Cirice follows his finger and smiles softly. “Its a pretty star. Who’s the one right next to it?”

She pulls him gently down into her lap, to stare up at them together. “You are not a failure. I promise.”

She lifts their hands together and traces a sigil in the air before them. “This is an insight rune, its based off the one I wear. It allows you to know when someone is lying to you.” The rune floats down and settles into his palm. “I’m a potato.”

The rune whispers into his mind that that’s a lie.

“You, Cashmere, my beloved little brother, are not a failure. You can still try again and get in later if you really want, once you’ve learned more. Or you can always learn from teachers in the world, gather knowledge from people who use their skills and magic to survive. But failing once, freezing up under scrutiny, that doesn’t make you a failure. Giving up is the only thing that would make you a failure.”

The insight rune is silent. Her words are true and she squeezes him tight. “You have so much potential, you are going to be a great witch someday. I can’t wait until you join the Mage’s Guild with me. When that happens I promise I’ll get you something truly special.”

A golden eye looks upon the rune, its new light glistening freely on the iris. His mouth is ajar; but he does listen, as any diligent student would. And though the tears remain on his face, he gives a silent nod as Cirice explains its function and hears the deaffirmation in his mind. He's enraptured in the new lesson, ready for whatever it might teach. He's so focused that he almost doesn't hear Cirice's words as she speaks them -- he's so oblivious to their meaning... But then comes a pause, and a silence from the rune. And then comes the confusion in two waves, and only with the second does he look wide-eyed to Cirice, failing to understand why she would say such things so earnestly.

Wide-eyed he remains as she pulls him close and listens to the truthful kindness in her words. Though his tear duct has dried and his voice has become too brittle to sob, the way he shakes in her arms speaks to emotions ill-processed. Confusion -- confusion, but also a joy that's tugged back and forth between guilt and pride.

She really thinks that he can do it. She really thinks that he can join the Mage's Guild, and work alongside her. She isn't just saying it to make him feel better, or because she pities him.

She believes in him...

One last tear makes its way down his face. He wraps his arms around Cirice, as tightly as his meek muscles can, shaking. The warm, ominous light of the moon shines down upon them, embracing beneath starlit sky.

"C-Cirice...?" he manages to utter. "Can- Can you say one more thing, please?"

He can still feel the rune upon his palm, even as it clings to Cirice's silk. Certainty -- certainty enough to quell even the most frantic of doubts. It's the sort of thing that one could only find in a fantasy, or a dream.

"Can you say 'I love you?'"

Cirice blinks and pulls away just enough that they’re eye to eye.

“Cashmere.” She says solemnly, wiping the tears from his cheek with a gloved finger, “I love you so much. You’re my one and only little brother and you always will be my family. I promise by the light of Mother Moon.”

The rune is still there on his palm but it is silent, her words are the truth.

“I will protect you, and Cypress and all the rest of my family to my dying breath. Don’t ever, ever doubt that I love you.”

Tears, on pale skin, glint in the moonlight. Perhaps someone older would just smile and hold another close. Someone more mature might keep themselves together; and someone who's never known the scarcity of love might feel nothing at all. But little Cashmere has not been immunized to this disease of warmth; it wracks him to the core, and he shivers feverishly in its heat. He should be happy, but his body and mind don't know how to process this flood of emotions. And so it simply pours out, as tears and sobs and shivers and whimpers.

He rests his head on her warm, silk-covered collar; and clings tightly to her. Her shoulder is a bed as comfortable as he's ever known. Only with one other has he ever been so close; and for so long, he thought that they would be the only one. But here; beneath the pale, cold moonlight...

He is warm.

---

Pale moonlight shines over Darkveil: a silver glow over a painting of black and brown. Where orange lights shone from the dull façades before, now they are silent and dark. But not the wagon that still resides; from its windows, a warm lamplight still pours in all directions, like a beacon -- or a box of wonders. Precious, either way.

Within is still that little library, like something from a fairytale. The books are still neat, and the floor is still messy, and the lights are still dancing, and the kotatsu is still warm; and still, two figures lay on the floor, holding one-another so tightly as to ensnare the other in a trap that neither would wish to escape. The little boy snores faintly, almost inaudibly; he's asleep like a newborn, peaceful. But still he holds her as if she were a gemstone -- something precious, that he'll never let go of again. And even though he lingers in the deepest reaches of dream, his face lights with a faint smile.

Even a floor is a comfortable resting place, when he's with family.