#Right yes I do know it's a complicated situation but she was a nun so fuck it

[bonefall]

Since you mentioned only cats and a few other distant animals are sentient, does this mean foxes are getting their sentience removed? Midnight can talk to foxes in the books and even convinces some foxes to leave a patrol of cats alone (the foxes are WEIRDLY violent and talk about eating the cats too lmaoo).

I assume Hollyleaf's changes mean the Fox Cub Incident is either being moved or just removed entirely, I always found that small plot point interesting in face of all those "Non-cat in clan" AUs. Seems like something that could be interesting if an "us vs them" argument was formed from it, especially if it was targeted against Midnight and calling her unholy yknow?

Yeah, that sapience is gone completely. In this universe, language is limited only to humans, cats, and some distant animals that are far outside the range of Albion (elephants, bottlenoses, some parrots, etc)

And Hollyleaf's story especially. Ngl to you, I don't like that fox idea. Or anything about Hollyleaf's Story. I think it was the worst possible route to take.

"Hollyleaf will be a mother to this evil creature to learn what it's like to love something that hates you. It is so sad to be your mom Leafpool (Squirrel-who?). Don't you feel like a shitty daughter now, Holly? Let's not ask any questions about the code btw, or how you were already filled with crushing shame from it. Or how it made you so disgusted about the idea of pregnant nuns that you flipped your shit and ruined the lives of your entire family. No, what really mattered about this situation was maternal empathy. Also here take the nearest male character we can find to ship you with, we accidentally made Cinderheart too gay when she was upset about your death lmao"

But, digressing, putting my distaste of that novella aside,

WC is profoundly xenophobic already with just the cats, and I think it was a CATASTROPHIC mistake to make it so every animal is secretly intelligent but speaks animal language. Now every conflict between cats and their predators is an ethnic dispute! You're chasing out groups of people perfectly capable of reasoning if you bridged the language barrier, but they're also ACTUAL PREDATORS.

AT BEST; It's the same uncomfortable situations that Zootopia and Lion King ends up tripping over. In Zootopia, predators are used as an allegory for oppressed groups... but predators are MADE to eat prey. A rabbit is RIGHT to be terrified of a fox, twice its size with a jaw made for catching bunnies. In Lion King, lions have divine authority to rule over their dinner/subjects, and chase out any animal based on their personal ideology... which just so happens to only be leveraged against rival predator species.

(Nerd preemption: yes i know about lion guard. I do not think diverse Lion Cops were the solution you think it is.)

Carelessly adding sapience to "natural systems" often ends up accidentally justifying bigotry. Bigotry doesn't MAKE SENSE, it's bullshit we made up and perpetuate through culture, but food webs are completely logical. The rabbit fears the fox because the fox eats rabbits. The lion hates the hyena because they compete for the same food. Gazelles don't happily submit to an overlord who is divinely capable of deciding who should live and who should die, it's just nature.

But it gets even worse-- because it's actually WORST CASE; the Erins saw that complicated moral problem and went, "don't worry! They're actually born evil! Foxes just talk about food and killing things :)"

like... my brother in cats, YOU gave them language in the first place! What was the fucking point if they were just going to be evil barbarians anyway?!? For ONE scene where Midnight could show off her Duolingo streak???

So to summarize,

It was an awful idea to start with

It was executed in the worst possible way

In a series that is already plagued with xenophobic sentiment, this somehow made it even worse and more direct

If it was completely nuked it from the story, the series would be immediately better with minimal change. Holly caring for what is essentially the clan cat-equivalent of an exotic animal like a chimp or a tiger cub would have done the same thing

There is not even a glimmer of an idea here that justifies the poison that full sapience does to the wider implications of the series.

Don't even get me started on the Badger Debaucle in TNP, which is actually in my top 5 for most vile things in WC

So if I don't explicitly say that a species in BB is capable of true language, assume it is non-sapient. Talking animals like Midnight and Rat Leader are magical individuals-- gods, curses, etc.

[sucrealacreme]

Supe Busters - Soldier Boy x female reader

Prologue

Summary : Vought has many secrets, project W is one of them. What happens when said project turns against them? 

I don’t remember a lot of things. I'm not amnesic or anything, no, I just have blanks for certain memories. It confuses me to no end. Did I always have those powers? Or were they given to me at the late age of 25? I have no idea who I am, why I'm suddenly super abled. The only thing I know is that I'm stuck this way forever now wether I like it or not.

I don't hate my abilities. I pride myself in the fact I can control atoms. Yeah that seems like I'm overpowered but it's more complicated. I have to know the exact formula to what I want to manipulate. Now, I'm better. I can control most things like water, iron, most metals,ect… But still, in order for me to control atoms I need to know if it's like H2O or something like that. It can be annoying sometimes. Plus, if I try to split atoms to make like a nuclear explosion, I did try to see if I could do that, stupid idea but still, I have this weird electrical pulse at the back of my head. 

I have no idea what I was made for. It wasn’t for war, nor pageants or any dancing and singing competition. So I stay hidden, in my small repetitive life. Sleep, eat, work, eat, sleep. I have yet to find people with similar experiences. But I will soon, I can feel it. 

Stillwell was in her luxurious office when she saw the results of the debate about if supes belong in the military or not. The no won surprisingly. Under the huge amounts of shock and disbelief, she barely heard her phone ringing. 

“Hello?”, said Madelynn. 

“Good afternoon Miss Stillwell. I have called you today to discuss a certain topic.”

“Oh, what is it?”

 “I’M afraid we both know Madelynn.”

The woman sighed, thinking of a way to get out of this situation. She was thinking, thinking and thinking and thinking and thin-

 “Mss.Stillwell?”

“Yes, yes sorry” 

“I think the video still needs to be seen by the world, senator. I mean, people need to know who’s ruling our military and making sure we’re all safe, right?” said Stillwell in a passive aggressive tone.

“Madelynn, between you and me, your supes belong in a circus special show. Not in the defence system”

The woman suddenly had an idea. One that would change the world forever, but still an idea. 

“We'll see about that senator”, Stillwell said before hanging up

—-----------------

Fast forward 3 years

—------------------

You're now part of an organisation known to reunite what Vought likes to call “supervillains”. But truly, you're just humans who became supes one day and who can't seem to control themselves around supes. 

Since it was revealed that supes are made and not some gifted people, questions and arguments are roaming around the community. If Vought made the supes, then who made the villains? Was it Vought or some twisted knock off? Do you have compound V or something else flowing inside your veins? And if so, why did this organisation chose us? Normal citizens with no criminal background? It's not like all of you had no family or friends or anything, no, you knew a proud and married mom of 3 children who became a villain overnight. There are even some people who were pastors, nuns or imam, nursery workers whose lives are now ruined by this thing.

But still. With the villain's accusations, you still had faith. You knew by now how supes actually were. A bunch of drugged up criminals with colourful costume but with a pristine white reputation thanks to the big V. Someone had to do something about it. Civilians were dying by the dozens every day because of supes.

 “She was on the road”, “I said get out of the way”, “It was self defence”, “It had nothing to do with race or gender”. I’ve heard those sentences thousands of times now. A-train who straight went through a girl, Sun Light who burned someone with 3rd degree burns during a chase, Homelander when he lasered a random guy, Blue Hawk when he killed an innocent young black man. The list goes on and on.

 When you discovered that there were others like yourself, and how supes just wouldn't take the blame for their actions, you decided to find the most powerful, strong, and fast people like you to build a whole team.

Your name is Y/N, you control atoms and you’re what they call a supervillain.

A/n : So it's my very first story, hope y'all like it. If there are mistakes it's totally normal english isnt my first language. Thank you for reading 😊

A/n 2 : I changed a couple things, again tell me if you have any remarks😊

[clonerightsagenda]

Ok! Reread complete. It is now time for me to ponder exactly how amatonormative the ending really is.

It's definitely framed that way. Mary describes quitting nunhood because she wanted to pursue romantic relationships, her story inspires Lyra and Will to pursue a romantic relationship, and that's what stops the flow of Dust.

However, it is more complicated than that. Mary did not have to quit the entire Christian religion to date someone (she could just stop being a nun), but she did, because she wasn't happy and wanted to do "something with all my nature instead of just a part of it". She's not even in a romantic relationship right now and seems perfectly fine with that! While there's an aside about the mulefa having monogamous relationships, their transition into adulthood is getting big enough to wear the wheels. It's about growing up and joining the world as a fully realized adult who can make their own decisions rather than remaining constrained due to immaturity or institutional pressures. The book focuses on sexuality because, well, religious authority has often obsessed over controlling and regulating that, and so embracing it is an act of resistance. (That has not really changed all that much.) Plus, there's a continual emphasis that it won't work if Lyra knows her destiny. You have to follow your own nature! For most of the books Lyra and Will are getting buffeted around by events, and Lyra even thinks rescuing the dead is part of the prophecy, so their actions are arguably constrained, whereas this bit is (to their knowledge) free will and not preordained. So yes preteen love saves the world I guess, and it makes sense that Pullman chose that angle, but theoretically it could have been something else, as long as it involves maturing and chasing your bliss. AU where someone transes their gender or quits their job so hard it saves the world. I mean Mary sort of did the latter.

Also, I'm wondering if this is one of those situations where the prophecy creates itself. People have preteen crushes all the time. None of the others save the world. But Dust responds to attention and intention, and since Lyra was the ~child of prophecy~ a whole bunch of people spent a bunch of time and energy fixated on her, and perhaps the Dust responded to that. If the Magisterium hadn't cared about her, maybe her choices would've done nothing. But they did. You guys played yourselves.

[gayness-and-mayhem]

Oh also, can't believe Will slept with a fucking nun (albeit not the most nunly of nuns, but still).

[odissey061]

Kinktober, day 13

(The previous work will be posted when they are ready. I want to continue with my planning even if I skip some day and the delayed works will be posted later)

Fandom: Obey me

Simeon + seduction

 Seducing an angel was harder and more complicated than she thought. In her mind the equation being virgin for centuries led to being easily tempted, but the reality was really different: Simeon's second name was still Chastity. 

She even asked Asmodeus for help, but it didn’t work. Wearing a mini skirt or a top that left almost bared her chest was the same as wearing a nun's dress. Simeon still gazed in her eyes and he would have done the same even if she was naked. The only time he noticed her peculiar style, he put his white robe on the shoulder, saying:"You must be cold. Wearing such thin and short clothes in winter is bad for your health, you should dress up more the next time". Confessing that he was gay, would have hurt less!

One day, Solomon talked with her:"Did one of your tentatives of seducing Simeon successed?". "Was that obvious?" she wondered surprised, then she sighed:"Yes, I suppose it is, the only oblivious is Simeon". "From your answer I deduct that you only collected failures" he assumed. Did he have to turn the knife in the wound? She remained silent, so he continued:"Have you ever tried watching things from a different perspective?". Why couldn't he go straight to the point, instead of playing with words? He was so exasperating! "What do you mean by this?" she questioned and he said:"You behaved like you were dealing with a human, right? Showing off your body is a clear message and men catch this, but Simeon is an angel and he doesn't think like us". In that moment, she understood what he meant:"So I have to change strategy! Thank you for your help, Solomon". She exclaimed as she ran away, kissing her friend on the cheek. Maybe Solomon wasn't as bad as the brothers thought. 

Like a general who discovers that his enemy is harder to take down than he thought, she spent a whole week thinking the strategy. She observed really carefully the angel, noticing every single change of his expression and, in the end, she understood what she had to do. The best way to conquer an angel is being sincere and open with the emotions. The first step to do was make Simeon understand that she wanted a different relationship with him.

She asked Luke if he could help her to bake some dessert from the Celestial Heaven. She felt slightly guilty for instrumentalizing the son of the angel she wanted to conquer, but then she made up with the excuse that in love and in war everything is allowed. For an afternoon they occupied the kitchen -every time Solomon stepped in, they sent him back too afraid that he would have ruined the dessert with just his presence- and, when the sun was going to set, everything was ready. She was extremely satisfied with the result and she hoped that Simeon would have liked too.

When she entered in the angel’s room, her heart skipped a beat: Simeon was sleeping. The head was placed on crossed arms and the computer was still working. In the background, there was a piece of classical music -one of Chopin's nocturne, if she was right. He was sleeping so peacefully that waking him would have been a shame, so she placed the tray on the desk and she sat on a chair, watching his sleepy face. Her heart tightened seeing how beautiful he was and she grabbed her wrist to restrain herself from caressing the soft skin.

Maybe it was wrong taking advantage of a sleeping person, but she leaned on him and she pecked his lips, whispering tenderly:”If only you could understand how much I love you”. And she left the room. Simeon widened his eyes, his cheeks were burning red. He… He didn’t see that coming!

 In the next days, Simeon changed his behavior: every occasion was perfect for skinship, his smiles became more tender and gentle and he invited her more often to Purgatory All. 

One day, they caught rain as they walked home and, when they stepped inside, she sneezed thrice, shivering. Simeon gazed at her and, for a brief second, his eyes were stuck on her body: the white shirt was tight to her body and he could see the red underwear. Bad angel, bad angel! He scolded himself when he forcefully tried to tear away the gaze. He was so embarrassed that even his ears were blushing. 

"Wear this as I prepare a hot bath for you" he lent her some clothes, gazing in the opposite direction. She chuckled:"Simeon, it's okay. You don't have to be so embarrassed about the state of my shirt, because, you know, as you saw my underwear, I can see your body as well. And I'm really enjoying the view". And with Simeon's most awkwardness, he recognized that the wet cloth revealed his chiseled chest and abs. She gazed at him like a starving child glared at a candy: with utter hunger. 

"Y/n!" he exclaimed scandalized and he escaped in the bathroom. He tried to calm down his quick heartbeat. He quickly washed with cold water: his body didn't show any sign of life, but his skin was hotter than usual. He knew what she was going to do and he saw through her previous actions. He had always called her "little lamb", but he undervalued her: he was the innocent, little lamb and she was the hunter! 

His self commiseration lasted until he heard a crash in the kitchen, not caring about what his demise -a white towel on the waist- could have awakened in her. 

"Little lamb, are you okay?" he worried when he saw her bleeding fingers. How could he treat her wound when they didn't have a medical kit in Purgatory All? "I'm fine, I'm sorry I broke the mug: I was trying to make hot chocolate, but my hands were wet and the cups slipped" she explained embarrassed. Everything was going fine until she slipped with the mugs. 

"We don't have a medical kit, so I'm going to heal you as best I can. Sorry if it's a bit embarrassing" he prevented, preparing himself for what he was going to do. He took her bleeding fingers and he carried them on his lips, then he licked them. Angels' spit could heal wounds and he was going to help her and not because he wanted to take a small revenge for earlier. Or this was what he tried to convince himself. They were in a critical situation where a single move misinterpreted could have led to a situation in which neither of them wanted to stop. 

"... Simeon…?" she whispered and the angel noticed that her eyes became darker. If someone would have stepped in that moment, they would have definitely misunderstood: she was sitting on the ground, the clothes a few sizes smaller, and Simeon was knelt in front of her, a towel half undid, sucking and licking her fingers. 

I'm healing her, I'm healing her. He didn't dare to gaze at her, knowing that if he had done, all his efforts of being pure, would have shattered. 

"Now your cuts are heal-" he tried to speak, but he could end the phrase. She grabbed him by his hair and their lips met in a fervent kiss. "Simeon…" she whispered his name as she undid the clothes. His tongue enveloped hers and he placed his hands on her bra. It didn't matter who started that game of seduction, because now they were stuck in an embrace that neither of them wanted broke. 

The towel came off and her hands went his ass as his undressed her of her clothes. Useless to say, they didn’t talk that afternoon and for a long time the only noises in the kitchen were the squelching sounds and their breathed names.

Later Simeon confessed that he saw through her attempts at tempting him from the first day and she exclaimed that he could have told her that he knew. Seducing an angel wasn't as hard and more complicated as she thought: wearing a mini skirt or a top that left almost bared her chest or the equation being virgin for centuries led to being easily tempted were not completely wrong, she just missed a very important thing. For celestial being like Simeon, doing a kind of activities without love, was simply unthinkable.

“I hope you are ready, Simeon, because from now on I’m going to tempt you harder, now that I know your logic” she teased him and Simeon answered back with the same teasing:”I’m curious to know how will you react if I try to seduce you too”. And she remained silent. Imaging a person like Simeon who seduced someone made her heart skip a beat. The glint in his blue eyes suggested that she wouldn't have to complain later.  

Solomon and Asmodeus were sitting close on the bench and the sorcerer showed the opened hand. Snorting, the demon gave him five hundred Grimms, then he pouted:”How could you win? I was sure that they would have had sex after at least six months since the day they got together”. Solomon smirked satisfy:”Even if Simeon is an angel, he’s still a man and as such, he had some difficulties at restraining himself when the girl he loves tries to seduce him with every means”.

[nightcityhqs]

case  file     ;  Maddox Kingsley

nicknames     ;  None.

associations    ;  The Entertainers

occupation    ;  Host of the Sunset Frequency, Owner of Persephone's Den.

birthdate    ;  November 22th, 1980

hometown    ; London, England

current  location     ;  Downtown

pronouns     ; She/Her

mirror image     ; Charlize Theron

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW

the record stops, the player tape states, and the radio static is replaced with voices;

 — And our dear listeners are eager to know, how long have you been in Sunset Port? — Most importantly, why do you stay? 

"You know, I'm normally the one doing the questions," Maddox says, accent heavy on her tongue, blowing the smoke from her cigarette away as she watches her assistant tug on the collar of his shirt, visibly uncomfortable. She sighs, "I've been in Sunset Port for twelve years. Stuck in this studio for what? Eight years?" her accent is thick, and Maddox shifts on her seat, clearing her throat. "Why don't I leave? I think about doing it, often. But I made a home for myself here, despite how dull the city can be. And if I leave, who will be the joyful company for our dear listeners every night?"

  Of course! We can all identify with the sentiment. Well, at least some of us. [LAUGHTER] What do you do in Sunset Port? 

A brow is raised, and Maddox groans, half annoyed and half offended. "Is that how I sound when reading those questions? This script is badly made, you know! Who is responsible for this? They should — What? I wrote it?" There's silence, before a tongue is clicking against the roof of her mouth. "Ah. Well, I should rewrite it, then. Well — Isn't it quite obvious?" She leans forward, mouth close to the microphone and voice low and dark, full of mysteries as she repeats the well known quote, "Good evening, Sunset Port. You've tuned in the Sunset Frequency, 66.6. And I will be your company for the night. Here all night, every night." 

  Admirable! Now, I’d have left this question last to finish with a bang, but our listener is impatient, oh my! Have you heard of our little organization?  

Nothing but silence can be heard through the radio, long and uncomfortable. The cigarette burns as the fingers holding it tremble slightly, and Maddox sighs after some time, clearing her throat once more and taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Who hasn't?" The question escapes her lips with no emotion, no surprise. It's cold, and sharp as knives. "Why is that an important question?" 

  Oh my! — And if Isabella Castello came knocking at your door, what would you do?  

Maddox chuckles, the absurdity of the questions finally catching up to her. "Well, darling, I would tell her to go fuck herself." Her assistant goes pale as a ghost, his next words barely leaving his lips. 

  Interesting. Well, I think I’ve kept you here long enough! Thank you for speaking with our public! Which song would you like me to play for you, now?

"Let’s put something inspiring for our dear listeners, huh? How about The Other Side, by Woodkid."

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warnings; Violence, Murder, Guns, Drugs, Serial Killers Mention

Maddox Kingsley understands enough of human nature to perceive her morals; nor black nor white, but shades of grey. Most are darker than others, more prominent. Some are hardly noticeable, but the danger is still unmistakable. In hindsight, it should be said her morals are questionable, simply put. There is no wrong or right, for Maddox. Sides are of little importance, as the only side she cares for is her own. A selfish little thing, with only her well-being in mind; she doesn't partake in any activities if she is not gaining something out of it. Maddox is easily buyable, and that's where the trouble resides; her loyalty is not worth a penny, at the end of the day — Not if someone pays better for it. Betrayal is part of Maddox's nature; it's in her blood, her instinct. Not born with her, but shoved in her bones, carved into the space where her heart should've been. Survival had been the first thing Maddox Kingsley learned, forced into her veins by unpredictable events and painfully drastic circumstances — 

You see, Maddox Kingsley had not been planned by loving parents intending to start a family. She had not been imagined, had no one who had longed for her — who had dreamed of her. No. Maddox is the outcome of a series of unpredictable events and terribly, comical if not painfully drastic, exaggerated misunderstandings. A tale so entangled in lies and achingly raw sorrow it is hardly possible to determine the truth. Few things were undoubtedly accurate, facts people embraced without question or suspicion. But the truth, not in its entirety for many pieces of the puzzle were in possession of wrathful and indignant people who would not abide Maddox's questioning, laid dormant and guarded within the confines of her mother's broken heart, hidden from those who found fondness in rumors. Her mother bore the harshness of words in a selfishly selfless act to shield her daughter, and herself. A deed meant to reassure Maddox of her devotion, and thus devotion would be given in return. 

So Maddox knew she was not unloved, her mother’s love had been her only certainty amidst the turmoil, but she wasn't awaited.

At eighteen, Lucrecia Kingsley found herself aggravating her family's situation — once prominent but now sunk in a sea of disrepute and misery. Pregnant. Surprisingly, unseemly and in her father's perspective, undesired. To further his despair, orchestrating a marriage with the father would be improbable, as the man was to be engaged. Not to his daughter, thus saving the family from bankruptcy, but to a society lady. Maddox's mother was adamant about keeping her child, despite that her father threatened to disown her. Thankfully, the man she had slept with during a moment of intoxication and hurt provided accommodations, given she allowed him to share the child with her, and she willingly accepted in a moment of desperation.

The first few years weren't cruel to Maddox. They were not particularly kind, by any means, but the child was shielded from harshness and ruthlessness during most of her first years. Her mother was young, inexperienced, fighting to overcome an essentially empty bank account — but the woman was loving, in a way her own mother had never been before. Maddox was attached to her, clinging to her mother's dresses whenever the woman had to leave for work or when Maddox's father arrived to pick her up for weekends each Friday night. Maddox's mother gave her as much care and comfort as she could, but the woman couldn't preserve her from the distant home her father dared take Maddox to every weekend.

A psychiatry student, Bertrand was a man none dared challenge in fear of his influence and authority. Rumors of Bertrand fabled cruelty were shared in hushed whispers by those brave enough to speak words considered blasphemy, but no eyes had ever witnessed such evil coming from the man's hand. Cold, yes, but not brutal. The man adored Maddox, pampering, and doting on her whenever they spent weekends together, but his family did not share the sentiment. Maddox never met her paternal grandparents, before.

She was young, barely 5, but her first memory is of that night. 

Sat in the back of an ambulance, the police lights bright and vibrant amidst the darkness, Maddox hardly paid mind to the yells of an elder woman she had never met before, who was daring to disturb the ghostly silence plaguing the night. Her attention was solely on her father, his calm eyes staring at her through the car window. To this day, Maddox remembers the strangest feeling creating roots in her lungs at the sight of her father in the back of a police car, officers and agents crowding their house and invading their space.

Your father killed a bunch of people, the agent with kind eyes had informed her, and Maddox remembers how she struggled to speak the words - had to force each syllable and consonant out, her brain surely wondering how to best tell a young girl her beloved father was a killer — and that her mother would not be returning. Her blood continued to stain the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her father’s eyes never showed any sign of emotions — Maddox knows, now, if she was in the agent's shoes, she would’ve been struggling too.

When Maddox had been discharged from the hospital — an extraordinary child having survived the impossible — it was to the stern hands of nuns with kindness in their eyes, faintly. Taken to a countryside orphanage, Maddox Kingsley turned out to be a difficult case for the nuns and caretakers to restrain. It was to be expected, of course, with her father in jail and her mother murdered. But Maddox's refusal of cooperating, accepting the affections of candidate parents, and simply not speaking whatsoever — proved to be rather complicated. She went and came, a family never settling with her or accepting her into their folds, wishing for an easier child to love and support instead, and returning Maddox to the hands of desperate nuns had been Maddox growing years. Coupled with fights she would often get into with the other children, well — They couldn't do much for her. 

It wasn't until Maddox turned twelve that a man with a prominent glare on his face and few words on his lip finally sealed the deal, taking Maddox in and signing the adoption papers when they were ready. Unusually quickly, but the orphanage was thankful for the money the man provided and to see Maddox finally with a 'family'. Little did they know the man was nothing of a father, but a mentor of sorts; an assassin, one with quick hands and light feet. Maddox kicked and screamed, but soon she fell into her new routine. The man did not care about the fights she picked in school, as long as she kept her head down and the attention on her to a minimum — and every day they trained. Trained until Maddox bones were sore and heavy, until her lungs ached in her ribcage, her ears ringing from the gunshot noises, and her arms burned from the weight of guns.

Maddox and the men held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. Maddox and the man held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. By eighteen, Maddox started taking her own jobs, and proved to be quite adept at it. She was never caught, and never left witness behind. Fighting came as easy to her as breathing, and Maddox paid no heed to pain. She was a machine, good as they come. By twenty-five, she was running in with a partner, a man she met during a job who was paid to kill another target in the same party she had a target. It wasn't a life she was proud of; running credit card scams, killing for money, and never settling down in one place — but it was the life she knew. The only thing she had been good at. Perhaps it is genetics. Perhaps she is as rotten as her father. Thoughts that kept her awake at night, knowing them to be true. Everything she touched died, just like him. 

With her story and her past, it didn't take long for the Organization to contact her. They promised her the world for her skills, but it came with a price. She had to leave her partner behind, and kill a target that had been escaping the Organization grasps for some time. Maddox faked her own death, leaving London, and following the trail, she was given up to Bulgaria, where she found herself face to face with the man that had raised her, taught her. It wasn't an easy fight. But she came out victorious, and at first thing in the morning, was leaving on a plane to Sunset Port. 

After that, guilt began to settle in her bones. She continued to do her job, but the taste of blood now left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, and when she turned 32, Maddox decided to leave this life behind. She couldn't, not fully, of course — one does not simply leave the Organization. But they offered her a retirement plan; take charge of the radio station, and be free to do as she wishes in her free time. She accepted it with no questions asked, and has been the radio host for the Sunset Frequency since then.

[yukiwrites]

Eagerness, but, above all, Care

Thank you so much for the support AND patience, @pissybritchess! I hope your weekend’s been good for you! ;v;) Watch out for the sin, ye who enters!

Summary: Sitri loved to be the one Jeralt would always come back to first once he returned from his missions as a Knight of Seiros. The times she was left alone waiting for him made her wonder if, perhaps, their family could grow so they could nurture the fruits of their love...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

Garreg Mach Monastery. Situated atop of a mountain, the ancient holy church was a building in which one could see the most wonderful sights, no matter the time of the day.

To Sitri, whose weak constitution did not allow her free movement outside those protective walls, watching the sunset from the Goddess Tower was always a breathtaking moment for her. Just for those few minutes between dusk and the night that covered them all like a blanket, Sitri could take a glimpse at the true beauty of the world under the eclipse of the fading sunlight. 

Whenever her body allowed and her work was done for the day, she liked to climb the seemingly endless staircase towards the top of the tower to simply spend the rest of her time there. Sometimes she would take a basketful of flowers so she could craft garlands; other times she took her favorite books with her so she could encompass their stories to the marvelous sight all around her... Most times, however, she liked to share this special spot with the one who was most important to her, the man whose stories never failed to bring a warm smile to Sitri's lips.

"Oh, Jeralt," Sitri giggled as she leaned on her beloved's chest, lifting her arm to take a better look at the strange flower he had brought her from his latest mission. "It's so wonderful," she carefully kept it away from her face, tenderly hugging it close to her bosom instead. 

"I knew you would think so," Jeralt's deep voice reverberated through his chest as he twirled a lock of Sitri's hair in one finger. "The moment I saw it, I had to break away from the march to pick it up for you."

"You delayed your return! You almost missed watching the sunset with me," Sitri scolded with a pout, though was unable to keep it so due to how wide she smiled. "But thank you... I'll hold onto it forever."

"Mhm," Jeralt adjusted his wife inside his arms, lifting his gaze to the arriving darkness while taking note of the chilly air brewing. "Will you press it like the others?"

"That was the plan, but I don't know if I can do it," Sitri tilted her head to the side as she poked on its protruded, yellow spadix. "Maybe if I cut this in half to dry it... I'd feel sorry to pluck it out when it's the heart of the flower."

Blinking, the Knight of Seiros lowered his surprised gaze to his wife. "You know of this flower?"

Smiling triumphantly, Sitri lifted her chin, puffing her chest as she looked up to her husband before turning back to the flower. "Surprised? I read about these once or twice, though I didn't think they could grow so close to the monastery like this." She nudged on the thick, petal-like spathe, enjoying how vibrant its red color was.

Jeralt slid his hand over hers, making their skins contrast against the exotic flower: His rugged, slightly darker hand easily encompassed her tender, clear skin as both of their thumbs caressed the flower. "Does it have a name?"

"Hmm, it's a really complicated one," Sitri tapped her lips with her free hand. "Its formal name is 'anthurium', but when I asked the florist who sometimes visits the Monastery, he told me that they call it 'tailflower' in the market."

"What? So it's usually for sale? How come I've never seen them before? It's strange now that I think of it, since I saw it a ways before the entrance to the village down below..."

Sitri pressed her lips into a thin line, unable to stop a tiny snort from leaking out. "It's actually kind of poisonous, so people usually steer clear from it."

"What? And you've hugged- did you sniff it? Is it on your skin now?" Jeralt almost panicked as he tried to yank the flower away from Sitri, though her placating touch on his hand made him stop the brash action.

"Heehee, it's fine. I didn't sniff it, no, but even if I did, the poison would only act as such if I had ingested it." She slowly removed the hand that was holding the flower from Jeralt's still rock-solid grip, "don't take it away from me, please? It's a precious present you gifted me..."

"What man gifts his wife a poisonous flower? If this made you fall ill, I would never forgive myself." He frowned deeply, slowly shaking his head in disapproval as he reached for the flower once again.

Sitri's body deflated from the amount of love, care and devotion she received from her husband right after he came back from a long mission -- it was enough to make her eyes burn in emotion and her chest overflow with warmth. "But I still want it. Can't we compromise on having you handle the cutting so I can press it later? Maybe I can make a bookmark with one half of the spadix while the other stays pressed."

Busy entangling his fingers into his wife's so as to steal the flower back, Jeralt twisted his nose as though to disagree, but sagged his shoulders right after. "Fine, but I'll take it back with me to my room so you won't have to sleep with it anywhere near you."

Only then did Sitri let go of the rubber-like stem, smiling brightly at her overprotective husband. "Thank you, Jeralt, for taking such good care of me." She turned to him, cupping his face with both hands before reaching in for a small kiss.

Placing the flower on the floor next to them before sliding his hand to Sitri's back, Jeralt closed his eyes to reciprocate the kiss. "In the end, I still didn't surprise you enough." His hoarse voice huffed by her lips, their noses nudging against one another's.

"But you did, though? Every single day we're together, you manage to surprise me more and more, Jeralt." Sitri trickled her fingers from Jeralt's chin to his chest, "the size of your heart, of your worry and your care for me..." she bit her lower lip, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. "I'm sure you'll be- you'd be a great father."

Jeralt sputtered, widening his eyes. "Sitri-"

Suddenly feeling very shy for being on her husband's lap, Sitri looked down as she ground her lower lip with her teeth. "I- um, every time you go to a mission, I have the same trail of thoughts... About how wonderful it would be to build a family right here with you, and have our child look up to their father as much as their mother does." She glanced up at him, finding the usually rugged man extremely flustered.

"I- Sitri, it would be wonderful, but your health..." He tried to scamper for words, his demeanor oozing eagerness though still reeling himself back with wariness towards his wife's condition.

Sitri's eyes itched with emotion, her lips curving up to a warm smile. "Your child will be inside of me," she turned her gaze to his, her watery eyes making her look even more endearing in Jeralt's mind. "That'll make me stronger, Jeralt. To nurture our baby, t-to," she stuttered, overwhelmed with emotion just by thinking about it, not noticing how Jeralt slowly cut the short distance between them, "to look forward to meeting them and teaching them all about the books I've read and the flowers you've brought me..."

Jeralt's heart thumped with almost pain from how full it was with love towards his wife. He couldn't form words to express his joy, so he could only caress Sitri's cheeks and bring her closer to him, sealing their vow with yet another kiss.

Sitri closed her eyes, feeling a single tear run down her cheek as she felt Jeralt's tender, oh so tender touch bringing her closer to his body.  Slowly he opened his mouth further, his tongue asking for entry inside Sitri's so they could deepen their kiss, now coated in the moonlight.

Sitri fully turned her body to Jeralt, wrapping both hands around his head as she felt her entire body tingle with the longing of a wife who hadn't been with her husband for many weeks. "Mhm," she bemoaned while gasping for breath, refusing to leave the long, intimate kiss. "Jeralt-"

"Wait-" the Knight of Seiros managed to hold his wife's shoulders lest they got carried away. "Not here," he made a trail of kisses from her lips to her ear as he placed his hands under her body so as to lift her in an embrace.

"Oh!" Sitri quickly picked up the almost forgotten flower before wrapping both arms around her husband's neck as she giggled. "Aren't I heavy? There are so many stairs..." she swung her legs back and forth as Jeralt rushed down the staircase.

"Nonsense; you couldn't be lighter even if you wanted." He snorted as he carried her through the long steps, taking a turn before the end of the third story towards the living quarters of the Monastery's nuns.

Ordinarily, men weren't permitted to enter, but Sitri's room was much closer to the Goddess Tower than the barracks in which Jeralt's quarters were, so they didn't have much choice, really.

Giggling all the way up to her room, Sitri kept looking over Jeralt's shoulder to stay on watch for any onlookers, but they both knew how good of a tracker Jeralt was -- he rightfully picked the empty corridors towards his wife's room, as he had done time and again in the past.

"Mhm," Sitri bemoaned under the sudden kiss Jeralt placed on her right after he put her on the floor, pressing her against her door with equal amounts of eagerness and care. Closing her eyes, Sitri allowed Jeralt to guide her inside, not even realizing he had stolen the flower from her hand and placed it in the desk that was between the door and the bed.

Giving herself entirely to her husband, Sitri simply wrapped both arms around Jeralt's neck, tripping on his legs as they strode towards the bed, laughing once she bumped on it. However, instead of falling on the mattress, Sitri fell on her husband, instead -- he cushioned her fall by hugging her closer to his body, which only made Sitri even more sure of what they were going to try for.

He was so attentive. He was so caring.

He loved her so much -- Sitri could tell that each time he touched her, there was softness overflowing from his fingertips.

She felt so precious; so well taken care of.

She couldn't wait to nurture the product of their love; to bear the best of the both of them into the child that's going to be the most loved one in the entire history of Fódlan.

"I love you, Jeralt. So much." She confessed with a tearful gaze, her trembling lips scrambling to meet his. "Thank you for loving me."

"You make it so easy, Sitri." He replied over her mouth, pulling her lower lip slightly as he softly placed her on the mattress. "I couldn't not fall for you," he smooched her, "or for your smile," again and again did he place kisses on her face, enjoying how it made her even redder and more teary.

Sniffling, Sitri tried to pout and protest this love-bullying, but it wasn't as though she wasn't having the time of her life, so she let it slide with stifled giggles. What she also let slide was Jeralt's hand down her hips as it pulled up her skirt while his kisses trailed from her jawline to her neck and bosom. He didn't care that he was kissing the fabric of her dress as he went down and down with his lips to finally reach the lifted skirt: his tongue met the immaculate skin of her thighs with the thirst of a parched man.

Huffing for breath, Sitri's mind started melting under each of Jeralt's touches, forcing her to lick her lips again and again as though it would be enough to quelch the heat that had been spreading throughout her body. "Jeralt-" she mewled as he nibbled at her underwear, digging her fingers into his hair as a way to make him look up at her.

Ah, the blushing sight of Sitri's! Jeralt was truly the luckiest man alive to be the only one who would bear witness to her beauty as she dissolved in pleasure. Sitri, ah, Sitri...

Suppressing the urge to fuss over her health as he always did during their most intimate moments, Jeralt succumbed to the desire of once again kissing his wife -- deeply, ever so deeply that forced Sitri to roll her eyes in pleasure and gasp for air once they pulled away.

"Jeralt, ah... Jeralt-" rational thought was almost gone inside Sitri's mind; the only thing she could focus on was her husband's love, body and care. "Jeralt, Jeralt..." She bemoaned his name as she rolled her head to the sides, prompting the knight to once again dive into his wife's lips at the same time his fingers pulled her underwear to the side to gain access to her innermost parts.

It was no surprise that she was more than ready to welcome his might as two of his fingers went in with ease -- but Jeralt still wanted to take all of the steps necessary to make Sitri feel just as wonderful as she made him feel. Her insides were hot and eager for him as they cupped his fingers in and refused to let him out each time he slowly entered.

Sitri took a rasped breath as she felt Jeralt's fingers rub her clit before entering her, which made her entire body shake with pleasure. "J-Jeralt, I-"

"Are you alright?" He asked in a comforting voice, his forehead glued on hers. "Not tired?"

"Y-you treasure me too much," she sniffled, biting her lower lip so hard it turned white. "P-please, I don't think I can hold on much longer..." she exhaled, despite squeezing her eyes shut with the pleasure Jeralt's fingers alone provided her.

"I treat you only as how you deserve, Sitri," he whispered a kiss on her sweaty nose, adjusting her position so he could prod his erection at her vaginal opening. "Come here," he inserted his tongue into her mouth at the same time he penetrated her, muffling a long moan that died in her throat.

"Mhmmm..." Sitri dug her nails into Jeralt's back, clasping her legs around his waist so he could do her more easily. In and out very slowly he went, making Sitri feel the entirety of his might -- molding her to his shape.

Already out of breath due to the previous amount of stimuli, Sitri huffed moans and love confessions by Jeralt's ear as his lower half focused on pleasing her without robbing her of her air. Since she had been stimulated to the brimming point before he even put it in, Sitri's insides were already clutching around Jeralt when he started accelerating his movements.

The young woman huffed, strangling moans as her husband bit and licked her neck to allow her to breathe. She gasped and mewled adorably as she did her utmost to dig her nails past Jeralt’s coat, only managing to grip at it with everything she had. No coherent words apart from Jeralt’s name left her lips, as her throat started to ache from the loud moans escaping her body while it shook with her husband’s firm yet tender lovemaking.

Her stamina could never match his, so Jeralt always made sure to make her come first -- and second, and third -- before he liberated himself inside of her, enjoying the sight of her that was only for his eyes.

Shaking from the continuous climaxes, Sitri rolled her eyes back, tears of pleasure escaping her eyes as she allowed her love to overflow. "I... love..." Sitri huffed as her body trembled with the fourth orgasm. "Hahh, ahh..." unable to voice her feelings, she simply caressed her husband's cheeks before being claimed by exhaustion.

“I know,” claiming her lips for the last time before he liberated himself inside of her, Jeralt took her limp hand and kissed its back, shifting their position so Sitri would lay atop of him while still remaining inside of her, "and I love you just as intently."

[metellastella]

Mao Mao Pride Week Prompts, Part 2

A continuation of the prompts put out by @maomaosmother Previous batch here: https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621726687992872960/hello-everyone-happy-pride-month-to-all-of-you

4. Who I am

Mao said, “You know how some people like B.C. marry the other sex and have children to ‘fit in’?”

“Yes.” Snugglemagne said. “It’s something that’s crossed my mind once or twice, to be honest.”

Mao started in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, to continue the throne. Hard to imagine committing to someone you weren’t drawn to, but …” he shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad?”

Mao rubbed his chin. “I don’t think a lot of people would agree with you there. But. For my own part. A good number of Mao members choose celibacy, because of our offered teachings. Would that not simply be a form of celibacy, just on one side, not the other?”

The king thought about it. “Well, it does seem to make it more manageable, when put that way. I’ve been visited by groups of nuns traveling from their covenants, and they don’t seem to be worse off for it. But, obviously it’s easier for women than men.”

“There are friars, too,” Mao pointed out. “Wanderers. Tending to the poor. Stand-up characters. I felt lucky whenever I’d run into one. Camped out with a few of them in my time. Nice fireside chats.”

“Oh, yeah.” 

“Both of those genders we just talked about  . . . and we in the clan tend to think of all of it, more of as an option. Not a core part of who I am.”

“Hm.”

“How about yourself?”

“I’m with your battle partner on this one, Mao.” 

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

The cat chuckled. “It was kinda cute on nights when he’d pick up a partner and I wouldn’t, and he would get all anxious on my behalf, and, say, ask if they should go to a different floor and not the next room so I wouldn’t feel more ‘lonely.’ He just doesn’t get it’s not that big a deal. He never has.” he shrugged. “And, heh, I have more than enough training to block out distracting sounds from my mind, and I sleep really deeply. But, I appreciate his being concerned over me anyway.”

“I guess I might think of it a little less as a central tenet than he does. After all, I haven’t been actively courting anyone since you both got here, or a little before that, either.”

“So, nothing to do with me?” Mao quirked an eyebrow.

“Heh, unfortunately not. I’ve experienced ‘love at first sight’ before, but for your particular case, it crept up slower. Sometimes that’s just how it is.”

Mao opened a gloved hand. “Right! That’s kinda like the point I was going to make about marrying someone the spouse wasn’t drawn to. Think of the reverse! At least among us siblings, no matter whom we’re drawn to, or how strongly, we tend to seek the same sex a lot, anyway, because it’s just much less hassle and worry, you know? Somewhat because we have warrior duties that take precedent over having children and domestic life, somewhat because we’re wielders, when mixed-magic-and-non-magic opposite-sex pairings can be complicated. We do have, not only the magical blockers to consider, but we’d like to have more wielder children if we’re going to pair up and take that risk in the first place. My sisters would be … I guess a word for it might be … embarrassed? Or frustrated …? To go through an entire pregnancy and not ‘gift’ the world with a wielder. A new dragonslayer! It’s not just outside pressure, either! The bond between a wielder child and parent is just … unfortunately more satisfying than not.”

Mao paused, examining the non-magical animal’s face.

The lion carefully guarded his expression at that. It really didn’t sound like prejudice. He seemed apologetic enough. But it felt that way.

Of course, he could never understand it fully. 

If Mao was looked down on for being the weakest … what gauntlet must a non-magical child born into the clan go through??

Maybe it was sheer, pure benevolence on the womens’ part to do what they could to prevent that. 

But that in itself was kind of hard to think about. 

Mao didn’t get any hint as to his thoughts.

Another animal might have given into an angry or irritated expression, but the king’s diplomatic and political training paid off. 

Not finding anything amiss, Mao resumed. “Sometimes, we just want to let off steam. We seek the same sex. Sometimes, in the past, despite being drawn to both sexes, I’m not really all that attracted, but I want the option anyway. The ‘option’ concept goes both ways.” 

“I . . . guess I understand that, though I still have a hard time picturing being intimate with someone I wasn’t drawn to first. Despite my idle musings on the possibility.”

5. Obstacles

“What?” Mao’s sister asked. “Just because I’m up for fun, you think I’m any less controlled than you, little brother? Conscious decisions are just as fun. Get over yourself.”

His ears went all the way down. “I … I’m so sorry,” his green eyes got bigger than ever. “So sorry! I always thought you were so impulsive … How could I think so badly of my own kin…”

“Aww, it’s all right, Mao,” she backpedaled. “Oh my gosh, stop taking everything so seriously.”

But he looked genuinely grieved. “I don’t have any room to talk,” he looked at his own gloved hands. “Was it my Ego defense mechanisms kicking in? A blind spot? Or … I mean … the others don’t approve of your actions either. Was I just emulating them? They don’t care as much about my actions. Is it because I’m a man, and you’re a woman? Is it prejudice?”

“Really Mao, stop stressing over it. The elders have their penalties in place for both men and women! The social aspect of it … it is what it is. All people have got their personalized hurdles in life. Like the athletes! Tiring, sure. But. Everybody’s just gotta buck up and jump over them.”

“You think maybe that’s a reference to real bucks?” the badger wondered. “Man, imagine catching an antler to the chest.” His voice faded, losing its joy. Did the lion spot him trembling? “Think of facing an even more massive caribou or wildebeast! All antlers, all business. All genders. I mean even a bare-headed female moose with her mountain of muscles is nothing to sneeze at. I do feel sorry for any one of them who might consider themselves male, though. Antlers are hard to fake. All those dudes and dudettes are WAY scarier than predators. Preds like to make out like they’re hot stuff! Psh!” the animal shook his head. “Many bovine species outweigh them several times over … ” 

“Didn’t stop me,” the black cat said confidently.

“Yeah, yeah,” the badger waved his paws dismissively at the magically strengthened animal. 

“I guess in that case the phrase ‘buck up’ might be slightly sexist,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Deer can definitely jump hurdles, though. Way higher than bears could. Like horse jumping! I wonder if their sports earn more money because the audiences like them better? It’s more graceful, they have more natural ability? Higher stakes, too. Their legs are very slender even though they’re strong … it’s very easy, with their massive weight, to totally shatter their bones if they land wrong. Even just racing, not jumping. The same isn’t true, for, say, greyhounds. Their welfare isn’t as endangered. Enough money flows that there are always magic salves on hand, but bone still takes pretty long to heal after the initial injury. But, because they’re so graceful and skilled, they’re drawn by the money rewards. Bears, who usually do it more for status and reputation, are trundling, bumbling, and clumsy by comparison. Even though they’re half-predators. How did they ever manage to make any kills in the old days? I guess a diet of mostly fish didn’t favor their developing grace and speed, as with canines and felines.”

The badger crossed his arms. “With the other type of ‘hurdles.’ I guess even though I admire you in a lot of ways, I don’t envy you outright being a woman. I can lie about attractions and pretend that I’m never drawn to men, if the situation demands it. There is no ‘closet’ for presenting as a woman. That’s tough, though you’re a wielder, so that offsets it a lot.”

“It’s not like being an average woman. Not nearly! Even if I didn’t have powers though. Being drawn to men is a whole lot harder than my stuff, too,” she disagreed.

Snugglemagne thought it was sweet how they seemed to be mildly arguing over whom to support more.

6. LGBT+ Safety

“There was the phenomenon of ‘male daughters,’ in the ancient world,” the lion said. “They were as perfectly ordinary legal designations as a birth certificate nowadays.”

“Oh?” Mai perked his ears, interested.

“Yes, I’ll give you some material on it. They lived like men did, and inherited wealth like they did. They were treated as men in pretty much every way. No having to conceal for safety concerns, like the mess in some places in the modern world. It was just obvious, and pedestrian, to that culture and those individuals. They weren’t harassed because they looked different, nor was a body seen as gender role ‘destiny.’ The approaches and conceptual framework to this issue have varied so much from place to place, and time to time.” “Can’t wait to read about it.”  

The sister made a face. “Oh yeah, that’s Mao, always holed up with his scrolls. I’m more of a party girl.”

“Same,” the badger said.

“I told him …” Mao sighed. “I told him that you all seek the same sex often too. But it’s different for guys.”

“Why?” the lion asked. 

“Remember what I said about the ‘lower’ position,” the badger reminded him flatly. “Actually, among most adventurer circles, at least, it’s totally OK for a pair of guys to get jiggy with each other, as long as neither does that. It’s called a warrior bond.” 

“The warrior bond was something B.C. and I considered,” Mao said quietly. “Out on the road, you never knew whose nose you’d run into. Subbing is not something you can conceal. With animals who aren’t nose-blind, there is no ‘closet.’ We’ve been to places where birds could do things on the sly. But that’s a rarity. Everywhere else, there are predators, or heavyweights, or wielders who’ll take a piece out of your hide for it. Of course I’d have zero problems defending us if necessary. A random group of anti-heroes or bandits just nosing around for trouble in general didn’t have any chance against me, either. But. Just not worth the hassle. Not to mention I’d want to break the nose on whoever it was. All it would take is one good pop.” He made a lighting-swift motion-retraction with his fist. 

The smiles on both the badger and the bigger cat faltered. They looked at each other in concern.

Mao either pretended not to notice, went on because he wasn’t about to soften his feelings on the matter, or was so absorbed in his own reflection that he really didn’t see them. “And I’d enjoy it too. I always did.” He glanced up at them, expression unreadable. “I won’t apologize for thinking it. In fact, I still do. Being a wielder, though, fanning those thoughts is not a good idea. I had to learn that through trial and error.”

“That’s not healthy for anyone,” the badger shook his head, “wielder or not. You’ve managed to avoid growing more of a … like … you said Blue mentioned … a ‘martyr complex’ over it? Right?”

Mao sighed in aggravation. 

“Yeah. I was in the throes of that before. Anyway. For other normal or lesser powered people, the warrior bond provides safety.” Next:  7. Marriage 8. Self-Acceptance   V Click below V https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/622003595371544576/mao-mao-pride-week-prompts-part-3

First chapter of the fic here: https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/617045879413719040/piercing-the-swordsman-chapter-1

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 15

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Well, the deed is done. Now it's Héctor's turn to get something done. (Also, this fic is now past 100k words and still not done. Damn.) Art by Dara and @senoraluna​.

***

“So, all right, hear this out. I take her to the stream, I get down on one knee, take the guitar off my back- no, wait, that’d be hard. First I get the guitar off my back, then I get on one knee…”

Watching Héctor pace back and forth across his shack, Juanita sleeping soundly on the table next to him, Chicharrón raised an eyebrow. “The hell is the guitar even for?”

“To play, Cheech! I play her a song asking for her hand--”

“That’s a stupid idea.”

“Well-- Padre Ernesto said it always works!”

“What would he know? He’s a priest.”

“Oh, er… right. Heh. Good point. What would he know?” Héctor laughed nervously, plucking the strings, and took a step back. “You know what, it is a dumb idea. Because he’s a priest. So he wouldn’t know, would he?”

Chicharrón gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “You sure you’re not running a fever or something? You’re acting even odder than usual. And turning red.”

“No!” Héctor almost cried out, stepping backwards to the door. “Not at all! I’ve never been healthier! You know, it’s… a bit stuffy in here. I think I’ll go out have a walk.”

“A walk, in the cemetery, at night?” Cheech scoffed, and leaned back in his chair. “If that’s what gets you in the mood for a marriage proposal, muchacho, fine with me.”

“It is! I mean-- not really-- but I’ll just, uh… I’ll go now,” Héctor muttered, face aflame, and was out of the door the next moment.

All right. Maybe he needed to be more careful when he opened his mouth; he hadn’t quite blurted out Ernesto’s secret, but that had come… entirely too close for his tastes. However much eccentricity he could get away with thanks to his charisma - and good looks, Ernesto would probably add - giving advice to a novice on how to woo another novice was probably slightly over the line of what people would accept without questioning. 

Good thing that Chicharrón generally cared little about anybody else’s business and that he never failed to mention he had Seen Some Shit in his forty-something years at the parish, or else he might have begun asking questions that were better left unanswered. 

Héctor could make a convincing liar if the situation called for it, but Cheech knew him too well to fall for anything he said. And really, why had he thought the old gravedigger would be able to give him any kind of romantic advice? He’d wake up Ernesto, and ask him again if he was really sure a song was the right way to go, and then just trust him and, as he said, ‘seize his moment’. 

Surely, Ernesto would definitely know more about seduction that Héctor ever did.

***

When John awakened, it was still dark. 

It wasn’t unusual for him to awaken long before dawn; he couldn’t remember the last time he had a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep. What was unusual was for him to awaken with the weight of an arm across his side, the solid warmth of a body against his own on the small mattress, and quiet breathing against his hair. 

He was aware, distantly, that he ought to be horrified by what he’d done and most of all, but what he’d felt. Maybe he would be the next morning, once fully awake. Now… now he was still mostly asleep, and he found he didn’t want to think. He only wanted to lie down, bask in that warmth, and think of nothing for another while.

John shut his eyes, shifted closer to Father Ernest, and let sleep claim him again.

***

Knock, knock.

“Ern--er, Padre? I know it’s… really late, but I could use some more advice. Mostly encouragement that I’m not about to do something very dumb. But also advice.”

No answer. Héctor frowned a little. 

“Ernesto? I really need some help here. Por favor?”

Knock, knock.

“... Is anyone there?” Héctor frowned, slightly concerned by the lack of reply, and slowly tried the handle; the door opened easily, and creaked a little as he pushed it. He peered in, holding the candle in front of him. The small flame cast flickering shadows over the walls, and on a cot that was, most decidedly, empty and not even unmade yet. No one had laid down to sleep there that night, and Ernesto was nowhere to be seen in the room. 

Why isn’t he here? Where could he be so late at night? Oh God, maybe Imelda was right, maybe we underestimated him and he’s actually a spy, what do we do what do we--

“What are you doing here?”

“Eeek!”

Héctor leaped a couple of feet in the air with a rather undignified screech, causing the small flame on his candle to die out. Luckily, Sofía’s candle stayed on, allowing him to keep seeing their surroundings… and her deeply unimpressed expression. Between her and Cheech, he’d really had his fill of Unimpressed Faces for the week; he could only hope Imelda would be the third time lucky, or else he may as well curl up and die. 

“... Héctor? I’m talking to you.”

Ah. Yes. Right. “I-- I’m here to, uh… I have a few quest-- never mind. Ernesto is not in there!”

“I can see that. Now lower your voice,” Sofía muttered, rolling her eyes, and gestured for him to follow. It was only then that Héctor noticed that there was no wimple covering her head, and that she wasn’t wearing her robe either: she was clad in a long, white nightgown. 

Well, of course she would be, he’d woken her up and nuns didn’t sleep in their robes. Still, he felt an awful lot like he was seeing more than he ought to, despite the fact every inch of her was covered except for her head. “I, uh… should probably leave you--”

“I’m not sleepy anymore. Come in the kitchen and tell me what’s gotten into you to be up this time at night.”

“Ah-- all right. Sorry I woke you up,” he mumbled, following her. Embarrassed as he was, Héctor didn’t even think that it was very unlikely he had been the one to wake her up, given that her room was in another hallway entirely. “But… Ernesto is not--”

“I know where he is,” she cut him off. As they got in the kitchen, she used the candle to light up an oil lamp. “Don’t worry, he’s just… having a good time. I think.”

Come to think of it, Héctor didn’t really want to know any more details. He looked back at the door. “You sure this is a good idea? If Padre Ju-- John wakes up and finds us alone here at night, he’ll have a fit.”

“Oh, I don’t think he will get out of that room anytime soon,” Sofía said lightly, reaching for a bottle of wine. “He’s being kept entertained enough. Or at least, he was. Now there isn’t a sound coming from inside, so I think he’s going to sleep like a log until morning.”

Héctor nodded. “Ah, good,” he said. He paused. His brain stilled a moment, then restarted with  a jolt and, for the second time that night, he screeched.

“Wait-- what--?”

“Shhh! Don’t make so much noise!”

“Ah, I-- lo siento, I just-- are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She looked at him innocently, sliding a glass across the table and sitting down. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You said--”

“Drink.”

Well, that was valid advice: Héctor was desperate enough to scrub the mental image out of his mind that he emptied the glass in one go. He had no idea how he’d be able to look at either man in the eye the next morning, and he found he’d rather not think about it. 

“So, what was it you had to talk about so urgently?” Sofía asked. While he normally might have balked at the idea of telling her - she had just proved, after all, that she was far from a discreet person - Héctor absolutely welcomed the chance to change the subject with open arms. 

“I want to propose,” he blurted out. Sofía blinked at him for a moment, then she smiled… no, grinned widely. 

“To Imelda?”

“No, to Cheech,” Héctor muttered, throwing up his arms. “Of course it’s to Imelda! I just--”

“Well, about time!” More wine was poured, and the glass pushed back towards Héctor. “When?”

“Uh… I was thinking tomorrow, but…” he hesitated, and drank some more. “What if she says no?”

“Seriously?” she rolled her eyes. “Then she says no, but she won’t. Everyone and their abuela could tell the two of you are crazy about each other.”

Héctor’s face flushed. “Well, it's… complicated. Anyway, I wanted some advice on how to go about it."

"... From Ernesto."

"Er… sí?"

She sighed. "Héctor. Look at me in the eye and tell me you sincerely think Imelda would be impressed by… whatever kind of proposal Ernesto would come up with."

Héctor opened his mouth. Sofía raised an eyebrow. Héctor hesitated. “Well, it’s… not that bad an idea,” he finally mumbled, looking down.

“And what is the brilliant idea?”

“I, uh, I wrote a song,” Héctor confessed to the floor. His face felt so hot, he half-feared it would catch fire. “I said I should sing it. For her. Once we’re alone.”

“Oh.” Sofíá said. She sounded mildly surprised. “That’s… not that bad an idea.”

“Yes, I-- I think I can do that. Everything else he suggested, though--”

“I’ll stop you right there. Forget anything else he suggested.”

“But--”

“Héctor.”

“... All right,” he conceded, still looking down. To be honest, he’d had his doubts to begin with, which was why he’d wanted to ask him if he was sure what he’d told him would work. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to get her to dance with him, let alone move his hips the way Ernesto had described. And that was one of the tamest suggestions that had come out of his mouth. “So, uh… I just--”

“You just do you,” Sofía finished, leaning back and pouring herself another glass. “So, what’s the song? Let me listen to it. I’ll give you my honest opinion.”

Héctor blinked. “What-- I can’t play it now!”

“Why not? You have a guitar right there.”

“But it’s night, what if someone hears?”

“Gustavo is all the way at the back of the church. And the door is shut. Don’t worry, no one is going to walk in to think you’re serenading me.”

“Ernesto and Padre Ju--”

“Even if they hear, do you seriously think they’re going to come out and check who’s playing?”

Ah. Right. Héctor blushed a deeper shade or red - or at least he could guess he had, with how hot his ears felt - and reached down to pick up the guitar. He tuned it nervously, noting how old it was, how ruined the wood. Come to think of it, Miguel had a really nice one. Maybe he could borrow it, he thought, and finally cleared his throat. 

“Well, uh, it… it goes like this,” he mumbled, and strummed the guitar. 

A feeling so close, you can reach out and touch it I never knew I could want something so much but it's true…

Any sort of stage fright he may have had usually disappeared once he began playing, and that time was no exception; he could only hope the following evening would be the same. He sang softly, played even more softly, and when he opened his eyes Sofía was staring at him from across the table, grinning widely. 

Embarrassment hit him all at once. “Er-- it still needs a bit of work, maybe, but--”

“It’s perfect,” Sofía cut him off. Her grin widened. “If she can resist that, I’ll eat my wimple.”

Oh. That was… nice to hear. He smiled a little. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. So, how do you plan on meeting her somewhere private?”

Ah. That. “I’m still not sure. Ernesto said he’ll think up something.”

A sigh. “Of course. Well, I guess I’m going to have to help him come up with that something.”

“Oh, you don’t have to--” Héctor began, but trailed off when Sofíá reached over to put a hand on his arm. 

“Trust me,” she said. “I’ll have to.”

***

The first thing Ernesto realized when he woke up was that it was much too early for him to be awake. The second thing he realized was that the reason why he’d awakened in the first place was the fact that someone was trying to slide out from beneath his arm and off the bed without him waking up, clearly with very little success. 

The third, as soon as his mind kicked into gear and he remembered what had happened the previous night, was that said someone had to be Padre Juan and oh, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to deal with him and his crisis of faith now. Actually, he was sure he didn’t want to deal with it. 

Turns out he didn’t hate it. He didn’t hate it all.

Well, of course he didn’t; Ernesto was good in bed, regardless what Sofía said, surely in jest. And maybe he should have tried to make it unpleasant as the gringo expected it to - rough, painful, chafing the way it did in the barracks - but he… hadn’t.

After all any man with some pride wants to do well under the bedsheets, no? And maybe he hadn’t wanted to feel like he was back in the barracks again. He was miles away and he didn’t want to think of it at all. 

Not that he could have fooled himself, because Padre Juan felt absolutely nothing like a soldier of the Federal Army - soft and fine-haired, skin smooth, smelling of incense and old wood. Not at all unpleasant to have beneath, but right now he didn’t find the elbow in his ribs especially enjoyable. He clearly had never had to sneak out of someone’s bed at dawn and it showed.

“Ow!” Ernesto yelped, and Padre Juan stilled.

All right, so maybe they were even. Failure to sneak out, failure to feign sleep. Holding back a sigh, Ernesto resigned himself to face Juan’s inevitable breakdown and opened his eyes to see something that looked a lot like a giant tomato, but was actually the gringo’s face. 

“I-I… I, er… apologies,” Juan mumbled, and scampered quickly off the bed, taking the blanket to wrap it around himself, to cover stuff that Ernesto had already seen anyway. Well, felt more than seen with only a candle he’d had to fight to keep lit as the gringo protested. 

Now without blanket and quite obviously naked, Ernesto sat up and yawned as Juan went to his desk and pulled out a cigarette, taking it to his mouth with somehow shaky fingers before glancing around, obviously looking for something. 

“Need the matches?” Ernesto asked, picking up the box from the nightstand, where it had been left next to the candle. Padre Juan winced as though he’d yelled in his ear, and turned. 

“Oh. Yes, I--” he trailed off, eyes going huge at the realization that, by taking the blanket, he had left Ernesto absolutely nothing to cover himself - not that he would rush to do so, no reason to cover perfection. Juan’s mouth hung open, the cigarette falling on the ground. Ernesto smiled. Juan shrieked and threw the blanket at him, hitting him full on the face.  “C-cover yourself!”

… Seriously now? Ernesto sighed and pulled the blanket off his head, raising an eyebrow. “Likewise,” he muttered, glancing at the very naked, very pink body that had been left uncovered when he’d thrown the blanket at him. It took a few moments for realization to hit him, but when it did the gringo shrieked and almost dove to grab his shift, flushing crimson again.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. 

Sí, you said that a lot last night too. 

Well. If anything, he wasn’t sobbing and begging for God’s forgiveness, and Ernesto supposed he could count that as a success. He wrapped the blanket around his waist as Juan put on the shift, and glanced back at him. He cleared his throat. “You, uh, dropped your cigarette,” he muttered. He had no idea saintly Padre Juan had a common vice such as smoke, but ah well. It wouldn’t be the first nor the biggest surprise in the past few hours. 

“I… yes. I did.” The gringo swallowed and went to pick it up, but he didn’t put it in his mouth again. He just set it down, heaved a long sigh, and looked back at him with an odd sort of blankness to his face. In a way it was more unnerving than a breakdown would be. It made any though Ernesto may have had to try making light of the situation, or to ask him if he felt cured, die in his throat. 

“I-- the absolution. We have to…” Padre Juan cleared his throat, and looked away. “You said we’d absolve each other, Father Ernest.”

Oh, come on, was he really expected to start mumbling in Latin while just awake? “Can this absolutely not wait until we have breakfast?”

“Take this seriously! It absolutely cannot!” he protested, his voice slightly higher than usual, control slipping; Ernesto found himself thinking he would probably have a stroke if he knew that his absolutions were worth slightly less than nothing. He cleared his throat. 

“Right, right. Of course,” he muttered, and stood, lifting his hand. “Ego te absolvo--”

“Not like this! You-- can you get dressed? Please?” Juan’s voice shook a little. He was still looking away, gaze distant and tense. Ernesto chased away a rather inappropriate thought - ‘was it really that bad?’ - and nodded. “All right,” he said, and went to pick up his cassock without a further word.

They got dressed giving each other the back, and when Ernesto turned again Juan’s gaze was fixed on the floor, arms tightly crossed. He was tense, but seemed to relax just a little when Ernesto lifted his hand over his head and spoke the formula for absolution. He absolved him back, his voice somewhat firm but distant. His mind seemed to be miles away. 

“It’s best if you return to your room,” he finally murmured, once again staring at the opposite wall like he could see something on it that Ernesto could not. 

“... Are you all right?” he dared ask at the door, and for a long moment the only response he got was an empty gaze. Ernesto hesitated. “... John?”

Padre Juan recoiled a little, then he looked away and spoke softly. “Thank you. For trying to help,” he murmured, and closed the door without another word, leaving Ernesto to blink. He lingered a few moments, hesitating, and went to press his ear against the wooden door. 

He rather feared to hear the noises of self-flagellation again, in case the gringo had somehow managed to get his hands on another whip, but for a while there was only silence - then, the sound of splashing water in the basin. Well. At least he wasn’t intent on trying to rip the skin off his back again, and that was something, Ernesto supposed. 

It was damaged enough; the back was the only place where his skin was hardened, covered in raised scars and rough to the touch, so unlike… everything else. Now that he’d stopped opening up new wounds, Ernesto would rather he didn’t start again on his account. He wasn’t doing that now, so maybe he didn’t need to worry; that vacant gaze he’d had on his face would pass. No damage done, he hoped. 

More splashing inside - he was probably washing rather vigorously, which Ernesto definitely should do as well come to think of it - and in the end, Ernesto turned to make his way to his own room, finally thinking over the previous night with a cool mind. 

It had been… pleasant, he supposed. Different from any of his experiences with the soldier and more like sleeping with a woman, although he suspected Padre Juan might kill him and then himself if Ernesto tried to voice that thought. So it would be best to just. Not do that, in case they ever talked about it again. Which probably wouldn't happen, he told himself, opening the door of his room. Maybe that would be it, and with the absolutions over with they would never have any reason to talk about--

"Oh, you're finally back!"

"Gah! What-- what are you doing in my room?"

Sofía tilted her head and frowned in mock hurt. She… didn’t look like she had gone to sleep at all, but still seemed in high spirits, grin barely in check. "That wasn't how you reacted to me being here before you went and replaced me with the gringo. What an insult, that. Were you so desperate to find someone with so little experience he would be easy even for you to impress?"

Ernesto rolled his eyes, but his lips curled upwards. The previous night had been pleasant, but now there was an uncomfortable weight in his stomach he couldn't quite name, and some banter was… just what he needed to take his mind off it. "Says the one who ran back to Sister Antonia as soon as Lent was over. Why didn't you see her tonight, anyway?"

"Womanly issues," she said lightly, and leaned forward. "And good thing for you, because I spared you, the gringo and Héctor a few very, very embarrassing moments. Of all nights to come looking for you for questionable advice, huh? But no worries, I sorted that out. He might look at you and Padre Juan funny, by the way. Don't mind him."

Ernesto groaned. "Por Dios, one time he has to come-- ugh. Whatever," he muttered, rubbing his face. All things considered, it wasn't even the worst of his secrets that Héctor was aware of. "What did he want?"

“We'll discuss that later. One thing at the time,” Sofía said, leaning forward with a wide grin. “Now it's your turn to tell me everything.”

***

For a time after Father Ernest left, John kept himself busy - or at least tried to. Washing himself and saying the morning prayers could only take him so far. Soon enough, he had to turn to his bed, to the rustled sheets and the blanket on the floor, and face the reality of what had happened on it. What he had done, how he’d soiled himself. 

And how his vile, treacherous body had betrayed him.

He’d accepted Father Ernest’s help, put his soul in danger as well - oh he could have never gone through with it if not for the knowledge absolution would swiftly follow - but it had not worked. The longing was not gone; stronger, he feared, now that he knew what a garden of earthly delights could be found in the act.

He had committed the sin hoping it would, at least, extinguish the unnatural desire in him once and for all; expecting it to be painful as all acts against God ought to be, a reminder of how undesirable the act truly was to any normal man. It should have been-- God, he had let another man in him. Not only he’d lain with him, but he’d lain with him as a woman would and God help him, there had been barely any discomfort and then such relief, like the scratching of an itch that had always been there and he could never reach. Such pleasure, he hadn’t believed believe it was possible to ever feel anything like it.

If only the act kept him sated for good, then he would have been content. But it had not: he had looked upon his body earlier and the lust was still there, the unholy temptation to reach out for him, join him in the bed, let him press him down and do what he would. He would take it, and he would enjoy it. Now he knew he would. 

I am a sodomite.

The thought was like a cold, cold dagger through his chest. Slowly, John sank on the floor, back against the wall, and burrowed his face in his hands. His father had been right - he was an abomination, and he would always be. It would never go away, all hope he’d had to cure it, had been vain. Even Father Joseph, his mentor, had said the same thing - if very, very differently.

Perhaps it is in God’s plan that it remains your cross to bear.

John had been so horrified, so furious to hear that he'd stormed out, accusing the old man of hindering him with his kindness... and he had never seen him again, never spoken to him if not by letter, until the say he'd died. And yet, Father Joseph - the man who'd called him son after his own father had cast him out - had been right. What a foolish child he'd been. What an ungrateful child, turning his back to a man who only wished him well and spoke the truth. 

With a choked-back sob, he reached to grasp the golden crucifix at his neck with shaky fingers, and held it tight. His eyes burned, tears slid down his cheeks, and he did nothing to stop them. He couldn’t stop them, as he couldn’t will himself to cease lusting for men. It was beyond his control.

It had always been beyond his control.

Father John Johnson bowed his head, and wept - barley trying to muffle the sobs wracking his chest, the broken gasps as he tried to draw in breath and let it escape him in whimpers moments later. He had to be such a pathetic sight, but he found that he did not care.

And yet, amidst the despair, there was something else. As the sobs slowly stopped, and he wiped his face and sniffled, the vise-like grip around his heart seemed to loosen a fraction. For all his horror at the realization he could never be free of his cross, a thought kept running through his mind, both horrifying and oddly comforting. 

It was always beyond my control. There can be no healing. I was never meant to win.

And it was true. There was nothing he could have done differently, no solution he could have thought of to somehow change what he was. He’d fought so hard for so long, and he’d lost - he’d lost he’d lost because he wasn’t meant to win. It had been all for nothing. He could never win, the odds and his very nature against him. Was that what Father Joseph had tried to tell him, all those years ago?

Perhaps it is in God’s plan that it remains your cross to bear.

I did everything I could. I never stood a chance. And I am too tired to keep fighting. 

It hurt, it truly did, but at the same time the notion he could finally surrender, finally rest, lifted a weight from his shoulders. There was nothing more he could do, nowhere else he could turn to escape the truth of what he was, and he could fight no longer. It was over, nothing left to try. 

Only surrender.

It was such a bitter sort of relief, but relief it was, and John was so tired. So he closed his eyes, murmured a prayer, and allowed himself to find solace where he could. 

***

“All right. Time make sure everyone has the battle plan clear. Any questions before I start?”

“Yes. Do you have to call it a battle plan, and… was drawing a map of the church grounds absolutely necessary?” Ernesto asked, glancing down at the… admittedly shoddily-drawns map Miguel had put together. 

He frowned, a little offended. “Just so that we’re all on the same page and hold out positions!” he exclaimed, yanking the map a little to get the lower left corner out of Dante’s mouth. As he did, Óscar and Felipe leaned in to take a look.

“You could have asked us. We’d have made you a better map,” Felipe said.

“A much better one,” Óscar agreed. 

“This map will be just fine,” Miguel protested, looking over at Ernesto and Sofía for support. He was still trying to figure out if the doodle on the left was meant to be the cemetery or the orchard, but Sofía nodded in support. 

“Yes, it works just fine. Now, you were talking about a battle plan?”

Miguel grinned. “Sí! It’s called… huh. How do we call this operation?”

“We don’t need to name it,” Ernesto muttered, but clearly no one else really shared his opinion. 

Sofía shrugged. “I don’t think my idea should be shared with children. Over to you.”

“Marry the priest!” Felipe exclaimed.

“Kiss the girl!” Óscar yelled, and Miguel grinned. 

“I like that one! All right, so - Operación Besa a la Chica!” he exclaimed. Dante began barking, and he decided to take that as a sign they had chosen the right name. Confidence boosted, Miguel looked down at the map. “All right. So, tomorrow after the evening prayer…”

“I go tell Imelda that Padre Ernesto wants to speak with her.”

“Concerning what?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She shrugged. “And Madre Gregoria wouldn’t question the parish priest.”

“Perfect. She gets here, and…?”

“Héctor and I will be there,” Ernesto supplied. “By the way, where is he now?”

“Getting my guitar from Cheech. I told him he could have it for the proposal. Is he really going to sing a song?”

“If he follows my advice, he will.”

“Then he’ll need to hide the guitar there beforehand. I mean, Imelda will wonder what’s going on if he’s just there with a guitar.”

“I’ll tell him to do that. Anyway, we get her to the orchard with an excuse…”

“What excuse?” Miguel pressed on. Ernesto rolled his eyes.

“We’ll come up with something.”

“You’re supposed to have a plan beforehand. That’s how planning works,” Miguel pointed out, gaining himself a raised eyebrow. 

“I’ll improvise, don’t worry. Sofía and I will get her and Héctor to the orchard.”

Miguel nodded solemnly, and tapped a finger on the spot on the map. “Right here.”

“... Yes. We are aware where the orchard is.”

Ay, since when was he such a spoilsport? He’d been adding a bit oddly, lately, and he wondered if he was angry at him. Did he know… no, it couldn’t be. Héctor had promised him to never tell Ernesto or anybody else that he’d told him the truth, and he’d never broken a promise to him before. It was just his imagination, or maybe he just had other thoughts on his mind. 

That was fine. Everything was fine. “All right, so-- you take her to the orchard. And then…?”

“Then we come along!” Óscar exclaimed. 

“Running!”

“And we tell them that Dante got stuck in a tree and you’re trying to get him down…”

“... And that you’re going to be in so much trouble if you don’t get back by curfew.”

“Someone will have to help!”

Miguel grinned. “Perfecto! And that someone will be…?”

“Me and Padre Ernesto,” Sofía finished. “We tell them not to worry and run off to help you, leaving the two of them alone in the orchard.”

So far, Miguel thought, so good. Of course, there were factors they could only do so much to control. “What if she decides to go back with you?”

Ernesto shrugged. “Then it’s up to Héctor to keep her there. If he can’t do that, then he won’t be able to keep a wife and there is no point in trying.”

“That’s… fair, I guess,” Miguel conceded. “So, uh.... That’s the plan. Then it depends on Héctor.”

“God help him,” Ernesto said dryly, gaining himself a slap on the arm from Sofía. “I mean-- God bless him and the union, I guess, if there is one.”

“There will be,” Miguel said, trying to sound as certain as he possibly could. “She likes him. And he wrote a song for her!”

“And he’ll play it with the best guitar!” Óscar added. 

Felipe immediately nodded. “We know it’s the best because we made it.”

“We make a lot of things.”

“Sometimes they catch fire.”

“Or explode. But not that guitar!”

“Oh no, it’s good as new!”

Miguel, who had witnessed several of their creations meeting a sad and occasionally fiery end, mentally thanked whoever there was to thank for the fact even they had yet to figure out how to make a guitar burst in flames at random, and nodded. 

“All right. So… we’re ready,” he said, trying to convince himself that they really were, that everything would play out exactly as it was supposed to. And that Héctor, too, would be ready.

***

“Oh my God, I’m not ready.”

"You're ready as you'll ever be."

"That's not ready at all!"

"Then you'll never be ready anyway. No point in waiting, no?"

"Is that supposed to come across as encouraging?"

"Sí."

"It isn't."

“Listen, I’m not giving your another pep talk. You make it or break it. By which I mean you better make it, or I’ll break you.”

“... That sounds like a threat.”

“Might be because it is.”

“Ah.” Héctor muttered, and managed a small, nervous laugh. Sure he was joking, right? Héctor would have been certain of it, normally, but that day his mood had been… odd. He seemed distracted, didn’t talk as much as usual, and when he did he was somewhat snippier. And Padre Juan had stayed in his room the entire day, claiming he had a cold and didn’t want it to spread; Ernesto had nodded at the news, pretending to believe it, and had said nothing of it.

… He didn’t know that Héctor knew, did he? Sofía wouldn’t have-- oh God, she would.

“You know I won’t, er. I won’t tell.”

Ernesto turned to glance at him, saying nothing. Héctor’s face turned hot the next moment and ah, God, he was blushing again, wasn’t he? Even before Imelda showed up, his face would look like he’d turned into a tomato and his chances would be ruined, if he really had any chances.

“I mean… with… you know…”

A sigh. “That would be best. Juan might just have a heart attack if anybody knows. Plus, it would cause more than a few issues with the parish, even if we were not clergy. I’d rather leave you the satisfaction of giving them their biggest church scandal in a good while.”

Héctor sputtered. “W-what-- it won’t be a scandal, I-- we haven’t even taken our vows yet, so… so if I propose… we’re going about it the honest way! I mean, if she says yes--” he blurted out, only to be cut off by a sudden laugh and a powerful pat on his shoulder. It was embarrassing, but Ernesto seemed to be back to normal for a moment and Héctor found it was a relief. 

“Hah! All right, forget what I said. I’m sure no one will mind.”

“Her parents will.”

“Her parents can either suck it up or watch her as she becomes a nun. Which despite being good Catholics they’re not all that thrilled about, according to her brothers.” A shrug. “Plus, I’m sure a talk with me will be all that they need.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll give them some bullshit about God’s will, love and whatnot, I bless the union, blah blah. You know I can talk anybody into anything, given enough time.”

Héctor laughed a little. “I noticed,” he said. Ernesto seemed to stiffen, the smile fading on his face, and Hécotor mentally kicked himself. “I mean-- not necessarily, uh…” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing back towards the part of the parish where the sleeping quarters were. “... Is he all right?”

“He’ll be fine,” Ernesto reply, his voice curt, and Héctor decided not to press further. Even if he’d wanted to, anyway, there would be no time: led by Sofía, Imelda was coming.

***

That entire situation was stupid.

First Sofía coming over to tell her ‘Padre’ Ernesto wanted to talk to her, all while pretty much vibrating with excitement, was stupid. Héctor also being there, his face beet red, was stupid. Ernesto’s decision to walk through the orchard while talking about the weather was stupid. Her brothers and Miguel running over claiming Dante was stuck on a tree was stupid. Ernesto and Sofía running off with them to save that dumb dog like they had to get him out of the jaws of a jaguar was stupid. The fact they all had pretended to leave but eventually had very obviously just hidden behind some trees and shrubs was stupid.

And now, she turned to see that Héctor suddenly had a guitar in his hands, she had to wonder how much more stupid could the entire situation get. “... Héctor. What is this?”

He smiled, or tried to. It came across as the most idiotic grimace she had ever seen in her life; rolling her eyes at it would have been easy, if not for the fact it was oddly cute on Héctor’s face, with the empty window where a front tooth was missing reminding her that he was the kind of person who’ll try to fight a much bigger man to protect a woman and her kids. The memory softened her frown - only for it to come back when Héctor spoke.

“It’s, uh, a guitar. Miguel’s,” he added, lifting it up. The last rays of the setting sun shone on the white, polished wood and the decorations. “But he let me borrow it.”

“I see that. I mean, what is this, ” she pointed out, gesturing at the orchard around them - including the trees where five idiotas were hiding, honestly convinced she couldn’t tell their were there. “I was told Padre Ernesto had to speak to me.”

“Well, that was… a lie.”

“... Clearly.”

“And I, uh, apologize for that. I would like to… speak to you. Alone?” he croaked. 

Oh. Oh, God. Imelda suspected she was beginning to get an inkling of where this was going, and it was… a lot of take in. She blinked, taken aback, and oh did her face suddenly feel warm.

“Talk to me?” she repeated, her voice a couple of octaves higher than usual. And cracking. It hadn’t cracked like that since she was sixteen, Jesus Christ why now. She cleared her throat, and folded her arms tightly over her chest. “Well, I’m-- listening,” she managed. 

The smile Héctor had managed to put up froze. “Ah. Right. I mean, good? I… er…” his gaze shifted above her left shoulder; it took Imelda all her willpower not to turn. As much as part of her wanted to put a stop to all that foolishness right now, she… wanted to hear what Héctor had to say. It had been hanging between them, unspoken and unacknowledged, for long enough. So she kept looking at Héctor as his expression brightened.

He suddenly looked back at her, grinning, lifting the guitar. “I have written a song!” he declared. 

Imelda… blinked. “Ah. Good for you?”

He flushed a dark red again. “I mean, I… wrote it for… for you,” he managed, somewhat tentatively. He looked at her with such vulnerability, something in her chest ached even through the astonishment. He cleared his throat. 

“I… wait, I’ll play it, I--” he began, lifting the guitar, but he never got to. Imelda stepped forward and put her hand on it; their closeness caused Héctor to draw in a sharp breath, eyes huge. 

“Don’t,” she said, quietly enough not to be heard by anyone else. “I’d rather hear it when I’m the only public.”

Héctor’s, whose expression had turned pained for a moment, brightened up suddenly and nodded. “Oh! Of course,” he whispered as well, like a conspirator. “They, uh… they were not supposed to hang around here. Lo siento.” He smiled awkwardly, and Imelda fought back a sudden urge to cup his face. “We were meant to be alone, and… and I wanted to ask… neither of us has taken the vows yet, so it’s… it’s not too late… if you want… I know I want, I’m sorry it took so long--”

Imelda’s hand went to cover his mouth, and he trailed off, staring at her questioningly. She shook her head, and his features twisted in a sorrowful expression. He looked absolutely gutted and Imelda pulled back her hand and spoke. 

“Héctor, our position in the clergy allows us to aid the Revolution, and better help Santa Cecilia. Outside the parish, we could do next to nothing of use,” she said, her voice still low, so that she would not be heard. What she said would come to no surprise to Ernesto and Sofía, but Miguel and her brothers were best left out of it. “They need us where we are.”

A long breath, and he looked down with a nod. “... I understand,” he murmured. “I apologize. I just-- I won’t bother you again. I only need you to know that I--”

Imelda grasped the front of his cassock, and pulled him down into a kiss. It was soft, chaste - only lips on lips - but it made her feel light-headed, a shiver running down her spine. She had never kissed a man before and ah, she suddenly had to fight the urge to do it again, many more times. Héctor went very still, too, and when she pulled back his eyes were big as saucers.  There was a sound somewhere on their left like that of a grito immediately muffled by several pairs of hands, but neither of them paid it any mind.

Imelda smiled. “Ask me after the war is over,” she whispered, and Héctor’s stunned expression melted in a wide, ecstatic smile. Missing tooth or not, it was the most beautiful smile Imelda had ever seen. It was radiant. 

“I will ask again,” he promised, not bothering to keep his voice down. “And again and again an-”

“Oh, don’t be foolish now,” Imelda replied, brushing down her robe. The corners of her lips were still curled upwards. “You’ll only need to ask once.”

***

“So, she said yes?”

“He says that she said ‘later’.”

“But later, yes, right?”

“Would have helped if Héctor didn’t just skip away like that, we needed the details…”

The discussion went on for a while, but Ernesto barely listened. He nodded occasionally, but his attention was mostly taken by the window to the left of the courtyard - that of Padre Juan’s room.

Now that it was dark he could barely see, through the glass, the faint and tremulous light of a lone candle.

***

[Back]

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[fic-al]

Two Types of Stuffing

Prequel to Christmas 1958

Christmas Day 1957 Nonnatus House

Patrick Turner glanced over his shoulder once again. He looked longingly beyond the dining room door. He knew that staring repeatedly in the direction of the Nonnatus telephone was not going to make it ring, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

He turned back to the table and suddenly felt ashamed. He was positive everyone knew what he was hoping for. Timothy sat to his left, he certainly knew he could see it in the boy's eyes. He had grown up so much, in such a relatively short time. Wise beyond his years. Honed through the illness and eventual loss of his mother. Followed by almost a year of what? Grief, struggle, survival. Patrick tried to shake himself from his melancholy and self-destructive thoughts. He was so proud of Marianne's son, sat in his school tie and blazer.

The boy was animatedly talking to Sister Evangelina. He was glad Sister Julienne had sat Timothy between himself and the bustling nun. She was never short of conversation and had a soft spot for his son, as she also once had for the boy's mother.

Opposite the doctor sat three of the young nurses, he worked with on a daily basis. Nurse Franklin was dressed a little like she was having Christmas dinner at the Ritz, but he thought she carried it off. Nurse Lee a little less flashy, he could see Marianne in something like that. He knew the more diminutive Nurse Miller would also be wearing a new dress. Marianne always insisted a woman needed a new dress for Christmas Day. Apart from last year, last Christmas she asked for a new nightdress.

Absentmindedly, he glanced again in the direction of the still frustratingly silent telephone. What was wrong with him? He had accepted this kind invitation for Timothy's sake. Granny Parker always spent Christmas with Timothy's cousins in Liverpool and he hadn't wanted her to change her plans, there had been too much change. He had to snap out of this wave of self pity.

Please let the next call be a woman in labour, possibly breech or twins. A safe, but long labour, but get me out of here, please! Let no harm come to anyone, just free me from this odious obligation. Timothy is in good, safe hands. No need to feel guilty or selfish, is there?

"Would you care for some more stuffing, Doctor?"

The sudden question directed to him in a warm Scottish lilt shook him out of his malaise.

"No,no thank you Sister, I have ample."

"Mrs B has dared to be a tad adventurous this year and made two types of stuffing. I must say Dr Turner, I prefer the traditional sage and onion myself."

"I wasn't aware Sister until today that there was more than one type of stuffing." He interjected, trying to crack a weak joke. The poor girl, what had she done to be sat next to such a miserable, boring old sod at Christmas.

He looked around the table; The nurses sat together and whispered and chatted. Although Trixie couldn't be accused of whispering at present.

Sister Evangelina sat comfortably next to Timothy, the pair gently trying to heal each other's wounds. Sister Julienne at the head of the table as her seniority allowed, watching over her family, with a careful eye on Sister Monica Joan at the other end. Poor kind hearted, devoted Sister Bernadette had got the fuzzy end of the lollipop, when it came to the seating plan and was stuck next to him.

"More wine Doctor? I must say Constable and Mrs Noakes have been very generous in supplying us with beverages, before they decided to spend Christmas with Constable Noakes' mother."

"Erm, not much more for me Sister, I know Dr Enys is on call. Which is very kind of him, in the circumstances."

They both glance at Timothy. The boy takes a good slurp of his Dandelion and Burdock, another treat from the Noakes'. Sister Bernadette starts to wonder if the Fortescue-Cholmondeley-Browne empire had been built on off-licenses.

Patrick continues, "He is a fine young GP, but I did say I would be available, if you know he gets snowed under, or may need my guidance in a complicated maternity case. I gave him this number and told him not to hesitate to call…" He was interrupted,

"I see, Doctor."

Patrick looked at those piercing blue eyes. Oh yes, even as a very happily married man and devoted husband, he noticed the blue eyes. Even when she was a 22-year-old postulant and he an enthusiastic new father and war veteran, he noticed the blue, blue eyes. They saw right through him at that moment, the blue eyes knew he would rather be tending to a bad case of haemorrhoids than pulling a Christmas cracker, containing a very bad joke, with an increasingly giggly Trixie.

Sister Bernadette glanced behind her once again, looking longingly beyond the dining room door. She knew that staring repeatedly in the direction of the Nonnatus telephone was not going to make it ring, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

The Nonnatuns took turns on Christmas Day to be on call. Sister Julienne always attended the first call. Sister Evangelina the next, Sister Bernadette followed and quite often that order would repeat itself throughout the day. The Sisters understood that Christmas may have a different interpretation for their young colleagues, and they would want to mark it in a different way.

It had been Sister Bernadette a few years younger than the others, that had suggested that they took the strain over Christmas and New Year. To serve Him and to have the privilege of delivering a Christmas or New Year baby. Also, young enough and generous enough to realize her secular colleagues would greatly appreciate any time off during the holidays.

At this moment, Sister Bernadette wasn't contemplating such noble thoughts. Basically, she just wanted to get the Hell out of there. Alone in the work environment between the forceps and cursing mothers, she could ask him how Timothy was doing? How was he coping? Here it had to be so polite, so appropriate, she could see he was struggling for breath, for cover, for safety. All she could do in this situation was talk about stuffing.

She needed that phone to ring, this was stifling. Please let the next call be a woman in labour, a very long simple, safe labour, but get me out of here please! Let no harm come to is too anyone, this is too painful and there is so little I can offer in way of comfort.

Relief finally! Just as the plum pudding and brandy sauce was being served, again thanks to Chummy.

Dring, dring, dring! Sister Bernadette and Dr Turner nearly knocked each other over in their urgency to answer the blasted thing. However, while the pair of them were untangling chair legs and actually getting themselves more entwined. Sister Julienne beat them to it.

Patrick took a deep breath. Nothing too bad, too cruel on Christmas Day, but something, maybe a lonely old pensioner, just needs some company.

Sister Bernadette took a deep breath. Nothing too bad, a multiple birth, twins, that would take time and be joyous.

Sister Julienne answered, "Mother Jesu Emanuel, Merry Christmas."

Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette returned to their seats and looked their plum pudding square in the face. Silently and slightly sullenly, the pair focused on their dessert and rather rich sauce. Suddenly they both dropped their spoons in response to a rather loud noise.

No, this wasn't the telephone, but rather a call of a different nature. With its very own calling card, a rather pungent odour. Someone was suffering from a bout of flatulence.

Dr Turner immediately swivelled in his chair and glared at his son. Timothy, who was obviously well aware of why his father was glaring at him, was shaking his head furiously and mouthing, "Not Me," at his dad.

Dr Turner flicked his eyes from his wide-eyed son to the rest of the dining party. They incredibly continued chatting as normal and quite loudly, especially Trixie. He didn't mind; it was nice to see the young nurse enjoying herself and letting her hair down. She was a grafter; she deserved it. But the smell! Well, they were nurses after all, probably immune.

He was just about to admonish Timothy again when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

What was she going to say?

Not only had she had to endure Christmas dinner with the dullest man on Earth. Unfortunately, they sat only inches apart. She must have just had the same experience as him. His mind was racing. Now what must she think?

He turned his head slowly in response to the sleeve tug. The first thing he noticed was the pale almost opaque skin of Sister Bernadette was pink, very pink indeed. She had a rosy glow across her cheeks. Her eyes, those blue eyes, were throwing off a light show only he could see. When he was able to tear his eyes away from those northern lights, he noticed she was biting her bottom lip and seemed to be shivering.

Suddenly she was able to release her bottom lip for a moment and mouth to him, "Not Timothy." She cast a glance down the table past Timothy. Patrick's eyes followed and so did his son's and the colour returned to Tim's cheeks. Relieved he was off the hook and also because he wouldn't have to be the one to drop his dining companion in it.

Patrick now aware that he and his family had not disgraced themselves, looked back at Sister Bernadette. Who now seemed to be steadying herself, with her left hand firmly attached to the seat of her chair. Still pink, still quivering. She was in hysterics, silent, hidden hysterics. Trying for the life of her to not show it. He could only be about nine inches away from her. For the first time since Patrick Turner had walked through those convent doors that morning, a genuine ghost of a smile crossed his face.

He looked at her, really looked at her, maybe for the first time. She was pretty. Well yes, he knew that, but at this moment, she was simply radiant. She was sat only a few inches away shuddering with joy, trying to suppress an almighty laugh. In almost ten years of working with her, she had always been so proper, always been so professional, always been so self controlled. Right now, Sister Bernadette's control was slipping.

This was much more enticing than two types of stuffing. He was that close. He didn't sit him there-that was Sister Julienne's doing-he didn't even want to be there. Did he?

"You know if you hold on to that chair much harder, you are going to break it."

He was close enough, just for only her to hear the soft whisper in her ear. The rose pink turned to scarlet, not just across her cheeks but also down her neck, her shivering turned to a gentle rocking. He knew he should stop, of course he knew….

"If you bite that lip any harder, you might need me to take a look at that."

He didn't quite get the reaction he was looking for. Her head turned to face him, chin-up, and she stared straight into his eyes, blue into green.

"Best behaviour please, Doctor." She managed to squeak through gritted teeth.

It was at that point Sister Evangelina's battle with the sprouts came to its climax. Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette were somehow in suspended animation. The game had suddenly changed, they both knew the one to take their eyes away from the other would be the first one to break into fits of laughter.

Sister Bernadette found herself grasping the chair even harder, and Dr Turner found he was doing the same thing. Meanwhile, Timothy was making the adults to his right, look like primary school children. Hardly batting an eye or losing track in his conversation with his table mate. While she remained as unnerved as ever.

Suddenly, the stalemate was broken. Trixie trying to relate a story to a less than attentive Jenny, resorted in wild hand gestures and in doing so knocked over her wineglass. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, it was only half full.

For the first time the table hushed and focused on one person, well almost everyone that is. Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette eyes flicked to Trixie and then back at each other. Not wanting the now mortally embarrassed nurse, to think they were laughing at her, they hung on to their self control.

The tables focus soon moved to another when Sister Monica Joan suddenly exclaimed out of nowhere. "Not only have I been subjected to a stench that would only be outdone by Vesuvius in eruption. Now, that inebriated young woman has just shed her wine all over the mince pies!"

The awkward silence that followed was broken by a sudden loud girlish giggle, that had lost any hope of censure and a deep masculine laugh, that had been begging for air, for too long. An eyebrow or two were raised in the direction of the ridiculous hilarity, but it was fleeting. The release of the built up tension in the pair seemed to influence everyone. Permission had been given for everyone to forgive, relax, smile and carry on and to clear up the mess.

Timothy took on the responsibility of rescuing the mince pies. Relieved that a reason to be excused from the table had finally presented itself. What no-one else saw was that on Sister Monica Joan's outburst, Sister Bernadette's resistance finally broke. She lost all control and could no longer contain the mirth mounting up within herself. Feeling unnerved and unbalanced, she felt unstable in her chair and grabbed the nearest thing available to steady herself. It wasn't until she required her left hand to help her remove her glasses and dry her tear stained eyes. That she became aware that what she was using to steady herself was in fact the doctor's leg. Just above the knee.

The one thing she was never able to comprehend, not then, not later that same night, not even in the sanatorium, was why before removing her hand from the doctor's leg? Did she first look left, to see if Timothy had noticed and then look right, to see if Sister Julienne had noticed. It was only when she was finally certain that neither had noticed, did she then and only then, remove her hand from its inappropriate mooring.

As people stood to clear the table, the was one person Sister Bernadette was definitely not going to look at. Even though she knew he was looking at her. Sister Bernadette had been searching all night for something to quell her school girl giggles, and now she had found it. Grabbing the doctor's knee in the possible full view of his son and her superior certainly did the trick. She had found her cure.

Sister Bernadette's back stiffened, her demeanour changed. She rose steadily from her chair. "Excuse me, Dr Turner," she said without a hint of a smile, eyes completely focused on his shoulder.

"Of course," he replied with just a hint of amusement, which she chose to ignore. She knew he was watching her walk through to the kitchen, but she wouldn't look back, she would never catch herself looking back for him. She remembered this silent promise, ten months later on a misty road in the Essex countryside.

[etlunainmorte]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

XXXII

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his fingers gliding through the strings of (Y/N)'s violin. He opened his eyes, putting the antique Guarneri ( that made Dante even more broke than ever before ) under his left jaw, and tuned it for a few minutes, carefully turning the fragile pegs and gliding the bow against the four strings.

And when he finally finished tuning the violin, he started playing Paganini's most popular Caprice.

However, four notes in and someone was already interrupting him. He heard someone knocking impatiently on the door.

V sighed, carefully placing the violin back to its case, and went towards the door to answer whoever it was. It really wasn't the right time for him to have any visitors, since Nico was away, and no one would be able to entertain them or tend to their needs other than him, and Griffon and Shadow were definitely not an option for that.

But, what if it is her,...?

With a slight ray of hope that the visitor might really be (Y/N), herself, he opened the door, expecting to see her lovely face, wanting to embrace her and welcome her back,...

"Joyeux anniversaire! Joyeux anniversaire! Joyeux anniversaire, (Y/N)! Joyeux anniversa - !"

"Petya!" A tall and haughty woman whispered as she nudged the shorter man next to her who was singing that French song.

The man, who was startled to see V, scratched his head and turned to the people behind him. "Is this the right place?"

"I'm sure of it." A dark haired young woman, who was browsing through a manual of some sort, answered.

"Maybe she moved a long time ago?" A bearded man, who was as tall as the lady who nudged the other guy, next to her answered.

"Who are these people, V?" Griffon, who joined the poet on the doorway to see who the visitors were, asked.

"I,... have an idea,..." V admitted as he glanced one more time at the guests: the tall woman, the short man ( apparently his name was Petya ) who was singing, the dark haired young woman behind them, the bearded man next to her, and an old nun at the back.

There is no doubt about it. They were,...

"No, this is the right place." The nun told them, making them turn to her. "I'm sure of it." She said, then glanced at V. "I believe you know our friend, (Y/N)?"

"Yes." V answered. Not really wanting to keep them standing outside, anyway, he made way for them and invited them in, and a few minutes later, all of them were seated on the sofa, awkwardly waiting for anyone to speak as they fumbled on the things each of them were carrying.

Presents? And,... groceries?

"Umm, sir," 

"You can call me V."

"Mr. V," the young woman said. " ... where is (Y/N)?"

V felt his heart stop for a moment. Of course, they would go looking for her. He just didn't expect it to happen this soon. And how would he answer them? That she left because he hurt her?

"She's,... not here,... as of the moment." V struggled with his answer as he tried not to look directly into the young woman's eyes.

However, the nun sensed all of this despite the poet hiding his emotions and intentions too well. She knew him from her stories, after all.

And she knew, sensed, that something was definitely wrong.

"May we know when she'll be back?" The young woman prodded on.

Oh, no,... "I,... do not know." And it was the truth.

The tall lady, who was sitting next to Petya, gave the poet a strange look from head to foot, seemingly in appraisal of him, and raised an eyebrow.

White haired man,...

... who plays the violin,...

Then, like a landslide, everything went back to Natasha. Her eyes darting from the violin on the table then to V, she spoke.

"Ты тот мужчина из-за кого она так больно плакала!"

V didn't understand a single word she said but, it made Petya's eyes widen nervously.

"Natasha!" Petya whispered hysterically to his wife as the other guests glanced at them in both suspicion and concern.

Petya looking like that at the woman, she definitely said something not good about me. V thought as Petya looked back at him with a sheepish smile.

"Ah, w - what she said is that s - she knew you from (Y/N)'s stories." Petya stuttered, only making V more suspicious. Then, he looked back at the haughty woman. "Natasha, please,..."

"Это не шутки, Петя! Никакой мужчина не должен вызывать у никакой женщины плач!"

"What's going on?" The young woman asked, clearly confused as to what Natasha was saying.

"Natasha, dear, I think it's better if we treat our host with the utmost respect." The nun spoke, trying to break the tense atmosphere between the sharp - tongued woman and V. Petya translated for her, and upon hearing the nun's intention, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she calmed herself.

Exhaling and giving V one last look of disdain, she stood up and went towards the window. "Мне нужен свежий боздух."

The bearded man next to the young woman watched Natasha as she isolated herself from the group and wondered what set her off. There must be something that the couple knew that they didn't.

But, what was it? And why was Natasha so upset, if not mad, about it?

The man, then, turned to V, who was leaning against the wall next to a strange - looking bald and lanky boy, and spoke, "You said that you don't know when she'll be back. Where did she go, exactly?"

"Okay, Mr. Foreign Hippie, that's enough questions for today." Griffon interrupted, holding out a hand in front of V to keep the poet from making things worse. "Why did you come here, anyway?"

"We might have forgotten the actual date but, I think it's her birthday today." The young woman answered with a smile. "And we really wanted to surprise her."

She really has grown,...

"My name is Alicia. I'm a college student from Spain." She introduced herself. Then, turning to her companions, she graciously gestured and introduced them, as well. "This is Mr. Petya."

"Bonjour!" The jolly Frenchman greeted.

"He's the owner of Roses And Vodka in France. And that's Ms. Natasha - "

"Solagne." The stubborn woman, who was still staring out of the window, corrected, enunciating the syllables in a low and clear voice.

"Solagne. Ms. Solagne." Alicia repeated cautiously. "Singer from Roses And Vodka, and Mr. Petya's wife."

"You can call me Sister Christina." The nun introduced herself. "It is an honor to finally meet you."

"Likewise." The poet, who was still feeling tensed and uncomfortable, answered.

"And this is Cagliostro!" Alicia tapped the bearded man's shoulder as she introduced him with a proud smile. "He's a popular artist from Italy."

But, of course, none of them had to introduce themselves in the first place. He has seen them all through (Y/N)'s memories.

And he knew that they would hate him thoroughly when they find out,...

Alicia clapped her hands, getting the attention of everyone. "Okay! So, why don't we liven things up by preparing dinner for everyone? I hope you don't mind us using the kitchen, Mr. V."

"Wait a second here! We - " Griffon began but he was cut off as Alicia went on with her pep talk.

"Mr. Petya, you can do the drinks, right?"

"Naturally!" Petya proudly declared as he took out a bottle of Vodka from his huge shopping bag. "I didn't come all the way from France unprepared."

"And Sister Christina, you can help me with meals, right? I mean, if it's not too much for you."

"Of course,..." The nun answered, still a bit hesitant, as she glanced at V's direction.

"And Cagliostro, you do the - "

"I can do anything for dear (Y/N)." The Italian interjected. It seemed that he was just as nervous as V was. And who could really blame him? "I just wanted to know where she is and when she'll be back."

"She will be back, I know!" Alicia exclaimed, not letting anyone, or anything, suck out the optimism in her. "I mean, she always keeps her promises."

"But, didn't she stop seeing us a year ago? If she really wanted to see us, then - "

"I know. I only want us to meet again and - "

"I'm afraid to say that,"

All of the guests, even Natasha, turned towards V when he suddenly spoke, looking at them with a strange expression on his face as he leaned on his metal cane.

" ... your efforts,... would only be wasted."

There was a momentary silence between them after hearing those words that seemed to have fallen right before them like a bomb, and when V didn't make any move to take back what he said or simply wave it off as a crude and tasteless joke, Alicia stepped forward and tried to break through the tense atmosphere.

"I know I made a mistake back then when I pushed her away but," she began, feeling her eyes already beginning to burn. " ... I want to make up for it! I want to apologize for what I did. I want to fix everything between us!" She took a sharp breath as the tears finally poured out of her eyes. "Please, allow us to do this for her, Mr. V."

V stepped closer and regarded her coldly, hoping for her to just give up, drop everything, and leave. He felt really rude for doing so but, he really had no other choice. Their efforts,... would truly be wasted.

"You don't understand,... anything." V told her, his voice not faltering, his resolve as hard as stone. "Please, do not make this any harder for all of us."

"If we don't understand anything, then why won't you explain everything?!" Cagliostro, now losing his temper with the unknown, mysterious man, retorted.

"Okay, people! Let's not make this complicated, please?" Petya butted in just in time before Cagliostro could do anything. He turned to V and spoke, "Could you, please, just tell us when she'll be back? Then, we'll be on our way, I promise."

"Didn't ya understand what Shakespeare just said?!" Griffon, now truly annoyed with all the visitors, yelled. "She's gone! Bam! And we don't know when she'll be back!"

After hearing the familiar's words, Cagliostro looked like he was just hit by someone really hard, Petya and Alicia both looked shocked and worried, and Natasha, who honestly did not understand any word that has been exchanged but could understand the situation, anyway, only gave them a sideways glance.

"What do you mean by that?" Petya asked, still unable to believe those words. "I mean, she can't be - "

"She can't be dead, right?!" Alicia questioned as she went closer to V, wanting to grab the man by the collar and shake him.

The poet looked down at her and stood his ground. "She's not,... dead. I assure you."

"What did you do to her?" Everyone, including Natasha, herself, turned towards the painter as he dangerously went closer towards V, making Griffon and Petya come forward to grab each man should a fight start between them. "TELL ME! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

And V? He just didn't see any more reason to keep the truth from them any longer.

With a deep sigh and a tilt of the head as he tried to keep himself calm, he said, "I hurt her."

Sister Christina turned away, feeling hurt at what V just told them. She knew all of (Y/N)'s sacrifices for ten years just to find him. She witnessed her efforts, and saw her deep longing.

And to hear that painful truth from the man she loved,...

She really felt that this visit was a huge mistake.

Before anyone could stop him, Cagliostro tackled V and grabbed him by the collar. Despite Griffon, Petya, and Alicia's efforts to stop him and break them free, the painter just couldn't be stopped. V did not even do anything, nor lift a single finger, to stop the man from assaulting him.

He deserved it, anyway. And more.

"TU!" Cagliostro screamed at V's face. "Come ti permetti di mostrare la tua faccia qui dopo quello che le hai fatto?! Vuoi sapere che e successo?! E sparita?! Per causa tua, perché l'hai ferita, a tal punto che ha deciso di andarsene, e Dio solo sa dov'è ora! Ho voglia di tirarti un pugno, ho davvero tanta voglia di picchiarti, ma non meriti nemmeno un dito!" He let go of the poet's now ripped collar, pushing him as he did so. 

However, Cagliostro was far from done with him.

Trembling and pointing angrily at him as tears started pouring out, he said, "Perché mi comporto così? Perché lei ti ama, ma allo stesso tempo io amo lei e persino sapendo che questo mi fa male ho voluto che lei fosse felice con te, ma ora lei e sparita! Per colpa tua!"

Before the hurt and angry painter could utter any more words, a hand forcefully went down his shoulder and actually turned him around. It was the Russian singer, herself.

"Хватит, голубчик." Natasha told him. Seeing that Cagliostro was utterly confused of what she just said, she spoke once more in broken English, "That is enough!"

Cagliostro's eyes widened as he shook her hand off his shoulder, making Petya angrily scream something incomprehensible at him as he automatically went to his wife's side. "Zitto!" He screamed at the woman. "Tu non sei nemmeno in grado di capire come si sente lei adesso, perché te pensi solo a te stesso!"

Natasha, who only rolled her eyes at the painter's display of awful temper, muttered something under her breath and faced V. "Правду говоря," She began. "ты заслужил всё, что случилось. Теперь тебе надо столкнуться с последствиями того что ты наделал. Давай, Петя, пойдём." She turned to Petya and gestured at their belongings on the floor. "This is,... a waste of my time. Let's go, Petya."

And with a haughty toss of her regal head, Natasha finally left the unit, followed by her husband Petya, who only gave them an apologetic look. Cagliostro, who finally calmed down, but was still mad at V for what happened to (Y/N), followed a few moments later, dragging along the shopping bags but leaving behind his still wrapped present for her.

Which left only Alicia and Sister Christina behind.

"So," Griffon began a few awkward seconds later. " ... if ya wanna say somethin' else, then do it now."

"That is not our intention." The nun retorted as she regarded the familiar with pity. "We only came for our precious friend. And we apologize for what happened."

"Don't." V told her as he shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for. You didn't do,... anything wrong."

With a crestfallen heart, Alicia took her present from the table and gave it to V. The confused poet looked at it, then spoke, "You don't understand. I - "

"Open it, Mr. V." Alicia requested as she took a deep breath and braced herself. "Please."

Feeling wretched for hurting (Y/N)'s friends and for being callous and cold with their feelings, he obliged, unwrapping the gift and revealing what's inside the box.

And with a heavy and aching heart, he took out the embroidery and realized what it was.

It was what Alicia's mother was doing before her death.

And now, he could finally see the painstakingly embroidered words, etched with care and love.

"El amor es paciente, el amor es amable. No envidia, no alardea, no es orgulloso. No deshonra a otros, no es egoísta, no se enfurece con facilidad, no guarda registro de errores pasados. El amor no se deleita con el mal, al contrario, se alegra con la verdad."

"Love is patient, love is kind." Sister Christina translated for V. "It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self - seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Truly,... a magnificent verse."

"This," V stuttered, looking at the women as his eyes started to burn with the tears he has been holding for what seemed like weeks. " ... is the most beautiful poem,... I've ever heard."

"It is." Sister Christina replied. "It has brought the strongest of men down to their knees, and made the proudest of women weep. It is the most powerful poem in existence, and yet, its meaning is easily forgotten by many."

"I finished it, since my mother wasn't able to do it." Alicia confessed. "She died,... just before completing it. And I still have regrets of pushing (Y/N) away that day. I just,... couldn't accept the things that happened to my family, and I made the mistake of taking it out on her. I want to say sorry. I want to see her again! She's,... the sweetest friend I have, and I pushed her away." She looked up at V, then went on, "Mr. V, I know you feel the same way. And I know that you'll be able to atone for your own sins and find her. And when you do, will you, please, give this to her?"

V glanced at the work of art on his hand, then to the precious friend who made it. He nodded and clutched the thing close to his heart. "I will. I promise. I just don't know if,... she'll ever forgive me for what I have done."

"She will." The nun gently told him as she placed a hand on his in an effort to comfort him. "It's what true love means. Forgiving one another and making a fresh start, learning from the mistakes of the past and looking forward to a brand new future."

"I'm afraid." V admitted, confessing to the nun and letting out all his fears. "What if I hurt her again? I don't want,... to hurt her anymore."

"You won't, Mr. V." Alicia answered. "I believe in you."

"And you must learn to forgive yourself." The nun added. "It is never too late to try again after failing for the first time."

"But, I don't even know how to find her. It was like,... she's disappeared off the face of the planet,... and - "

The nun tightened her grip on V's hands as she looked at him more closely. "You're wrong about that, dear. Think as if you're her. Where would you go if you needed someone to talk to? If you needed a reliable shoulder to lean on?"

"But, she's not with Dante, or - "

The poet stopped talking as some idea formed in his mind.

Could it be,... ?

"Hey, ah, V, you okay?" Griffon asked as he waved a hand before the poet's face.

"Why, yes." V answered. "I'm perfectly well. In fact,..."

Sister Christina smiled as she saw how the realization finally hit V. She let go of his hands and took her own present from her shoulder bag. And unlike Alicia's, or Cagliostro's, or the couple's, Sister Christina's was unwrapped.

It was a pink hoodie that she made, herself.

She carefully handed it to V and let the poet's hands feel the warmth and softness of the material.

"And I trust you will give my present, as well."

V looked up from the gifts and faced the women who gave him hope. Who made him realize how wrong he was of everything.

Who gave him an idea where (Y/N) could be.

"I don't know how to thank you." He told them with much unbridled emotion in his hoarse voice.

The women smiled at him.

"You don't have to." Alicia told him. "Just find her and let us know when you do."

"By then," Sister Christina added. "We could finally have a proper birthday celebration for her. And we'd invite everyone!"

And with final words of encouragement, the women finally left, leaving behind a ray of hope that enlightened V's heart and gave him enough motivation to give it one last shot of finding (Y/N).

***

🖤 A special thanks to @vergils-daughter for the Russian translations, to @beyond-the-mirror for Spanish, and to Daarxen for Italian. 🖤

Let's do this again, shall we? 🖤🖤🖤

🖤 @la-vita , @lessy86 , @gothghoulfrend , @ceruleanworld , @ehrzeth , @diabeticsugarush , @heaven-on-a-landslide , @shadowrosess , and @krazy06 . 🖤

***

"She's in France right now! She hasn't left that place since the citywide evacuation."

"Where exactly in France,... if this fool may ask?"

"Uhh,... hold yer panties,... Ah! Corsair Island, I think?"

" ... Corsair?"

"Wait, that's not the one. Oh! I know! Corsica! Corsica Island!"

"I see."

"Why did ya ask?"

"No particular reason."

"O,... kay? Well, gotta go! Kyrie's callin' me for dinner."

"Thank you,... for everything, Nico."

"Nah, don't mention it."

"And one more thing."

"What?"

"Could you,... take care of this unit while I'm gone?"

"Gotcha! Wait,... WHAT?! Hey, man - !"

V hung the phone and glanced at his familiars.

What Cassandra has shown him, it was real! Him going to Fortuna and giving the Yamato back to Nero,....

Because of it, he received the plane ticket to Corsica Island from Kyrie! And that's where they were! And nobody even guessed it! (Y/N)'s there, all along!

"Are ya sure of this, V?" Griffon asked him. "Are ya sure ya wanna do this alone? I mean, you could be there in the blink of an eye with Andromeda's help,..."

"I know." V answered. "But, I don't want to use any kind if power to reach her. I want to do it,... with my own effort."

"Okay! Whatever ya say, Shakespeare."

Shadow, who was still clutching at her Elmo plushie, went forward and threw herself at V like a child who doesn't want her father to leave.

V hugged her and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll be fine. I'll bring her back, I promise."

I,... promise,...

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

[connan-l]

Cleavered

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana & Higurashi: When They Cry

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationship: Rena Ryuuguu & Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana)

Summary: Rena was lost, all alone and far away from her village and country. But while trying to find her way back, she gets herself involved into a sordid story of blood and witch…

Content Warnings: A few graphic depictions of violence, including slashing, blood, blood draining, attempted murders. Panic attacks and vomiting towards the end. Briefs kidnapping and slavery mentions.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I promise this initially started as a silly joke. I only wanted to write a ridiculous crack one-shot with ‘what if Rena Ryuuguu saved Morgana’ as a premise, and for some reason it ended up as this giant taken-too-seriously mess. It was actually pretty hard to write though — took me months before finishing it, and it was a real challenge to find a way to fit Higurashi’s plot in FataMoru’s setting. Rena was also pretty difficult to write, and I wish I would’ve been able to reread Tsumihoroboshi before that, but oh well.

Again though, it’s principally just a self-indulgent crack fic, so don’t try to think too much about it if there are some details that don’t makes sense and roll with it haha.

I’m thanking Ried (@kosongnonsens) too given I started writing this after we joked around about this idea.

Spoilers for the entirety of The House in Fata Morgana and A Requiem for Innocence, and for Higurashi: When They Cry’s sixth arc Tsumihoroboshi-hen/Atonement Chapter.

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She was definitely lost by now.

Whether she looked right or left, behind or in front of her, none of the landscapes and surroundings had one once of familiarity. She had been walking for hours now, at least — but she was pretty sure she had just managed to get even more lost than she initially had been.

Disheartened, she let out a long, heavy sigh, and sat down on a rock in the shade of a tree. Her big satchel that she’s been dragging around since she first came into this country was starting to really hurt her shoulder and back, so she also put it down on the ground. The soil was probably going to tarnish it, but it didn’t bother her much. It already was an old, deteriorated bag anyway, and there wasn’t anything of value in it — just a few clothes, some fruits and bread, and her cleaver.

She wished her father was here. And her friends. She wished she could just go back to her village, which she hadn’t seen in months now. What was she even doing out there in this foreign land she knew nothing about? People only looked at her weirdly, as if she was some sort of exotic animal, and she felt terribly uncomfortable and unwelcome.

(But maybe this was part of the curse of Oyashiro, too…)

As she unconsciously sighed again, she suddenly heard something. It sounded like footsteps. Then, after a while, she was sure she could feel a presence — a human presence. She always had a good instinct for stuff like that. She instantly grabbed her satchel, ready to welcome anything, but the person who showed up in front of her emanated absolutely no danger or suspicion whatsoever.

“Ah, as I thought! I truly had seen someone coming here!”

It was a girl, a bit younger than her, with long wavy blonde hair and sparkling sunny eyes. Her first thought was that she looked really cute, and she if wasn’t feeling so tired she probably would’ve loved to try squishing her round cheeks. Her second thought was that on the other hand, her pale face, chapped blue lips and dark circles told her she wasn’t in the best of health. Still, the girl bounced towards the newcomer like a rabbit, smiling from ear to ear.

“That’s so rare to see people!” She exclaimed. “No one ever come around here.”

“Really?” A part of her still felt suspicious, but the girl’s smile was contagious so she couldn’t help but mimic her friendly tone. “I got lost in the forest… I’ve been walking for hours trying to find my way back. Do you think you could help me?”

Th blonde girl grimaced. “Well… I can try, but… Honestly, I don’t really know my way around here either…”

“Oh… I see…”

Well, of course, that would’ve been too easy. At least she wasn’t lost in the middle of the woods anymore, she supposed. She had never been afraid of forests or dark, isolated places, but those were still tricky areas when you knew nothing of the surroundings.

“Um…”

The girl cleared her throat, getting her attention back to her, before smiling shyly with a hopeful gaze.

“Uh, well, I don’t think I can help you find your way back, but… you said you’ve been walking for hours, right? So you must be tired. If you want, I can invite you at my home!”

“Y-You would? I-I mean… it’d be very kind, but I don’t want to bother,” she stuttered.

“It’s okay! I’m all alone right now, and I’m sure the Saintess wouldn’t mind either!”

“The Saintess…?”

“I know how to make excellent tea, with rose petals! I promise you won’t regret it if you come!”

The blonde girl took her hand and begins to pull on it excitedly. She seemed oddly happy at the idea of sharing her afternoon with this stranger she knew nothing about. Maybe it wasn’t a really prudent decision to follow her, but honestly, at this point she felt too tired to refuse such an alluring invitation. Plus, she felt pretty charmed by that girl, and she didn’t think she was dangerous.

“Okay!” She replied. “You lead the way then.”

The girl’s face instantly lit up and her smile got even wider as she saw the stranger rose up from the rock and grab her satchel.

“Aahh, that’s so great! We could bake together too! Ohh, and chat about all sorts of things! Ah, by the way, I’m Nellie. What’s your name?”

She smiled at her new acquaintance, her hand still intertwined with hers.

“I’m Rena! Nice to meet you.”

________________________________________________________________

Nellie hurriedly guided her to her home all while making little mindless talks (“You’re ‘Rena’? It’s the first time I hear that name! It sounds so weird!”), and it only took them five minutes to reach it. The place where she lived looked more like a little cabin than an actual house, to be honest, but Rena thought it’d be rude to say so she kept quiet. The interior was fairly cozy, and with all the adorable, tiny decorations put all around the walls it wasn’t hard to guess that Nellie was the one who was spending most of her time here.

“Do you live here all alone? Do you?” Rena asked tentatively.

“No, I live with the Saintess… Ah, the Saintess is a nun who works at the church up there! Before that, I lived with my brother in another house, but we moved here a few months ago.”

Rena nodded while the younger girl ran up to the kitchen. She had spent enough time in this country to know that ‘saint’ and ‘nun’ were religious figures here, though she wasn’t sure what were their roles exactly. She sat at the table and waited patiently for Nellie to reappears a few minutes later with a plate in her hands.

“Haoo, those teacups are so kyute!”

“Hehe, I know, right? They’re ones of the only things I was able to bring back from home.”

“From where you lived with your brother?”

“Yes— Ah, I mean, no, even before that. Initially, we didn’t even live in the same country. We used to be rich, you know? Living in a huge mansion and all.”

“Ohh, it sounds nice! I’ve never been in a mansion.”

Well, she supposed her friend Mion’s big house could count as one, but from what Rena had seen it was still very different from what Western people called ‘mansions.’

“Well, if you want, there’s a mansion not far from here, so I could show you. I mean, it’s technically a church, but it still looks more like a mansion than a church.”

“Aw, really? I’d love to see that!”

Nellie giggled. “You’re funny. I like you. I wish I could show you my own manor too back in my country, but… I probably will never be able to go home…”

The blonde girl sighed, and a sad expression spread on her face. Rena guessed it was a touchy subject and that it was better to just change the topic rather than push the issue, but at this moment Nellie stared straight into her eyes, her smile back in place, as if it had never disappeared.

“What about you?”

“H-Huh?”

“You’re a foreigner too, aren’t you?”

“Oh… yes, that’s true… I come from the Far East. Um, well… I came to this country some months ago because of my father’s work. He’s a trader and came here for a new business opportunity… but then we got separated, and I got lost, and so here I am.”

It was a pretty simple summary of her situation and she left out a lot of complicated factors, though. No matter how cute Nellie was, she still didn’t felt like telling her whole life story out of the blue like that.

“You speak the language really well for someone who only came here months ago,” she noticed.

“O-Oh… thanks… I still don’t know how to write it though…”

Nellie seemed to ponder her words for a moment in silence, and Rena thought she was going to keep questioning but instead she just grinned and rose up from the table.

“Well, whatever! It doesn’t matter where you come from if I like you. Hey, what do you think about baking with me? I feel like eating sweets!”

Rena didn’t get the time to reply that Nellie grabbed her hand and dragged her in the kitchen, but she didn’t try to complain and instead just let herself be subjugated by the other girl’s cheerfulness.

“I love cooking, actually!” She only added. “What do you want to bake?”

“Hmm…” Nellie crossed her arms and frowned. “I dunno… Something with sugar. Lots of sugar.”

Rena giggled, then looked around the room to quickly catalog the ingredients at her disposition. “All right, then I have a proposition: how about I try to make some sweets from my country?”

As she had expected, Nellie’s eyes brightened with enthusiasm and curiosity. “Yeah! You do that! I’ll help out too.”

And thus they started to bake together, spreading flour and butter and sugar all around the house. Rena thought she felt a little bad about the so-called ‘Saintess’ if she were to come back home and see all this mess, plus all the food they squandered. But to be honest, she was having so much fun right now that she didn’t even care.

Nellie reminded her a little bit of her friends, and especially of Satoko. Maybe it had to do with the way she spoke about her big brother with so much love and admiration. Either way, it had been a long time she hadn’t had so much fun. For a moment, if she closed her eyes, she could even pretend she was back home in Hinamizawa…

The sun was starting to set and they were almost done with their cooking when the door from the house suddenly opened. Nellie seemed surprised — she apparently wasn’t expecting anyone to come home so early. When they both went to look, Rena saw a young man with the same blonde hair as Nellie standing in the room.

“Dearest Mell!” The younger girl exclaimed, and all of a sudden it was as if Rena’s existence had been completely erased from her mind.

She ran in the room and jumped in the boy’s arms, who caught her as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hello, Nellie,” he said gently.

“What are you doing here? I thought I wouldn’t see you at all today!”

“Yeah, I, uh… I forgot my bag here, and I felt the need to check on you. But, I won’t be able to stay long… maybe half an hour, at most…”

Nellie’s happy face instantly fell upon hearing that. “Are you sure? We were baking some sweets together, stay at least to taste them!”

“‘We’?”

At this moment, the boy ‘Mell’ finally noticed the other person at the end of the room. Rena smiled in a friendly way and waved at him, hoping to make him understand she wasn’t anyone suspicious, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on him as he instantly tensed and glared at her.

“Nellie, who’s that?” He asked in a stiff voice while grabbing Nellie’s arms in a protective manner.

His sister didn’t seem to notice his unease, though, because she just replied happily: “Oh, it’s Rena! Rena, it’s my big brother, dearest Mell!”

“R-Rena…?”

“Yeaaah, that’s a weird name, right?” Nellie added.

“No, that’s— I mean, who on earth is that girl, Nellie? What is she doing here?”

“She’s a foreigner I found outside. She told me she got lost, so I invited her here to play together.”

“Nellie!” Mell exclaimed, his voice firmer and almost panicked. “You cannot do that! Didn’t I tell you a lot of times to never let inside any strangers and to open the door to no one?”

“But… she’s not dangerous. I like her, she’s really nice. We baked toge—”

“It doesn’t matter how nice she is, you just can’t do that!”

Rena listened to the siblings’ argument from afar, and the more she observed the more… off, it seemed. Of course Mell had every reason to not want his little sister to interact with a stranger, but his reaction still felt wrong, somehow. He looked almost desperate, and Rena clearly wasn’t the only one to think he was acting weird.

“Dearest Mell,” Nellie said in a softer voice. “It’s fine. She really didn’t do anything but bake with me…”

Maybe his sister’s calmness and reassurance managed to cool him down a little bit somehow, because he blinked, looked at Rena, and took a deep breath.

“Yeah… uh, sorry. I’m just… a bit tired. That’s all.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” Rena replied. “I understand being tired.”

She also understood what it was like to feel paranoiac as if the entire world was against you, and to lash out at anyone as a result. And maybe that was why she couldn’t help but find Mell’s behavior more than suspicious.

“I… I need to get back my bag,” the boy blurted out, before heading towards the end of the cabin.

As soon as he had turned their back to them, Nellie’s expression darkened, and she looked down. Her eyes were shining so much Rena thought she might start crying. She didn’t, though.

“Could it be that… you two are not getting along well?”

Nellie shook her head. “We get along fine, usually. But these last months, Mell has been… so distant. First, he’s wanted to move here all of a sudden, and then he spent all of his time at that mansion… I know it was because I got sick, but…”

“Because you got sick?”

Rena didn’t need to read mind to guess the girl wasn’t healthy. She saw her cough quite a few times during their afternoon together, and there were moments where she even had to sit down because she felt dizzy. But she wasn’t sure how that was related to them moving. Nellie looked up and stared at Rena for a while. She seemed to hesitate, then nodded.

“Not long ago, the church up there started giving out a miraculous medicine that can heal everything, called ‘Saint’s Blood’.”

“Everything…?”

“Yes, and it really works! I was extremely ill, but after I started drinking it, I started to feel better. It’s temporary, though, so Mell has to get me some of it every once in a while. But…” Nellie bit her lip. “Well… you probably won’t believe me if I tell you…”

“Try me. You’d be surprised.”

Nellie looked at her once more, then finally made up her mind. “This medicine — it’s actually real blood from a real saint.”

“You’re drinking real blood?”

“Yeah, from the nun who lives with me. But it’s not like my blood or yours! It’s special, because she’s a saint. The real deal.”

Rena tried to register everything Nellie had told her with the little of what she knew of this country’s culture and religion. ‘Saints’ were some sort of divine figures here, weren’t they? Were they similar to the priests and shrine maiden serving the gods, like Rika? Maybe Rika would be considered a ‘saint’ here too then. So it wasn’t surprising that the blood of such a being could realize ‘miracles.’ She wondered if Nellie would believe her if she were to tell she also probably knew a ‘saint’ of her own…

“It’s good that I was able to get better… But if it comes at the cost of my brother… then it’s not worth it…”

Nellie’s small voice sounded so defeated and sorrowful. Rena looked at her with sympathy. She might not have known her for long, but seeing her like this was still painful. She wanted to try to say something to comfort her, but couldn’t find the words, and at this moment footsteps got her out of her thoughts.

“All right, I have it,” Mell declared.

Nellie’s sad expression disappeared, and a wide smile replaced it. For some reason, seeing this made Rena even sadder for her.

“Does that mean you’ll stay here then?”

“Just for half an hour,” Mell reminded her strictly. “But yes. I will.”

“Aha, yay! Thank you, dearest Mell!”

The girl jumped at her brother’s neck. Mell patted her head, then turned around towards Rena, his suspicious look back on.

“Do you… intend to sleep here?”

“Oh, no! Don’t worry, I will not bother you like that! Actually, I was just going to leave.”

“Eh? Already?” Nellie exclaimed disappointedly. “That wouldn’t have bothered me for you to stay sleep here…”

“No, it’s okay! I’ll find another place to stay the night. But thank you.”

Mell kept staring at Rena with distrust, but hearing her affirm she was leaving now seemed to put him a bit more at ease.

“Plus, I need to do my best to find my way back.”

“But…”

“Thank you for helping me, Nellie. But I can’t abuse of your kindness any longer. Oh, and of course I’ll leave you the sweets! I hope they’ll be good.”

All while talking, Rena took her satchel. She gave a tight hug to Nellie, smiled at Mell who just stayed quiet, then headed towards the door.

“Bye!”

The last thing she saw before closing the door was Nellie waving her hand sluggishly at her. Once outside, Rena sighed. The sky was orange, and it wouldn’t be long before the night fell. The smartest thing to do would be to try to find a place where she could sleep. She actually came around a small abandoned ranch earlier in the woods, so if she finds nothing else that would be her last resort, but it was a few hours away from here and far from being ideal.

But apparently today Rena didn’t feel like being smart. Instead, she thought about Nellie’s sad face, about the shady story of saints and blood she had just heard, and about the growing, insatiable curiosity that was starting to form inside her. And so, after a few moments of hesitation… she decided to hide in a bush next to the cabin, and wait here.

As Mell had said, it was about half an hour later when he finally went out. She looked at him say good bye to his sister, and when Nellie went back inside the cabin, he finally started to walk off.

Rena hesitated. She had a bad feeling. She knew she shouldn’t meddle. But her curiosity was stronger than any common sense she might have right now.

So, she tightened her grip on her satchel inside which resided her cleaver, and as discreet as a cat, she started following Mell.

________________________________________________________________

The house started to get into sight a few minutes later. It was a huge, intimidating building — and just like Nellie had told her earlier, this looked more like a mansion than a church. Mell stopped for a few seconds in front of the door, manifestly hesitating to go inside. He sighed, shook his head, then pushed the door and disappeared behind it. Rena waited a few seconds, then followed him.

The interior made her stop and gasp. She had arrived inside a giant room, with two rows of benches and a big, beautiful stained-glass at the end of it. Was that what the natives called an angel? She heard about this, too, but the one on the stained-glass looked so beautiful and dignified. The entire place seemed magical, and she couldn’t help but stop to admire it. She had already visited a ‘church’ once since she arrived in this country, but it was far from being as grand and pretty as this one. It’s only after some time gawking at the architecture that she heard the sound of a door opening, which brought her back to reality and reminded her of her original goal for coming here. Obviously, the boy hadn’t waited for her, and so she hurried to run in the direction of the noise. She arrived just in time to see Mell’s flaxen hair, then instantly hid behind the wall and froze in place when she heard a grave, severe voice roars.

“You’re late.”

“I-I’m sorry… I had to get back home because—”

“I don’t give a damn about your reason. Next time you are late, I’ll order the dog here to cut off your head.”

With all the precaution she could muster, Rena leaned very slightly from behind the wall and took a glance of what was going on. Mell was there in front of another closed door, looking like a lamb that had just been cornered by a pack of wolves, and she distinguished two adult men with him. Both of them had peculiar appearances that made them stand out from the majority of the people of this country, and Rena wondered if maybe they were foreigners — the first one because of his dark skin, and the second one because of his unusual features. She also was quick to notice the threatening long sword hanging at his belt. Was that man from the Far East like her? Maybe in other circumstances she would’ve felt a sense of kinship with him, but right now she could only feel suspicion and confusion.

“Then let’s go now, we’re not going to spend the night here,” the man with the wavy hair ordered, while the other one silently stood behind him like a shadow.

All three of them then took out a key from under their clothes and inserted it in the heavy lock that hanged in the middle of the door. After a loud click resonated, the man with the most expansive-looking outfit removed the lock, opened the door and started to climb the stairs, swiftly followed by the other two.

Rena frowned, and hesitated once again. She felt that keeping on trailing them would be making a mistake, and she still had time to go back. She could just leave the mansion right now, and forget about everything. She knew it was the most logical, safest course of actions. But for some reason, her body refused to listen. With uncertain and quiet steps, she opened the door which they thankfully had not locked behind them, and started climbing the stairs.

The circular area seemed infinite, as if this tower leaded directly to heaven. Each of her steps resounded abundantly inside the staircase, no matter how quiet she tried to be, which made her feel anxious Mell or anyone would spot her presence at any seconds. Yet, she managed to reach the top without anyone stopping her, to her surprise.

“Hurry up and go feed her,” was the first thing she heard upon arriving.

“Y-Yes,” Mell squeaked, before quickly hobbling towards the door.

His hands were shaking and he struggled a bit to open the door, which only served to aggravate the annoyance of the disgruntled wavy-haired man. When finally the door opened, Mell reached to take a tray on the ground, then penetrated inside. At this moment, Rena tried her best to get a glance of what was in there without getting noticed. At first, she couldn’t see anything — then she caught sight of a chain on the soil… and she gasped.

At the very bottom of the small room, shackled and curled up on herself, was a girl. Rena couldn’t really tell much from how far she was, but she seemed young, clothed in a dark robe and with long, braided red hair. Her head was bent and hidden in her knees, dissimulating her face. The most noticeable thing was the way her right sleeve was sloppily hanging to her side, completely empty, indicating her missing arm. Rena’s brain shut down, as she felt unable to comprehend the situation that was happening in front of her eyes.

What? What? Why is there a girl chained up at the top of this tower? Why are those three men bringing her food? What on earth is going on here?

Mell approached the girl with shaking steps, and kneeled in front of her.

“It’s… uh, it’s time to eat,” he muttered weakly.

The girl didn’t react. In fact, she didn’t even seem to calculate his presence at all. Mell sighed.

“Come on… You almost didn’t eat anything yesterday either…”

He took a piece of bread and handed it to the girl. As she seemed decided to ignore his very presence, the boy awkwardly tried to push the bread on her mouth, which finally managed to get a reaction out of her. She raised her head and turned it towards him, before glaring at him. Her eyes were so full of hatred that it made even Rena want to step back, but it wasn’t the thing that was the most surprising. The girl’s face… was covered in some weird scars. It looked as if her whole face had been burned, the only exception being her pale golden eyes. Rena felt unable to stop staring at her, as if hypnotized.

Hao… She’s… She’s so kyute! I wanna take her home!

“If she really insist for not eating, then leave her be,” the wavy-haired man said, getting Rena out of her daydream.

“B-But…”

“If she doesn’t eat, she’ll die though,” the swordsman replied, but there was no hint of sympathy in his voice.

“She’ll eat tomorrow. For now, we need to take care of the blood.”

Rena didn’t understand what he meant by that, but judging by Mell’s livid face, it wasn’t anything good.

“I… I can’t—”

“Hmph. You have a lot of demands for someone in your position. But be reassured, I had no intention of asking you to do such a task.”

Instead, he looked at the other man, and made a sharp chin movement.

“As you wish, lord.”

And with this, the swordsman entered the room, while Mell hurried to get up and go away. Just like the boy earlier, he kneeled down next to the girl — but it was not to give her food. Instead, he took out a knife in one hand, and a bowl in the other. Seeing this, the girl had this time an extremely intense reaction. She shrieked and tried to get away as much as she could from the man, almost crushing her body against the wall.

“No! No! Go away!” She screamed, almost hysterically. “S-Stay away from me!”

But the yells didn’t seem to faze the man one bit. He continued to approach her and firmly grabbed her shoulders. The girl started to struggle and scream and scratches at him like an insect caught in a spider’s web. Despite this, the swordsman had no problem immobilizing her, as if he was made of stone, and then plunged the knife in her arm. As red, shiny blood started to flow, he quickly put the bowl under her wound and simply waited. The girl kept on screaming and twitching, but no one reacted to her cries. The swordsman simply drained her blood in silence, the wavy-haired man looked at the scenery with arms crossed and a frown, and the boy seemed to want to run away from the place and forget about all of this. But none of expressed any guilt or sympathy for the girl that was being tortured under their eyes.

Rena also watched in silence, her whole body frozen by the surreal experience that was happening in front of her. Her eyes just couldn’t register what was going on. Or rather, she could understand, but her mind had way too many questions about it. Why were they doing this? Who was that girl? Who were the other men? But the questions felt minimal compared to the screams that were lacerating her ears. Her first reflex was to come in and put a stop to this, but she was well aware that it would be suicidal. Mell probably wouldn’t be too much of a trouble, but the other two were well-built adult men, one of them holding a sword at his waist. No way a lone young girl like her could just overthrow the three of them all at once… not like this, and not right now, at least.

As she was still lost in thoughts, she suddenly felt a gaze pressed on her and her blood froze in her veins. Slowly, she turned her head, and her eyes suddenly crossed the ones of the wavy-haired man. Her body reacted by reflex, and she instantly turned around and ran down the stairs as quickly as she could. Once she reached the chapel, she hurried to join a corridor and hid in the first room she saw. She stayed there in the dark a few minutes, to calm herself down. Then, she slowly opened the door, and glanced outside.

Nothing. There was nothing. No voice, no footsteps, no sounds. That was… odd. She was sure that for a brief instant, that man had seen her. That their gazes had crossed. Rena remembered how the swordsman had called him ‘lord,’ and it indeed had seemed that he was the mastermind behind this whole mess. If this man had noticed a stranger spying on them, surely he would have instantly ordered someone to go take care of her. She couldn’t believe that them draining the blood of a girl was public knowledge, so it certainly must’ve been a secret they didn’t want anyone to know. So why…? Did she just imagine him staring at her, after all?

Voices and footsteps reverberated from the chapel, and she instantly tensed up again. She tried to hear what was being said, but she was too far away to manage to grasp anything. After a while, the silence returned, so she glanced once again from behind the door. Upon looking at the end of the corridor, she noticed someone walking. The place was dark, but the fluffy blonde hair that shined in the obscurity made no doubt that it must’ve been Mell. She saw him stop in front of a door and enter a room. Rena returned inside the chamber she had taken shelter in, and collapsed on the bed.

She had two options. She could just sneak out of the mansion in silence, forget everything she had just saw, and move on with her life. Or… Or what? Infiltrating herself in the tower and save that girl she knew nothing about? That sounded like some silly fairy tale. To begin with, the door was locked. She had seen earlier the men use three keys to open the lock, which each had one. That meant she would need to steal their keys to open the door, gets the girl, and ran away with her, all of that without getting caught. That sounded… pretty much impossible.

She knew what the logical decision should be. This whole thing was none of her business. She knew nothing about this girl, about these men, about this entire affair. For all she knew, maybe they were even doing a good thing! Putting her nose into this would only mean trouble for her; and she was a lone foreigner who barely knew anything about the country. But…

But when she started to think that way, the girl’s screams resonated inside her head. The oppressive atmosphere of the room, the heavy scent of blood. Nellie’s sad face… Did Nellie even know about this? No, probably not. Rena might barely know her, but she couldn’t imagine that girl would agree to keep silent about such an inhuman thing. Once again, those scars-covered face and shining golden eyes flashed into her mind. Rena sighed, and smiled very briefly against the pillow.

“I can never abandon a kyute thing, after all.”

She stood up, grabbed her cleaver with her two hands, then got out of the room.

________________________________________________________________

With all the delicacy of a feline, Rena approached the door behind which she had seen Mell disappears. Nellie had told her that her brother didn’t sleep in the cabin with her, so she guessed it must’ve been his room in them mansion. The lights were turned off. Best case scenario, he would be asleep. Otherwise, well… She tightened her grip on her cleaver, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The room was dark, but thanks to the light from the corridor she had no troubles to distinguish the bed, nor the boy who suddenly sat up on the mattress. So, he was not asleep. Well, it wasn’t a big deal. Unlike the other two, the boy looked quite spineless, so she shouldn’t struggle too much with him.

“Y-You…!” He exclaimed, recognizing the strange orange-haired foreigner. “Wh-What are you—”

But Rena didn’t let him the time to make any more noise. She didn’t want him to alert the other two right now, if they were still around. So she instantly brandished her cleaver and put it just under Mell’s neck. As soon as he saw the blade, the boy paled and stared at it with wide eyes.

“Keep quiet, and you’ll keep your head,” Rena ordered in a firm voice.

It took a few seconds for Mell to regain his spirits, and when he did, he raised his eyes towards Rena and glared at her.

Oh? Then maybe he’s not as spineless as I thought… Unless he underestimates me?

Well, it didn’t matter what he thought of her. She still objectively had the upper hand here.

“I knew it, you’re trouble after all,” he said, but he was pretty bad at hiding the tremor in his voice. “What did you do to Nellie?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t play innocent! You couldn’t have gotten close to her by coincidence!”

“It was absolutely by coincidence,” she replied genuinely. “And it’s also completely by coincidence I found you three draining this girl’s blood at the top of the tower. What would you little sister thinks of that, I wonder…?”

“You… You don’t intend to tell Nellie—”

“I saw you enter the tower by using three keys. I want the one you have.”

Rena’s tone didn’t vacillate in the slightest and her voice was as threatening as she could, but Mell was completely bewildered. He looked at her as if she had just told him she was a ghost or something.

“You… want to go save her…? Th-That’s impossible!”

“I don’t care what you think. Give me the key.”

“You don’t understand! You can’t open the door without the two other keys that the lord and the swordsman have! M-Maybe you can get the key from me, but those other two, they definitely won’t let you do! They’ll kill you without hesitation, and me too—”

“The. Key.”

She took a step further, putting more pressure on the cleaver’s blade. Mell gasped.

“You… You wouldn’t do that… I did nothing wrong, I’m innocent…”

Rena snorted. “I don’t care. I’m not afraid of killing.”

All while speaking, she gently slashed the blade against the white neck of the boy, and a thin trail of blood trickled on his skin. He shrieked, then instantly reached in one of his cloth’s pocket, before taking out a pretty, golden key.

“I-It’s there! It’s there…”

“Thanks!”

Rena smiled at Mell, her threatening aura instantly vanishing while the boy still stared at her with an astonished face.

“Y-You’re still making a mistake,” he added shakily. “You don’t stand a chance against—”

But he didn’t had the time to finish his sentence that Rena swinged her cleaver and hit him on the head. It was only with the back of the blade, so there was no way it was a fatal hit, just hard enough to knock him out. She still checked just to be sure, and while his forehead was bleeding a bit, he would survive.

“Sorry, I just don’t want to take the risk of you getting in my way…”

All while talking she took the key and put it in her satchel. She’d probably usually think it is a kyute thing she could bring back home, but she wasn’t in the mood for that. After she saves the girl, maybe.

Before stepping out of the room, she glanced one last time at the boy. She didn’t have strong feelings towards him, but she still hoped he’d be able to get out of here alive, if just for Nellie’s sake.

“‘I’m innocent,’ huh…”

She chuckled, then got out and closed the door behind her.

No matter how pitiful Mell’s claims had been, he had actually been right about one thing: it would be a lot harder to obtain the keys from the two other men than from the boy. She had guessed just upon seeing them that threatening their lives wouldn’t be enough — and her instinct was telling her that the swordsman was a lot more skilled as a fighter than she was. She would need to think about a plan to get them, then. The question was what plan. Hopefully they still mustn’t be very far from the house yet, maybe were they even still inside, so she shouldn’t have troubles finding them. She tried to think about the possibility of other people being here too — the ‘Saintess’ came to her mind, but from what she had understood she lived with Nellie so she probably wouldn’t be here this late at night. Unless she was also involved, which made things more complicated. She also remembered the third man was supposedly a ‘lord,’ so shouldn’t he have some guards posted around? But she couldn’t recall seeing any on her way here…

Once again, she really wished her friends were with her right now. Together, they would certainly have come up with a good plan in just a few minutes… But, no, maybe that was too naïve of her. She shouldn’t rely like that on people. She was all alone now, and even if she wasn’t, it was more certain to take of serious matter by yourself. Not even ‘friends’ were always reliable and trustworthy allies, and they could just as much become betrayers who stab you in the back, after all.

“Hey, you there!”

Rena froze. When she turned around, she found herself face to face with the swordsman. Apparently, fate refused to give her a chance to elaborate a plan before having a confrontation. She thought about acting innocent for a moment, but with her cleaver in her right hand, it would be difficult to swallow.

The man narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re… a foreigner, aren’t you?”

His expression told her he mustn’t have seen someone akin to him since a long time. Which wasn’t surprising; in the ten months or so since she’d arrived in this country, she didn’t think she had come cross anyone from the Far East like her.

“I am,” Rena simply answer, seeing no reason to lie here.

The swordsman contemplated her for a moment, then his gaze slid towards the cleaver in her hand.

“What were you doing here?”

Rena tried to think up something to get her out of this situation. But no matter how much she ransacked her brain, nothing came to her. So in the end, she just sighed, and smiled at the man.

“I’m here to save the kyute girl in the tower.”

The swordsman had no reaction at all to her arrogant nonchalance. He just stared at her coldly, before an odd, distorted smirk slowly stretched his lips.

“I see. Then I’m sure the lord won’t mind if I kill you in that case.”

And then, before Rena could retort anything, he drew his sword and ran up towards her. Rena’s body reacted instinctively, and when he raised his weapon to cut her she instantly managed to parry it with her cleaver. The two blades clashed in a metallic ringing, but she didn’t have the time to catch her breath that the man went on with his next attack. He assaulted her with a strong rain of hits, one after another, so swift and sharp that the girl could barely see them at all. She greeted her teeth and glared at him, but the man didn’t seem unsettled in the least.

Rena gave the sword a hit more forceful than previously, and managed to get away momentarily before starting running in the mansion’s corridors. The man instantly chased her down, of course.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He shouted at her from behind. “Are you really running away after talking so big? Let me hear you beg for your life and maybe I’ll consider letting you live!”

Rena stayed quiet, not falling for the preposterous provocations. She wasn’t trying to escape, just to buy some time. She knew that man was stronger physically and more skilled than her, by a large margin. There was no way she could beat him in a face-to-face fight. So she had to find another solution, somehow.

In her dash, she inadvertently ended up finding herself in the chapel again. The stained-glass angel was shining of an ominous light thanks to the moon behind it. However, Rena didn’t have the time to admire it this time, as the swordsman quickly caught up to her, chasing her down like a beast towards his prey. Finding herself cornered, she had no other choice but to yet again fend off his sword in the middle of the bench rows. Right under the angel’s impassive gaze, they kept on exchanging hits after hits.

The girl was defending herself quite well, but there was no doubt as to who had the advantage in this fight. In fact, Rena was pretty sure the man was holding himself back against her, maybe just for his own amusement. She groaned, trying to find the slightest opening she could use… but in her impatience, she let her guard down, which the swordsman didn’t hesitate to profit off. He swung down his sword, and the blade mercilessly cut through the girl’s shoulder. She screamed in pain, then lost her balance and fell down on the ground, letting go of her cleaver at the same time.

Despite the vivid pain and the blood already soaking her clothes, she still had the reflex to rush towards her weapon, but at the last moment the man crushed her hand with his heel. She moaned then threw a glare at him. The only change in his expression was now the clear sick pleasure he had to have the girl at his mercy.

“You run quickly and you do know how to use that weapon, I will give you that,” he said, his voice vibrating with sadism, and Rena was pretty sure it was the first emotion she had felt coming from him since earlier. “But it stops here now.”

She said nothing; not letting an ounce of fear transpiring through her blue eyes, not a single hesitation shaking her body. Just anger. The man narrowed his eyes at her curiously; maybe was it because he had expected her to beg and cry for her life. But Rena would never give him the satisfaction.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t play much more with you sadly, otherwise I could in troubles. Well then—”

He raised his sword, his eyes shining like a predator’s, while the girl was still lying on the ground, bleeding and gasping painfully. And then he struck it down—

“Wait.”

—but stopped at the last moment. Both he and Rena turned around in surprise, to see the shadow of a man drawing near them — the last one of the three, of course.

“Lord…”

The swordsman seemed almost irritated to have the other man barge in, but he still managed to stay courteous enough. The ‘lord’ didn’t seem to notice or maybe care about it though, he just stared down at the teenage girl on the floor.

“Who is she?” He finally asked. “What is going on here?”

“She is an intruder who knows about the witch,” the swordsman replied, his monotonous, indifferent face back in place.

The witch…? Rena repeated in her head, but didn’t have time to ponder much more about it.

“She knows?”

“She told me she was here to save her. This is why I decided to take care of the problem before it could reach you.”

“And since when a dog acts without his master’s orders? The least you could have done is consulting me about it before making that decision.”

“You’re right… I apologize, lord.”

The swordsman politely inclined himself in front of the lord as a sign of excuse, as Rena watched the scene in silence. The wavy-haired man then eyed her with disdain, and crossed his arms.

“Well, it doesn’t matter much either way. We can’t keep her alive if she knows. So just get rid of her.”

Right at the moment he finished his sentence, Rena seized her chance. With the arrival of the lord, the swordsman had stopped paying so much attention to her, which meant it was the only opening she could have. As quickly as she could, she grabbed her cleaver, got back on her feet and almost jumped on the lord. Before the two men even had the time to react, she was already tightly holding the lord’s arms and had her cleaver’s blade under his neck.

“Don’t move!” She yelled, as the swordsman was reaching for his own weapon. “Don’t move or I cut off his head!”

As if to show she was not kidding, she pressed the blade against the skin of the lord even more. The swordsman frowned. He didn’t try to reach for his sword anymore, but he didn’t seem particularly distraught either.

“Do you think I care even slightly about what might happen to this man?” He asked.

Rena smiled. “Probably not,” she admitted. “But he is your boss, isn’t he? You must be working under him because only he can offer you something. So his death would be pretty inconvenient to you. Am I wrong?”

She certainly wasn’t, because a slight annoyed scowl formed on the swordsman’s face.

“I want you to put your sword on the ground, and make it slide towards me,” Rena ordered. “Or else…”

“Don’t listen to her,” the lord finally spoke. “I doubt a girl like her actually could kill anyone. She’s just playing tough.”

However, the swordsman seemed less certain than his employer. He eyed the girl suspiciously, deliberating her order while staring at her in the eyes. Rena sustained it with determination.

“I don’t want to offend you, lord,” he finally said. “But I think I disagree on that one.”

And then, just as he had been told, he put the weapon on the ground and slides it towards Rena, while the lord sighed heavily. She quickly retrieved it, then threw it as far away as she could without letting go of her hostage.

“Now I want you to come towards us.”

They were about three meters away from each others. The swordsman looked at her once again, then stepped forward. Two meters. One meter. And before he could get even closer, Rena suddenly slashed the lord at the waist, and then with a slick movement of the wrist, she cut the swordsman’s throat with great precision.

Blood splattered. She heard the lord groan in pain and fell on his knees, while the swordsman put both of his hands on his neck in an instinctive attempt to block out the blood. But it was fairly vain, as only a few seconds after he collapsed on the ground. Before it, he glared at the girl, an inhuman shine lurking in his eyes, and she thought his lips parted to say something, but she couldn’t tell what.

She looked at his agonizing body drenched in blood on the floor with an emotionless gaze, then she turned around towards the last man, her cleaver still in hand. He was still on his knees, breathing heavily and holding his wound. Rena stared at him in silence for a long time, before finally speaking out.

“You saw me earlier, didn’t you?”

The man only lifted his head towards her.

“When I was in the tower. You clearly looked at me in the eyes.”

“That… must’ve been your imagination…”

“No, I know you did. You saw me. And yet, you said nothing. It would’ve been easy to chase me down and kill me at that moment. In fact…”

She took a step forward, her gaze not letting go of his.

“It would’ve been easier to just let him kill me earlier too, instead of stopping him. Or to try to disarm me when I was holding you. Even with my cleaver at your neck, you’re still stronger than me physically.”

The man sustained her stare, but he said nothing back.

“Could it be… that you did that on purpose?”

His expression didn’t change at her accusation, as if his face had reverted to a mask of stone. But no matter behind which kind of layers and facets he would hide, Rena was still exceptionally good at reading other people.

“Did you want me to do this? To get the keys and free that girl?”

Finally, a haughty grin formed on the man’s lips.

“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous. I am the lord. There’s no way on earth I’d ever want to do something as ludicrous as this.”

Rena kept on staring at the lord in silence, her eyes as cold as ice. She knew he was lying. But she also wasn’t exactly interested in getting him to say the truth. Her only goal was to free that girl. The rest didn’t matter.

“Well, I suppose so. Either way, it is none of my business.”

And so, she raised her cleaver once again, and gave the man one final blow. He didn’t try to protest or resist, and just collapsed on the ground like his subordinate. Rena then quickly kneeled besides the two bodies, searching them, and finally retrieved the two last keys, as well as another one which she guessed was for the chains.

The young girl was standing here in the chapel in front of the angel, her white dress all drenched in red, with two barely-alive bodies at her feet.

If she were from this country, she would probably find this to be quite the profane picture.

But she wasn’t, and there was only one thing she was interested in.

________________________________________________________________

She took out the three keys one by one, and slowly inserted them. Her hands were greasy because of the blood — both her own and others’ — but she still delicately handled them. The lock opened right away, she barely had to force at all, and then she pushed the door.

Climbing the circular stairs almost felt ceremonious, and the steps seemed a lot longer than the first time she had came here, as if they had suddenly grown infinite during the instant she was dealing with the three men. It took a few minutes for her to reach the top, and when she did she stopped in front of the closed door. As if nervous, she grabbed her satchel in which she had put away her bloody weapon. Her cleaver wasn’t the only thing covered in blood — her dress, her hair, her entire body were completely dark scarlet, and even if she had managed to stop the bleeding, her wound was still hurting quite a bit. She looked as if she had just been out of a war battlefield. She definitely was far from looking like a brave knight rescuing the princess.

But well, she wasn’t a knight, and that girl wasn’t a princess.

With hesitation, she grabbed the handle and stopped. For some reason, she felt… anxious. Why, she had no idea. She had done all of this just to save this stranger, and now that she was so close to her goal, it felt wrong, somehow. She knew she had to hurry before anyone notice something was off inside that mansion, but her feet refused to move. She didn’t even know how she should greet that girl or what to tell her. What if freeing her was a mistake, after all? What if the best choice was to just run away right now?

Rena shook her head, then breathed in forcefully. That wasn’t the time to hesitate. She couldn’t go back now. So she opened the door.

The dim luminosity hurt her eyes, and it took a few seconds for her to adapt to it. Once she did, the familiar, pitiful scenery she had seen earlier appeared yet again before her, in the exact same state, as if nothing that had just happened had been real. The girl was still there, chained, slumped against the wall. Her eyes were closed. Was she asleep? She seemed to be barely alive, to be honest. She looked more… like a corpse.

Wouldn’t that be funny if Rena had done all of that just for the girl to die at the least moment? But she pushed that thought away and took a step further. At this moment, and to her relief, the girl twitched. She suddenly opened her golden eyes and stared straight through her, making Rena almost jump out of surprise. But with the shook cooling off, she was just glad the girl was definitely still alive.

“Hi,” she said in a friendly tone, smiling gently. “I’m Rena.”

The girl replied nothing. She just kept staring at her vacantly, as if she wasn’t really seeing her.

“Ah, d-don’t worry! I’m not here to hurt you, or— or anything like that,” Rena added hurriedly, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m here to save you!”

But her reassuring words seemed to do nothing for the captive. Rena quickly started to grow uncomfortable, and she tilted her head.

“Can you… hear me? Can you?”

No answer. Rena sighed. Well, she seemed to be really out of it. It probably shouldn’t be surprising given what she’s been through until now. Rena didn’t know since when she had been detained here, but she guessed it must’ve been quite some time. Well, it didn’t matter much if she could speak or understand her or not. She just needed to get her out of here as soon as possible. First, she needed to—

“—el…”

Rena suddenly stopped when a hoarse, barely audible voice resounded inside the dark tower. It took some time for her brain to understand that it was coming from the girl.

“—gel…”

“Huh?”

Her murmurs didn’t even sounds like words, more like some background noises that struggled to get out of her mouth. Rena slowly approached the girl, and kneeled in front of her, putting herself down to her height and staring at her in the eyes. But the girl acted as if she didn’t even see her.

“—angel…”

“Angel…?”

“Are you… angel…?”

Rena blinked with surprise when she realized the question. She wasn’t sure if this was addressed to her exactly. Maybe it was addressed to no one. Even so, she slowly took her hand in hers — a tattered, dirty, covered in scratches small hand.

“I’m sorry… I’m not an angel. I’m just some foreign girl who got lost and wandered around here by mistake.”

The girl became silent again, her golden eyes empty.

“But I’m still going to save you.”

And with that, she searched for the keys she had retrieved on the lord’s body, and freed the girl from the chains. As she expected, this got no reaction out of her, so she then grabbed the only remaining arm, and then, after struggling for a bit, she managed to hoist her on her back. It wasn’t easy to carry another girl of the same age while wounded, even if she was extremely light, but Rena could handle it. She had no other choice.

With fumbling steps, she hurriedly get down the steps, walked through the chapel without doing so much as glancing at the men’s bodies spread there, and finally got out of the mansion, not even the stained-glass angel daring to stop her.

________________________________________________________________

She was bleeding.

Red liquid poured out from her wounds, trickling on her bare skin, sullying her body and the ground. It seemed as if the flow was endless. She felt no pain, though — the throbbing and aching had left her a long time ago, and in its stead there was only numbness and emptiness. Her vision was a blur, her mind a haze. She could only perceive shadows moving in front of her, vague laughing and chuckles, joyful voices rejoicing in her torment, like demons dancing in front of her. If someone had told her she was in Hell, she would have believed them.

But she wasn’t in Hell — this was earth, and those were humans, and maybe this was the most disgusting of truth to face for her. The chains around her wrists bounded her to the altar, preventing any escapes she could have.

Suddenly, the shadows stopped moving, and her surrounding began to scramble. Before her mind could understand what was going on, vivid pain reached her arm, lacerating and pitiless. All sorts of landscapes scrolled in front of her eyes — a carriage full of bloody corpses, a cottage in front of a lake, a mansion, a tower.

And finally, the figure of the lord, always standing in her way.

Despair, agony, betrayal, anguish all agglutinated inside her heart at the same time — but the most powerful of all, the one that overwhelmed everything else—

—was hatred.

She rose up, clutching sorely at the sheets as her eyes darted right and left around her. She felt like she was lost inside a fog, the walls around her waltzing and shrieking as if they had a will of their own. As she painfully tried to regain possession of her broken five senses, yet another shadow took shape to her side, producing sounds.

“—ke… —p…”

But she didn’t even try to decipher what it was saying. There was only one and unique shadow that appeared both in her dreams and reality, after all. The lord.

So she pushed him with all of her forces, making him fall on the ground, and then, desperately groping blindly around her, she was able to feel the cold touch of a blade brush her fingers. Without waiting, she grabbed the handle of what looked like a cleaver and jumped on the silhouette before it could move again. She wasn’t strong enough to actually stand up, but she could still hold a weapon. Or stab someone with it.

“Die!”

That was the first word that escaped her mouth. The most precious wish she had cherished during all these months, the only thing that had kept her alive all this time — her voracious hatred.

“Die! Die…! I’ll— make you pay…! You… You—!”

The lord she was straddling caught the blade with his bare hand, unbothered by the blood that soon trickled down his hand. She tried to get back the cleaver, but his grip was too strong.

“Let… go! I will— I’ll kill you!”

“Given how weak you are, I doubt you’ll be able to even kill a fly like this.”

The voice made her stop instantly. Because this… this wasn’t the lord’s voice.

That person didn’t sound like the cruel man who had haunted her nightmares since she was a child… but like a young girl she didn’t know. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that voice before—  

“—I’m still going to save you.”

She felt completely lost, and the shadow took the occasion to push her away and get back the cleaver. She collapsed on the ground, and all of a sudden it was as if she was a puppet whose strings had been cut off. She had no strength anymore, and just lay there on the floor, her whole body hot and aching. She heard a few slow steps coming towards her, and soon a face came into her view.

Blue eyes like the sky, and orange hair like the sunset. A sweet smile.

“I’m glad you’re awake! Please wait here, I’ll bring you back something to drink.”

________________________________________________________________

The girl came back in the room a few minutes afterwards with water and bread, and helped Morgana get back into the bed. Well, it wasn’t actually a bed, more like something that looked like an old mattress with some blankets thrown on it. As the other sat next to her, she took the glass of water and stared at it absentmindedly.

“I promise it’s not poisoned,” the girl said in a joyful voice. “It’s just water.”

There was a part of Morgana that felt silly of being suspicious of a simple glass of water… but then she remembered that given she had no idea where she even was, it was only natural. So she still didn’t try to drink it.

“I’m really relieved you woke up and seem well! You slept for almost two days, you know? So I was worried. So, um, well, anyway, I already introduced myself before but you probably don’t remember so… I’m Rena! Hey, what is your na—”

“What happened?”

“Wh-What? What? About what…?”

Morgana let out a big sigh and looked away. She could already tell that girl was going to be hard to deal with.

“About everything.”

“Oh… um, um…”

The girl, Rena, fidgeted with a flustered face, as if she was about to tell a very embarrassing story. After a while, she finally managed a small friendly smile.

“Well, it’s a bit, uh, messy, but I’m a foreigner who got lost, and I found out this church by coincidence. I saw you and those… men in the tower, and so… so… I thought I should do something, you know? You know?”

Morgana stared blankly at her, somehow expecting more. But there was nothing else.

“You make absolutely no sense,” she finally declared. “Why would you randomly decide to help out a complete stranger at the risk of your own life?”

“I-I know it’s not very logical! But, well, I just…” Rena closed her mouth. Looked down. “I just couldn’t do nothing.”

“Yes, you could have. That wouldn’t have been very difficult.”

“Are… Are you actually angry at me for saving you…? Are you?”

“So how did you do it? How did you manage to get past the lock and get me out of the tower? I can’t believe these men cooperated willingly.”

“Oh, that. Well, I just cut them with my cleaver, retrieved the keys and got out of here with you as soon as I could.”

She said all of this with a wide smile, as if it was no big deal at all. Morgana stared at her, expecting her to tell her she was kidding, but nothing came afterwards.

“And?”

“Th-That’s all…?”

“That can’t be all. There’s no way a single girl could overpower three men with just a cleaver.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy, it’s true, but it’s possible. As proof, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Morgana felt the urges to yell at her, but managed to stay calm. She didn’t believe her, but she had the sensation that even if she kept asking questions she wouldn’t get another answer. So she breathed in deeply, and tried to gain the most knowledge possible.

“Where are we?”

“Oh… um, I’m not really sure to be honest. I think it must’ve been an old ranch to keep cattle or something, but it seems to have been abandoned for a while. It’s in the middle of the forest, about an hour away from the city. It’s not ideal to hide in, but for now we’ll have to content ourselves with that.”

“What happened to them?”

“The men? Oh… I just knocked out the flaxen-haired boy, so he should be fine, but I dunno what must’ve happened to him afterwards. As for the other two…”

Rena grimaced and looked away. She seemed hesitant to continue speaking, so Morgana had to push her.

“Are they dead?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure? I cut them pretty badly and they were bleeding a lot when I left, but I didn’t actually, um, checked if they were still alive or not…”

“So there’s a chance they’re still alive?”

“Yes… I think.”

“I see… Good.”

“Are you… relieved they’re possibly still alive?”

Morgana snorted at this, which quickly morphed into full on chuckles.

“I suppose you could say that,” she finally blurted out. “Yes… these men, they can’t just die like that… Not after what they did to me…”

She clutched the blanket and her long hair fell in front of her face, darkening her usually pales eyes.

“Dying would be a way too easy fate for them… They need to suffer… Suffer just as much— no, even more than me…”

A fate worse than death. A fate worse than being locked up in a tower and having their blood drained.

A curse — she wanted— needed to inflict a curse upon them, watch their lives slowly get torn apart, one by one—

“Do you intend to take revenge on them?”

Morgana turned her head towards Rena at the sound of her question, and their eyes met. The orange-haired girl was staring at her without saying anything, her face unreadable. She didn’t appear disturbed by Morgana’s grudgeful words in the least, and her question had a surprising innocuous tone to it, as if she had just asked her what was her favorite food.

“Aren’t you… scared of me?”

“Huh? Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Because of… my scars.”

“Oh, those!” Rena chuckled. “Not at all! In fact, I think they are really kyute! That was why I wanted to take you home, you know?”

Morgana felt as if she had just been hit with a rock. ‘Cute’…? Did she just call her scars ‘cute’? Was that girl completely insane? Maybe it should’ve made her feel happy, to hear someone call her hideous face ‘cute’ for the first time, but it actually ended up have the opposite effect.

Instead, she felt angry. Like that girl was mocking her. Mocking her suffering, her struggles, and entire life.

She tensed up and grinded her teeth.

“What are you going to do with me now?”

Rena blinked ingenuously and tilted her head. “What?”

“I’m not an idiot. If you saved me, it must’ve been because of personal interest. So what do you want of me?”

“Wh-What? No! Did you think I was lying earlier?”

“Of course. Who would believe such an inane story? I’m betting you must’ve heard about my blood and came here to profit off it.”

Rena frowned, and she seemed to think for a while before replying:

“Your blood… I saw the men drain it from you in the tower. It’s what the church is giving out as medicine, isn’t it? I heard it was called ‘Saint’s Blood,’ but… it’s actual, real blood. Yours.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, but stayed quiet.

“Did these men kidnap you? I mean, I can’t believe you would’ve ended up in this tower willingly…”

“This is none of your business.”

“I wasn’t lying earlier. I told you the truth, I promise. So the least you could do is told me your story as well, right?”

“Please. Do you honestly want me to believe you just randomly decided to save me, out of the kindness of your heart? What a generous person you are.”

“Is that something that sounds really so impossible to you? That people just do kind things sometimes?”

Of course that was impossible to her. Everyone in her life had only thought of her as a tool and acted kind as a way to profit off her, even her own mother.

And the only people who hadn’t… well, they were dead now. She had absolutely zero reasons to trust this suspicious foreign girl. For all she knew, she wasn’t even the one who had saved her.

And then, suddenly, Rena started to giggle, which made Morgana even tenser.

“You know what? You’re not wrong, actually. I didn’t save you just out of kindness. I’m not a kind person at all, really.”

Her voice sounded a little off, and Morgana felt a chill goes up her chine. Rena stared at her, but there was an odd shine in her blue eyes, something unwell.

“I just thought you looked kyute and wanted to take you home. So I did. That’s all.”

“What… What are you…?”

“But for now, I don’t intend to do anything with you.”

She suddenly stood up, her smile not leaving her face. “After all, you can barely get out of the bed yet, right? I am also wounded, to tell you the truth, so for now we’ll have to stay here for at least a few days. We won’t be able to stay too long, though, because I can’t believe people won’t do anything after what happened to their lord, so afterwards it’d be safer to just leave the region…”

Morgana couldn’t bring herself to say anything as that girl seemed to plan her next few weeks all by herself. She definitely felt irritated and wanted to shut her up and tell to stop taking all these decisions by herself… but the fact was that, she wasn’t wrong.

Morgana could barely walk, she had one arm missing and had lost a huge quantity of blood during the past few months. There was no way she could just go off on her own.

As if she was reading her thoughts, the girl smiled again and told her in a light voice:

“So in any case, it seems we’re stuck together for now, that you like it or not.”

And then she left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Morgana all alone in the dim room.

________________________________________________________________

It took Morgana at least three days before starting to feel like she was regaining some strength. She still almost couldn’t get out of bed though, so she was spending most of her time in the arranged room, in that bed that wasn’t one, staring at the ceiling and counting the spider webs while she was lost in thought.

Her thoughts, of course, usually came back to what had happened to her. A lot of her memories felt fuzzy, and trying to think too much about it would give her a headache, but she still had managed to retrace the events she had been through in the last few months. Her encounter with the flaxen-haired boy. His betrayal. The beast cutting off her arm and kidnapping her. And finally, discovering it was the lord, out of everyone, that had been behind all of this, for some disgusting greedy plan of using her blood yet again.

Just recounting all of this made her hatred feel stronger than ever, but at the same time, it all felt surreal, as if she had dreamed everything up. As if it was a story she had read somewhere and not something that had actually happened to her. But her missing arm was a sore reminder that all of this was true.

She wanted revenge. That was the thing that had been on her mind all these long, insufferable days inside that tower. She wanted to kill them. Tear out their eyes. Stab their stomachs and watch them bleed to death. Just made them suffer, as much as possible, and by her own hands.

But despite how overwhelming her anger and hatred was… she still felt that slight pang of guilt at this. Not because she pitied the men, but because wishing harm upon others would just go against her very identity as a saint. Saints were martyrs. It didn’t matter how much humans could hurt them, they had no right to retaliate in any way, because they were pure and selfless.

But could she really call herself a saint, after how much she had been mutilated and tainted and mangled?

(Had she ever been a saint to begin with, though?)

“Hey! Lunch’s ready!”

Her door brusquely opened, and a smiling young girl burst into the room with a tray full of food.

“I tried to make something new today, I hope you like it! Sorry, I’m not too used to the food of this country yet, so hopefully it’s not so bad…”

The girl kept babbling happily while sitting next to Morgana, not seeming bothered in the least by her glare. She had acted like that for the past few days, as if the two of them were friends and not strangers clearly suspicious of each others.

Rena was a weird girl. She was a cheerful, friendly person, and despite how coldly Morgana treated her or how much she tried to ignore her she kept talking and taking care of her with a sweet smile on her face. From time to time, she’d have odd reactions like getting flustered about the most ridiculous of things or getting lost in thought and fawning about things that escaped common sense. She wasn’t afraid or disgusted by her scars, either. She loved cooking and pampering her and ran around the abandoned ranch energetically despite her own wound.

She had told her some vague information about her, how she came from a country in the Far East and had been here for business with her father and how they got separated, but she never gave any details about it.

In a way, Rena reminded Morgana a little of her time at the brothel, as a weird mix of the blonde woman who acted as a big sister to everyone and the exhaustingly cheerful dark-skinned girl. (But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t remember their names, or even their faces.)

And all of this, actually, made Morgana more uncomfortable than anything. She actually would’ve preferred that Rena treat her coldly rather than that, it would’ve been less tiring and unpredictable. Because she was sure these acts of kindness and friendliness would end soon enough, at any moments.

There was something… dark lurking in Rena’s shadows, in the deepness of her blue eyes, and that darkness couldn’t help but make Morgana suspicious of her whenever she’d smiles at her.

“You don’t eat?”

Rena asked her with a worried look, as she was biting into her own piece of bread.

“I’m not hungry.”

“No, that’s not good! You have to eat, otherwise you won’t get better.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get better. Maybe I just want to stay here and wither away all alone.”

Rena’s happy smile fell from her lips, and instead a frown darkened her face. This was a serious expression she would take sometimes, when Morgana acted a bit too cold towards her.

“No, you won’t,” she said, and it almost sounded like an order. “You will eat now. I didn’t prepare all of that for you to waste it, and I didn’t save your life for you die now.”

“I never asked you to prepare this, or to save my life, for that matter.”

“So you would’ve preferred to stay in that tower and die all alone there?”

Of course not, who would want that? Morgana almost spat out, but she restrained her tongue.

Certainly, she wasn’t content with her situation right now and it was more than frustrating to be at the mercy of this weird, suspicious stranger… but she knew there were still worse fates. Like being chained up on that altar under the cruel mad eyes of a lord. Or dying little by little in a tower without anyone even knowing about it.

She sighed, then after a few moments, finally grasped the fork Rena was holding out to her and piqued inside her plate. She made a point to not look at the other girl, but she could still guess her satisfied smile on her face, which pissed her off. She had the reflex to want to use her second arm, before having the painful realization she could never do so ever again. She still wasn’t used to this, and with the pain having fading away, she sometimes had the sensation to still have it.

Her life would never be like before ever again. She already knew that of course, and it wasn’t the first time she had experienced that feeling, but right now she felt even more lost and disoriented.

She had her hypothetic revenge to keep her alive, sure. But then what? What was she supposed to do after that? She couldn’t go back to being the witch of the lake selling herbs to whoever would dare to come. She just…

“Do you want me to help you eat?”

Morgana glared at Rena. “I am not a child,” she dryly replied. “Don’t treat me like one.”

“A-Ah, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, uh…”

Morgana angrily started eating her food while Rena fell quiet, her cheeks as red as a tomato. Their meals were generally just a handful of vegetables and bread, or sometimes potages. Which was comprehensible given they were technically in hiding, so Rena couldn’t go in town often to buy supplies. Furthermore, they had no money.

Well… I don’t have money. I actually don’t know about her… That’s right, how did she even get the flour for the bread? And the dishes?

“So, um, don’t you think it’s time for you to tell me now?”

Morgana stopped eating, and looked up at Rena strangely.

“What?”

“I want to know your name,” Rena specified gently. “And, well… I’d like you to tell me a bit more about you, too. Like, what were you doing before getting… in that tower? Don’t you have any family?”

“You don’t need to know my name.”

“But I told you mine. You can’t risk much by telling me your name, right?”

Well, she had a point. But the last person she had trust with her name had betrayed her and she found herself with one arm missing locked up in a mansion.

“I… don’t have any family,” she finally decided to say. “Before that, I lived by myself in a small cottage near a lake.”

“Oh. That sounds… lonely.”

Rena grimaced while saying this, and the idea of being pitied by that girl felt incredibly insulting for some reason.

“And then those men kidnapped you?”

“Yes… Well the beas— the swordsman did. The flaxen-haired boy lured me in so he could have my arm. It was all under the lord’s orders.”

“Hmm…”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell her all of that, but those were all things she could’ve guessed by herself anyway. More than anything, Morgana still expected her to ask her information about her blood, and then to give some to her… But apparently that wasn’t even something that crossed Rena’s mind.

“Don’t you have any friends either?”

“What? No… Why would you demand that?”

“Well, for nothing? I did have a nice group of friends back in my village, you know. We were pretty close, I think… I think.”

For some reason, her gaze became a bit vacant, as if she was doubting her own words.

“Then what happened to them?”

“Nothing… They’re still back in my village.”

And then she stayed unusually quiet. Not like Morgana was all that interested in knowing more about this girl or her so-called friends, anyway.

“So, so! You finished eating, right? Let me bring all that back, then!”

“Ah— Wait—”

Morgana tried to grab Rena to stop her, but she missed her and instead fell on the ground. She heard Rena gasp loudly and run towards her instantly.

“A-Are you okay? Are you? O-Oh, wait, I’ll help you get up, I’ll—”

“I’m okay! I’m okay…”

Morgana raised herself up with her only elbow, and grinded her teeth at how difficult it was without her other one. Rena stared at her worryingly.

“How did you fall so bad…?”

“It’s… my arm, I think…”

“Huh?”

“I’m… still not used to it, so I lost balance… It’s nothing.”

“Oh…”

Morgana instinctively brought a hand to her shoulder, where the rest of the arm should have been. It felt so off. So wrong, to have just an empty space here, and it made her stomach turn. They both sat on the ground face to face, without saying anything for a moment. It felt too awkward, for some reason. Then, suddenly, Rena broke the silence:

“You want me to bring it back to you?”

Morgana almost strangled herself.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You said the one who took it was that boy Mell, right? Then I could go ask him to give it back.”

“Y-You want to bring me back my arm?”

“Yes? That’s a bad idea?”

“D-Do you even hear yourself? That’s insane. Even if you were to get it back somehow, what would I do with it now?”

Rena put a finger on her lip, and tilted her head innocently. “Sew it back?”

“You’re completely crazy!”

Morgana shouted at her, and the process made her whole body hurts. She coughed a little, and then heard a giggle. When she raised her head, the other girl was laughing softly.

“It’s the first time I see you getting angry like that,” she simply said, smiling. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I see you having any kind of emotion at all… Well, except for glaring at me. Does that count as an ‘emotion’? Does it…?”

Wait. Could it be… that she said all those inane things on purpose? To makes me react?

Morgana stared at Rena blankly for a moment… then she snorted.

“You are really weird,” she mumbled.

“Hmhmm, I know.”

Maybe… being at the mercy of this strange girl wasn’t the worst of fate. Maybe it was something she could actually survive, this time. She sighed, then looked up at Rena.

“I… am Morgana,” she said softly.

Rena blinked at her in astonishment, her mouth opening so wide an entire apple could fit in it.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t trust you in the slightest. But like you said, it would be pretty awkward if I was the only one knowing your name…”

A big, silly smile brightened Rena’s face. She giggled yet again and nodded happily.

“Your name ends just like mine,” was the only comment she made.

________________________________________________________________

“—ou think?”

“Huh…?”

Morgana gasped, and looked around her with agitation. Rena was in front of her, looking strangely at her.

“Morgana? A-Are you okay…?” She asked warily.

“I-I… ah…”

The first thing she saw was a blinding light. There was a soft wind brushing her skin. Her eyes stung and it took her a few long seconds to make sense of her surroundings. She was outside, in front of the ranch. The entire area was covered by enormous trees, so the place felt fairly dark, but some sunlight still managed to pierce the foliage. In a way, it gave her a sense of security, as if no one would ever be able to find them here.

Morgana was drowsy and numb, her mind a mess, as if she had just wake up from a particularly deep slumber. The sudden light made her feel a bit dizzy and she quickly sat on a rock nearby to not stumble, under Rena’s worried gaze. What was she doing here…? She remembered waking up this morning, eating lunch, and then… then nothing came to her mind, like she had just blanked out.

“Hey, what’s going on…?” Rena asked again.

“I’m… fine,” Morgana blurted out, massaging her temples. “What… uh, what are we doing here?”

Rena blinked, a clear confusing sprouting on her face. “What? What do you mean?”

“I… mean what I mean. Why are we outside?”

But her precision only seemed to worsen the situation. Rena looked at her as if she had told her the world was going to get destroyed.

“We… um, u-um, th-that’s… I mean, well, uh, you— you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Ah, a-after lunch I proposed we go outside for a bit, and you accepted, and we were just talking about what we would do if it started raining…”

This time, it was Morgana who was confused. She stared at Rena as if expecting her to explain the situation, but manifestly the other girl didn’t understand any more than her.

“You… really forget?” Rena asked again. “Y-You were talking with me normally up until now though…”

“I… was?”

She had no recollections of such a thing, though. After lunch, she had no recollections at all. What had happened? Had she really just… blanked out? She breathed in, trying to regain her calm and reflect about this logically. Now that she was thinking about it… this wasn’t really the first time this happened. She had vague memories of experiencing something similar as a child during her time at the brothel, but she was pretty sure it had stopped after she started living at the cottage. Or, well, maybe it did happen again, but given most of the time she was alone it was hard to tell…

“Morgana…?”

But in any case, it wasn’t something she needed to tell Rena about.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing important.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes. Forget about it.”

Rena stared at her for a while. It was obvious she wasn’t convinced at all, but still one of her usual smile blossomed on her face and she nodded.

“All right! Well, I’m just glad you’re able to walk and go out by yourself now. I’m sure you’ll be full of energy in no time!”

“I have… never been ‘full of energy’…”

Rena laughed light-heartedly and started to spun and bounces on her legs, as if practicing some sort of weird dance. Morgana sighed. Just watching her move like that was tiring to her. But… in the last few days, she had managed to get used to it. Sort of.

“What about you?”

Rena stopped moving and looked at Morgana interrogatively.

“What?”

“You were wounded too, right? At the shoulder, if I recall.”

“Ooh! That! Haha, I’m okay, I’m okay!”

“It seemed like it was a pretty severe injury, though…”

“It did hurt quite badly, but I’ve always recovered very quickly! I’m tougher than I look, you know? You know?”

“Is that so…”

“Were you worried about me?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Rena laughed yet again, and Morgana rolled her eyes, and it seemed it had pretty much been their relationships since at least their first conversation.

“And…” Morgana started again, a bit hesitantly. “What do you intend to do now? Didn’t you want to find you way back? To search your father?”

“Hmm…” Rena crossed her arms, a pensive look on her face. “I guess so. Yeah, that’s probably what I’ll do, once you’re completely fine again.”

“You don’t seem convinced… Aren’t you worried about your father?”

“I think he’s fine… He’s a bit clumsy, but he’s still a grown up, you know.”

Even so, Morgana thought she was talking about him in a weird detached way, like he was some random neighbor or distant relative she didn’t know well.

“Aren’t you very close?”

“We are! Of course I’m worried. I’m just… I dunno. Maybe it’s just better that way, because I can’t really go back to him, or to my village…”

“Why? What about your mother?”

“My mother’s gone.”

A smile was still on her face, but it was a cold one. It made Morgana uncomfortable, and she understood she wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of her about this. The more she tried to learn about Rena, and the more mysterious she felt. It was almost frustrating…

“Anyway, how about we play a game?”

Morgana felt startled at Rena’s sudden change of mood and proposition. At the very least, she couldn’t say she was bored with that girl…

“A game?”

“Yeah! Look, I have this with me…” All while talking, she began to look through her satchel and pulled out what looked like a deck of cards. “One of my friends, you see, is a big game collector, and she gave this to me before we come here. The rules are really easy! Wanna try?”

“I don’t like games.”

Rena looked suddenly horrified, as if Morgana had given her a death sentence.

“You’re kidding, right? Right? There’s no way anyone dislike games!”

“Well, I do,” Morgana added. “I never even played one.”

Back in her village, the other kids would never approach her. At the brothel, maybe some of the prostitutes had proposed her to play some simple games with them at times, or the slave man had tried to get her to play with other children her age, but she had always refused. As the daughter of God, she couldn’t let herself be associated with such baseless entertainments.

“N-Never?” Rena sounded even more shocked. “Not even when you were a child?”

“No, I never had any interest in that. It is just meaningless.”

At this moment, Rena’s expression changed. Her face grew serious, and she frowned, as if Morgana had said something particularly offensive.

“It is not meaningless,” she declared, in a tone so serious Morgana wasn’t even able to retort anything. “Games are so important. They can bring so many things to people. So many things! If you have never even played one once, then there’s no way you could be able to understand that.”

Morgana felt bewildered. Why did she seem so angry about something ridiculous like that? Wasn’t that just a game? But before she could say anything, Rena fiercely grabbed her hand, forcing her to stand up, and dragged her inside the ranch.

“I’ll show you!” She said with determination.

“Wh-What?”

“We’ll play together! Whether you want it or not!”

Morgana felt like yelling at her, but for some reason the strength of Rena’s hand holding hers and the firmness of her steps felt undefeatable. So she let herself got dragged inside, sat on a bench and watched the other spread the cards in front of her without saying a word.

Rena explained the rules to her in a confident voice, as if she had done this her entire life (maybe she had, after all). The rules were, indeed, fairly simple: the cards had all different colors with some cute animals drawn on them. There was also a few characters on them which Morgana guessed were in Rena’s country language, but she told her it was just the names of the animals and not necessary to the game. To win you had to get rid of all the cards.

She was given one mercy round to get used to the game, but when things actually started Morgana quickly realized behind her sweet façade, Rena was extremely ruthless. She may be an airhead, slow girl in appearance, but she was in reality pretty shrewd.

“You have to cheat,” Morgana suddenly said after losing for the eighth time. “It’s not possible to win so many times.”

“I did not! I’m just really good at this game, and you’re not.”

“You liar. I refuse to play against you again until you tell me your trick!”

At this moment, Rena smiled maliciously, and looked at her with a mix between amusement and endearment, which felt incredibly condescending.

“Wh-What?”

“You know, despite the fact you act so composed and mature most of the time, you’re actually a really sore loser.”

Morgana felt her cheeks flare up, and never did she felt as glad that her hideous scars were there as now to cover up that fact.

“That’s quite the accusation, I am certainly not a sore loser. I think this is fair of me to ask for a proof that you are not cheating.”

But Rena simply starting laughing and Morgana suddenly felt like a flustered child trying to deal with a bully.

“S-Stop making fun of me!”

“Haooo, you’re so kyute! I wanna take you home! Ah, but I guess we’re already home, huh… Then can I hug you? Can I?”

“No. Stop that, you are grossing me out.”

“H-Hao… How mean…”

“I already told you to stop treating me like a child.”

“S-Sorry! You’re just… really making me think of one of my friends right now. She was also quite the sore loser.”

“Like I said, I am not—”

Morgana stopped, and let out a deep sigh. Evidently, Rena would not listen to her no matter what she said. The other girl giggled a little, and then an odd, nostalgic smile stretched her lips.

“My friends and I, we used to play these games all the time. We would gather everyday and play together like that… It was fun.”

For a few seconds, she seemed lost in thought, as if thinking back about her hometown. Then she looked up at Morgana, this time with a gentle smile directed at her.

“It felt a little like when I played with them right now,” she admitted. “It was fun too. Thank you.”

Morgana only looked away while restraining another sigh. She couldn’t say she had ‘fun,’ — she even felt quite annoyed she hadn’t been able to win even once — but… it had not been a bad experience. She would never bring herself to say this to Rena, though. Or to anyone, for that matter.

“You sounded close,” she suddenly blurted out, without looking at Rena in the eyes. “With your friends.”

“Yeah… I guess…”

“You ‘guess’?”

This time, it was Rena who looked away — not out of embarrass or shame, but in a contemplative way. Her face was neutral, as if all emotions had left her.

“I think… other people are quite weird, you see. I like my friends, but we were only just playing around together. We were close while laughing, joking, messing around… But…” She stopped. “When things actually started to get rough, I still was unable to believe in them and ask for their help. I couldn’t help feeling they’d betray me anyway. I was stabbed in the back like that in the past, you see.”

Morgana almost felt like Rena was more talking to herself than anyone else, so she simply listened to her in silence.

“I wanted to be… happy. And I thought I was happy, in my village. I was around people I loved and who loved me. But sometimes I just wonder if it all wasn’t just some façade. A factice happiness, maybe. Or maybe it’s just all part of Oyashiro’s curse too…”

She turned her head towards Morgana, and smiled at her in an odd self-deprecating manner.

“What is happiness, though? How do you know when you are truly happy?”

Morgana was unable to answer to that.

________________________________________________________________

The lord was laughing.

His voice was strident and raucous, rasping her ears, piercing her mind. But she couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop listening to it. The ground seemed to get loose with each chuckles, and the walls appeared to want to swallow her alive. Everything was hurting, aching, crashing. She wanted to scream, but her throat didn’t even allow her that.

“No tears — now that’s a good girl. Dignified and saintly — that’s what I need you to be.”

Mangled words resounded in her head, but she couldn’t make any sense of them. The only thing she could feel were the chains around her ankle, and the vivid, unbearable pain in her arm.

It hurts, it hurts, it all hurts so much — and it was all their fault — those three disgusting men. The lord.

That’s right, she had swore to get her revenge against them, to get their heads, for what they had dared to do to her. They locked her up — she who was a saint, the daughter of God — and treated her even worse than cattle — made her a witch, draining her blood day after day until nothing was left of her…

Everything was hurting her, this whole world was worse than Hell itself — and the only way for it to end was to finally kill her torturers.

I wasn’t born to spend my whole life suffering—

She woke up with a start, gasping for air and feeling nauseous. Her entire body was trembling and she couldn’t breathe. She felt like a fish out of water and her mind, still trapped inside that tower, could see nothing but blood and chains and death. Her surroundings was spinning around her, but in a desperate attempt to make a term to her suffering, she jumped out of bed and ran outside the ranch.

It was pitch dark outside, even barely any stars shined in the sky, and the giant trees in front of her looked more like demons ready to tear out her soul at any moment. Yet, she kept running into the woods, bare feet, not caring about the way her long red hair got caught in the branches or how her skin got scratched. The feeling felt familiar, like an odd sensation of déjà-vu, and for a moment she thought she was back to being eleven years old in the slums, running without any goal in the middle of the narrow streets.

(Except this time, no kind young man would come calm her down and carry her on his back to show her the sunrise—)

She only managed to stop when her legs stopped supporting her and she collapsed on the ground. Leaning on the trunk of a tree, she kneeled down, coughed, and finally threw up everything she had in her stomach. It was as if she was trying to evacuate all the horrifying events she had gone through, trying to purify herself from all the pain and suffering and hatred. When she finally stopped, she felt empty — both in her stomach and in her heart. With no strength, she simply lay down against the trunk and stopped moving, before slowly closing her eyes.

Suicide was a sin and she would never even consider this an option, no matter how tainted she was, but in this very instant… she honestly wished she could just die. Just slowly fall asleep here, and never open her eyes again…

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on her side, as instead she heard noise that instantly got her out of her slumber. She immediately turned around, and in the horizon, she saw some vague small lights. There were footsteps, too. And voices.

Who on earth could be out there in the woods this late at night? The will to know the answer to this question was stronger than her exhaustion and numbness, and she gathered all of her strength left to stand up and slowly approach the lights. After a few moment, she noticed apparently a group of men — at least four of them, on horses, with torches.

Actually, those weren’t simple men. They were wearing heavy armors, and swords — which meant they were likely knights or guards. At first, she didn’t think much of it. These men were working for the Church generally after all, weren’t they? Anyone serving God was deserving of respect. But then she suddenly remembered that actually, there was another authority they listened under other than the Church: the lord.

At this moment, a chill ran down her spine and she instantly backed away. A part of her wanted to believe it was only a coincidence. But it would be too naïve a way of thinking. Why would a group of guards wander in the middle of the woods at night? If the lord had survived, then there was only one answer…

They were searching for the witch that had escaped the lord’s clutches.

Panic grasping her, she started to run yet again despite how much pain her legs was in, but this time in the inverse direction. She traversed the forest with even more speed than earlier while her heart was beating so strong in her chest she thought it was about to explode and that her mind was only focused on one thing: that she didn’t want to go back there. She didn’t want to go back in the tower, not back to being chained and getting her blood drained. She’d rather get killed horribly than this.

The ranch appeared in sight rather quickly, but it was barely a relief at all, and she entered it before slamming the door behind her. There, she had only the strength to fall on the floor, gasping painfully.

Why was this happening? How did these men manage to arrive there? It had been about two weeks since her escape, but still, it felt too early. How were they able to find them in the middle of these lost woods? Had someone told them? Had someone—

“Morgana?”

A sweet voice got her out of her thoughts, and when she raised her head, Rena was here, in a pink nightgown, holding a candle.

Rena.

“Is everything okay? I heard noise…”

There were only the two of them here, after all.

“Morgana…?”

With some strength she didn’t know she still possessed, Morgana stood up, grabbed the cleaver that rested against the wall, and jumped on Rena. The candle crashed onto the floor, plunging them in darkness — only the dim moon through the window lightened the room. It was like a reenactment of their first meeting, except this time Morgana was fully aware who she was threatening with the blade.

“What are—”

“Shut up! You’re the one who warned them, right?”

Rena’s blue eyes, shining like jewels under the moon, widened like saucers.

“Them?”

“I knew it! You were suspicious from the start! Of course you’d do something like that!”

“I have no idea what you—”

“Stop lying now! I knew you’d betray me!”

An odd expression spread across Rena’s face that Morgana couldn’t exactly identify, but she had no intention to anyway. Anger and panic and fear all overwhelmed her mind and reason, and flashes of the flaxen-haired boy and of his kind smile and sweet words turned in a circle inside her head.

This girl was just like him, after all. Her smile was only there to trick her, and all of her words were honeyed poison.

“Calm down, you don’t make any sense,” Rena talked again. “Think about it, why would I—”

“I told you to stop lying!”

Morgana raised the cleaver and lowered it towards the other girl’s neck, but she managed to block out the blade and kick her in the stomach with her knee. Morgana momentarily coughed and lost balance, giving Rena enough time to got away from her and stood back up, but she didn’t let this rattle her. Quickly getting back on her knees, she yet again swung the cleaver at Rena, who avoided it by only a few margins.

“Stop that! You might be better now, but there’s no way you can win against me with my own cleaver!”

But Morgana couldn’t care less about Rena’s words. That girl was just like the three men. No, maybe she was worse — because she had actually tried to save her and gain her esteem before throwing her back into hell.

She wouldn’t forgive her. Not Rena, not the lord, not the three men, not anyone—

She kept swinging the cleaver at Rena, again and again, destroying quite a few of the woodwork in the process, but the girl was as agile as a cat and managed to get away from her hits with only a few cuts.

She couldn’t forgive, because that was all she had left now.

Everything else had been taken from her.

Her identity, her life, her possible happiness and future… everything had been crushed at the hands of humans.

Everything was just unfair and cruel and disgusting.

“Just… disappears!”

For some unfathomable reason, her Father had just abandoned her.

No… maybe he had never been at her side from the beginning.

Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe she was not the child of God, but of some devil.

Maybe she truly was a witch, after all—

“Die!”

Finally, blood splashed onto her face and dress. It looked black under the moon. She had hit Rena on her left hip, which made her let out a constricted moan while glaring at Morgana, before putting her back against the wall and letting herself fall on the ground. Morgana looked down at her coldly, taking slow steps towards her.

The girl was completely at her mercy. There was no way she could defend herself with such a wound. She would probably bleed to death if she left her like that too. Yet, Rena’s eyes showed no fear. It was as if death wasn’t something that even crossed her mind… or maybe it did, but it wasn’t something she cared about. Well, it was fine either way.

She raised the cleaver one last time, her eyes glaring down at the gasping girl.

She saw the flaxen-haired boy figure in her stead. The beast’s. The lord’s.

Her hands tightened around the handle, and she lowered it.

But the blade didn’t hit Rena at all.

Instead, it planted itself inside the wooden ground next to her.

Morgana was shaking. Her trembling hands let go of the cleaver, and she fell on her knees, her long hair scattering around her like a veil. A long silence swallowed the room, where even barely their breathing could be heard.

“What are you doing?” Rena suddenly asked softly.

Morgana shook her head.

“I have… no idea…”

She plunged her face in her hands.

“I have… honestly no idea at all. I don’t know what I should be doing anymore… I lived all my life being so sure of who I was and what I should be doing, but now… I have nothing of that anymore… The only thing I desire is revenge, but I don’t even think I have the strength to get it…”

She didn’t know why she suddenly bared her heart like that. Maybe she wasn’t really talking to Rena. Maybe she was just letting out feelings that had been swarming inside her head for the past days… no, maybe even for the past months and years.

“I really… don’t know what I should be doing from now on anymore… I feel—”

—like the entire hate me. Like God Himself hates me. Like fate and the universe have just decided to make me miserable for the rest of my pitiful life.

‘I wasn’t born to spend my whole life suffering,’ she had yelled in her heart, as hatred and anger and despair boiled inside her…

But what was she born for exactly?

“I feel… cursed.”

Another silence — no sounds, no noise to disturb her intimate monologue. Until a giggle break the moment. Morgana lifted her head slowly, and stared with confusion at the girl who was chuckling heartily as if she had just said the funniest joke ever.

“What a coincidence,” she finally said. “I am cursed too.”

Morgana blinked, her eyes stinging. She wasn’t crying, though — she felt as if all of her tears had left her a long time ago already, maybe when she had been brought inside that tower — and now she was just completely empty.

But in this moment, the girl in front of her looked just as empty and lost as her.

“I might… have lied to you a little,” Rena suddenly admitted. “I didn’t actually come here with my father.”

Her gaze lifted up towards the moon behind Morgana, as if to help her focus.

“There’s a deity called Oyashiro in my village, you see. She protects it and its inhabitants, and prevents any strangers to come in. But, on the other hand, there is also an unspoken rule you are not allowed to leave the village or you’d trigger her wrath.”

“A… deity?”

“I know in your country there is only one God who rules everything, but in mine, we have different faiths. Our ‘deities’ are not really the same as yours, but at least I know Oyashiro is real. She spoke to me, quite a few times. And she also cursed me.”

Morgana restrained her instinctive envy to say this was nonsense and that there was only one God in this universe, as stating the contrary felt like a personal insult to her. But she felt too exhausted to fight Rena on this, and just wanted to keep hearing the rest of the story. Maybe Rena guessed her train of thoughts, and Morgana wondered if maybe denying her village’s ‘deity’ would feel like an insult to her too, but she made no comments about it.

“Why did she curse you? Oh… Because you left.”

“Yes, though I was cursed before that. As a child, my family left the village to find jobs in a bigger city. I’ve lived there a few years, but then my mother… left,” she said, spiting the word, and Morgana felt there was a lot of grudge in that sentence, but she didn’t ask about it. “So my father and I came back. And then I thought it would be okay. It was, for some time. I met my friends. I thought I’d be happy again. But… Dad was still jobless, and in the end, he attracted the attention of some bad people.”

Her eyes darkened, and she clenched her jaw.

“These people wanted to use him. They wanted to take away my happiness. So I had to do everything I could to prevent this. I had to.”

“What did you do?”

Rena stared straight into Morgana’s eyes, her gaze resolute.

“I killed them.”

This should’ve come off as a surprised. This should’ve shocked Morgana to her core. But for some reason, it didn’t. Maybe she had already understood, somewhere deep inside, that this girl was a killer.

“But… I suppose I made a mistake. Or maybe that was just the curse. I think, some people related to the two I killed discovered it, and tried to come after me. I was knocked out, and when I came back to myself I was inside a boat’s hold, chained up, with a lot of other people.”

The blurry image of the aftermath of the brothel’s raid flashed through Morgana’s mind, as she was tied up inside that carriage with all those other strangers… just before the beast slaughtered all of them.

“Slave traders?” She asked.

“I’m not sure,” Rena added. “I was dragged around for quite some time, in boat and carriage, and thankfully none of them thought of checking my satchel. So when I got the occasion, I slashed them up and escaped. And that’s how I ended up here.”

Morgana sighed. She could understand why Rena would make up that lie, it certainly wasn’t a story she could to tell to everybody.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get back to my village, and even if I do… with what I did, I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever gain my happy life back anyway.” She chuckled. “Well, that’s something I’ve always known. Happy days never last.”

That was something Morgana could relate to all too well, and she hated how much similarities she could find in Rena’s words. The girl in front of her had just admitted to her she was a killer, a sinner of the worst category. It was disgusting and almost above salvation. And yet… she felt no disgust towards her at all. Only…

Maybe only something akin to sympathy.

That just illustrated how far she had fallen. But right now, she didn’t care all that much about it.

Without saying a word, she rose up, disappeared in the other room and came back her hands full of bandages. Rena watched her kneel besides her and starting to clean up her wound.

“What are you doing…?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m treating you. We can’t stay here any longer. I spotted some guards afar from here, and I bet they’re working for the lord. We need to get out of here before that.”

“Oh… so that’s why you suddenly panicked.” Rena chuckled. “Do you not think I betrayed you anymore?”

Morgana stopped her treatment, her eyes staring fixedly at the ground.

“I don’t know,” Morgana admitted. “You’re a killer and a sinner. I cannot trust you.”

“I bet,” Rena said, and there was clear amusement in her voice.

Morgana wondered how she managed to use a joking tone with such a heavy wound, but then again, she had been able to narrate her entire life story without so much as flinching despite it.

“But,” she added, still without looking at the other girl in the eyes. “I… can’t let you die here.”

“Really?”

“Take this as thanks for you saving me from the tower.”

“It’s you who inflicted this wound on me, though…”

“I won’t apologize for that, if that’s what you’re expecting. I still think my suspicions were fair enough.”

Rena opened her mouth to reply, but instead she just let out a moan as Morgana started to apply the bandage.

“You’re really rough,” she complained.

“I’m more used to handle dead bodies.”

“You what?”

“It’s nothing… For now, this should okay. We can’t spend any more time here anyway.”

All while talking, she helped Rena to stand up by handing her a shoulder and letting her lean on her body. Morgana was far from being a strong girl, so supporting the other weight of another human was quite the struggle for her. She thought about how Rena must have carried her all by herself from the tower to here, and wondered how on earth she managed to accomplish such a prowess. She certainly didn’t look any physically stronger than her.

Am I really starting to trust her words now? Stop being silly, Morgana.

But despite lecturing herself, she still gathered all of her strength to help out support the other girl as best as she could. As they slowly passed by the window, they could see a few lights twinkling in the distance. The guards had probably noticed the ranch by now, and were starting to approach dangerously close to it.

“They seem to be quite a few…”

“I’ve seen at least four of them earlier. Let’s hurry.”

In spite of these words, they couldn’t exactly run with Rena in this condition, and Morgana could hear her hiss and groan with each steps they took. She knew her wound was still bleeding too, but now was too late to regret her hysterical episode from earlier. She still thanked God that the ranch had a back door, and they managed to reach it after a few minutes of hobbling, finally leaving behind the dilapidated habitation they had occupied for the last weeks.

Once outside, they staggered a little in the middle of the forest, then took a pause against a large trunk. Rena was already gasping heavily, and they hadn’t even been walking for five minutes.

“How’s your wound?”

“Pretty bad,” she groaned. “I… doubt I’ll be able to run away from them like that.”

“We don’t have a choice, though.”

“You have a choice, however. You could just leave me here.”

“Not interested.”

Rena chuckled. “You really are a sore loser.”

“Shut up.”

Morgana sighed and sat down next to Rena, and the two of them stayed quiet for quite some time.

“You’re really okay with taking the risk to get back inside that tower because of me?”

“Then what about you? I just tried to kill you, and you seem completely fine with putting your life in my hands.”

“That’s right. That’s really weird, huh.”

“It truly is.”

Rena giggled yet again, and if Morgana didn’t felt so exhausted, maybe she would’ve let herself laugh with her.

“If we do manage to get out of these woods…”

Rena started talking again, her voice a whisper.

“What do you want to do?”

That was a question Morgana had asked herself ever since she had been out of that tower. How ridiculous that she’d spent the last few months wish for any kind of miracle to free her, and now that she was free, she was even more lost than she’d ever been in her life.

“Do you still intend to take your revenge?”

“Probably…” She hesitated a little, trying to search for the stars behind the heavy foliage of the trees. She found none.

“That’s the only thing I have left.”

“I see…”

“And you?”

“I still have no idea either. Healing that wound would be a start. And then maybe I’ll be able to find another kyute thing to take home.”

“We really won’t have much to look forward to then, huh.”

“I guess.”

They shared another moment of silence. Behind them, the sounds of the guards breaking open the door resounded brutally, but this put neither of them into a panic.

They just kept staring at the sky, entirely camouflaged by the trees.

Until, Morgana finally stood up again, and handed her hand to Rena. The girl smiled, neither a gentle or cruel one, before grabbing it.

Morgana had no idea where they could go, and they had very little chance to be able to run away from the guards.

But, in this instant, putting aside all of her complicated and complex feelings, she swore to herself they’ll manage to escape this place no matter what.

This was her gratitude for the lost girl who had saved her from the tower.

A mean for both of them to find their ways back.

[tsukikokiyomizu]

File Number 43 — the case of the seven wonders of the Seiyō school, prelude

“So, a mysterious suicide by an unhappy husband, a fugitive banker, or a missing ghost writer?” Asked Sachie, with a smile whose indication I would recognize from anywhere in the world.

“None, none of these pleases me,” was what I mumbled, throwing myself on the couch hard. “Today is my day of rest, calm, tranquility, you know? «No way in Hell, thank you», my head today is focused on dedicating myself to the simplest pleasures in life, as the great detectives between cases did once.”

Not long ago, shortly after meeting a certain friend at school, I was resting with my friend and mentor from childhood, Sachie Hisakawa, as she read the newspaper aloud to me. It was one of those small newspapers, whose vulgarities were highlighted with little professionalism and a lot of feeling, attacking readers with bold and striking letters. Whether it was a murder case or a celebrity’s romantic relationships, they made it to the front page, just to upset those who want to read softer, simpler things.

But to Hell with that. It was my day off! I had just solved a complicated case, involving several people whose names couldn’t even be said without it being a violation of our brief but very important contract, and it was time to rest. Still laying on the sofa in my small apartment, I reached over and took a book from the drawer, where I had left the newest victim of my reading. The original title was «Hercule Poirot’s Christmas», and I won’t bother you, English readers, with the other names this book possesses. I hadn’t visited Christie’s classics in a while, instead dedicating myself fervently to the mysteries of Knox, so I decided to revisit one of the books I remembered the least about.

“…”

I listened with distaste.

Ding dong. The sign that someone was disturbing my peace. As if I hadn’t heard it, I buried my face in my book. If I ignore it long enough, they’ll stop and go away. It usually works, but the person rang it again. …What a bother. Sachie, as if saying ‘it looks like your tranquility is not going to last long’, chuckled and headed to the door.

“If it’s not a case of capital importance and at least 30 people and a million dollars at risk, tell them to get out of my way, I don’t want to listen,” I sighed, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I did retain my right to refuse the case if it didn’t interest me, but would I do something so heartless? Even if I did, there goes my precious minutes of intense reading, followed by notes and theories about «whodunnit»… well, what did I expect? When you have the reputation of a famous detective, there is nothing you can do: there is always at least one person who wants my services, however inconvenient it may be for me, even during my rest days.

The first thing I noticed was the uniform. As a student and a detective, I took it as my duty to recognize a school by its uniform for how convenient it was: Seiyō Girls’ High School. The second thing was the hands. Placed gently in front of the body, it was possible to see calluses, unusual for a student who seemed not to be much older than me; nevertheless, they were few and far between, probably treated with care. I left that fact wander in my mind. And then, the face.

She was a young woman who could be found anywhere, her face modest but pleasant, not hurting my eyes with excess or lack of beauty. Her eyes were dark, much like the girl’s hair, which had been tied in two braids, each by her face’s sides. On top of the uniform, a handmade cardigan, possibly made by a relative—I can’t think of anyone in their right mind that would wear that garment so worn and pitiful if it weren’t a gift from a loving grandmother or aunt; she carefully carried a backpack over her shoulder, a nametag that elementary school students used denouncing that it was an old backpack. Nervously, she looked from Sachie to me, and from me to Sachie, as if saying ‘I recognize the detective, but who is the other one?’, blinking with a childish innocence and confusion.

“Detective Tsukiko Kiyomizu,” I announced, putting aside both my book and my friendly expression, putting in place a mask of fabricated professionalism. “At your service, Miss Asami Kojima, student from Seiyō.”

“—!? How did you…” She blinked even more intensely, holding her backpack harder for a few seconds, but then relaxed. “…The uniform and the nametag, right? Sorry for the surprise… but how did you know? It’s a school in Shizuoka!”

Sachie gave that giggle I was so used to, like an instructor explaining a trick to a child. “Memorizing all the uniforms in the Kanto and Chūbu regions was no problem for the great detective Kiyomizu.”

Realizing that the young woman, anxious as she was, would not go beyond the doorframe, Sachie hurried her in with light ‘come on, come on!’, and a motherly smile, making the young woman, even more anxious, enter and sit in the sofa, which was somewhat removed from the seats occupied by me and my mentor. The girl, silent, said nothing to me even when we were seated, and only opened her mouth once Sachie rose, gently, and offered to bring some coffee. I accepted, but the young woman refused, and the nun I call my friend headed for the kitchen. I could see, in her eyes, the growing intention of speaking out, but she lacked the courage. Gently, I brought up the subject.

“So, what is a student from a prestigious all-girls’ school doing at a detective’s house?”

Her nervousness now seemed to overcome the previous one. Her eyes went to the floor. …She was hesitating. Still, it was clear that she had done her best to endure a seven-hour long train ride all the way to Tokyo. All that was needed was a little push; so, with a gentle smile, I gestured for her to speak, as if saying that no matter how wicked the story, I would try to help her as I could. That seemed to encourage her, for she opened her mouth again, and finally spoke.

“…My friend… a classmate,” she corrected herself, shaking her head anxiously, “You understand, don’t you? I… I-I’m worried about her…”

“Yes, yes,” I encouraged, with another flourish from my hand. “Please, Miss Kojima, proceed. I will do my best to alleviate your concerns.”

With a sigh, one that indicated her resistance disappearing slowly but surely, she nodded.

“…I think she’s in danger. No… it would be better to say that she, perhaps, is putting herself in danger.”

“What kind of danger would that be?”

“…I don’t know, I don’t know,” she stammered.

With those words full of a desperation I didn’t expect, I was sure that the situation was not one she didn’t know about, but one she couldn’t explain. A situation that eluded the mind and common sense… or something that a young girl like her could not process. Maybe both, maybe neither. Even so, I remained with my curious expression, waiting for her to tell me more.

“…The truth is,” Asami continued, after repeatedly trying to restart her explanation of the reminiscence worrying her, “…my… my classmate, she’s missing.”

“Missing?” While inquiring gently, I saw Sachie with the corner of my eye, entering through the kitchen door. My client stiffened, moving her eyes to the shelf, while my friend placed my cup of coffee with milk by my side. Realizing this, I sighed. “…This is Sachie Hisakawa, a nun of the Catholic Church. She is a kind woman, and my assistant. Anything you reveal to me can be said in front of her.”

Still uncertain, I saw Asami Kojima nod again.

“…Very well,” she let out a groan that seemed to be both relieved and dissatisfied. “…But please, listen to the end before you judge my story, or accept my request.”

[bluehhj]

listen to me — chapter 20

LISTEN TO ME  — 0020

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 2.5K

As they waited in the queue, Jinah repeated to herself that she didn't have to be afraid, for all that was fake blood, special effects and costumed people. There was nothing to fear, it was just a movie like any other.

Jisung, who was standing next to Choi, would choke out a laugh every now and then while looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Although he had seen more than three times, he had chosen the movie "The Nun" to make sure that Jinah had never been interested in even looking at the trailers, and the queue for that session wasn't so long and so they would've to be in the midst of so many people inside the movie theater, since neither of them liked crowded places.

"You know you don't have to go, do you?" Han asked as they advanced a little further toward the entrance. As much as he wanted to see her false pose of brave collapse like a house of cards, he didn't want her to be traumatized. "We can change and see a romance."

"I don't want to." Jinah smiled nervously. "This movie isn't scary, I don't know why you're so worried."

Jisung laughed and raised his eyebrows quickly, "All right, you're the one who knows."

When they handed in the tickets and entered the dark room, Jinah swallowed hard to note that besides her and Jisung, only about ten people were there, most of them concentrating on the front seats. Her intention was to have something to distract herself with, whether it was a child chewing popcorn or a couple kissing, but apparently she'd have to keep full attention in the movie until it finished and twisted to avoid suffering a panic attack during the mission.

Jisung chose a pair of seats from the next to last to sit down and Choi tried to see the bright side of the situation. At least if she was reasonably close to the door, she might run somewhere else if things started to run out of control — and out of control she meant witnessing some evil manifestation off the screen or something. The straw of the soda glass was stuck between her lips during the entire sequence of unnecessary trailers and advertisements, and Jinah even considered the possibility of actually watching that movie as a normal person, but then the following words came out before her eyes: "Based On Real Facts".

"Fuck, Jisung!" she complained, taking care not to speak as loudly as she wanted. "Why didn't you tell me that this shit really happened?"

"You said you weren't afraid."

"I-I..." Jinah thought for a moment and fell silent, regaining her composure. "I'm not afraid, I just don't like leaving my house uninformed," she lied.

Jisung laughed again, amused by all that, and murmured a "relax" before looking at the screen. The movie had just begun.

                                           ♡˖°

It was as if Jinah was a balloon about to burst with every new fright.

No matter how many times she looked at the clock, the minutes just didn't seem to go away. Her heart was so fast that she felt like an old woman with a tachycardia; her eyes didn't stop quietly anywhere and her nervous system was being extremely tested by Han, who laughed at her face every five minutes.

"I can also watch a horror movie, she said," Jisung mocked. "I wonder where that brave girl has gone now."

And even as she was about to ask for help, Jinah still wanted to support her fearless image: "I'm still fine, if you want to know."

"It's not what it looks like." Jisung put his hand on the girl's damp palm. "You're sweating, you're so nervous."

Choi would certainly say some tattered excuse, such as blaming the nonexistent heat, but, before she could open her mouth, the fucking idiot Nun reappeared just to put an end to the little self-control she still had and her first involuntary reaction was to squeal a little and squeezing Jisung's hand against hers, entwining their fingers without even realizing it, and then bringing close to her heart.

"I don't want anymore!" she whimpered.

The boy smiled and, even in the partial darkness, stopped to watch the girl's face as he felt the beating of her heart. It was undeniable the fact that he had found her beautiful from the first moment he laid eyes on hers, but he didn't always admire her details so closely. Jinah was sweet and sour in the right dose. Sometimes it sounded a bit childish, but it was captivating. Beautiful eyebrows, beautiful eyes, flawless smile, rosy lips; Jisung couldn't deny even to himself: she was beautiful at his sight.

"Why did you want to come, being so afraid of this kind of movie?" he asked without taking his eyes off Jinah's almost terrified face. Part of him wanted to hold her.

"'Cause I wanted to go out with you again" there was this detail: Choi didn't hide things when she got nervous.

"But we could go out anyway, you silly girl." Jisung got up and pulled the girl to do the same. "C’mon, let's eat something."

Jinah didn't protest and followed the boy out of the room. The funniest thing was that they were walking hand in hand around the mall as if they were a couple and only noticed it halfway to their chosen diner, which resulted in a minimally embarrassed Jisung and a half-annoyed Jinah cause she had lost the touch. After facing the queue of requests — Choi recovering from the trauma of the movie and Han teasing her —, they sat at a table by the window.

"How's the internship?" Jinah changed the subject, since she didn't want to talk about the events of minutes ago after having sworn that she'd never see another horror movie in her life. "I know it's only been three days, but do you feel well already?"

"Yes, it's interesting." Jisung took a sip of soda while his eyes searched the place to see if there was anyone he knew. "The only problem is that, sometimes, the people are too noisy."

"At least you're not in Changbin's place, who's going to start his next Monday. Imagine just having to put up with an entire classroom full of hyperactive kids." Jinah grimaced in disgust. She envied her friend's patience to deal with that sort of thing. "At the very least, I think I'd have a stroke."

"Does he really want to be a teacher?" Jisung frowned. "He'll scare the kids with his homicidal face."

"Of course not, Changbin's a baby inside."

"I don't know... This week even he was completely angry there in the store, just missing breaking everything."

"It must be because Jade and him were going through some problems, but now they're well again" Jinah glorified the heavens for that. It was horrible when the two of them weren't well, because a tense atmosphere settled in the apartment and everything seemed out of place. “The infamous jealousy."

Jisung shook his head in brief agreement and there was a pause in the conversation as they ate their sandwiches. Added to the topic of jealousy, it was a perfect loophole for him to begin to travel in his own thoughts and to bring up subjects he didn't want to revive, but which were always there, marking presence inside his head. Jinah soon noticed the boy's rapid change of mood.

"Are you thinking of her?" she asked cautiously and Jisung sighed. Han felt as if he could never be with Jinah without the shadow of Chaerin appearing between them as a barrier. He didn't want to ruin the night with his problems, but Choi was willing to listen to them, because, in her conception as a psychologist, you can't overcome anything by trying to choke it.

"No" Jisung lied and forced a slight smile. "It's just bullshit in my head."

"It's okay, you don't have to lie to me. You were like this after I told you about jealousy."

"We had a few crises," and before he could stop the words, Han was already venting. It wasn't his fault that talking to Jinah was so comfortable. "Or rather, I had a few crises..." another sigh. "Before I didn't realize it, but, looking better now, we haven't been well for a long time. It was a hard way to reach the last point."

"Can I ask how it happened? I mean, you say Chaerin ran away with another guy, but I wanted to get it right" Jinah knew she was stepping on eggshells by asking all those questions, but just kept insisting on them because the boy, however, didn't show any hesitation at the time of answering them.

"She had left home early that day" was the first time Jisung had spoken openly about it. He remembered hiding many details when he reported what had happened to Yoorim and Hyunjin. Not because he didn't trust his friends, but because he didn't feel comfortable enough. "I called and always fell in the mail box. She didn't even respond to the messages. She just came back at night, when I was already thinking that something serious had happened, she apologized before going to the room and packing" Jisung even would cry, but when it came to his ex-fiancée, his tears were already dry. "I asked what was going on, but she held the cry and didn't answer. Something told me it was a cry of guilt." rolled his eyes. "She left and I couldn't do anything. When I looked out the window I saw Seungmin's car and it was clear."

"So, you already suspected she might be having something with Seungmin before that happens?"

"Maybe" Jisung bit his lower lip for a moment. Even though it was complicated, he felt good talking about all those things that had been trapped in his throat for so long. "I had read some messages and noticed strange things, but it was always 'my head's thing'" he made quotations with his fingers, repeating what he heard so much from Chaerin's mouth whenever he asked about it. "But I can't feel as much anger at Seungmin as I wanted, after all, if Chaerin hadn't paid attention to him, we'd be fine now. It makes no sense to blame only the affair, because who really owed me respect didn't."

Jinah nodded, approving Jisung's way of thinking, so she wouldn't have the trouble to make him understand that part.

"When the two left," Han continued his account of the worst night of his life. "I felt the whole world fall on my back. It was difficult to clean up the mess of glass shards I made in the room, and, before I could ruin the whole kitchen too, I remembered the call center number. I meant to talk to Sorn, I think you know her." Jinah nodded again, smiling slightly as she remembered the Thai. "She had helped me a lot in the last few days, but it was you who answered this time. And by the way, the service wasn't one of the best," he joked, although he was telling the truth.

"I confess I felt a little bad for not having the standard treatment with you," Jinah admitted. "But I only started to act normally after I was sure you wouldn't do anything you could regret, otherwise I wouldn't have said so much bullshit. We would've extended the conversation if you hadn't turned it off."

"You threw it in my face that at least you hadn't been kicked by your fiancé, you wanted what?"

"But you did stress me first!" Jinah defended herself, patting the table as she remembered that Jisung had also thrown unnecessary things into her face. "I didn't return because I thought you wanted to be a little alone, or maybe you'd call again to talk to some other attendant, but, anyway, the idea of looking for you in college was already firmly in my head."

"I actually thought about calling again to talk to someone else, but your voice..." Jisung pressed his lips together as if he had no weapons to deal with. "It managed to calm me even by saying idiots."

"I realized you liked it" Jinah smiled. "So much that you must've wasted a good few minutes looking for my branch in the early morning."

"Just a few" Jisung smiled too. "Still, I thought you didn't care."

"You thought wrong. And I do care until today, you know that."

"Thank you, JinJin." Choi used all her willpower not to freak out when she heard Han call her that way without being drunk. "I don't even know how to thank you for all this."

"You could thank me by moving on," Jinah murmured, hesitantly for the first time. No one could blame her for looking at Jisung and feeling an overwhelming desire to kiss him, but not being able to do so, after all, the boy was still trapped in his old relationship. It wasn't as if she expected the love he felt for Chaerin to disappear overnight, but she believed he had to at least try, and Jinah was so willing to help him overcome all those bad things... "I know it's hard, but it's been almost a month. Life has to go on, don't you think?"

"With moving on," Jisung put his elbows on the table. "do you mean to get a good mood or open my heart to let other people in? Because, if it's the first choice, I think I'm already doing it."

"The two options sort of complete."

"I don't know, Jinah." Jisung ran a hand through his hair absently. Choi almost died without air. Why did he do that to her poor heart? "I don't want to be with someone while I love someone else, and it's not like I have too many suitors."

Jinah blushed, so much that it was impossible to hide from the boy.

"Wait..." Jisung's eyes widened. "Don't you-..."

"No! Of course not!" the girl had tried to fix it, but her face only turned redder. "Aish, don't start to misinterpret things!"

It wasn't the first time that Jinah had given him signals that shouldn't be given to mere friends, but Han always took it as a joke. However, since the small meeting at the home of Hyunjin and Yoorim, when Choi quietly asked for a kiss, a set of internal doubts struck Jisung. If Woojin was there, he'd probably tell him to stop being dumb and grab the opportunity, but, in his head, it wasn't as easy as it seemed.

"Sorry" he disguised as if he really had misunderstood and believed in the girl's acting. "Would you like some ice cream?"

He didn't even have to ask twice.

And as he looked at Jinah without her realizing it, Jisung wished, with all his heart, that he might correspond to her correctly someday.

[buri-art]

we stan Please Save my Earth!! I always get so happy when i find a fan lol anyways did you read the sequel? i wanted to, like so so much because i've heard good thing about it but the change in the art turn me off, it is so bad?????

Yaaaaay, always good to find PSME fans! : D (This is primarily an Akatsuki no Yona blog, though.) I did read the sequel (Boku wo Tsutsumu Tsuki no Hikari, which takes place 15 years later) and although it has wonky art, I did enjoy it. I’m also four volumes into the sequel to the sequel, Boku wa Chikyuu to Utau, which takes place another 4 years later. My feelings toward both are a little complicated, so I’ll discuss Boku-Tsuki first (and I’ll also answer your other questions behind the cut, since this will get long!): 

I love PSME so much that OF COURSE I love having more of it and seeing what the characters are doing when they’re older (though I’m sad that characters like Rin’s mom and Boon never made appearances! Tamura himself only had one scene, haha). It’s a very different story at first, which a fun focus on the children of a few of the old characters (plus some other kids they meet). I liked the kids’ relationships and perspectives a lot, with the PSME lore as background. I was hit and miss with how the old cast wound up, and it inevitably has colored how I look back at them in the original. However, I found the last arc (which spanned a few volumes) pretty… I don’t know. The phrase that comes to mind is a Chinese idiom, “pulling up sprouts to make them grow faster”, which means “spoiling by excessive enthusiasm”. It started to feel like Rin, Alice, Mokuren, and Shion were getting strangled by excessive drama/development. It’s like their characters were no longer allowed room to breathe. And it was during this arc that Hiwatari noticed that it was started to become a different story, which was why she abruptly asked her editor if she could conclude the series and start a new one under a different title. That makes sense, because Boku-Uta takes those changes a lot further. With this one, I feel it’s really overindulging in extra background development, which takes away from the mystique of the original.It’s also…. just weird. Like, Hiwatari writes weird stuff,  that’s why she’s so beloved because her stories are so unique. ^_^ I’ve read a lot (but not all) of her other works, and I loooooved stuff like Global Garden because–although the art style was wonky–I’ve never read anything quite like it. Well, except for PSME–it’s funny how it uses so many similar themes but plays them in such a different way. 

But with Boku-Uta, it’s like her publishers just stepped out of her way and said “you know what, you have such a fanbase that people will buy it no matter what you write, so go ahead, add more magic cats.” 

So, like, I really want to like this one too, but I find it difficult to. I do really like the continued developments of the younger generation which Boku-Tsuki focused on, but other than that, I find it difficult to enjoy. I read Volume 4 around 2am in an airport and just felt angry by the time I finished because some of the new plot twists just felt so stupid. XDSo, in conclusion, yes, Boku-Tsuki has a lot of merits, but it’s going to change your experience of PSME, which is why I can understand why a lot of PSME fans didn’t like it or choose not to read it. Boku-Uta is a natural progression from the ending of that one, so if you choose to read Boku-Tsuki, keep that in mind. But hey, I AM such a big Hiwatari fan that I know I’m going to buy every volume of Boku-Uta anyway. Maybe it’ll redeem itself in my eyes, it still has some interesting elements keeping me going. Okay, on to your other PSME Ask: “sorry, i just found this tumblr so i’m going to ask a lot of PSME questions lol: favorite characters and why?“I love this question. : D Ironically I was just talking with a friend about this the other day since she’s borrowing the manga from me, and I didn’t really know how to answer it. As stated before, my perceptions of the characters has been affected by reading Boku-Tsuki.So like… just because they get the best development, how can I NOT love the Rin-Alice-Shion-Mokuren quatrad?? I keep going back and forth over the years between who of those four is my favorite. While reading the manga for the first time while I was a teen I think I usually leaned more toward Rin and Alice, but now maybe it’s Shion and Mokuren?? I don’t know XDDDAs for OTHER characters, though, part of what I love about it is that there are so many good supporting characters, especially beyond the basic seven kids and their past lives. So here are a few that come to mind to write some thoughts on: Haruhiko: I haaaaaaaated him with a passion as I was reading the manga because he was so whiny and helpless, UNTIL I got to the volume when he confessed everything to Alice, Jinpachi, and Issei, and it was like a switch was flipped and he became one of my favorites because of how much courage he had. You know how he really lightens up and gets comfortable talking with Alice later on? That’s the sort of person he remains in the sequel, which has made me like him even more. He’s mature and mostly at peace with his past, but not totally, and he can recognize that about himself without it taking over. But he’s not totally mature either—you know that scene when he fakes having heart trouble and then gets Alice to stop? And how he makes that “What did you think I was going to do? I’m not Shion!” joke right afterward? That’s the sort of nasty side of his personality that I love too. Looking back at the start of the series now, I see that he was courageous and understanding all along, he just had an extremely weighty situation to deal with. Mikuro: I can never see him the same way again after the sequel (in which he’s a major character). XDD It’s clear that he’s always been a pet OC of Hiwatari’s, but the cool, hard-boiled original character designs for him are nothing like the adult he’s become. He tries so hard to play it cool, but the guy’s a helpless dweeb sometimes. I always found it exciting to learn more about his EPIA life. An extra one-shot (Things Accidently Left Behind, I think it’s called?) gives a lot more backstory for him and introduces more of the EPIA characters, who I enjoy. (Fun fact: Remember his friend Tomoko who was briefly mentioned? She winds up marrying his brother Hokuto. XD Mikuro winds up in a complicated relationship with an American psychic named Pamela, whom I also really like, she’s a hoot.)Mode: I loved her as soon as I met her (and although I’m okay with how she was used in the final arc of the sequel, I sort of wish she could have been left as-is too). She was, through and through, such a good friend, but I like her sense of responsibility as a caretaker too. Lazlo: How can I not love Lazlo!!? The sob story gets played up a little TOO much and I think it was effective as-is in the original (like, we didn’t need to know that he and Kyaa got into the car accident while bringing home a toy for Shion to try to make him smile). In fact, it was Lazlo who made me realize that I have interest in being a foster mother someday. Rin’s Mom: She’s got such a rough job, seriously. She had a break-down, which I don’t blame her for, but I love the courage and understanding she shows after that. She’s the mom who Shion always deserved. Hajime: Always a favorite. XD But I also love that he’s not a huge influence on the story either, his mission has always been to support and take care of Alice, even if that means being critical of her decisions. There are a few extra chapters in Boku-Tsuki discussing Rin & Alice’s early parenting years, and they’re told from Hajime’s POV (he wasn’t exactly happy with the shocking situation), which I really enjoy. Daisuke/Hiiragi: He’s not as big a favorite now (because in some ways he and Jinpachi grew into lame adults XD), but I always liked him and found it funny how despite being the leader, he basically has no influence and is the least important of the seven. XDD It was liking him in a sort of feeling bad for him kind of way. The Lians: Part of what’s so cool about PSME is the development of the Homeworld, and I thought the role of the Lians fleshed out that world really well. Seeing Shion’s different relationships with them (they’re all doing their best, but the older one clearly has more of a way with him) was a nice touch. Plus, I just like and respect nuns in the first place, so that influences my view of them.

Tamura:  When I first read/watched it, I didn’t like him much because I thought he was too nosy and I just wanted to focus on the younger cast; the yakuza subplot was a turn-off at first. But looking back on it, Tamura is a such a great and unexpected driver of the plot for a shoujo manga. Nowadays if I rewatch or reread it, you’ll even hear me squeal about seeing Takeshi again. XDDIssei & Sakura: They are such a stinking cute, girly married couple in the sequel, and now it’s hard to ever see them the same way as in the original when I could just appreciate how their deep friendship took shape. If anything I didn’t want them to get married because that felt trite and like a Pair-the-Spares trope and it made it seem like that was the only possible result of a deep friendship between a girl and formal-girl-now-guy-on-purpose-due-to-failed-romance. BUT!! Boku-Uta does provide a nice insight on that, which I appreciate, and which explains why the other three are singletons (being from the Homeworld, they have a different wavelength from regular earthlings, which is why they harmonize well together (as do Rin and Alice), whereas Daisuke, Jinpachi, and Haruhiko can’t find partners to be in the same harmony with). But to back up a bit, Issei’s subplots was one of my favorites in the original. That scene when he “releases” Enju’s soul to go out and love deeply again was so sweet. : DSo like, I pretty much like EVERYONE due to deep attachment for the series, though my thoughts and feelings change over the years. These are just the thoughts coming to mind at the moment. XD

[shadowdianne]

8 i want 8 please give me 8 \o/

Number 8 translantes to: “Can you start from thebeginning of the story? I need to know how your night ended with not only one,but two lions in the bathtub, glow in the dark silly string drapping over thefurniture and a frivolous amount of fruitcakes. No one in this house even eatsfruitcake.

So, you know, let’s make this interesting 

-glances at the story- Well xd I hope you like it.It certainly was a challenge…

But as much as I like to complaint thank you somuch for sending it

The brightlight of the kitchen glimmered against the isle the two women were seated at,Regina’s purple magic still hovering above them and the brunette did her bestnot to laugh a little at Emma’s state, silly string stuck between her locks,

Emma grumbled as she took one piece of theaforementioned fruitcake, biting it quickly and wincing at the taste as Reginarose one brow, arms crossed in front of her chest.

She,fortunately for the woman in front of her, was still more shocked than angry,the roars of the lions echoing on her ears even if those had been taken awaythe second she had arrived from work, meetings with various nobles discardedfrom her mind as she saw the first of the half-dozen fruitcakes that hadeventually lead to a very pale Emma holding the doorknob of the bathroom withdirty white colored wisps already beginning to form on her fingers, coilingaround their matching rings.

“I canexplain this.” She had said, barely a mutter and Regina had wanted to believeit even if the ghostly-looking strings draped around her furniture made itquite complicated for her.

So now,fingers drumming against her forearm, she watched silently as Emma pushed thefruitcake away, look of distaste on her face as she magicked a small glass ofwater.

“Thiswasn’t going to end like this.” She managed to say after swallowing what seemedto be a rather chunk of cake. Internally, the brunette winced; she had neveracquired the taste of the fruitcake either, too sand-like.

Instead,she kept a straight face as Emma sighed and run a hand over her hair, gruntlingas her fingers caught on the beginning to melt string. Snapping her fingers,the silly string disappeared in a similar fashion than when Regina had magickedit away from over the wooden paneling of their house, not leaving a tracebehind but a small smudge the brunette truly hoped it would be out with asecond snap.

Humming,she waited until Emma looked up again, the shadow of a shy smile on her lips.

“You knowthis was going to be my day off.” She began, and Regina could see and feel thenervousness she emanated; rolling off her like magical waves she felt drumminginside of her, pulsing through her veins. Grateful that the blonde seemed tohave her magic under control, she merely nodded, urging her to continue.

Pressingher index finger against her thumb, Emma glanced down until the skin around hernail turned white. Something, the brunette realized, that was very much likeHenry. Which was something that ordinally would have made her smile but nottoday.

“Clearlysomething happened.” She replied, and Emma let out a small chortle that didn’tquite rose too far.

“Thefairies happened.” She finally answered, shrugging as Regina blinked twice,confused. “I know. Blue came; said she wanted me to use my magic to…” Emma clickedher tongue and put her elbows on the island’s surface, running her right handover her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose brusquely before letting itfall, the resulting sound unnaturally loud. “I didn’t fully understand it.Something about a fairy ring. Said she wanted a ritual.”

“And theritual was calling for two lions and fruitcakes?”

Reginacouldn’t help the disbelieving undertone on her voice neither the way shewidened her eyes. Not that she didn’t trust Emma but asking for lions would bea first for the smarmy fairy. Albeit, she supposed quickly as Emma shook herhead, pointing at the fruitcakes with an open palm, it would make sense for thewoman to come when she knew she wasn’t going to be at home. The woman hadn’treally understood how Emma had ended up marrying her. Too many fate-breakinginvolved.

“Thefruitcakes.” Replied Emma. “Were part of the ritual. Something about offeringit to the power that co-exists within the Enchanted Forest. They wanted my magic,so I could keep the portal or whatever that was stabilized.”

Reginagrowled but nodded; an offering didn’t sound that strange. Not for the fairiesat least.

“And thelions and silly string?”

Emma letout a long-suffering sigh that made her have an eerily resemblance with Henryand motioned once again towards the cakes, huffing as she did so.

“Did youknow that Granny’s fruitcakes are made not only with brandy but with rum?”

Truth to betold, if it hadn’t been their house the one which had suffered the vandalizingRegina would have started laughing before calling everyone around her an idiot.Now, as she started to put the pieces together, she only snickered inwardly.

“Are youtelling me.” She began. “That after they asked you to pay for the fruitcakesyou ended up getting the fairies drunk?”

Emma’s neckand face turned red as she flushed, the quiet “yes” that followed making Reginahide an amused snort behind her left hand.

“I didn’tknow what they were going to do.” The blonde started. “And I didn’t know how tomake them, so I just went to Granny’s…”

“And thenyou gave them to the fairies.” Regina finished quickly, already picturing howthat had went. On the Enchanted Forest it wasn’t as common to leave milk orhoney outside for the fairies but, on some places, it was common enough for thestories to travel along the merchants that had, sometimes, tried to sell somethingback when she had been little. As long as the fairies, the merchants said,sometimes lowering their voices, trying to get them raspy enough to scare asmall girl as they told their tales, didn’t consume any alcohol they could bereasonable to deal with. Maybe even getting them to grant you a wish even ifyou weren’t royalty. As soon as they were drunk, however… all bets were off.And the worst thing was that the creatures absolutely loved to get drunk.

Which wasone of the many reasons Regina had made them nuns while being under the curse,but she wasn’t going to start talking about basic biology with her wife. Notnow after all. She suspected the fairies had merely wanted to have a smallparty and that had gotten quite out of hand.

“And then Igave them to the fairies.” Emma deadpanned, looking at anything but Regina,probably wanting to disappear. “At first I could magic away the silly stringbut then the fairies got angry and told me that until they left I couldn’t makeanything they created disappear. And I truly couldn’t until they did, somebinding magic I guess. And I truly didn’t until they left. Which happened a fewseconds before you arrived.”

Thetricksters. Regina pursed her lips as she assessed the situation. There was areason she didn’t like those imps after all. Or, at least, almost all of them.

Reachingfor Emma’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze, so the woman looked up, remorsewritten on her face.

“Youcouldn’t know what was going to happen.” She said, poofing herself so she wasat the other side of the isle, at Emma’s side. “But I’m definetely going to payBlue a visit after this.”

Emmalaughed a little at that, softness replacing her worry as Regina rose theirhands and kissed the blonde’s knuckles.

“As long asyou don’t murder them I will be willing to look at the other way.”

Reginarolled her eyes at the joke.

“Who says Iwant to murder them?” She asked, letting a bit of her magic glow on her eyes.

Already onher bed and nursing quite the headache, Blue shivered.