Ma... do...?”
“I'm Abbess Madeline,” the nun says by way of polite introduction. Though her unseen hair is tucked fully beneath her veil, her concerned eyes are a distinctive hue of soft, dusky rose, muted by the dimmed light of the lantern she carries. The color is achingly familiar. “And you are?”
“...Honoré.”
A heavy silence settles over the pair of them like a dense fog. She doesn't mean to sound so curt, but that name has never felt quite right on her tongue. Madeline... That doesn't sound entirely correct either, but whatever word she was about to utter in its place has seemingly vanished into thin air.
“I have no relatives to take me in, no prospect of marriage, and nowhere else to go,” Honoré clarifies, bowing her head to humble herself. “This is surely the will of the divine. I was drawn here by a dream in which I saw your face.”
The stone walls rise forbiddingly high, blocking Honoré's view of the interior of the convent. A white owl perched high atop the ramparts lets out an eerie shriek, eyes glittering as red as blood.
Madeline looks vaguely troubled, her brow pinching as her gaze lingers oddly on Honoré's dark braids, but she shakes off the spell first.
“This is no dream you find yourself in. Our way of life is not a luxurious one, and we house many sisters already. Between worship, we grow our own crops, sew our own clothes, care for the infirm... Can you work for your keep?”
Honoré swallows hard as Madeline clasps her hands. Madeline's palms are weathered and callused from years of laboring for the sake of others. By contrast, Honoré's are soft and unbroken. She must brace herself for the inevitable rejection.
“My heart is weak and my constitution poor, Abbess. I shall collapse if I'm sent to the fields or the laundries,” Honoré confesses bitterly. “I cannot.”
Cold dread trickles down her spine. They both shiver when the white owl overhead wings off into the shadows.
“Do you know your letters?” Madeline, somewhat unexpectedly, does not let go of her hands. “Can you read or write?”
“...Some,” Honoré admits. Hope flutters painfully in her chest, sharp as any blade. “The church that raised us bade us copy the scriptures. I have those memorized.”
“Our scriptorium could always use a younger pair of hands,” Madeline says, countenance softening into a gentle smile. “Copying manuscripts will strain the eyesight and the wrists to their limits, but it is easy on the heart.”
“I'll do anything,” Honoré beseeches. “Please.”
“You need only follow me inside, Sister,” Madeline says soothingly, lacing their fingers together. Neither of them is willing to give up the single point of contact, of warmth, between them. Madeline's searching gaze sweeps over her again, seeking something she does not locate. “It is strange, but... I feel as though I've seen you before as well. Your arrival must indeed be providence. Pray tell: what was the nature of the vision you were given of me?”
Honoré swallows hard, stumbling as Madeline leads her past the walls and into the safe haven of the convent.
I saw us laying on a green hilltop together, holding hands, just like this. I saw us as lovers in another lifetime, one where we were blessed to grow up together. And I watched you leave me every night, until your absence haunted me throughout my waking hours, until I could bear my yearning for you in solitude no longer, and I was compelled to find you at any cost.
“I saw you die in my arms,” Honoré simply says.