..Jealousy

Nimdok sat across from Darcia in the cozy, rain-pattered apothecary, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. The dim light caught the shine of her dark hair as she leaned back, a faint, smug smile playing on her lips. She was relishing the story she had been recounting, and though Nimdok tried to focus on the soothing aroma of chamomile, her words were crawling under his skin like persistent ivy.

“And then,” Darcia said, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement, “he looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Darcia, your beauty has ruined me for anyone else.’ Can you imagine? Such poetry, and all while picking out an utterly useless bundle of dried lavender.”

Nimdok’s grip on his teacup tightened. His gray eyes narrowed, staring into the swirling tea as if it might provide answers. “Ruined him, has it?” he muttered, his voice low and tense.

Darcia’s smile widened. “Oh, absolutely. And the way he said it, Nimdok—you’d think he was declaring his last words on a battlefield. Such passion! Such... charm.”

“Charm,” Nimdok repeated flatly, his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Yes, charm!” she said, leaning forward, her hands clasping her own cup as though she were holding a precious memory. “He had this way about him, as though every word was dipped in honey. And his eyes, oh, Nimdok—sharp, intelligent, but with just a hint of mischief.”

Nimdok glared at her. “Mischief, is it? Sounds more like trouble to me.”

Darcia laughed, a soft, melodic sound that only stoked the fire in his chest. “Trouble? Perhaps. But the good kind. The kind that keeps life interesting.”

“Life’s already interesting enough without some—some Fox skulking around, sniffing at your heels,” he snapped, his voice rising slightly.

Her laughter deepened, and she sipped her tea with maddening composure. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not!” he retorted immediately, though his flushed cheeks betrayed him. “I just don’t see why anyone should be bothering you. You’ve got enough to deal with.”

“Oh, bother me, did he?” Darcia said, her voice mockingly pensive. “No, no. If anything, he was... uplifting. Yes, that’s the word. He made me feel noticed, Nimdok, like I was the only person in the world. Isn’t that what every woman wants?”

“That’s what every naive woman wants,” Nimdok grumbled. “Before she realizes the only thing that kind of man is good for is heartache.”

Darcia tilted her head, her smile taking on a sharper edge. “Heartache? My, my, you’re quick to judge. Are you sure this isn’t about something else?”

“It’s about protecting you,” he shot back, leaning forward. “No one should be... seeing you. You’re my sister, Darcia. You’re supposed to be my constant, my light—my...” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Your everything?” she teased, though her tone softened slightly.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “You’re all I’ve got in this rain-washed world,” he muttered, barely audible.

For a moment, her expression softened, genuine affection slipping through the armor of her amusement. But then she shook her head, her smile returning with renewed vigor. “Well, if I’m your everything, then you should trust me, dear brother. I’m not so easily swept away.”

“You seemed plenty swept away earlier,” he muttered, his glare returning.

“Maybe I was,” she admitted, her voice taking on a dreamy quality as she gazed out the window. “I mean, his smile was just... devastating. And his voice? Like warm velvet on a cold day.”

Nimdok groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Please stop.”

“But why? Don’t you want to hear about the way his coat clung to him in the rain? Or how his eyes seemed to sparkle every time he spoke my name?”

“Darcia!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly as he sat upright, glaring at her.

She burst out laughing, her tail swishing with delight. “Oh, Nimdok, you’re too easy!”

“I’m not easy,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “I just don’t see why this... this Fox thinks he can waltz in here and turn your head.”

Her laughter softened, and she studied him for a moment, her smile faltering slightly. “You really don’t know who he is, do you?”

Nimdok blinked, thrown off by her sudden shift in tone. “What do you mean? Of course I don’t know him. Should I?”

Darcia tilted her head, her expression growing thoughtful, even concerned. “You really don’t recognize him at all,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

“What are you talking about?” Nimdok demanded, his frustration bubbling over. “Should I recognize some arrogant stranger who waltzes into your shop with a face like velvet and a voice like rain or whatever nonsense you were spouting?”

Her eyes lingered on him, her amusement fading into something more subdued, almost wary. “Never mind,” she said at last, shaking her head and lifting her cup again. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he insisted, leaning closer. “Darcia, what are you hiding?”

Her lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile, though it lacked its earlier mischief. “Let’s just say,” she murmured, her voice quiet but deliberate, “you and Mr. Fox may have more in common than you realize.”

Nimdok froze, her words echoing in his mind as a strange, unsettling silence settled between them.
-------------------

The stairwell was a perfect perch. Or so Nimdok told himself as he crouched, peering through the balusters at the apothecary below. The wooden steps creaked with every slight shift of his weight, but he’d mastered the art of freezing at the slightest sound. His gray eyes narrowed as he observed Darcia moving about the shop floor, her long black hair swaying like a curtain of silk. She appeared busy—stocking shelves, tending to plants, and humming softly—but Nimdok wasn’t fooled. She was waiting. For him.

For Mr. Fox.

The apothecary was a strange, enchanting place—a mix of Darcia’s peculiar personality and their shared history. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with bottles of all shapes and sizes, their labels scrawled in Darcia’s looping script. Some held dried herbs, others vibrant powders, and a few contained things that glowed faintly in the dim light. The smell was a heady mix of lavender, rosemary, and something faintly medicinal.

The counter, carved from dark, polished wood, was strewn with half-finished projects. A mortar and pestle sat beside an open notebook, its pages covered in her neat handwriting and small sketches of plants. Behind the counter, a door led to the back garden, where sunlight occasionally streamed in, glinting off the raindrops clinging to the glass.

The staircase Nimdok occupied curled upward to the living quarters, which were just as eclectic. The walls were adorned with old tapestries and strange trinkets Darcia had collected over the years—a copper sunburst clock, a shelf of odd-looking figurines, and a faded portrait of their long-dead ancestors. It was a cozy, if slightly cluttered, home.

And now, it was a battlefield.

Nimdok shifted slightly, his knee protesting the hard wood of the step, but he didn’t dare move more. He had to stay hidden, watching, waiting. If this Mr. Fox dared to show his face, Nimdok would—well, he hadn’t decided exactly what he’d do, but it would be swift and decisive.

Darcia seemed oblivious, her humming picking up as she rearranged a display of dried flowers. She paused to inspect a particularly drooping stem, her sharp eyes narrowing before she plucked it free and tossed it into a waste bin.

Nimdok’s eyes narrowed, too. Clever act, sister, but I’m onto you.

“Hmm,” Darcia murmured to herself, her voice drifting upward. She turned toward the counter, her golden eyes flicking up for the briefest moment, and Nimdok froze.

Had she seen him?

No—she couldn’t have. He was perfectly concealed in the shadows of the stairwell. Still, there was a hint of a smile curling at her lips, and it sent a chill down his spine.

Darcia returned to her work, seemingly unbothered, but that smile lingered. It wasn’t her usual playful grin. No, this was something sharper. Knowing.

Nimdok’s heart thudded. She knows. She has to know.

But if she knew, she gave no sign, moving about the shop with her usual grace. She paused at the counter, flipping through the notebook and muttering softly under her breath. Nimdok strained to hear, his body tense, his ear practically pressed to the balusters.

“... rain won’t help,” she said, tapping a pen against the paper. “Maybe another shipment next week...”

Her words were maddeningly mundane, but her posture was too relaxed, too deliberate. She had to be putting on a show.

Nimdok shifted again, his foot slipping slightly. The stair creaked, and his breath caught in his throat. Darcia glanced up, her ears twitching ever so slightly.

He froze, his pulse hammering in his ears.

But instead of looking toward the stairwell, she simply smiled—a small, secret smile—and went back to her work.

Nimdok’s fingers curled into the wood of the bannister. She knows, he thought again, his mind racing. But if she knows... why isn’t she saying anything?

The air in the shop felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension. Darcia moved to the window, adjusting the display of potted plants there. Her back was to him now, and Nimdok felt a brief surge of confidence. She couldn’t possibly have seen him in her peripheral vision.

Could she?

“Perhaps I’ll add a few more roses,” she said aloud, as though to herself. “Mr. Fox did seem to like them.”

Nimdok bit back a growl. Roses, was it? What kind of man commented on roses? A manipulative, scheming one, that’s who.

Darcia paused, glancing over her shoulder. For a moment, Nimdok thought she’d finally caught him, but her gaze swept past the stairwell, and she returned to her task.

The tension drained from Nimdok’s shoulders, only to be replaced by a new determination. If Darcia thought she could outwit him, she was sorely mistaken. He would shadow her every step if he had to. Whatever game she was playing, he would unravel it.

And when Mr. Fox returned—because of course he would—Nimdok would be ready.

Darcia, meanwhile, continued her work, her smile lingering as she plucked a particularly vibrant rose from the display and twirled it between her fingers. She didn’t look at the staircase again, but her tail swished behind her, a subtle indication of her amusement.

Nimdok crouched lower, his gaze fixed on her like a hawk. He’d wait all day if he had to. For Darcia, for Mr. Fox, for answers.
-----------------

Nimdok emerged from the shadows at last, his face set in what he hoped was a convincing mask of nonchalance. He descended the last few steps into the shop and approached the counter, his hands already reaching for the stack of dusty boxes tucked neatly beneath it.

“Darcia,” he said, his tone casual. “Where do we keep the old sales records? I was thinking of... reviewing them.”

Darcia turned slowly, one eyebrow arched in amusement. She leaned her hip against the counter, her hands deftly wiping soil from her fingers with a rag. “Sales records?” she repeated, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yes,” Nimdok said, pulling out a box and flipping open the lid as if he knew exactly what he was doing. “Sales records. To see how the shop’s been performing. Important stuff.”

Darcia tilted her head, her long black hair slipping over one shoulder like a silken waterfall. She smiled. “Performing, you say?”

“Yes,” Nimdok said firmly, his fingers rifling through the box’s contents. It was full of old receipts and scraps of paper, most of which bore Darcia’s chaotic handwriting. He pretended to inspect one of them, holding it up to the light.

Darcia leaned closer, her shoulder brushing against his. “Oh, yes. Let’s see. That’s the receipt for... what was it? Ah, a single sprig of rosemary, sold for a grand total of two copper coins. A record-breaking sale, no doubt.”

Nimdok grunted, stuffing the paper back into the box and pulling out another one. “I’m serious, Darcia. This is important work. Vital, even.”

“Oh, it’s vital, is it?” Darcia’s voice was honey-smooth, but the laughter in her eyes betrayed her. She leaned closer still, her tail swishing lazily behind her. “Perhaps you’ll uncover the mystery of the Great Parsley Sale of two years past. That was quite the windfall, wasn’t it?”

Nimdok rolled his eyes, reaching for another box. “Laugh all you want, but I’m doing this for the good of the shop.”

“And not because you’re hoping to stumble across some clue about Mr. Fox, I’m sure,” Darcia said, her lips twitching into a teasing grin.

Nimdok froze for a split second before resuming his rummaging. “This has nothing to do with him,” he said stiffly.

“Of course not,” Darcia said, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

The two of them were practically shoulder-to-shoulder now, their movements synchronized in an unspoken dance of sibling banter. Darcia occasionally reached over to pluck a paper from his hands, feigning great interest before discarding it with a shrug.

But then, as Nimdok yanked another box from the stack, disaster struck. The tower of boxes teetered for a heart-stopping moment before toppling, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Ugh!” Nimdok exclaimed, flinching as one box in particular thudded heavily beside him, its lid popping open.

Darcia’s smile faltered for the first time as her eyes darted to the spilled contents. Her hand shot out, but Nimdok was quicker. He picked up one of the small bottles that had rolled free, turning it over in his hands.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice casual but curious. The label on the bottle was faded, the handwriting barely legible. “My name’s on it. These are—” He paused, squinting at the faint letters.

“Your medicine,” Darcia said quickly, her voice low.

Nimdok frowned, holding the bottle up to the light. “Medicine? I don’t remember this.”

“It’s... from a while ago,” Darcia said, her tone carefully measured. She crouched beside him, her hand darting out to snatch the bottle from his grasp. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“But why was it hidden in a box?” Nimdok asked, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the other bottles strewn across the floor.

Darcia straightened, clutching the bottle tightly. Her smile was gone now, replaced by a look of quiet determination. “Because you haven’t needed it,” she said firmly. “And because it’s better this way.”

Nimdok stared at her, his curiosity deepening. “Better how?”

Darcia’s golden eyes met his, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no banter—only a raw, unspoken tension. “Just trust me,” she said softly. “This isn’t something you need to worry about.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. There was something in her expression—something protective, almost desperate.

For the first time, Nimdok felt a flicker of unease. Whatever this medicine was, it wasn’t just medicine. And whatever secret Darcia was keeping, it wasn’t a small one.

But before he could press further, Darcia’s lips curved into a faint smile, her earlier demeanor slipping back into place like a mask. “Now,” she said lightly, tucking the bottle into her pocket, “why don’t you focus on cleaning up this mess? Those sales records won’t organize themselves, you know.”

Nimdok hesitated, his gaze lingering on her pocket, but he nodded slowly. “Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the scattered papers.

Darcia watched him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she turned away, her tail swishing behind her as she moved back to the counter.

But as she worked, her smile didn’t return. And in the quiet of the shop, the faint clink of glass bottles seemed to echo far too loudly.