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Agnea's fingers were gentle as she brushed Throné's hair. The inside of Tropu'hopu's inn was as hot as the outside, even after the sun had fallen, but Agnea's touch was pleasantly cool. She hummed softly to herself, as she often did, and Throné had grown accustomed to that humming. Welcomed it, even.
Once, Throné never would've imagined she'd allow another to touch her hair like this. Perhaps Father had when she'd been a little girl, but she couldn't remember. But the humidity being what it was on these islands of Toto'haha, Agnea had offered to brush Throné's hair once their traveling group had retired to the inn, and much to her own surprise, Throné accepted without hesitation.
"Your hair is so soft, Throné!" Agnea exclaimed, and the bustles of her brush against Throné's scalp were actually rather soothing. "I think I'm a little jealous."
"Why, thank you," Throné replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I put in quite a bit of effort to care for my appearance, so it's nice to know those efforts are appreciated."
Agnea giggled. "As expected of a proper city lady!"
Throné bit her lip. She couldn't fathom why Agnea thought so highly of her, but neither could she deny the warmth of Agnea's smiles. Playfully Agnea threaded her soft fingers through Throné's hair, sending a shiver down Throné's spine. Lately, whenever she was with Agnea like this, just the two of them sharing quiet moments, the storms in her heart settled a little.
Every day with the Blacksnakes was like a storm. She put on a calm, cold front, but being on edge constantly was exhausting, and if she let down her guard, she would be swept away. She knew that, but for a long time she couldn't imagine any other life. Now she desired freedom, and the only way to fulfill that desire was to stain her hands with more blood.
Yet with Agnea, she found could forget about those storms, even if only briefly. Watching Agnea dance on the floating stage with that traveling troupe, she'd felt at peace. No storm, no blood - only a longing for that warm hope.
Donnie and Scaracci were dead, and she'd murdered Pirro with her own hands. None of that could be forgotten. Thus perhaps it should've frightened her how much she longed for one as innocent and kind as Agnea. But Agnea still smiled for her, even knowing how stained in blood her hands were. She'd already killed Mother and obtained the first key, and soon she would reach Winterbloom and confront Father.
She touched the dark collar at her throat. The day in which she no longer had to fear bloody storms didn't seem so distant now.
"There, all done!" Agnea said, setting down the brush, and then, after a moment's pause, wrapped her arms around Throné's shoulders. "You really are beautiful, Throné."
Throné truly did appreciate how freely affectionate Agnea was. Carefully she turned to face Agnea, and she saw how Agnea's unbound hair fell over her shoulders. "And so are you," she whispered, taking a strand of Agnea's hair between her fingers and pressing it to her lips. "Thank you, Agnea."
Agnea smiled, and Throné would brave any storm to protect that hope.