16. Revi
By the time Revi arrived at the dining room the next day, he could already hear the soft movements of Kienna within.
It had taken him far longer to move through the halls in this form, but he’d wanted to practice moving so he wouldn’t make a complete fool of himself. He could only hope his efforts would be worth the trouble.
The door creaked as he entered.
“Good evening…?” Kienna’s voice ended in a question, and her chair scraped back. It took all of Revi’s self-control not to flee from the room. He was no coward. If she laughed at him… Well, it would be more than he had managed to evoke from her thus far during the day.
He took a deep breath and kept moving. He avoided looking at himself in the dark window lining the wall. He was doing this for her, but if he saw his own reflection, in this form, there was a good likelihood he wouldn’t keep moving.
Footsteps sounded. “Hello? Beast? Zoya?” Kienna neared and froze. Revi quashed down his prey instincts—a side effect of the form he hadn’t expected and was not at all fond of.
He inclined his head with as much dignity as he could manage. “Good evening, Lady Kienna.”
“You’re...” Kienna took in his small form with wide eyes.
He twitched his nose and shifted.
“You’re a rabbit,” she said faintly.
“You seemed melancholic after our last dinner,” Revi said, looking just past her shoulder. He couldn’t meet her eyes—he couldn’t bear to see the laughter, to see if there was mockery as she observed him. “I thought perhaps this form would be more soothing to you than my regular choices.”
“Oh,” she whispered. She sank to the ground slowly, her skirt puddling around her.
Revi was at a loss. She hadn’t laughed at him, but neither did she look happy.
“If you don’t like it—”
“No, it’s...” She cleared her throat. “It was very thoughtful. I’m sorry, I... I was aware you could change forms, since I’ve seen you as both a wolf and a frostcat, but I just... I never expected to see you looking quite like this.”
“It’s not my usual choice,” Revi said stiffly.
“You look...” She trailed off again.
“Ridiculous.”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, not at all, you...”
He glanced over at the window running the length of the room beside them. He was a rabbit. Not the smallest rabbit he had ever seen, but a rabbit nonetheless. With silver fur and long ears that flopped slightly. Despite what she said, he definitely looked ridiculous.
Quiet sniffling drew his gaze back to her. Horror flooded him—tears tracked down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she said as he took a half step forward. She pulled her skirt up to dab at her face. “I’m sorry. It’s just...” She turned away.
“It does not please you.”
“It’s not that. Th-thank you for this. It’s incredibly thoughtful.” She gave him a watery, wavering smile. “I just—I miss—” She shook her head abruptly and swallowed the words back. “May I… may I pet you?”
He jerked back at the request but recovered quickly. “I… suppose,” he agreed gruffly. He’d done this for her. If he was going to debase himself as if he were a pet, he might as well submit to the full treatment.
She reached out a hand, and he closed the distance until her fingers curled through his fur in a slow, rhythmic motion. Her hand covered a good portion of his side, and only an iron will kept him from retreating. She was so much larger than him. He was unused to being the smallest creature in the room. Shorter, by dint of four-legged versus two-legged anatomy, but his regular forms were equal—or even larger—than a person as far as general size was concerned. But rabbits were tiny. Squashable, really.
“You look so—very much—” Her words stumbled and halted again, her grip tightening slightly against his side before she resumed her stroking. It was… incredibly comfortable. He resisted the urge to lean into her touch, but he couldn’t keep his nose from twitching with his delight.
“You make an excellent rabbit,” she finally finished. It was clear that was not at all what she’d been about to say.
“I know perhaps it’s not quite the same as the rabbits you had at home.” He kneaded his paws into the floor. He was beyond ready to be done with this conversation. Not the petting, perhaps, but the speaking. The idea that it had seemed clever before felt utterly foolish. She probably thought he was mocking her and the story she’d trusted him with. How could he have thought that even in this form he could ever be soothing to her? “I’ve never seen one of your rabbits bred for fiber. I only know what the ones in the wild look like.” Generally as they fled from him. Before he ate them.
His prey instincts made his heart pitter-patter at the thought.
Being a rabbit didn’t suit him.
“It-it’s all right,” she said. “It’s not like I would want to use your fur to spin anything anyway. Not that”—she blushed and stumbled over her words—“not that there’s anything wrong with your fur. It’s quite lovely; I just—”
“No,” he agreed quickly. “That was never on offer.”
She laughed, but the laugh quickly turned to a sob. Her fingers tightened again, almost painfully so.
Enough of this. Revi stepped back to put space between himself and Kienna.
“Zeminy.”
He gritted his teeth as his body stretched, grew—as familiar and agonizing as ever. Kienna was sobbing now, her face buried in her hands.
Back in his more familiar wolf form, Revi hesitantly padded forward and lowered himself to the ground, resting his head on her knee.
“I’m sorry.” It was paltry, but it was all he had to offer her.
She dropped a hand and buried it in his fur, pulling so hard that it hurt. But he tensed himself and held still, ignoring the instincts to fight back against the one who caused him pain. Sobs racked her, and as her head slumped forward with each one, Revi pushed up into a sitting position so that he caught her head on his shoulder. He didn’t know what else to do, but as she cried, he stayed there.
That, at least, he could do.