M (Fallen Shrine) Questions that never should have been asked.

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

The dimmed lights of the quarters had shifted-now a soft blue cast from the station’s external glow filtered through the view-slit above the bed. It painted silver lines across tangled sheets, bare skin, and the pale fur of tails still gently breathing beneath her fingertips. Olyv blinked awake slowly, lips slightly parted, lashes fluttering as she stirred. Her body ached in a way that was strangely comforting, her muscles heavy and warm from the weight of what had passed between them. Her cheek rested against the crook of Lysandra’s neck, the sound of the Kitsune’s slow, sleeping breaths grounding her.
And then....it hit her. The creeping chill. Not of the room, but from inside. Her breath caught in her throat. The fluttering calm in her chest turned brittle. Her eyes widened, golden irises flicking around the quarters as if they'd changed while she slept.

What did ye do.

She sat up slowly.....too slowly. Not to wake Lysandra, no. It was shame, crawling over her shoulders like a wet cloak. Her fingers curled into the sheets, gripping the fabric as memories flashed back like bolts of lightning. Every kiss. Every whisper. Every choice.

Ye let yer guard down. Fully. Gods above, Olyv, what were ye thinkin’?

She wasn’t just panicking...she was cracking, inch by inch. She felt Lysandra’s warmth still beside her and flinched from it like a guilty thing. It was too kind. Too close. Too real.

Drake.....

Her hands trembled violently as the name rang in her chest like a cracked bell. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, half-dressed and shaken, stumbling onto the cold floor like a ghost caught between lives.
“Fockin’ hell,” she hissed under her breath, her voice splintering. “Wh-what did Oi just do?” She sank to the floor, knees pulled tight against her chest, wrapped in a cocoon of disbelief and unraveling composure. Her
breaths came sharp and erratic, her golden eyes stinging.

Ye’re loyal to him. Always were.
Even when he wandered. Even when ye hated it. Ye never did the same.
’Cause ye’re not like that. Ye’re not...

Her throat clenched. She bit down on the rest of the thought, but it burned behind her teeth anyway.

Ye stayed loyal, even when he didn’t. Ye said that was yer line.

And gods, had she held it, through long nights, aching jealousy, all the little smiles he’d give to someone that wasn’t her. Through every moment she told herself it’s just how he is and

you knew this when you fell for him.
But this? This was her crossing that line.
And she hadn’t just crossed it.....she had leapt.

“Oim a traitor,” she whispered, the word ripping itself out of her chest. “Said Oi’d never. Said Oi’d never be loike-loike one o’ them......” Her voice cracked into a sob she tried to swallow. But it was too much. Her composure splintered entirely, and she curled into herself, rocking slightly as she wept.
“Fockin’ hell, Olyv... ye promised.”
She bled guilt with every breath, every tear, and somewhere buried in the sorrow was that gnawing question:

Did I want this more than I ever wanted him to stay?
It haunted her.
It horrified her.
And it didn’t let go.

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra stirred when the warmth beside her disappeared. Her brow twitched faintly, but she didn’t wake, just shifted, lips parted in a sigh, her tails curling instinctively toward the space where Olyv had been. The sheets rustled softly, the scent of skin and sweat and something sweeter still clinging to her like a second skin. The blue station-glow cast silver lines over her bare form, cutting soft shapes over muscle and fur, tracing the curve of her breast where a crescent-shaped bite mark bloomed like a secret brand.


She’d worn it willingly. A low hum rumbled in her chest as she dreamed of laughter, of tangled limbs and gasping breath, of Olyv’s mouth on her skin like worship, like want. Her fingers flexed against the empty sheet, searching in sleep. But the warmth was gone. Across the room, Lysandra didn’t hear the quiet unraveling happening by the floor. She didn’t yet know about the storm behind golden eyes, the shivering guilt unspooling beneath a blanket clutched like armor. She didn’t hear the broken whisper “Oim a traitor” or the sobs swallowed behind clenched teeth. She only knew absence.

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

She stayed huddled on the floor, the blanket pulled around her like it could protect her from what she’d done. The chill from the floor crept into her bones, but it was the guilt that made her teeth chatter. Behind her, Lysandra still breathed in that soft, peaceful rhythm. The kind of breath that came after safety. After closeness. After trust.

Olyv dared not look.......
Her fingers clutched tighter to her knees as her body trembled beneath the weight of the memory. The way Lysandra had looked at her. The way she touched her....not like a game, but like she mattered.
It should’ve been beautiful.
But all it felt like now… was betrayal.
A wet sob slipped past her lips before she could bite it down. She gasped sharply, slapping her hand over her mouth like she’d just spoken a curse too loud in a church. Her shoulders jumped with each silent, shuddering breath, and she doubled over, forehead pressed to her knees, rocking in place. “D-don’t wake up… please, fahckin’ don’t wake up,” she whispered to no one, her voice broken and barely there. Her fingers curled in tighter. Her breath caught again. “Oi love ‘im,” she whimpered against her own hand, trying to swallow the sound, “Oi always did. Even when ‘e broke me roight open—Oi never—”
Another sob ripped out....
“Oi never looked at anyone else tha’ way.” Tears slid hot and fast down her cheeks, blotting the blanket she’d wrapped around herself like armor. She shook her head, over and over, like if she did it hard enough she could undo everything. Go back. Crawl away from that soft, terrifying moment. “He was me constant… even when ‘e wasn’t. An’ now...now look at me. Loike a fahckin’ cheater on th’ floor of a stranger’s bed. What the hell’s wrong wit’ me…” Her voice broke off into a bleat she tried desperately to stifle.
Don’t wake her. Don’t let her see this.

Not like this. Not when the mask had already slipped. Not when she was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe right. The pressure swelled behind her chest like drowning. Her fingers dug into her scalp now, gripping her hair at the roots as if she could ground herself there...keep herself from flying apart completely. “…Oi don’t deserve nothin’ good,” she choked out through clenched teeth. “Oi don’t. Not Drake. Not her. Not this.” She shivered, a quiet gasp catching in her throat.
And then came the worst thought yet... quiet, insidious, unrelenting:

What if ye felt safer in her arms than his?

It crushed her.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there...curled on the floor, trying not to make a sound, breaking quietly while the woman in the bed behind her slept...peaceful, trusting, unaware that the girl she held the night before had shattered completely.

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra stirred, her breath catching somewhere between sleep and waking. The room hadn’t changed. It was still quiet. Still dark. Still warm from the night before. And yet something was wrong. She didn’t move. Not fully. Just cracked one eye open, then the other, keeping her body slack, her breathing even. Years of caution had taught her how to fake sleep, how to observe without being observed. At first, she didn’t see her. Then, just there, in the corner of her eye, Olyv. On the floor.

Curled in on herself, wrapped in one of the blankets like armor, like she was bracing for a blow. Her shoulders moved in tiny, shivering jerks. Her hands were clenched so tight in her own hair, Lysandra could feel the tension from across the room. And she was so, so quiet. But Lysandra didn’t need the noise to know pain when she saw it. She knew what it looked like to try and cry without being heard. Her own chest ached at the sight. She didn’t speak. Didn’t shift. Even her breath stayed shallow now, controlled, quiet. The bed felt far too large in that moment, the silence between them suddenly sharp, echoing. Something terrible had taken hold of Olyv, something inward and clawing and full of guilt, and Lysandra was powerless to reach her without breaking the fragile air between them. And gods, she wanted to reach her. But not like this. Not when Olyv was doing everything in her power to disappear.


So she stayed still. Listened. Watched.

The way Olyv rocked herself was small. Protective. A whisper of movement that spoke louder than any scream. Her head was down. Her body folded so tight it was like she wanted to vanish into the floorboards. Whatever war she was fighting—it wasn’t with Lysandra. It was with something deeper. Something that had sunk hooks in her long before last night. Lysandra swallowed against the lump in her throat. There was a heat behind her eyes she didn’t dare blink away. She didn’t know what had triggered this. Didn’t know the words spinning in Olyv’s mind, or what ghosts had risen to drag her down again. All she knew was that the girl she had held last night, the girl who had reached for her like it meant something was unraveling in silence less than five feet away.


And Lysandra was helpless to do anything but bear witness. So she did. Eyes open. Breath quiet. Still. Waiting. Hoping Olyv would come back to her from wherever she’d fallen. Or at the very least… let her catch her when she broke.

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv hadn’t noticed she was being watched...not at first.... Her world had shrunk to the circle of her arms, to the blanket clutched in white-knuckled fists, to the ache in her chest that felt like drowning. Every breath came through clenched teeth, every movement a quiet collapse inward. The floor was the only thing keeping her grounded, cold and unyielding against her bare skin. But still, somewhere beneath the ragged, spiraling storm, she felt it. The stillness behind her wasn’t sleep. It wasn’t distant. It was aware. She froze. A shiver ran through her spine as she sat motionless, her ears twitching with sharp instinct..deer-silent, prey-still. She dared a glance over her shoulder. Lysandra hadn’t moved. Not an inch. But her eyes were open. Watching. Not judging. Not smirking.Just… there. Olyv’s breath caught in her throat again, but this time not from panic. Not from guilt. It was shame...That she’d let herself be seen like this. That Lysandra had heard her fall apart. “F-feck…” she choked out, barely a whisper. Her voice cracked, hoarse and broken. “Oi—I thought ye were… asleep…”

Her fingers tightened in the blanket. Her knees pulled up tighter. It didn’t matter how small she tried to make herself...Lysandra had seen. And gods, she didn’t look away. Olyv’s voice came again, thick and uneven, her brogue sharp at the edges, like a blade turned inward. “…Ye shouldna be lookin’ at me loike dat. Like… like I’m worth stayin’ for.” She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but more tears came anyway. “Oi made a mess o’ everythin’. Betrayed ‘im. Betrayed meself. Took somethin’ soft and made it rotten.” She laughed bitterly...a single, dry sound. “Ain’t that what Oi’m good at?”
Her words trailed off into silence, her head falling forward again as if she were collapsing under her own weight. But her voice returned one last time..fragile, barely audible. “…Please… don’t touch me yet. If ye do…” She paused...“Oi think Oi’ll break.” And still she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Because somewhere in the wreckage of herself, a voice whispered soft and terrified:

If she touches me like that again… Oi won’t wanna let go.

 

[SouthernRage]

“…Then I won’t.” Her voice was low, steady—almost a murmur, like it wasn’t meant to be heard louder than the storm in Olyv’s chest. She didn’t move. Didn’t reach. Just let the words settle between them like a vow made in the quiet. “I’ll wait, Olyv.”

A beat passed. “And when you can breathe again… when your ready to look at me without flinching I’ll still be here. Same as now.”

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv’s breath hitched again..not from panic this time, but from the soft ache that bloomed in her chest at Lysandra’s words. She hadn’t expected patience. Not for breaking her own rule.She hadn’t expected mercy. For being a hypocrite.The silence that followed felt different now. Not sharp. Not suffocating. Just… still. Her fingers loosened, just a little, from the blanket. Her body, though still curled in on itself, stopped trembling as hard. The storm wasn’t over, but there was a moment of calm within it now. A fragile eye at the center of the chaos.

“I don’t… I don’t deserve dat,” she whispered, her voice raw, thick with the ghost of tears. “Waitin’. Kindness. Not after what Oi did…” She sniffled hard again, a wet sound that echoed louder than she meant it to. Her face was a mess..red and blotchy, freckles nearly lost under the streaks of tears and snot. She was never good at crying quietly. Never good at 'keepin’ it tidy.' Her cheeks were soaked, her lips trembling as another hiccupping breath passed through them. “…Oi said I’d always be loyal t’him. Even when he weren’t loyal to me. Oi said Oi’d never be the one t’do what ‘e does.” Her voice broke around the words, cracking down the middle. “And now look at me…” She laughed again, a quiet, brittle sound with no humor in it. “Oi said ‘don’t hold back’ like it meant nothin’. But it weren’t nothin’. It were everything. And Oi don’t know what t’do with that, Lys.” Her eyes flicked toward the bed...toward Lysandra..just for a heartbeat. She didn’t hold the gaze. Couldn’t. But the look was there. Fleeting. Begging. “Oi’m scared if Oi breathe too deep, I’ll want ye more than I ought to.” Another sharp sniff escaped her, and she wiped at her face with the edge of the blanket, leaving a damp smear across her cheek that did little to clean up the wreck she’d become. She wasn’t even trying to hide how much of a mess she was anymore. Couldn’t. A long, shaking breath passed through her lips. She wiped at her face again, slower this time. Less frantic. Still messy. “...But thank ye. Fer not touchin’. Fer not runnin’. Oi... dunno who else woulda stayed.” Her voice, in that moment, was the softest it had ever been, between them.

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra’s gaze didn’t waver. She watched Olyv come apart without flinching, without turning away, without so much as a twitch toward pity. What lived in her eyes wasn’t judgment or indulgence or even sadness. It was something quieter. Steadier. The kind of weight that could bear grief without asking it to be prettier. “You think this is the worst thing I’ve ever seen?” she said softly, her tone a near-whisper, hoarse from sleep but clear with intent. “It ain’t.” She shifted just slightly enough to brace an elbow under her, to sit a little taller, but not to close the space between them. Still honoring the distance. Still keeping the promise.

“I’ve seen what love does when it’s twisted. I’ve seen what loyalty costs when it goes unpaid. And I’ve sure as hell seen what people become when they’re told bein’ soft is weakness.” Her eyes held firm. “So don’t talk to me about what you ‘deserve.’ You’re not some goddamn ledger to balance.” She paused, then added, voice lower. “And I’m not askin’ you to stop lovin’ him.” Lysandra’s fingers curled around the edge of the blanket she hadn’t offered. She gripped it like a lifeline she meant to hold—not throw.

“I’m just here. And I stayed ‘cause I wanted to. Not ‘cause you earned it. Not ‘cause you begged. Just… ‘cause.” Then, gentler. Barely above a breath. “I don’t need you to want me, Olyv. I just need you to know you ain’t alone in this room.”

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv sat in silence, her breathing still uneven, hiccupping every few seconds as her messy tears continued their quiet retreat down her cheeks. Her golden eyes glimmered wetly in the low light, wide and raw with shame, but something in Lysandra’s voice—that voice—cut through the fog. It didn’t scold her. It didn’t rescue her. It simply stood with her, unshaken, like a steadying hand in the dark. She didn’t look up yet, but her fingers tightened in the blanket at her chest.
There was a long, broken pause before she could speak—choked full of everything she didn’t know how to say. But when the words did come, they were small. Cracked. Her brogue thick and hoarse from crying, barely hangin’ together. “…Dat’s worse, y’know,” she whispered. “Ye sittin’ there like Oi matter. Loike Oi ain’t a complete and utter shite fer what Oi did.” She sniffled, dragging her sleeve across her face. Her nose was red, her cheeks blotched and wet, voice still quaking with every word. “Yer meant t’be angry. T’tell me t’get out. T’treat me like Oi made meself less fer breakin’ somethin’ sacred. But ye just... sit there.” A weak, bitter laugh slipped out. “And that’s so much worse, Lys. ‘Cause yer makin’ it safe t’feel like this, and Oi dunno how t’handle that.”Her eyes lifted..just barely. Just enough to glance across the room at the Kitsune still watching her without flinching. That same steady presence, even now. And it hurt. It hurt because it was gentle, and she wasn’t used to soft feelin’ good.“…Drake wouldn’t run either,” she murmured then, softer. Truer. “He’d sit, too. He’d care. He’d hate seein’ me like this. But…” She exhaled, sharp and quiet, the ache behind her eyes flaring again. “But he wouldn’t understand why this broke me. ‘Cause t’him, what he does—who he sees...it’s just... him. It’s always been him. Open heart. Open hands. And Oi knew that when Oi fell fer him.” Her voice shook harder now, a hand pressed to her chest as though holding something in. “But Oi’ve never been good at sharin’. Not him. Not with anyone. Oi get jealous. Oi get petty. Oi try t’smile through it like it don’t eat me alive.” She looked down again, fresh tears spilling from already swollen eyes.
“And now Oi went an’ did the very thing Oi said Oi’d never. Not ‘cause Oi stopped lovin’ him. Not ‘cause Oi wanted t’hurt ‘im. But ‘cause... ‘cause Oi wanted someone t’stay.” Her voice broke on that last word, and she curled tighter around herself, eyes fluttering shut as if trying to vanish. “…An’ it hurts less, knowin’ yer still here. Even if Oi don’t deserve it.”

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra let the silence stretch, her eyes never leaving Olyv. Her tail gave a slow flick behind her, but she didn’t shift, didn’t sigh, didn’t soften. She just sat there—still as stone, quiet as dusk settling over a field already scorched. “…You think I ain’t angry?” she said finally, voice low, rough around the edges. “I am. Gods, Olyv—I am. But not at you.”

Her head tilted, just barely. Not judgment—just honesty. “I’m angry that you thought you had to burn yourself just to feel warm. That you thought breakin’ yourself open was the only way someone might stay. That you didn’t believe, even for a second, that someone could want you without askin’ for pieces.” Her jaw clenched, but she kept her tone even. Grounded. “I’m sittin’ here ‘cause I know what it is to need someone and not know how to ask. To love so hard it makes you small. To hate yourself for wantin’ anything softer than what you were told you could have.” A pause. Then, quieter: “I ain’t here to make you feel better about it. I ain’t here to clean you up or carry you out. I’m here ‘cause you’re breakin’, and I don’t run from people who break honest.” Her voice dropped, steady and sure.

“You don’t owe me neat. You don’t owe me fixed. You don’t even owe me trust—not right now. All I want is for you to know this—you are not too much. Not for this. Not for me.” Another beat. “So cry if you need to. Scream. Sit there and say nothin’. But know this, Olyv—I’m still here. Not ‘cause you deserve it. Not ‘cause you don’t. Just ‘cause I chose to be.”

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv didn’t move at first—not even to breathe properly. The tears had slowed, but the ache behind her ribs had deepened, low and guttural. Lysandra’s voice filled the space between them like warmth slipping into the cracks. There was no flinch. No pity. Just presence...unflinching, grounded, real. And gods, it hurt.Because every word landed like a balm over wounds she hadn’t even realized were still open. To love so hard it makes you small… She let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, thick and wet, her hand covering her mouth as if she could press the truth back in. Her chest trembled with every breath she dragged in. She wanted to fight it. Push it away. Make a joke. Tease her. Bleat and bounce out of the room like she always did when things got too close. But she couldn’t. Not this time. Not with her When Lysandra said “You are not too much”, something cracked—not like glass, but like a dam giving way under pressure that had waited years to collapse. Olyv sucked in a breath that caught in her throat, and before she could second-guess it, before she could stop herself... She sat up. Crawled forward on shaking limbs. And folded into Lysandra’s lap like she’d fall apart if she didn’t. Arms wrapped around her middle. Face buried in her stomach. Shaking, sniffling, blotchy and raw and unhidden. The kind of touch that wasn’t desperate for comfort...it was the comfort. The surrender. The thank you. She didn’t say a word right away. Just stayed there. Quiet, clinging.Then, muffled and thick with tears:“…Oi believe ye.”Another breath, broken but honest. “Oi believe ye. An’ Oi don’t know why that makes me cry worse.”

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra didn’t move at first. Didn’t reach down. Didn’t shift away or lean into the weight that folded into her lap. She just sat there, steady as a mountain, hands resting on her thighs as if waiting to be asked. Because Olyv’s touch wasn’t needy. It wasn’t a plea. It was a choice. And Lysandra wasn’t about to shatter the weight of that by rushing in too fast. Only when she felt the hitch in Olyv’s voice—the quiet crack of “Oi believe ye”—did she move. One hand rose, slow and sure, threading into the wild mess of curls at the back of Olyv’s head. Not to stroke. Not to soothe. Just to hold. The other came down to settle over the girl’s trembling shoulders, grounding. No words, at first. Just presence. Then, quiet. Measured. Honest.

“…It’s ‘cause it’s real.” Lysandra’s thumb moved once. Not to comfort, but to remind her she was here. “Truth don’t come clean. It comes bloody. Ugly. Loud in your bones. Makes you cry harder ‘cause it finally lands somewhere it can stay.” Another pause. “And maybe it hurts more ‘cause some part of you hoped I’d prove you right. That I’d flinch. Push you off. Tell you you were too much, too messy, too late.” Her fingers tightened just slightly. “But I didn’t. I won’t.”

A long, slow breath. Almost a sigh, but not tired—anchoring. “You believe me now? Good.” Her voice dipped, not softer, but deeper. Final. “Then remember it. ‘Cause I ain’t gonna say it just once.” She leaned forward just enough that her cheek brushed the top of Olyv’s curls. “I’m here. Still. Again. As long as you let me be.” And then—quiet again. Stillness, without expectation. Letting Olyv cling. Letting her break. Letting her be.

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv stayed curled in Lysandra’s lap for a long moment, the heat of her skin, the weight of her presence, the solid quiet of her voice grounding her like nothing else had. The tears didn’t come as hard now...still there, but softer, like the tail end of a storm where the wind had finally tired itself out. Her breath came easier. Not deep, not steady, but possible. Lysandra’s hand in her hair...just holding, not petting...was enough to undo her all over again, but not with panic this time. With… relief. The kind that crept in slow. Earned. Carved out of wreckage and fear and the ache of being held anyway. She felt Lysandra’s cheek brush against her curls and let out a breath that shivered all the way to her toes. It was quiet for a while after that. Then, through cracked lips, voice low and rough with wear: “…Oi need t’find ‘im.” She blinked against the fabric of Lysandra’s shirt, her fingers still fisted in it but looser now. “Oi need t’see Drake. Talk t’him. Gods, Oi—Oi dunno what Oi’ll even say, but…” Her voice trailed off. She shifted, slowly rising from the Kitsune’s lap like someone trying to stand after being underwater too long. Her eyes were red, her nose blotchy, her cheeks damp...but the storm behind her gaze had passed. “Oi love ‘im, Lys,” she said plainly, shakily, but without apology. “Even if it kills me sometimes, even when Oi get it all tangled in me head.” She sniffed once, wiping under her nose with her sleeve and letting out a half-hearted, tear-slicked chuckle. “Oi don’t want t’run from what this was. What we are. But if Oi don’t talk t’him, it’ll eat me whole.” She looked down at Lysandra then...really looked. No flinch. No shame. Just tired honesty. “Will ye be here… when Oi come back?” A pause. “Even if what Oi bring back ain’t neat?”

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra looked up at her, eyes steady, voice low. “I’ll be here.”No judgment. No conditions. Just truth.

“Not for the neat parts. Not for what’s easy. For you.” She reached out, just brushing Olyv’s hand with her fingers—a tether, not a chain.
“Go find him. Say what needs saying.” A pause. “And when you’re done... I'll be right here.”

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv stared at her for a long moment—really stared. And in that stillness, something subtle shifted behind her eyes. Not the panicked flicker from before, not the skittish look of a girl waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was something steadier. Warmer. Something almost like… hope. The brush of Lysandra’s fingers against hers was feather-light, but it grounded her all the same. A tether. An anchor.
Not a trap. Not a demand. Her fingers twitched in reply...hesitated...and then curled around Lysandra’s just for a second. Squeezing once. Letting go. A silent promise returned. Her voice, when it came, was still ragged, still damp from the storm, but steadier than it had been all morning. “…Yeh always talk like ye mean it. S’bloody annoyin’,” she said with a crooked, watery grin. “Makes it hard t’run when ye don’t leave me nothin’ t’fight against.” She sniffed, cleared her throat, and squared her shoulders—not perfectly, not heroically, but honestly. Her fire wasn’t roaring yet, but the embers had started to glow again. “Oi’ll find him,” she said, nodding. “Even if Oi fumble every word.”And then, softer...barely above a breath as she stepped toward the door: “…Thanks, foxie. For not makin’ me choose.” With that, she slipped out...hair wild, eyes red, heart raw.but standing. Ready. Because for the first time in a long time, someone had made space for her whole self. And someone was waiting when she came back.