They faced away from each other, packing their own small suitcases. The room was dark, the curtains drawn despite the time of day. Sunlight filtered in weakly at the edges of the frame and turned the thin fabric of the curtains partially translucent. They were quiet as they both flicked the latches of their cases closed. The cheap leather bulged slightly under the strain.

Picking up their luggage they trailed outside, Jean-Jacques locking the apartment's door behind them. The key stuck in the lock, taking a hard tug to be dislodged.

As they made their way down the stairs and to the front entrance Jean-Jacques took Chloé's case wordlessly. She made no protest though she had not expected him to seize it. Her empty hands fell by her sides. After a few steps she clasped them in front of herself instead.

Outside, everything was loud and bright. It almost hurt their senses. Paris was overwhelming in every way. Neither commented or complained. They avoided other pedestrians, eyes downturned from all the sights as they staunchly made their way to their destination.

It did not take long to reach the train station. Just as the rest of the city it was smothering, always pirouetting in constant, sickening movement. They found their platform among the sea of humanity, a gorgeous steam engine dominating the air. The behemoth breathed odourless white smoke from its pipes. Jean-Jacques found himself irrationally disturbed by how the steam from all the trains choked the air and obscured the glass ceiling, yet his lungs remained unaffected.

He only found himself drawing away from the sight when Chloé's fingers wrapped around his arm and delicately tugged him onwards. Even as he mindlessly followed her urging his eyes didn't leave the ballet of twisting vapour until he found himself ascending the steps to the train carriage, varnished wood and hanging lights blocking it from him. The simple, elegant interior held no interest for his listless thoughts, allowing him to drag free from his reverie.

He looked down to Chloé, surprised to find her watching him closely. Her grip on his arm squeezed. Jean-Jacques smiled at her reassuringly. It felt weak even to him. He barely managed a twitch of his lips. Chloé responded likewise, eyes perfectly devoid of joy while her mouth curved erroneously. They accepted each other's lies.

Finding a seat close to the back of the train they settled in for the journey. Chloé sat beside the window with Jean-Jacques on her other side, between her and the aisle. Jean-Jacques could watch the window over her head and he felt more at ease being able to see the other passengers, should they choose to approach.

The train drew out of the station on surprisingly smooth wheels, the world outside sprinting by. It was all too much too fast. So much unfamiliar information was impossible to process all at once. The sensation of the train shaking and vibrating, the sounds of its wheels rumbling on the metal tracks beneath them, the dull murmur of dozens of conversations, it was enough to overload the mind already without considering what lay beyond the glass windows. With no frame of reference for an existence so unlike anything they had even imagined Chloé and Jean-Jacques were left with the preposterous task of coping with it all. Constantly, without respite.

After what must have been a pathetically short amount of time the shapes and colours outside twisted sickeningly within Chloé's vision. It was painful. She closed her eyes and leaned into Jean-Jacques' side, letting out a comforted sigh. She focused on the familiar feeling of his breathing and warmth to block out everything else. His coat was different to his old one, the weave finer and the fabric rougher. She didn't like it. She pressed her cheek further into him. His hand found its way to her back, rubbing slowly as though to soothe her. He had gloves on. She didn't much like that either.

Chloé awoke on different train to the one she had fallen asleep on. The seatback in front of her looked different. It would have been concerning if she weren't laying in Jean-Jacques' lap. As it stood she was mostly angry he hadn't woken her for the transfer. The fool would have had to carry her and their suitcases on his own. She twisted her head to look up at him, not raising it from his thighs because - despite her irritation - he was rather comfortable. He was looking down at her, probably meeting her stare, though it was impossible to tell with his fringe in the way. Chloé glared.

"We should be arriving in about ten minutes."

Chloé glared harder. She had slept through not just one but two train rides. Jean-Jacques didn't have to be that considerate. Fingers started carding through her hair. Unbidden, a pleased hum escaped her throat. Chloé let her eyes slip shut and leaned into the gesture before she realised Jean-Jacques was trying to placate him. She resumed her glaring, though she let his hand remain in her hair.

"There's nothing wrong with sleeping, Chloé."

"I sleep too much."

"You sleep as much as you need to."

Chloé turned over to curl up and bore holes into the seat in front of them instead. "I hate it."

"I know."

Chloé grunted and Jean-Jacques continued to pet her hair as she sulked. She spent more time asleep than awake these days and it was obviously a point of frustration. Her condition was improving but only so much, it was too slow for her liking. It was no help that Chloé pushed herself to stay awake rather than giving in to the demands of her body. Jean-Jacques remembered she used to have the opposite problem, having to go as far as brewing potions to combat insomnia and force herself into dreamless sleep. He hoped the nightmares that used to plague her weren't tormenting her still. She hadn't mentioned any. But he hadn't asked about it either.

Even stepping off the second train of the day together their journey was not finished. There was no convenient transport to their destination. From the station in Langeac they would either have to pay someone to take them or otherwise make their way on foot. Walking would take hours but it was an eventuality they were prepared for, undesirable as it was. They had brought some food and water along in Jean-Jacques' case and besides, they were vampires. A long walk wasn't particularly difficult for them.

Luckily they did not need to resort to tiring themselves so before even arriving. They managed to commandeer a rickety old horse and cart being driven by a gruff old man. They even managed to convince him to come collect them the next day. He took payment with only a brusque exchange then waved them onto the back of the wagon, evidently eager to get going. Chloé and Jean-Jacques felt the same and found his attitude advantageous even if it wasn't especially pleasant.

It was colder than Paris so Jean-Jacques buttoned his coat and pulled a cloak from Chloé's suitcase for her. She wasn't sensitive to cold but accepted it anyway, wrapping it around herself and falling into him. She angrily grumbled something into his shoulder that he failed to catch, though he was sure it was about going back to sleep. They both knew if she didn't rest now she would regret it later. After travelling so far it would be awful for her if her body started flagging when they finally made it to their goal.

Chloé got managed about an extra half an hour of sleep before they had finally reached it: Saugues. The village was small and quiet, so unlike the bustling madness of Paris. It was nice.

Chloé and Jean-Jacques' escort was quick to leave after he dropped them on the outskirts, uninterested in them now that he had fulfilled their agreement and obtained his payment. As they entered the village though, it became apparent that his detachment was rare. From windows and doorways eyes burned into them and whispers lashed their ears. At an especially loud muttering that sounded like silver Chloé stiffened.

Jean-Jacques seemed to hear it as well, tugging her into his side and gently pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. Chloé bit her lip and drew it even lower, holding it against the wind and idly rubbing the soft lining between her thumb and forefinger. As a shield it wouldn't stop what everyone had already seen but at least she wouldn't have to meet any of their eyes. Of course a silver-haired stranger would be an ill omen to these people. She hoped no one accused her of being the witch.

Jean-Jacques steered them towards the only inn in the village, quick to push inside and put a barrier between them and the barbed suspicion that bore down on them. However, the inn wasn't a safe haven either. The ground floor was a pub, and upon their entrance the smattering of patrons inside all turned to them and didn't turn away.

"It's all right. Calm down," Chloé murmured to Jean-Jacques.

He had been growing increasingly tense over the last few minutes, all of his muscles taut with it. Jean-Jacques was primed to respond to any threat with violence, but where that might once have been an appropriate sentiment it now only made him dangerously uninhibited. At Chloé's words he did relax minutely, though it was clear he was unwilling to release all of his simmering discontent from the way he eyed the room. Chloé pulled him over to the counter where an imposing woman scowled at them.

"May we have a room in your inn?" Chloé asked without preamble.

The woman looked between them, eyes lingering on every visible detail, scowl never shifting. "Sharing together?"

"Yes, that's right," Jean-Jacques said carefully.

The woman eyed him distastefully before placing a key down hard on the wooden counter. "Don't disturb the other guests. The rest isn't my business."

"Thank you," he muttered, palming the key. He had to wonder if there were any other guests to disturb.

"How long are you planning to stay? Better make sure you can afford it," she sneered.

"I'll handle the payment, Jean-Jacques, you take our suitcases to the room."

"Chloé-"

"I can take care of myself for five minutes. I'll call if I need you."

Jean-Jacques wanted to argue but making a scene would likely only make matters worse. Chloé wasn't wrong, she could take care of herself. That didn't mean he liked letting her out of his sight. With a sullen nod Jean-Jacques gathered their cases and made his way up the stairs to the inn's rooms. They didn't have very many. Five doors in total sat on the second-floor landing. The woman had given Jean-Jacques the key to room 3. He couldn't imagine why, he still doubted rooms 1 and 2 had any occupants.

Unlocking the door he found himself hit with a wave of muted disappointment. It wasn't a surprise that there was no luxury to be found, still he found his mind drifting back to the apartment in Paris. It wasn't a place he held much affection or antipathy for but it was comfortable and clean. This room was neither of those things. Dust danced in thick motes, itching at his nose, the floorboards shrieked like a crying babe, and the bed appeared small and unpleasant. At least it seemed well insulated and the blankets looked thick and warm. Small mercies.

When Chloé appeared in the doorway Jean-Jacques was hit with the bizarre urge to pull her into a hug. He resisted it, folding his arms to stop himself. Chloé wouldn't mind if he did; it was still an embarrassing impulse. Being so unable to cope without her holding his hand at all times was troubling. He never used to be so needy, fear of losing her had certainly made him worse.

"Are you ready to go home, Jean-Jacques?" Chloé said it in a familiarly enigmatic tone. She used to speak like that all the time in the castle.

"Yes."

She reached her hand towards him. He took it without further prompting, fingers sliding over hers deliberately, wishing he wasn't wearing gloves so he could feel her cool skin. They looked at one another for a minute, absorbing the realness of the feeling in a world that seemed anything but. The spell broke without their wishing it, suddenly finding themselves walking side by side.

They pressed on outside of the inn and through the streets of Saugues, ignoring the prickling of so many observers throwing silent accusations at them. They kept going until they were leaving the small reminder of civilisation behind, heading to the forest. It wouldn't help any rumours about them to be seen heading to the Silver Forest but there was no helping it. They had come to see it after all.

"I wish there was snow," Chloé said.

Jean-Jacques looked up at the deep green of the forest. He wasn't sure whether to agree or not. He thought it looked pretty as it was but, at the same time, it was new. Newness wasn't what they had come for. Jean-Jacques breathed in the scent of the forest and it sat on the knife's edge of nostalgic. There was something missing and something else extraneous. The same could be said for the sounds and sights, though the components of those were more easily identifiable. Wistfully, Jean-Jacques acknowledged birdsong had replaced the wolf howls in the soundscape.

As they walked it was striking how a forest they had once known so well no longer existed. The trees were different. One hundred years of life and birth and death had passed unobserved by them. Their home had been uprooted and rearranged minutely every year until it became impossible to tell what was the same and what was changed. It might as well have been an entirely new woodland. It might as well have been exactly the same.

Exiting the trees brought them to another flickering shadow of their memories. As far as the eye could see stretched an endless bloom of asterisque flowers. Slouching in the middle was a ruin of crumbling grey stone. They approached the bones of their home, towards the scarred remains of the last room they had ever spent time in. Chloé made a small, choked sound looking at it.

Only the stones of her castle remained. After its destruction some opportunists must have stolen every last scrap of valuable material in the wreckage. Not one piece of Chloé's machine remained. Not even the worthless books she'd discarded on the floor had been allowed to rot among the flowers. Not to mention her automatons. Something chewed a hollow out of her chest upon seeing the culmination of her life erased from the world. She supposed it must be grief, though this grief was unfamiliar from the kind she recognised. She'd never loved her machine.

"It's gone." Jean-Jacques voiced her thoughts precisely and without any of the redundant details she would have added could she bring herself to speak. Gone summed it up in one word with all its nuance and subtext.

Chloé dropped to her knees in the field of flowers, dress blossoming around her, an imitation of her last visit to the place. Jean-Jacques was quick to fall beside her, hands hovering nervously around her shoulders as he asked a million questions about whether she was okay. Chloé ignored his fussing, plucking a flower from the ground and bringing it to her nose, breathing the scent in deeply. Then she picked another, twisting their stems together. Jean-Jacques went quiet, watching her hands.

"I remember you teaching me to make those."

"You have Jeanne to thank, she's the one who taught me first."

"Jeanne..."

Chloé looked up to Jean-Jacques' pensive face, continuing to weave flowers together intuitively. "You don't like Jeanne?"

Jean-Jacques hesitated. "I don't know."

"I see."

"I'll always be grateful to her for saving you... but I fought her. We tried to kill each other. She tried to kill you."

"I asked her to."

"That doesn't make it easier to feel fondness towards her."

Chloé let silence reign until she finished her crafting, leaning forward to place the finished flower crown on Jean-Jacques' head. "I still think about dying."

"Wha- Chloé!?" His hands flew to her arms, as though she was in danger of disappearing merely from the utterance and his grip on her biceps was the only thing keeping her anchored to the mortal realm.

"Don't look at me like that. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to live but..." Chloé shrugged.

"What can I do to help?"

"I haven't a clue. I might be too broken at this point to ever get better."

"Don't say that." Jean-Jacques furrowed his brows.

"All those years I spent hating myself, they're still part of me. It's hard not to fall back into being that person no matter how much I don't want to. I can't always stop the thoughts that the world would be better off without me. That makes me feel ugly and guilty. I shouldn't be thinking about leaving you but I can't seem to stop."

"Tell me when you have ugly thoughts. Maybe I can't stop them but I can help you unravel them. It's okay to have irrational or downright vile feelings. But I won't know unless you talk to me."

"And do you have ugly thoughts, Jean-Jacques?" Chloé hummed.

"I miss being the Beast."

"Pardon?"

Jean-Jacques bit his lip self-consciously. "I got used to tearing my problems apart. It was so simple. I feel like a monster because I want to go back to killing. I... I miss the feeling of bones breaking beneath my teeth, of blood filling my mouth, of my enemies screaming in terror. I'm angry all the time and I no longer have an outlet for all that hate."

"What are you angry about?"

"I don't know anymore." Jean-Jacques paused. "It's gone."

The words struck directly through Chloé's chest. Again they came to the heart of the matter. So many things had disappeared, replaced with a dimension entirely foreign and achingly mundane. Chloé stood and Jean-Jacques followed, though he let her slip from his grasp. She waded through the sea of petals to move toward a decaying wall. She ran her hand along the bricks and mortar, gritty and unpleasant beneath her fingertips. They were warmer than she recalled, exposure to the open autumn air turning them alien.

She reached the edge of the wall and the jagged wound where it had been torn from the rest of its body. Carefully, she pulled herself up on the uneven stairway it created until she could sit atop the wall. It wasn't especially high, a couple of metres at most. Jean-Jacques leaned against it, beside where her legs dangled. The blue garden stretching ahead to meet with the distant green forest was beautiful. It shone in the dim sunlight, glittering like water, Chloé's unblinking stare making it blur until it looked like a real ocean.

"I never thought I'd get homesick," Chloé said.

"Nor did I." Jean-Jacques looked up at her. "The future makes me long for something, anything familiar."

"Do you know what time is, Jean-Jacques?"

"... Time?"

"Imagine I don't understand it. How would you describe it to me?"

"It's..." Jean-Jacques thought on it. "How we measure between one event and the next. Time is always moving forward, everything that has happened is relegated to the past and everything yet to be is in the future. The present is where we are, in the single moment between the two."

"Is that true?"

"Eh?"

"My experiences don't align with that, do yours?"

"Well... no. Not as such. But that hardly counts."

"In my dimension time was a circle, endlessly spinning and repeating. You could change your actions yet the outcome was always the same, the day would begin anew as though the last never happened. We were removed from causality. Tell me, were those days any less real than the hundred years that passed in this dimension?"

"No."