#what magnificent beasts I hope I get to see them often in their jar!

[takemetotheastralagain]

had to evacuate our outdoor isopod square the ants came back

They had so many babies guys…. I didn’t count but I accidentally grabbed like a couple punches of dirt with each one and the little about quart sized container was almost half full of dirt!

I kept finding them after the sun went down too but those ones got relocated to the calcium can site FUCK I FORGIT TO ADD THE CALCIUM TO THE JAR I KNEW I MISSED SOMETHING!!

/lh just yelling because it was irking me lightly while I was cleaning up chfbdhfhfh

[maxmiz]

Okay, If Max were to propose Mariam on her 23rd birthday, what would it be like? Please write something on this, I am eagerly waiting to see this content written by you.

Firstly, thank you much for the ask @velox-the-knight. I thought I’d do one better and write a short one shot fanfic on this. But I’ve tweaked the facts a little. I’ve made it so that they’re both 28 (23 feels a bit too early for someone like Max to marry idk?) and I’ve not made it on her birthday. But I’ll hope you’ll like this!

Also tagging @stroblitzfalborg, @bakutenmayhem @araingirl @midnightstarr8 @gingericywolf @luxahheart @dangpanterita @turquoisewisteria @tshjortile @hiwataris-bitch and anyone else who would like some Max/Mariam content. Feedback is appreciated from anyone who likes Max/Mariam in the fandom! (This is a hurriedly written short fic, so it may not be great lol)

FAIRYTALE

The path to the dojo was covered in chrysanthemums and a young, blithe man strolled down the road, inhaling the fresh scent of spring into his lungs in the hopes that it would inspire him to finally pop the big question. The golden strands of his hair mirrored the bright beams of the radiant sun above, and twenty-eight-year-old Max Mizuhara strode into his best friend’s house with every ounce of his courage tucked away in a little black box in his pocket. Today was the day that he would ask her to marry him.

The familiar, idyllic setting of Takao’s house greeted him at the entrance and comforted him as he tried to pull himself together and calm his nerves. The oddly mature words of wisdom of his precocious younger sister, Charlotte, surfaced in his mind – if you know she’s the one, then she is. If she’s not, you can move on to other things. Like buying me a Playstation.

His eyes scanned the dojo. He half hoped that Daichi would not spring out of some corner with a bowl of soup in his hand and ruin the bouquet of wild flowers that Max was carrying, by tripping and falling over some rock as usual. Max’s mother, Judy, had not appreciated Daichi’s clumsiness when he had all but destroyed her immaculate designer pantsuit by spilling a drink on it by accident.

I can’t believe that I brought flowers, he thought to himself amused. Max had never really been the flowers-and-chocolates type of boyfriend. Romantic gifts were more of Rei and Takao’s domain. Mariam and Max had always had a jovial, easy-going relationship. They did many things together – from trekking to mountaintops and sleeping under the stars together, to skydiving and dancing at carnivals to which Raul and Julia often invited them. But romantic cliches had never been something that either of them was particularly fond of.

Growing up with parents who rarely lived in the same city, Max had never had the occasion to watch any romance blossom between them. Family dinners were often a cold affair, with his mother being an emotionally distant workaholic and his father being in blissful denial about the crumbling state of their marriage. Even as things had improved between his parents after he had won his first world championship, Max’s faith in romance and marriage had forever been marred by the shadow of his childhood in a dead home.

Yet, here he was, ready to ask the love of his life to marry him, with flowers no less. The irony was not lost upon him.

Oddly, it was his two friends Kai and Hiromi who had suggested that he take flowers with him as he proposed to her. Max could swear he almost choked on his drink as he heard those words leave Kai’s mouth. It made him wonder if, in private, Kai had actually ever given his nature-loving boyfriend Brooklyn any flowers. The thought of a romantic Kai seemed almost as inconceivable to him as the thought of Yuri and Takao’s errant brother Hitoshi hooking up. But stranger things had happened in their world – Balkov becoming a reality show star, for one. He certainly gave the Kardashians some stiff competition in the vanity department. Yuri almost retched at seeing Balkov’s vainglorious Instagram account.

Chuckling, Max looked down at his bouquet as the memory of his last conversation with his friends popped up in his mind.

“You listen to me Maximilian Mizuhara…”

“Actually, it’s just Max,” said Max, cutting her short, meekly.

“Did I say that you could interrupt me?” growled Hiromi, rolling her eyes. “Now, as I was saying…you have to get her flowers! You can’t propose without flowers to a woman who has been raised in the mountains in the lap of nature. Back me up, Hiwatari!”

Kai put down his drink on the table and shrugged. “You heard the woman.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Max, surprised. “And what if she does not like flowers?”

“Then you can take off your clothes and hope that she forgets about the flowers when she sees you in your magnificent birthday suit,” said a drunk Takao, laughing at his own joke without a care in the world.

“Takao!” said Hiromi, smacking him lightly on his head.

“Ow, what was that for?” said Takao, crossly.

“Your jokes are getting worse every day. Soon you’ll give Ivan a run for his money and that is not a compliment. Ask Yuri and Boris. They had to make a jar specifically for him in which he has to drop a penny every time he makes a terrible joke. There was enough money in it by the end of the year for Yuri to buy Julia a gift pack from Victoria’s Secret and have money left over for Boris and Sergei to go drinking expensive wine at Ralf’s vineyard. Do you want me to make such a jar for you too?” said Hiromi, narrowing her eyes.

“If it helps get you your favorites from Victoria’s Secret, why not,” said Takao, playfully.

Hiromi blushed and pretended to text on her phone.

“Okayyyy, get a room you two,” said Rei, laughing.

“Alright, guys, can we deal with my problem before Mr. World Champion here starts his drunken monologue? Is it yay or nay on the flowers? Won’t it be too cliched for Mariam to appreciate?” said Max, frowning.

“Make it so that it isn’t,” said Kai, in a deep voice.

 Make it so that it isn’t. I hope I’m doing this right.

Max walked further into the dojo to see Mariam sitting on the porch, with her long blue strands of hair casually tied up on top of her head in a bun. She was dressed in a white shirt and red skirt, while a tattoo of Sharkrash on her smooth, porcelain skin glimmered under the light of the sun. Max gasped as he watched his beautiful girlfriend concentrate on the book that she was reading, one that Max instantly recognized as his favorite, personal copy of Bitches Gotta Beyblade. Ming Ming had written quite the tantalizing but wonderful biography of her life as a beyblading and singing sensation – and though Max had initially found her annoying during her BEGA days, he had come to admire her over the years. Juggling school and Beyblade while winning Grammys every year was no mean feat.

As Max stepped into the garden by the little pond, Mariam lifted her face from her book and looked at him with a smile on her face.

“Maxie. What’s up? Why are we meeting at the dojo when neither Takao nor grandpa are here? Feels a little weird,” said Mariam, suspiciously.

“Weird? Why is that? We’re always hanging out at the dojo on weekends,” said Max, hiding the bouquet behind his back.

“You know…like we’re trespassing or something while he’s not around,” said Mariam.

“Trespassing? Did your conscience prick you like this when you were stalking me day and night to seal my bit-beast?” teased Max.

“For the last time Max, I wasn’t stalking. I was just gathering intel,” said Mariam, feigning annoyance.

“Alright, Mata Hari, pipe down,” quipped Max. “Ozuma can’t hear you, you know. We both know that you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Oh yeah, and who was the one putting on all the moves in a collapsing building? Seriously Max, who flirts when they’re almost about to get crushed by a building?” said Mariam, playfully.

“Guilty as charged, m’lady,” said Max, laughing.

Mariam uncrossed her legs and leaned against a wooden pillar casually. “What have you got behind you?”

A romantic cliché, that’s what.

“Hmm, let’s see,” said Max, pulling out the bouquet and presenting it to her.

“Flowers…” said Mariam, surprised.

“Not just any flowers,” said Max, handing her the bouquet.

Mariam looked more closely at the bouquet and Max could see her face lighting up.

“Orchids…from my village in the mountains…” said Mariam, looking touched.

Max knew that Mariam missed her village frequently. Even though she quite liked her life as a marine biologist, free from the shackles of her tribe’s strict and conservative rules, Max often found her wistfully longing for the mountains that she called her home. He knew that if flowers were the way to go, he would personally write to Yusuf and request him to send them to Japan, where he and Mariam were living temporarily after taking a sabbatical from their jobs in California.

“What…what’s the occasion?” said Mariam.

Oh boy, here goes.

“Well…I don’t know how to do this…” mumbled Max, as he slipped his hand into his pocket.

Mariam watched him curiously as he pulled out a little black box.

“Oh…my…” said Mariam, intuitively, the minute that she laid her eyes on the box. “Are you asking me to…”

Max stared at Mariam, unsure about how to proceed with it. He stood quietly staring at her for a solid two minutes until Mariam said, “Uh…Max?”

Kneel, you moron. You can gawk at her later, thought Max as he mentally slapped himself, before going down on one knee.

“Mariam…I never thought that there’d come a day that I’d find myself asking you…or anyone, to marry me. I have never believed in fairytale endings or happily ever-afters. And I don’t believe that being with you is my fairytale ending, because nobody knows what the future holds. But you certainly are the beginning of my fairytale. Now I wish I had Rei’s eloquence to be able to come up with a romantic poem on the spot, but that’s not me. I’m all smiles and jokes and mustard on noodles and we have had always had an unconventional relationship. So, in the spirit of that…” said Max, opening the box, mid-sentence.

Okay, here goes nothing.

Much to Mariam’s surprise, Max pulled out a red, silken bandana from the box and tied it around her forehead.

“I could have got a ring…and I will after this, but I don’t do cliches. Now, I’m 14 years late, but here’s a long overdue replacement for the bandana you tied around my arm when I injured myself protecting you in that collapsing building. I’m tying this around your forehead as a promise to protect you for as long as I can, no matter how many buildings collapse on us and no matter what hurts me in the process. So…will you…marry me?” said Max.

Mariam gasped. She looked like someone had punched her in the gut.

“You know, Takao’s garden has just been hosed an hour ago. My jeans are getting soaked in the mud. Could you answer faster?” said Max, sheepishly.

“Well…yes, you idiot!” said Mariam, throwing her arms around Max and hugging him tenderly.

Kissing her softly on the cheek, Max pulled away and looked into her gorgeous green eyes. He had spent many a night looking into them, but this was the first time that he had seen a touch of vulnerability in them. If anything, her eyes looked even more beautiful now.

“Oh, that was so fucking cute, I’m going to faint!”

“Hell yeah, go Maxie!”

“Max, you dawg…”

Shocked, Max and Mariam looked to the left to see their friends peering at them from behind the dojo and giggling amongst themselves. Kai and Brooklyn did not seem to partake in their laughter, but smiled approvingly at him and Mariam.

“How long have you guys been there?” said Max, going red in the face.

“Long enough, buddy,” said Takao, bellowing with laughter.

“You promised you’d be out,” said Max, embarrassedly.

“And miss this? Never!” said Hiromi, slyly.

“Oh yeah, Kyouju even taped it,” said Rei, giving their bespectacled friend a nudge.

“It’s time for some celebration!” said Hiromi.

“Drinks in the garden?” said Takao.

“On it,” volunteered Brooklyn. Kai joined him to go into the house and fetch the celebratory champagne.

Max looked at his friends and then at Mariam, and smiled. He had finally found a sense of contentment that had eluded him for most of his life.

The beginning of a fairytale indeed.

[write-a-bad-romance]

Holy Woman pt. 2

(A continuation of Holy Woman. Part 1 can be found here)

Ao3 link: Here

Words: 2939

This work features mild spoilers for Jean’s route and a genderbent (female) version of Jean d’Arc.

In this chapter: MC and another suitor appears!

pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turres 

"Whatever you're thinking, don't." Vlad spoke.

"Whatever I'm thinking?"

The living room was blissfully silent, save for the intermittent crackles from the fireplace. Spring was soon upon them, and most of the snow had thawed from the mountainsides, giving way to lush greens and light-hued bronze.

Charles found the warmer air pleasant. He pictured trekking the sunlit path leading to the field where Sister Joanna cultivated her lilies. Charles wondered if she'd ever invite him to help her till the soil and plant the bulbs.

Damn, I can never get her out of my head, can I?

"What else?" Vlad examined the dainty jar full of homemade strawberry jam in his hand. "I know you've been showing considerable interest in our resident handywoman."

Charles nearly lurched forward straight into the fireplace. He stopped poking the logs and turned to his landlord. "How did you—"

"Ah, so easy to read." He pointed at Charles with a carving knife. His eyes returned to focus on his handiwork, not completely rid of their mischievous glint. "Not only do I see her with you all the time, but tongues have been wagging all over town. Rumors spread fast, you see."

Before Charles could reply, in came a snow-coated vulpine with what appeared to be a corpse in its mouth. Between its teeth was a squirrel, its fur an identical shade of white.

"Oh, no." Charles moaned quietly. "You murdered my best friend."

Vlad chuckled as the fox crept under its master's chair with no care for the grieving youth. The little devil proceeded to devour its prey with its back turned, oblivious to Charles' dismay at the loss of his companion-turned-fox-fodder.

Charles nearly forgot their previous exchange until Vlad called the young man back to attention. "So, I take it you intend to woo Sister Joanna?"

Charles gave no reply as his green eyes stared at the flickering ember.

"I don't think that's entirely right," He wiped a hand over his sunken face. "There's just...something about Sister Joanna that makes you curious about her. But she seems to be very secretive of her circumstances, and I'm not sure if tailing her around is the right thing to do."

"You're blushing," Vlad observed. "Ah, to be young and full of love."

Charles let out a sigh at his insistence.

"Well, no." Charles defended himself. "She's a charming woman, a capable one too. But I'm leaving just before the end of spring, and Sister Joanna... well, she doesn't strike me as someone interested in men or any sort of close companionship. Faust said she wasn't part of the convent, but the way she conducts herself convinces me otherwise."

"Awfully blunt, aren't you." Vlad drawled. "Well, she must have said the same."

Charles's cheeks turned beet red. He contemplated excusing himself and leaving for his room to avoid further questioning from the kibitzing innkeeper.

"But to answer your question, yes and no." Vlad set aside his handiwork as he welcomed the cold-blooded beast onto his lap. "You'd think she's the sort to devote her services in the name of God. I don't blame you. You see her praying by the statue all the time."

"But to my knowledge, nobody has ever seen her step into the church, and if Faust's words are anything to go by," He scratched the yawning animal between its ears. "She was apparently married at some point."

"Married?" Charles's shock stifled an oncoming yawn. Now, this was news. "So she has a family? Where are they now?"

Vlad's ruby-colored eyes were solemn as he watched his pet blithely gnawing his fingers.

"Who knows?" the pale-haired man murmured. "The doctor and the nuns mentioned that her husband died because of war."

A widow. Charles swallowed as he remembered their first exchange at the town square. She was praying for her own departed husband.

" But that matters little to us now, yes? You know what they say about her. Sister Joanna does what she likes " Vlad declared merrily. "If I were you, I'd respect her wishes and keep my nose out of her business too."

While freely putting your nose in mine, Charles thought. It was a shame. Although he'd suspected from the start that no woman of Sister Joanna's age and standing would deign herself to his company, a doctor from the Capital still wet behind the ears.

She must have witnessed enough of the world through that eye.

But Charles was a straightforward, insistent young man. Nothing would stop him from approaching the inscrutable dame, not as a suitor, but as a friend. Sister Joanna seemed to need one —someone other than the morose town doctor and the erratic innkeeper ex-possible fugitive.

An exhilarating warmth bloomed inside Charles's heart as he pondered on the countless outcomes his little project would bring.

"It matters very little whoever resides in her heart, husband, or God," Vlad concluded. "A woman is as good as holy by merit of her own virtue and devotion to her role."

True to Vlad and Faust's words, Charles never saw Sister Joanna within the church's halls on the rare occasion he did join the congregation.

It made Charles all the more surprised when he looked down to see her sitting in the abbey's courtyard one balmy afternoon. She was accompanied by two other people, whose faces were unfamiliar to Charles.

Their attire suggested they were aristocrats. Charles guessed the guests — a man with pearly hair and a woman with long strawberry blond waves — must have arrived from the Capital or another distant city.

Sister Joanna laughed with ease as she chatted with her companions. It sounded wonderfully pleasant and foreign to the young doctor's ears.

This is the first time I've seen her look so chipper. Charles decided to observe the trio, admiring the changes in Sister Joanna's marred features.

It took a while before the trio finally parted. Then the gentlemen shoved a rectangular object into Sister Joanna's hand, and she fell apart.

She enveloped him in a tight embrace, and the man cradled her head as she buried her face in his neck. The other woman didn't seem to be bothered. Just as gently, she approached the hugging couple and caressed Sister Joanna's mauve locks.

Charles felt indecent for spying at their affectionate display. He distanced himself from the stone balusters and went on his way. He needed to look for Doctor Faust.

Charles couldn't banish the image of Sister Joanna, smiling and weaving her fingers with the woman. How often did the nuns in this abbey see her in such a state?

Well, whatever. Charles brushed his face with the sleeves of his coat. It doesn't concern me.

Vlad's words continued to echo as Charles struggled to locate the ill-mannered doctor's whereabouts and resume his business.

They went together in early March. Charles had already been drained of his initial excitement when Sister Joanna suggested he accompany her on her annual flower painting.

He went anyway, unanswered questions and the image of Sister Joanna with the two strangers still fresh and lingering on his mind.

"Poppies? " Charles exclaimed, as Sister Joanna handed him a bag of black and brown seeds. "Not lilies?"

"I thought of doing something different this time around." She quipped. "They should yield magnificent red blossoms come August."

The couple spoke no more until midday. Sister Joanna invited Charles to sit with her under the shade of a nearby tree. They shared between them a bundle filled with sourdough bread and cheese.

"But I'm honestly surprised. I didn't think that I'd be here, planting poppies. With you, I mean," Charles spoke between bites. "I was expecting it to be lilies or roses. If you were going for red, I imagined that you'd be going for roses."

Roses fit you better nearly slipped out of Charles' mouth if not for Joanna's trenchant eye silencing him.

"No particular reason," she whispered, her gaze turning to that of the fields they had just cultivated. "But, maybe, it was our encounter at the statue that led me."

"I beg your pardon?"

Sister Joanna sighed and wiped away the beads of sweat gathering on her brow. Even as perspiration drenched her entire face, she still refused to part with the damned eyepatch.

"Red poppies are often considered a symbol of remembrance for the war dead," she began. "There are tales of blood-red flowers growing near the bodies of fallen soldiers."

A breeze tousled her chopped locks, and Charles marveled at how they shone under the sunlight trickling through the foliage.

"Even on what were once barren wastelands such as these," Charles followed her gaze, "Now they name it the Lily Hills."

How apt. "If it wasn't for your hard work planting those lilies every year, it wouldn't have reached this state. On your own, no less!"

"I'm humbled," Charles could see the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "It's the least an old woman like me can do."

"You're not that old." Charles blabbed. "Wait, are you?"

Ah, again with the inane questions. Rein it in, can't you, Charles?

But Sister Joanna merely smiled, as if it was an overzealous puppy she was dealing with and not a grown man.

"I don't believe I've ever told you," she answered wistfully. "I'm turning thirty-six this year."

Oh.

"Well," Charles hoped Sister Joanna was looking elsewhere for fear of her noticing his embarrassment. "You certainly don't look that old."

Charles prayed that the Earth would swallow him right then and there. No wonder Vlad's assuming I'm courting her. What is it about her that has me unraveled so effortlessly? She —

"I'm flattered." Her answer was curt if a bit hesitant. "Most would take me for a gnarled hag."

Charles willed the exchange to die as he diverted all his attention back to his meal. Most of their work was finished. They could return to town soon. And Charles would be allowed reprieve in the sanctuary of his room.

Sanctuary. Charles' mind flashed back to that day in the abbey, to an image of Faust, the nuns, to Sister Joanna and her elegant companions.

And then, there was the gold-plated cameo locket dangling from Sister Joanna's neck by a long chain. It made quite the sight, nestling against the fabric of Sister Joanna's sable robe.

He began noticing the locket's existence after the spectacle in the courtyard. A parting gift from her friends, perhaps?

"That's a beautiful locket. My mother sometimes wears them back at home on special occasions," Charles dared himself to ask.  "Although hers usually have profiles of beautiful ladies on them. This is the first time I've seen one adorned with a flower."

On the surface of Joanna's locket were ivory roses against an obsidian background.

"I'm not one for icons and such," She sheepishly ran a thumb over the carvings. "I thought my husband would think my preference to be nonsense, but he listened anyhow."

This is the first time I've heard Sister Joanna's mention her husband. "Not lilies?' He joked.

"My husband preferred roses. Not that I complained," Sister Joanna replied matter-of-factly. "He did as he liked."

There was not a hint of sentiment in her voice. Maybe Charles was wrong. Maybe Sister Joanna just didn't think much of her deceased husband. Charles was a fool, for thinking Sister Joanna regarded him enough as a close friend that she was willing to divulge her secrets.

"Was it given to you by your friends in the courtyard?" Charles clutched his sister's handkerchief. How the question had possessed him for so long!

Charles thought that his candidness would earn him her retaliation. Instead, Sister Joanna slumped back against the bark and closed her eye.

"So you saw me," she sighed dolefully. "They're....old friends from Belvedere. The woman was my subordinate in the Order of the Maid, and her husband was a musician I came to know in the capital. I was the one to first introduce them to each other, in fact."

"Oh, that's so sweet." Charles was reminded of how affectionate the couple was to the old widow. "Wait! Did you say the Order of the Maid? You never told me you're a Maid!"

The Order of the Maid was an all-female military unit said to have been formed during the middle ages. Its members, consisting strictly of unmarried young women, were mostly drafted from the peasantry and nobility alike. Under the aegis of the Church, it grew to nearly five thousand strong. 

Charles had listened to his mother's tales of women on stallions defending her village's borders and riding out to meet invaders sent forth by the neighboring Monarchy.

It was a shame their nation never considered letting them serve alongside the men beyond the Empire's borders. We can't have our country's most exquisite treasures meeting their early doom, Charles once heard a grizzled colonel remark.

He was the very few who wished the Emperor's appraisal towards the Order during their debut at the Capital's annual military parade was more than empty praise.

Then again...

"You seem rather excited," Charles nearly lost himself to his thoughts that he didn't realize Joanna had shuffled closer. "What of the Maids?"

Charles could feel his childhood fantasies coming to life, free of the malaise brought upon by years of warring and adulthood. "My mother adores and admires them greatly. I grew up listening to her stories about the Maids of her youth and how she wished she could join their ranks."

"I used to admire them. And I still do now," Charles beamed. "Very much so. No wonder you could carry all those boxes the first time we met. And your knowledge of weapons? That's spectacular. I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting any other woman with such skills."

"You just haven't met with enough women," she deadpanned.

Ouch. "Anyway, I'm glad I met you. I never once dreamed that I'd be talking to a Maid, in the flesh! My mother would be ecstatic. I can't wait to write to her about our encounter!"

"Fiery, aren't you." Sister Joanna huffed. "There's not much you can glean from an old maid like me."

Charles wasn't entirely sure if Sister Joanna was intending to joke or if she realized she'd made a pun at all. Either way, Charles poured himself another glass of water and downed it in one gulp.

"So, how long did you serve within the Order?"

Sister Joanna removed her gloves, revealing lithe fingers with burn scars coiling around each of them. She pocketed the gloves, and Charles couldn't decide whether it was deliberate on her part.

"For long as I can remember," she answered. "There was a time when I thought there was no more to life beyond God and the Order."

"And now?"

"I betrayed both," she ran her bare fingers down the cold comfort of her chain. "And gave in to a man and his fantastic pursuits."

Charles nodded. She doesn't sound too different from Mother.

"Was it as they say?" he went off with his curiosity. "Did they teach you to shoot guns on horseback? Did you help victims of floods and landslides? Ride with the Emperor in the Anniversary parade?"

Her eyes widened in overwhelm. "One at a time," she admonished. "I never thought you'd be this eager."

Charles settled against the bark with arms crossed behind his head. "Of course! I was in the Capital when they joined the Emperor's parade. How old was I? 12? 13?" He grinned like a schoolboy as he did that fateful morning. "I saw the Empress!”

"The Empress," Sister Joanna curled her lips, her leer indecipherable. Her strange turn in countenance subdued Charles.

Am I imagining things? “I mean, that was before she became Empress.” He smiled bashfully despite his discomfiture. “I never missed seeing her at the Parades. I believe I was 10 when I started watching her, way before she became High Commander and began riding at the front just behind the Emperor's carriage.”

"High Commander...." Sister Joanna murmured. "A sumptuous name for what is merely a decorative pawn."

"No, it isn't!" Charles whirled around to face his elder companion. Had he not realized Sister Joanna was a woman of different standing, Charles would have launched upon her and grabbed hold of her shoulders. "Whatever other people say about her, I think she's incredible! She'd been working hard to reach that position, and not a single soul can diminish that fact!"

"That so," Sister Joanna chuckled. Chuckled? "I take it you were one of the broken-hearted lads who cried upon hearing her marriage to the Emperor?"

"I didn't," Charles' flushed face burned a deeper shade of scarlet. "Okay, so I did. But I'm positive I'm not the only one!"

A satisfied smile graced Sister Joanna's lips. It was such a rare sight that Charles wished he could draw well that he could forever commit it on solid paper and not just his fleeting memory.

In that very brief moment, Charles could see the traces of Sister Joanna's younger self, a gallant soldier in the Maids' sleek white uniform, to be yet unsullied by the corrupted realities of the Empire.

Maybe she wasn't too far off about the horrors of leaving the Order and getting married. Ordinary life isn't as peachy compared to their glittering adventure-filled lives, come to think of it.

But neither is facing real battles and not knowing when or where you're going to die. These women DID face enemies even from a very young age.

Sister Joanna gingerly patted a cloth against her damp forehead.  “The Empress,” she repeated. "She turned into quite the monster didn't she?"