Please note: This short story does have VERY MINOR spoilers for Aloe, but you can also read it without having read Lemon Balm or Aloe. Thank you for your interest in the story!

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Acanthus

I didn’t wake up, so much as saunter vaguely upwards into consciousness. My eyes were shut against the trespass of the day, but the smooth, dulcet notes of jazz were wafting through the air. Jazz? Cypress wouldn’t be listening to jazz…

The notes lingered in my ears, ringing with a resonance that was rich and full. The scents that surrounded me were unfamiliar as well; I’d fallen asleep in the western wing of the monastery, with all its clean linen and gentle pine scents. Now, all I could smell was the heady scent of cloves mixing with traces of blood, lavender, frankincense, and the minty burn of aftershave. It was a strange coalescence; an olfactory affront that I never wanted to experience again. Of course, the scents of lavender and frankincense are inherently nauseating to me.

I blinked my eyes open, then leaned up on my elbow, mouth dropping open in shock as I took in my surroundings.

Crimson.

The bed sheets were a rich creamy beige, and I was buried in the puffy crimson duvet and plush mattress three inches deep. The surrounding walls were also a deep, decadent crimson. Vibrating, velvety; the perfect shade that bounced around the room and painted everything a sensual allure. The paint was matte with a glossy damask pattern stenciled onto the walls, creating a ghost of rich beauty in the gleam of the firelight. The gigantic bed took up a fair portion of the room.

I glanced up at the ceiling. Shaped tin tiles gleamed in the warm orange light, the recesses bruised blue with deep shadow. Despite the candles littering every surface, the room was dark. Only a few were lit. Where am I?

I sat up, and my hair fell around me in a silken curtain. Normally, I would pay it no mind; the color and the straightness of the strands gave me pause. It was too dark, and pin straight. My body moved of its own accord to the edge of the bed, and my legs swung over the side, clad in a skin-tight leather that hugged my toned calves. I reached up, running my fingers through the pin-straight strands. As I was distracted by the strangeness of my hair, a deep voice purred, “Corbin. You’re awake.”

Corbin?

There was a dangerous edge beneath the words, and the coy purr was saccharine; a promise of a vicious followup. My heart froze, and my gaze shot towards the left. I knew that voice, and what I found at the other side of the room did not bring me comfort. A tall, broad man with curly blonde hair sat at the desk— the only other furniture in the room— and he was gathering his hair into a ponytail, watching me with a disapproving frown on his face. Almost as quickly as my gaze fell upon him, the frown turned into a snide little smile. “So kind of you to grace me with your presence. Do I not pay for your company, cher?”

No, brain. No. Do not subject me to this.

Eyes that were not my own traced the pattern on the navy blue vest. Lavender stalks, wrapped in acanthus leaves and dotted in clovers, all drawn in white ink. The red cast to the room made the navy deep and dark; a void on the edge of the room, splashed in orange and pink. I shuddered and closed my eyes, banishing the room from my mind.

Mercifully, my nightmares took pity on me and the strange scene faded into the void. An overwhelming sadness held my heart in a vice grip, and the thick, viscous tears slid down my cheeks before I could find the strength to open my eyes. Gone were the ghosts of the frankincense and lavender; not that it mattered. My nose was stuffed from the onslaught of emotion. “Fuck,” muttered a soft voice. A touch, feather light, flicked against my shoulder. “Acanthus… hey…”

It was Cypress. Their voice dislodged me from my stasis and I fluttered my eyes open, swallowing past the lump in my throat. They brought a hand up, gently wicking away the tears on my left cheek. “Please don’t cry…”

His eyes were welling up— he was a sympathy crier like I was. I reached up, caressing his cheek. “I’m fine, Cypress. I promise.”

“You don’t wake up crying if you’re fine, Acanthus,” Cypress snapped, then closed his eyes and nuzzled my palm. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, or upset with you. I’m worried. And I’m frustrated that I can’t help. You’ve had nightmares daily for weeks.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I shifted my arms to loop around his neck and pulled him down for a soft kiss. He sighed through his nose, relaxing on top of me. After the lingering kiss, he rolled clumsily to the side and rested his head on my chest. “Do you want to talk about this one?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “Not this one,” I murmured. “It was fairly calm compared to some of the others, and really only designed to hurt me, not scary.”

Cypress frowned, but didn’t answer. We lay together in the low light, though the beams breaching the sides of the closed curtains told me that the sun was still high in the sky. Cypress was the one to break the silence. “Tell me a story,” he said quietly, and I was reminded of our first few nights at The Yellow Rose, and a warmth blossomed in my chest.

“What would you like me to tell you?”

“Tell me about a time when you felt like there was hope,” he said. “So much of your past is full of sadness and hopelessness. I’d love to hear about a time where you found strength and took action. A time where your nightmares wouldn’t torture you…”

The warmth fell into a sad, hollow place deep within my core. I thought for a moment, my fingers stroking his hair in a repetitive motion.