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amefuyuu · 8 months

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Atonement

WARNING: This is a Translation of a draft for an alternate end for the game 'The House in Fata Morgana

Also known as the redemption route

*This is a concept/pilot, not a side story. Please note that it is not written in detail.

*This contains spoilers for the primary and side stories of Fatamoru, so please be warned if you have not played Fatamoru yet.

The route is what would have happened if Jacopo had decided to abandon his plan of keeping Morgana trapped in the tower to use her blood.

Jacopo abandons his original plan at the tower's top floor. (After Yukimasa's line "What then, my lord?")

He tries to take the delirious Morgana back to the Lord's mansion.

*I will not reveal myself as the young man who was a slave.

He tries to shake off Barnier's hallucinatory voice and get Morgana out and away from the tower. Whether he reveals the truth or not can wait.

He then sends Yukimasa on his way, with the understanding that he will be rewarded for his work at a later date.

Yukimasa is sure that he will be stubborn about the issue of the nuns, so that we will talk about that later, too, he said.

Believing Jacopo is Lord Barnier, Morgana vehemently rejects his attempts to touch her.

He tries to convince her to be quiet and that he does not want to hurt her anymore, but his desperate attempts do not work because her mind is already broken, and she continues hallucinating.

She may wear out and die if she continues to rant and rave.

However, if I took her outside in this state, the eyes of the people in town would be focused on her. It would be too late to take her back to the Lord's mansion.

Jacopo chokes up as Morgana continues to scream, "Don't touch me! Let go of me, or I'll curse you!". Then, he takes specific measures to force her to be quiet.

It was to frighten her.

"Shut up!"

He didn't want to say this; he didn't want to hurt her anymore, but he couldn't think of any other way. He only knew how to use force to intimidate and threaten. He used to not be like that, but he doesn't know how to do anything else.

Morgana is frightened by the threat of Jacopo.

Jacopo grits his teeth and continues his threats.

"Rant any longer, and I'll hurt you in worse ways than I did seven years ago!"

Morgana glared at the Lord with hatred. Then, in a low, calm voice, she said, "Go to hell."

As a youth, she told me many times to "go to hell."

But the barbed words also contained a softness that made it clear that she was joking.

There is no hint of softness like that in her words now.

It was a hell of a lot of heartfelt hatred.

Jacopo begins to descend the watchtower with her in his arms. He puts his shawl over her and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible as he exits.

We left the church and entered the carriage waiting for us on the street.

"My lord, you're back earlier than expected--...... eh!"

The coachman was stunned by the sight of Morgana.

"Get the carriage moving!"

Then, they return to the Lord's mansion on the hill.

The entourage and servants are taken aback by the Lord's expression and the state of the girl he is carrying.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I'll explain later. Call the doctor!"

"Ha, ha!"

The doctor stationed at the manor arrives quickly, carrying Morgana into the bedroom.

"What the hell happened to this girl ......?"

"I used to know her! She got injured like this for a reason. Get her treated as soon as possible!"

"Oh, yes, sir."

A cloth is wrapped around the stump of Morgana's severed left arm that Yukimasa had used to stop the bleeding.

The doctor strips off the cloth to check the wound.

Once again, Jacopo despairs that his orders have hurt her so much.

Still, he continues to act nonchalant because he is in front of others.

By that time, Morgana is also exhausted and falls unconscious.

The bedroom remained noisy, with doctors and servants hurrying in and out.

After a while, the doctor tells me there was little he could do for Morgana, with a look of concern on Jacopo's face. Fortunately, the cross-section was clean, and he said that if I kept changing the disinfectant and hemostatic clothes day after day, the wound would eventually close up.

Now we just have to wait and see.

The doctor, his entourage, and the servants all stand back, and Jacopo sits beside her as she sleeps.

How did this happen? What should we do from now on? What should we do?

His heart was filled with anguish.

◇◇◇

Two days later, Morgana regains consciousness.

But as soon as she sees Jacopo - the Lord's face, she shows intense fear and anger and falls into a near panic.

No matter what he says or how much he denies it, she cries out, "Stop humiliating me any further!"

She even begs Jacopo to kill her.

At first, Jacopo tries to speak kindly to her, but gradually, he too becomes cornered by her words and eventually yells back.

Just as he is about to become exhausted from this repetition, Yukimasa comes to seek an audience with him.

He is almost entirely out of his mind, and his face shows his upset at Yukimasa's visit. It's not like him.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he says, "If it's about the reward, wait until we call you here," but Yukimasa says, "It's not about that. I told you there was a mistake. I thought I'd better tell you that."

Yukimasa then tells me he used a third party to capture the witch.

Jacopo is stunned.

"I told you to keep things private!"

"But I wasn't going to be able to catch the witch by myself."

"Then you shouldn't have come back then! Then she wouldn't be in this state!"

"My Lord. You told me that you knew the witch from long ago, but is there more to it than that?"

"......tch......"

"Because you looked more than horrified by her state."

“Ugh, shut up and stop prying into my affairs!"

"If I had known the witch was important to you, I wouldn't have done what I did. Because the witch was a little special to me, too."

"What the hell ......?"

Yukimasa speaks of what happened four years ago. He told Jacopo that Morgana was there when he killed the carriage of slaves. He also told Jacopo of what she told him at that time. She said it was hard for her not to say thank you to the people she cared about.

Jacopo was stunned.

"I don't think that was you."

"........."

I can't even answer that. I wanted to scream back that it wasn't, but it would all fit if I said it was four winters ago. She, too, cherished those days.

And yet, my orders have driven her to this point.

The person who should have done it least had done it.

"............ lord...... hey, lord."

My consciousness jolted back to normal. My heart tightens. My breath is labored. Despite the pain, Jacopo tries to go back to his usual self. But he could no longer make his usual mocking face.

"Who is the third party that you involved?"

"He's a young man. If you need to keep him quiet, order me to do it. It will be no problem to kill him."

Jacopo, unable to think straight, thinks it might be better to kill him. But he stops and asks for a description of the person he is dealing with. He learns that the young man is a noble and becomes increasingly bitter.

"Don't kill him, It could get nasty. Anyway, threaten the man as much as you can. If he has a weakness, make the most of it. Don't let him talk about what happened. I'll give you the money, all right?"

"If it's a job, I'll take it. I need the money, too."

Jacopo nodded and, in a self-disappointed manner, rewarded him for capturing the witch.

"I don't need that," Yukimasa said.

"You're the one who said you need the money."

"I guess we've had our differences on this one," he said. "I realize I'm an outsider, but I still think it's wrong to accept money in this situation. To put the current situation in perspective, I'm talking about this: You almost sacrificed your precious woman for money without knowing it."

"............"

"If you give me the money, you will corner your conscience even more."

"Don't...... talk about me ...... like you know me ......."

"I don't know anything about you, but I can see it in your face."

"............"

"I don't have anyone to tell. I don't even want the nuns to know."

"............"

"My lord."

"What the hell."

"I have to go. I will report on the nobleman later, and you will reward me. Is that clear?"

"Oh"

"You should go back to your room and look in the mirror. You look horrid."

".........."

Jacopo would cut off all his official duties for the day and leave them to his entourage. He would never have done such a thing under normal circumstances because he thought that no one was capable of proper politics. He had to realize that, at the moment, he was more useless than anyone else.

In his interactions with Yukimasa, he is reminded of the magnitude of the sins he has committed. He thought of those important people. In this state, there is no way he can confess that he is the young man from back then. The young man who had once saved Morgana is now dragging her into despair - her heart would break even more if she knew that. What would happen if things got worse than they already were? I don't even want to think about it.

Jacopo cannot tell the truth and continues to deal with the broken Morgana.

◇◇◇

They end up hurting each other. Morgana remains in an abnormal state of mind, her eyes wandering and unsteady, and she begins to hear auditory hallucinations, even screaming, when no one is in the bedroom.

'The nobles are laughing as they drink my blood!' Those blood sabbats of years past are being replayed in her mind.

If I could, I would have taken her hand and told her it would be okay, like in the past, that nothing would hurt her anymore. But I brought this on myself. How could I hold her hand after what I've done?

Still, after nearly a month, Morgana is no longer delirious at the sight of Jacopo. Instead, she looks at him with hatred. Her hatred is directed solely at the "lord."

Now that she can converse, Jacopo tells her that although she hates him as a lord, he has no intention of hurting her anymore. He wants to make amends and has no right to say this, but he wants to protect her.

"What's going on, my Lord? What are you up to this time?"

"I have no agenda. I only regret that I let you become like this."

"............"

"Please, you have to believe me."

"Yet your words change nothing."

"Is it too late to go back? Is it too late for me to do anything?"

"Go back? What do you expect to return to in this state of affairs?"

Morgana's condition was a little better - but she could still not do anything alone. This was even more damaging to her dignity. She once tried to get up and run away but couldn't walk and fell, injuring herself even more.

Jacopo tries desperately to convince Morgana. "If you want to get out of here, so be it. I'm not going to constrain you anymore. I have every intention of letting you go. But if you're going to do that, at least do it when you can move on your own, and let me take care of you until then."

And here he realizes what kind of person he is.

He can only choose one.

At that moment, he decides to abandon the plan to gain power and to continue standing as a lord.

Everything that influences him now is her, the person that she is.

◇◇◇

The opinions of the other lords, Jacopo's entourage, and his vassals also decline.

"He was arrogant, but he was good at his job. But what about now? He has become a coward since he started spending time with that unknown girl."

"I thought he would return to normal after a month, but I was naive. That man is getting more and more abnormal."

"If things continue as they are, continuing politics is out of the question."

"I've been denied an audience with him for the past month."

"......."

One day, an aide calls Jacopo. By then, he could no longer be as irreverent as he had been. No matter what was said, he could only reply with a sad look and an "ah."

"Please get a grip on yourself. The people are in trouble if you are in such a state."

But even so, just being away from the bedroom like this, I am so concerned about Morgana that I can't think about anything else.

What would Odilon do in such a situation? I was so weak that I relied on a deceased stranger in such a way.

The thought crossed my mind that I should just give up the title of Lord - yes, give it to a distant relative who could claim the title through succession - but if I were no longer Lord, I would have no way to provide her with proper medical care or nourishing food. At the current moment, all of his thoughts were focused on Morgana.

The other Lord and his entourage persuaded Jacopo to come to the audience chamber to discuss his future with him and the other vassals.

On the way down the corridor, I pass a servant.

I suddenly notice something strange as I approach the audience chamber's door. Was that servant the one who had been there before?

The aide said, "He has been here this whole time. The other lords are tired as well. Please refresh yourselves a little before moving on to business."

The aide then opens the door. On the other side, the vassals are waiting.

A bad premonition washes over him. Jacopo quickly turns away from the audience chamber and runs. His aide grabs his arm, "Wait!" but he shakes it off.

He runs through the hallway back to his bedroom. But it is locked from the inside. He kicks it open and goes inside. There, a servant raises a sword and is about to kill Morgana.

He leaps at the servant and draws the dagger he had been carrying. He slashes the assassin's throat, and there is a huge spray of blood.

"Morgana!!!!"

Jacopo tries to check on her, but she is afraid of him, who is drenched in blood, and calls him a murderer. She is scared of Jacopo. Why? I protected you from this man. I drew my weapon for that purpose. Why should I be feared more?

" No, she deserved it! It was you who was the deciding factor in destroying her spirit. It's beyond unreasonable to ask for her gratitude."

Jacopo begins to ponder the situation. Up until now, the assassins had been directed at him. But now it is she who is in the way. It is not safe for her to stay here. Who sent this assassin? Was it his entourage? If so, let's bury that close associate first, and then...

No, that shouldn't be the only reason.

Wasn't that what the vassals waiting in the audience chamber had planned?

Then what should we do? Bury them all? How? You don't even know who to order to do what at the earliest opportunity? Do you think you alone will slaughter them all?

It's a dead end.

There is no ally here!

"Morgana ...... let's...... run away from here."

Jacopo wanders up to her side and reaches for her hand. Of course, Morgana refuses with all her might. He pleads with her, "Please, your life is in danger if you stay here! I don't want to frighten you anymore and force you to do what I say. I don't care if you hate me, so please do what I say."

"............"

"Please ......!"

Morgana's wary and hateful look didn't change, but she shut her mouth. Jacopo told her bitterly, "Thank you," and left the room with her.

Vassals rush in as they exit the corridor.

"My Lord! Please change your mind! You are now betraying us and all the other lords!"

"Please put aside your personal feelings!"

"We did not just unleash an assassin on that girl because of a personal grudge!"

"By extension, for the sake of the people, and--for your sake!"

"Shut up!" he yells, fleeing from the Lord's mansion.

They Go to the stables and take one of the horses.

Then they ride into the city streets.

◇◇◇

When I looked back, the city was a long way away.

Seeing the city in the distance drives me to another level of suffering.

This land has continued to be ruled by my hands despite numerous betrayals. Even now, merchants come and go along the streets. They can devote themselves to business this way because I have led them.

I lost everything I had built up.

No money, position, power, or anything else exists in these hands.

Jacopo forced his gaze away from the city and continued on the street.

All I can do now is protect her.

]No, protecting is a stretch.

Only to make amends with her.

They continue for a while and arrive at an inn. They rent a room and spend the night, but when Jacopo wakes up, Morgana is gone. He hurriedly looks for her and finds her outside. He then releases the horse he has hitched.

Morgana tells him that she refuses to be held by him when she rides her horse, which she dismisses as painful.

He held his head up.

Morgana starts to say that she will walk on her own. But she hasn't recovered enough to walk yet, Jacopo says. Morgana says she will still walk because she doesn't want to touch him, and Jacopo nods and says he understands.

But she was still in no condition to walk alone.

She wobbles and is about to fall. Jacopo takes her hand.

"Only my hand," he tells her, taking in her hatred. "Let me hold your hand."

(Event CG Draft 1)

(Event CG Proposal 2)

They proceeded slowly down the street. If they hurried, they would reach the next inn town, but their situation looked grim. He sold his necklace and rings for money and bought food from the peddlers.

"I'm glad we turned that town into a trading town. You can even get things on the street," he mutters wryly.

Making a fire by the side of the road, Jacopo prepares Morgana a meal of fruit and bread.

"I wish I had something a little more nourishing......"

"You are going to make me eat human flesh again ......"

"Oh! When did I do that?"

"You've made me do it in between feasts."

"............"

Oh, well, in her mind, he is still that Lord. He holds his head in his hands and resents Barnier's actions. 'He did something so horrible.... you're right to hate him with all your heart.'

The voice of Morgana, who shouted, "I will never forgive you!" reappears in the forefront of his mind. It is not wrong to receive that much hatred. 'But ...... I am not that man. The truth is that I am the person who rescued you from those horrible blood sabbats.'

"...... Morgana......I'm really......"

Can you say that now?

Her delirium is calming down a lot. It may be safe to confide everything to her. The man who once saved her from the previous lord has captured her and made her lose her arm - that fact may be too much and cause her to fall back into despair. But that was not his intention, and somehow, if you can convince her of that, you can make amends.

He makes up his mind and confides in her that he is not Lord Barnier.

But what came back was rejection.

“That young man is not an outcast like you."

“That young man would never order someone to cut off my arm."

“That young man was a gentle soul."

“He is nothing like you."

“Stop trying to undermine not only my life but my past!"

His heart is also breaking. What was initially cracked is spreading more and more.

Even if I told her, she would not believe me. His past self and his present self are so different. In her mind, those days and the person he was at that time was kind.

There is no way he can destroy those memories.

There is no going back.

I just wanted to get back to how things were with you.

A moan escapes his lips. Making amends is too high a hope at this point. I thought I could go back and start over - such a shallow wish had taken root in the corner of my mind, but that time had long passed.

Morgana gave Jacopo a fearful look and said, "Why did you start talking like that? Why did you suddenly start caring about me? What on earth are you up to?”

“What's your motive?”

“Without it, there would be no reason for you to treat me this way: ......"

"............"

“What are you up to, my Lord?”

“There's only one reason."

"............"

“I like you."

"............"

"I love you, and I'm here."

He raised his face slightly from his drooped position. Then he looks up to see her face. He knew that his confession would not be received favorably - but still, her cold gaze cut him to his core.

I didn't tell her my feelings for her to look at me that way.

"It is too sinful for someone like you to direct such feelings at another person."

"............"

"How could you do such things to me, and call that love!"

"............"

"Don't ever direct such feelings at me again!!!"

Is it no longer possible to express one's feelings? How could I take it back? How could I have stayed the same?

"Morgana......"

He tries to reach out to her. But she becomes more frightened and distances herself from him. The "love" she held for him was only an object of fear for her.

A catastrophic desire wells up within him.

If you can no longer get the message across, if you can no longer be identified with who you were, then if you are in a position to be hated for the rest of your life--

Right now, at this moment--

If you make her yours, your path will no longer be the same.

“Stay away from me."

Perhaps realizing his intentions, Morgana turns pale and tries to run away. But her legs give out, and she immediately collapses. Unable to get up quickly on one arm, she struggles to stand up.

Jacopo comes right up to her. He puts his hand on her shoulder. Then he pushes her down.

His gaze crosses with hers.

At that moment, he remembers what happened seven years ago. Like a flashback, her screams at that moment come back to him. Morgana was horrified that he had brought her to the brothel. She said she had to be pure as a saint.

Jacopo bites his lip and removes his hand from hers. He mustn't do just that. What a shallow and stupid idea I came up with. I have taken her arm. I have destroyed her heart. And now you want to defile her soul as well. Are you willing to fall that far?

“Don't be frightened. I won't step in any further. I promise. I won't hurt you anymore. Please believe that. I won't even tell you my feelings anymore."

◇◇◇

After a night, they start walking slowly again. However, they needed to figure out exactly where they should be heading or their goal.

I don't even know how long I walked. I don't know how many times she cursed me. I don't know how many times I apologized.

We were both no longer in our right minds.

Soon, the shore of a lake became visible in the distance. He realizes that this is where she used to live.

As I was about to walk in that direction, I heard something fall with a thud behind me.

I turned around and saw Mel with a pale face.

"Oh, oh!"

He suddenly turns his back and flees the scene. What the hell, Jacopo is surprised. (Jacopo and Mel have never met before during this route.)

Suddenly, Morgana shouts, "Traitor!"

Betrayal? What in the world did that man do to her? The questions grow while she suddenly tries to run.

But her vision is still warped, and she soon falls to her knees.

Seeing this, Jacopo runs and tries to catch Mel. He has to get the story out of him anyway.

Catching Mel was easy in itself. But he is delirious. He kept muttering incoherently, "Why?" and "It wasn't my fault," and "I'm sorry."

Morgana, who is unable to walk straight, approaches unsteadily.

He then asks a pale-faced Mel, "Why did you betray me?

Mel frantically shouts, "I didn't mean to do that. I didn't think that man would cut off your arm.

At that moment, Jacopo also understood who Mel was. This was the "mistake" the oriental had mentioned.

Jacopo gets mad, grabs Mel by the collar, and says, "Tell me what happened then.” Mel horrified, tells the story of what happened.

That he was given the blood of Morgana for his sister, and that one day, an oriental man visited him and threatened his sibling, He threatened me, saying, "I can't lure the witch out. You have to call her out with your voice.” So he stood before a hut by the lake with the oriental man and called out to her.

“I'm sorry I've been avoiding you, but I need to talk to you--"

“That's why I opened the door to ......! I would never have opened the door to anyone but you!"

Morgana's shrieking cry echoes.

Jacopo could imagine the scene in his mind. She had lived in that shack since the attack four years ago, trying to hide her existence. She did not know why she had opened her heart to this boy, but she had let her guard down until she opened the door to him.

Because she was so wary, the oriental had no choice but to use a third party. Since he had been ordered to not kill the witch, he probably did not want to force his way in.

Then Morgana asks Mel, "What happened to my arm?” Mel's expression becomes more and more pained.

Her arm? Surely there was some reason that that oriental had cut off her arm?

“My arm must have been your share!"

Jacopo felt his blood boil and anger welled up at the same time.

I realize again that the situation that led to her becoming this way was caused by the involvement of each of the three parties.

“What happened to my arm!"

“Uh, uh, your arm is......"

"What did you do with it!"

"I dumped it in the lake."

you threw it away?

Morgana is stunned.

Then why did they cut off my arm?

What the hell did I go through all this for?

“You did what you did because you wanted my blood."

"So why did you throw away my arm?"

Mel looked desperate and said, "I never said a word to him about cutting off your arm! He threatened me and my sister with his sword! I didn't think this would happen either. I didn't think that guy would do something like that! I thought we'd at least talk it out--"

Mel's voice breaks there. Jacopo had to hold back from punching him. He straddles Mel and grabs him by the shirt, gritting his teeth.

"Did you think you were going to discuss it ......? Did you think that a man who threatens someones sister with a sword would talk things out? You must have known from the beginning what would happen when he opened the door!"

“No, no, no, I didn't, I really..."

“First, Morgana should have been isolated from others! So why have rumors of her miraculous blood been spreading to the city!"

“That's…”

“Uh-uh.”

“Tell me!”

"No, it wasn’t me, it must have been my sister..."

Mel's recollection (narratively).

Feeling better again, Nellie had heard from Mel about the saint by the lake.

That it was a saint with miraculous blood who had cured her illness.

And that person is a real saint who even saved their birthplace with the rain of grace.

Nellie believed him, and she was innocently happy.

Then, they headed together to the trading post in town to make purchases.

There was a merchant there who knew her face. The merchant asked about Nellie's condition, and Nellie smiled and answered.

The saint who lives in the hut by the lake cured Nellie of her illness. The saint with the miraculous blood is a real saint who even saved her birthplace.

She said so proudly.

The rumor became that it was a witch instead of a saint because the rumor of the witch who lived by the lake was well known. Nellie's mention of a saint was forgotten, and in the end, it was conveyed only that "the witch who lives by the lake has miraculous blood.”

“If you hadn’t had anything to do with her!”

Jacopo raises an angry fist.

Mel finally looks cornered and Jacopo exclaims, "--in the first place!"

“The Lord gave the order to capture the witch, didn’t he?”

The raised fist stops.

Mel is oblivious and rants.

“I am a victim! The swordsman wouldn't have threatened me and my sister if the Lord hadn't given that order! I wouldn't have betrayed Morgana! The Lord is the root of all this evil!"

"............"

“I'm a victim of the lord! My life is a mess because of him!”

"......!......"

Jacopo swings his fist down. Mel holds back a whimper. His fist lands right next to Mel's head.

"Yes.... I'm the root of all evil....... I've known that from the very beginning!"

“What? If so, then your-"

“I am the Lord."

Mel is confused. Why is the Lord here, and what is his relation with Morgana?

“It was indeed my order to hunt down the witch! But now that she is before you, acknowledge your crime! Make amends!”

Mel is stunned, listening to Jacopo's cries. Eventually, Mel's face turns into a distorted frown.

"Why should I be told that by you?"

“What the hell is ......?”

“Why do you demand an apology from me? You have no right to denounce me!”

“This is not an apology to me! I am asking you to admit your guilt in front of her!"

“You can't say that to me--I can't accept that!”

“You son of a bitch...!”

“No more."

At the sound of Morgana's exhausted voice, Jacopo looks up.

“I'm done."

She mumbled with a soulless look on her face.

“My lord, don't hit him.”

“But, Morgana!"

“I've had it. Yes, he's right. It's all the lord's fault.”

"............"

Jacopo grips Mel's chest tightly and then lets go, pushing him away. Mel grabs his chest, trying to suppress the pain in his heart. With a pale face, he looks at Morgana.

'Yes, yes, I didn't want to do that either. You understand."

"............"

"The source of all this is the lord! so I'm a victim!"

I said, "Enough."

“Huh?"

"......Go away from here ......"

"...... Oh, that ......"

“I'll say it again. Get out of my sight."

"............"

Mel nods weakly and staggers to his feet.

As he is about to leave, Morgana asks him one question.

“Why did you smile when you first saw me?”

Mel only stammers. Morgana says, "Answer me honestly. Was your smile false? If it weren't for that smile, I would have remained wary. That smile made me think that you were a kind man.”

“It wasn’t fake." Mel said.

“My face is horrible," said Morgana.

"Well, yeah, but I was concerned… I thought You must be living in that shack because of your face. So I thought it would hurt you if I was creeped out by your face."

“So......"

“I just… I wanted to be friends.”

Morgana did not respond.

◇◇◇

Mel walks away, and Jacopo approaches Morgana, who is drooping, unable to stand.

"My lord, you can go away now."

“I can't do that.”

“I'm telling you to go away."

“I can't."

“You are the source of all this."

“I know."

"Get away from me"

“I'd like to at least get you to someplace safe. I can't leave you here in your current condition.

"............"

"I swear, I won't do anything else. So please."

Morgana turns over and begins to shake and cry.

“Everything would have been okay if you hadn't tried to take advantage of the witch."

◇◇◇

She says she can't move another step today. She refuses to be touched by the Lord, so she decides to spend the night under a tree by the road, even though the lake is in sight.

At night, they converse there.

Why did the lord carry out such a plan using a witch?

Jacopo tells her everything without hiding the truth.

The city has grown rapidly over the past four years. The population had grown, the number of travelers from other countries had increased, and the city had become more vibrant. However, the rapid growth made it necessary to take measures for the well-being of the people. The people tried to unite their consciousness by using their faith. For this purpose, the witch by the lake, who works miracles, was an obstacle. They decided to use her if she truly did have miraculous blood.

In this scene, Jacopo reveals his state of mind. Before he knew it, it had become natural to sacrifice someone else. He had come to think that things could only be done that way. He used to be in the habit of scrambling to free enslaved people, but now he thinks nothing of sacrificing them.

"My lord, I knew you were an outcast."

“I know."

“But I don't understand. Why didn't you keep me locked up when you had already put so much thought into this plan?"

“I should have continued with my plan if I wanted to keep my position as a lord," he said. “But in that moment, who I was as an individual outweighed who I was on the surface."

She replied, "How foolish. By making such a choice, you've lost everything and sealed your demise."

Jacopo nodded his head in agreement, what she had said was indeed true. Perhaps it would still have been easier for him to live if he had chosen to continue with the plan. Still, he wanted to believe that this choice he made could prove that he still had a heart - that he was still a human being.”

*The two are so fatigued by this point that they are no longer able to muster any intense anger or sadness toward each other.

It's exhausting to hold a grudge against someone so vehemently while they're still a person.

◇◇◇

The next day, we started walking again. Eventually, the lakeside hut began to come into view. She said, "I'm finally back," sounding much more relieved than before. Living in a crowded place like the city was already painful for her.

They enter the cabin. Remnants of life remain. Morgana mutters, "Thank God, no one has ransacked it."

There were bloodstains and traces of what appeared to be something dragged at the entrance. It was evidence of the horror that occurred there.

Morgana takes a moment to check out the cabin, then turns to Jacopo and says, "Why don't you sit down?

Jacopo is sincerely surprised. I mean, did she just extend a gesture of care toward him?

“Let me brew some tea and we will take a short break. I'm sure I have some leaves to help with the fatigue."

“Why all of a sudden do you care about me?"

"I hate you, but it's also true that you brought me here. It's also true that you never laid a hand on me on the journey here."

"............"

"I have to admit that does seem like you have changed your mind."

"Morgana......"

He felt saved. In her mind, he was still Lord Barnier, and it would be difficult to change that. The "young slave" has become a gentle presence in her life.

I despaired of not being understood as my old self anymore, but maybe there is hope for me one day, even in this form.

Even if she thinks you are that horrid Lord, if you continue treating her nicely for a long time, her perception will change.

It will surely be a long atonement.

Still, if I can be with her, even in the form of atonement.

It was hope for him.

He finally manages to smile. Then he calls out to her. “What have you been doing in this cabin for four years?”

What kind of life did she lead?

"Nothing special. ......" she told him.

It was as if four years of blank space were being filled in.

“Morgana..... I understand that you hate me. But, as you have said, I have changed my mind. Please let me make amends. Let me help you live your life."

After a long silence, Morgana nodded, "Yeah, okay.”

Thank goodness, Jacopo thinks sincerely. He suddenly tears up while looking at the sunlight coming in through the window.

All my life, I thought that what I wanted was in high places. I felt I needed a lot of power and wealth to get what I wanted. I thought I could protect what I wanted to protect. But I was wrong. I think I finally understand what happiness is.

She turned around and smiled. I think this was the first time i saw her smile>

Jacopo also smiled as if relieved.

Then she served him the tea.

Two people sitting at a small table facing each other.

Jacopo thanks her, takes it, and brings it to his mouth.

He remembered that pungent smell.

No way. No way. That's a lie.

Astonishment and despair fill his insides.

I look at her again. Morgana is still smiling.

But on closer inspection--

Her eyes were not smiling in the slightest.

Do you mean to say that all this time was just to catch me off guard?

He bit his lip so hard that it bled. He clutched the cup, and a shiver ran down his arm, either from frustration or sadness. He grunted, holding back the urge to start screaming.

“You didn't have to do this, if you wanted me to die, I would pay for it with my life.”

She even erases the smile from her mouth and continues to look at him with cold eyes.

"I thought you thought... that I had changed my mind.”

"No matter how you may change Lord, you will always be an abomination to me. It’s just like I swore to you back then. I will hate you for the rest of my life."

“Is it impossible to seek redemption with you in this lifetime?"

“Your redemption is to die by my hand here and now."

“oh…”

"............"

"So that's your choice.”

“Yes."

I had no fear of dying. As he had told her, he was ready to kill himself if she wanted him to die. But he had a concern.

“How are you going to live with that body?”

"That won't matter much to me. I will live in this hut as a witch for the rest of my life."

All by herself.

"Is there anyone else you can rely on?"

"There is no such person.There is no such thing as an ally for me anymore."

He is silent. He is lost. I wanted to think of a way to be with her without inciting her anger. I wanted to insist that I was on her side. But she had said it. My atonement is to die by her hand.

"...... will this save you?"

Morgana nodded.

There, his decision was made.

He wonders, if he could go back in time, what could he have done to avoid this outcome?

But now, he finally understands what he should have done.

It was not good enough for me.

It was someone else who would save her for she could not save herself.

If even my love destroyed her, then she should have left.

I cannot save her, protect her, or make her laugh.

No one can bring her this salvation but me.

He resolves. If it's a decision about death, it was made long ago.

However, he understands that the "death" she needs here and now is to see "Jean-François Barnier, the lord whom she hates, die.

From the previous exchanges, he realizes that for her, connecting the fact that he was the slave boy who had saved her would destroy her spirit.

As such, the memories of the "slave boy" must be kept beautiful in her mind.

We must protect our memories.

That is the last shred of redemption he can take.

“Do you have any final questions?” Morgana says.

He is troubled for a moment. He wants to ask her to call him by his real name.

But he shakes his head. “Nothing”, he replies.

He took one breath and tightened his grip on the cup.

And somehow, he managed to make himself smile. At least smile at her. Let her know that I have no hatred for her killing me. Let her know that I accept everything.

“Goodbye, Morgana.”

Then, in one gulp, he drank the poison.

◇◇◇

Morgana looked down at her Lord, who no longer breathed.

Her vision is still distorted. The ringing in her ears worsens.

She confirms that he is dead and tries to make a cross with her fingers. But realizing she can't, she moves closer to the window and kneels beside the light to beg.

“O Lord God, my loving Father, I have sinned. I have just committed the unthinkable sin of a child of God. I have killed a man with my own hands. I had to do it even in defiance of your noble teachings. My heart was so far from purity. I am no longer your child. I am just a person. No, I am a sinner. I became a mere sinner. I no longer have the heart to live as a condemned sinner. I am going to commit another sin, and I am going to hell. Father, please punish this poor child.”

She looks up at the light.

“Father, hear the sinner's prayer for the last time. I am about to go to hell with my hated Lord. But the young man who saved me and his friends, please lead them to the Kingdom of Heaven. Father, please guide them."

Then she stops praying and pours the boiled poisonous herb into her own cup.

As she picked it up, she suddenly murmured.

"Now that I'm just a person, I can understand such bothersome feelings…”

“I loved that young man."

◇◇◇

At this moment, she has a gentle dream.

The only reason she was able to dream of it was because Jacopo made sure that her tender memories were not harmed.

It was a dream from her days in the brothel.

She headed to the cemetery as usual. Meeting with the young man who is a slave, and back at the brothel, I see Maria and Ceren. Those happy days, just as they used to be.

*I'd like to make it loop-like if possible production-wise. A happy dream repeats itself over and over, and by choosing an option like "I'm done dreaming," she ends the dream and dies.

◇◇◇

Footsteps approach and open the door to the hut.

Looking around the small room, he finds two dead bodies.

"...... heart-to-heart? No, you're too far apart for that."

It was an oriental man - Yukimasa - who muttered this.

He was on a search following the disappearance of his Lord. Not because he wanted to, of course, but because there was a reward for finding him.

He didn't expect to find them alive, but he didn't expect to find them both dead. He checks both the bodies of the lord and the witch.

“But then again, all I find today are dead bodies."

I remember this morning. That flaxen-haired brother and sister also lived near this hut. He had received an order from the lord, and for the first time in a long while, he had also gone to their hut.

On the bed was Mel's sister, who seemed to have died of an illness. Holding hands with her was her brother, Mel was dead due to a knife to the heart.

“I don't know what kind of anguish could cause one to commit suicide”

Muttering this, he begins to pick up the dead body of his Lord. But Yukimasa pauses in silence. Then he turns his gaze toward the witch.

Yukimasa notices something strange as he approaches the witch's corpse.

The witch's face, exposed to the gentle sun, had lost that ugly deformation.

The face of the girl dying in her sleep was beautiful and smiling.

I don't know what happened here, but at least it made me think that the witch's end was happy.

He carried the dead bodies of the Lord and the witch out of the hut. Then, he found a shovel in the shed and began digging a hole.

He was a man who never took pity on anything, but he had a special feeling for the witch. She probably would not have ended up like this if he had not cut off her arm. I understand that. But even so, he did not feel guilty.

However, as long as he understood that fact, he thought he should at least do this.

He threw the two corpses into a makeshift grave. Only the head of the Lord, however, was cut off. The people of the city want to know what happened to the Lord. He must bring back at least the head.

When the two corpses were lined up like this, both seemed like mere mortals. One is a lord who was the ruler of the city. One is a witch with miraculous blood.

(For me, the witch’s voice was more of a miracle than her miraculous blood.)

At that time, she even felt like something personal and special to him. But now she is just a human being. She is just a dead girl.

No, maybe she became a human being just before her death.

He covered the corpses with dirt and then made a cross out of tree branches.

Only the unmarked grave remained there.

Note from Keika Hanada:

I was hoping to add a redemption route to the main story, but due to various reasons, it was rejected.

Even after I rejected it, I liked the story so much (wow, despair! I love stories that only lead to suffering) that I wanted to give it a chance to see the light of day, and I considered adding it to the Vita version.

We had to choose the modern version (Reincarnation) because the characters are too biased, and the Vita's additions are already so depressing. We had the voice actors working with us, but what was the point if neither Michelle nor Giselle were in the game? The depressing part of the story is also not as redeeming as I would have liked.

However, the modern version is also on the current version, and it is not just a happy-go-lucky story, so I think you will enjoy it. It was an absurdly difficult task for me because of the different way of creating the story than I have done in the past. I like this kind of journey-to-doom story, and I hope I can write it somewhere else, even if it's not about Fata Morgana.

T/N: Oh boy, this was an absolute pain to work on, It's been a while since I've done translation work, so I'm more than a bit rusty lmao. I also just got way too lazy to keep going over and editing this time and time again, so this is all I'll do. I did this translation because I saw that no one else had translated this alternate ending draft (to my knowledge) and thought, why not? More people deserve to read it. Anyways, I hope this wasn't too painful, and if you did cry, then know you are not alone.

#the house in fata morgana #fatamoru #Morgana #jacopo bearzatti #Yukimasa Aida #Mel/Mell #Nellie #ファタモルガーナの館 #Keika Hanada

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flower-seeks-the-moon · 2 months

Text

pas de deux

fandom: the house in fata morgana

relationships: jacopo bearzatti & giselle/the maid (platonic), jacopo bearzatti/white-haired girl (past)

characters: jacopo bearzatti, giselle/the maid, mentioned white-haired girl

words: 3045

Spoilers for one of the Short Stories included in the PSVita / Dreams of the Revenants edition. If you haven't read/played it yet, give them a shot!

The story referenced here is I. Lost. If you aren't interested in checking it out, the context is: Jacopo and The Maid, post-Door 3 shared a moment understanding each other's longing for their respective loved ones (WHG/Morgana and Michel). I thought it was one of the most interesting stories featured in the collection. Jacopo and Giselle (as The Maid)'s dynamic is sorely underrated, with their similarities being highlighted. It's also a good look into how exactly The Maid gradually begins to lose the rancor she strongly implied she felt for Jacopo, as a master.

Written for Jacopo's birthday (March 10). Go read this on AO3 if you have an account, or here under the cut.

They’re dancing! A man and woman are dancing!

Sounds like you’re not having any trouble seeing it. Are they dancing well?

Yes, yes, they are. It’s the most adorable thing.

… Wha? Adorable? That’s funny, I asked to have it modeled after a ballroom dance.

Ah, um, yes, it’s a very elegant dance. But, you see, they’re small, like little dwarves, which I thought was kind of cute… And they seem so close — going round and round without ever letting go of each other’s hands.

There is an unused great hall in the mansion, sparkling clean and wonderfully appointed, despite it being bereft of either laughter or joy. The household staff avoids it, speaking of the uncanny whispers and childish giggling despite not a soul ever standing on its polished floor.

It had never been used in all the time he owned it, spare for that night where he permanently ripped asunder the smile he once swore to protect.

He likes to stand in there and let her words incinerate him from the inside; if a gentle voice and ink on paper could make a man burn.

Phenakistoscope spinning in his hand, he stares at endlessly turning figures, their hands entwined and harkening back to happier days. The paper is yellowed and tattered, the drawings fuzzy at the corners.

There are one or two smudges marring the colored parts. Water had at one point trickled down on it in tiny droplets.

He knows their very shape; could see them even in an unlit hall. He knows the shape of every mangled word in that letter, they’re all burned inside his eyelids.

“Master, your eyesight will go bad if you continue to pass your time this way.”

The jade-eyed maid hovers at the edges of his vision sometimes, her brow knit, hand raised. But there is an invisible chasm between them in the shape of a pale-haired ghost, and no meager words of comfort leave her lips.

(A memory draped in a dreamlike haze momentarily creeps to the forefront of his mind. Of a cold, cold hand wrapped in his, the fingers far too rough to be that of the person he should never have let go of. Oh, but he was a fool to the core.)

This is fine. He would have spat nothing kind to her if she ever tried, and he’s hurt enough women in his life.

“Is it really a servant’s place to question how the master treats his health?” This is the kindest he could manage. Once, perhaps, he could have worked up the old vitriol he had for most people.

He sees her stony smile freeze on her lips out of the corner of his eye. Listlessly, he turns his attention back to the dancing figures on the wheel.

It’s none of your damned business if I want to go blind now, is it?

“As you say, Master,” the head maid demurs, always gentle and never quite warm. “My apologies for… overstepping.”

He hears soft footsteps and lets out a sharp bark of laughter once they’re out of earshot. They both very well know that she’s capable of gliding across the floor with nary a noise.

How considerate.

“Needlessly apologetic, aren’t you,” he mutters, yet the face in his visions is not one of the maid.

Overstepping? Exactly what boundaries did they share?

Comical, that one word. She knows the full extent of his failings, and yet she still treats him with that measure of respect that he knows, she knows, he never deserved.

“I was once not terribly fond of you.”

Once, in a moment that would be forgotten in the darkness of the mansion, the maid laid bare her true thoughts of her master.

“Hah. Sounds about right.”

He was not at all surprised and welcomed it with a twisted smile.

“But that is not true any longer.”

His hand tightened around hers, chasing warmth where it couldn’t be found.

For a moment, he allowed himself to be weak.

“Is that so.”

Briefly, her fingers squeeze back.

“It is.”

The two of them pretend that the lost moments in the tower are nothing but a dream, but it leaves a lingering aftertaste in the back of his mouth.

He starts seeing more and more of the maid around the mansion, not that it was a challenge to run across her. The household still loses maids on a regular basis, gaining prospective new hires only to lose them as the rumors of the ageless head maid prove to be too much.

At least, he muses with a measure of tired irony, it keeps the spies from his rivals and other factions from infiltrating the ranks.

When he mentions this observation to her one day, she gives him yet another of her placid smiles and asks him what he’d like to be served with his coffee.

Often, she dwells in the rose garden that he’s permitted her to restore. It would never return to its full glory, not without the one that made it come alive with her maternal love for the many flowers that bloomed under her care.

And that’s fine. She was the true owner of that garden, the one he utterly robbed of the few things that gave her life any real joy.

But he can see that the maid has the beginnings of something humble but lovely, growing nestled in the earth. The rosebushes have begun to show the signs of the maid’s labors, blossoms full and heavy.

He wonders how he keeps finding himself retracing his steps, again and again, to the maid crouched in front of her small flowerbed.

Perhaps it is to chase away the voice that haunts his steps. It comes after every deal he’s paid for in blood, slithering up his back with the cadence and intimacy of a lover, crowing in joy at his guilt. Like a bird of carrion, it perches on the rot of his corpse and savors. He is little else but leathery skin and bones; he has nothing left to give that he hasn’t allowed the mafia to devour. His heart was already a horrific, shriveled thing when he gave it to Michelle, and it poisoned her as surely as Maria’s actions.

Jacopo Bearzatti is a dead man walking. Knowing this, was it really so far-fetched to keep in his company such a maid?

Truly, witnessing your inability to escape the shackles of your upbringing is quite the delight.

On a cold night, he finds himself stumbling on unsteady feet toward the garden. The voice continues to croon in his ear, at once triumphant and sorrowful, sometimes he hears Maria, sometimes he hears Michelle —

And sometimes —

Still aiming to follow that glory that your father has set like broken clockwork, aren’t you? After your wife paid for it, you continue as the coldhearted man you indeed are.

He groans and clutches at his temples. There should be no such thing as a witch in this mansion, despite what tall tales the maids liked to tell, is what he wants to say — no such thing as a damned ghost .

The head maid happily quashes that very notion flat under her graceful feet with her very existence.

But he is a stubborn man, and in this situation, he would cling to that stubbornness. This woman deserves that much. Here, he could at least be magnanimous to one even more broken than himself.

Hah. He entertains the notion of it — kindness, given without strings attached — and that craven part of him that flinches away at what’s real, at what’s genuine, cowers like a man blinded by the sun. It’s an odd description to attach to this pale husk of a woman — a sun , as if you could even believe something so preposterous — but he entertains the fleeting illusion of a radiant grin. It was never real, not in that isolated little crevice born from their realities being brought together for one day.

He wonders what snatched it away, forever, if her own love let her down as badly as his own mistakes with Michelle.

He wonders who it could have been for, all the while an aching in his chest for the smile of someone…

Someone who doesn’t exist.

“Master? You mustn’t be out of bed in such a feverish state.” The maid moves to stand up from her spot in front of the flowerbed.

Shaking his head, he raises his hand and stifles a hiss of pain. “After I took care of that worthless cur, do you really think I could sleep so soundly?”

His shoulder throbs where he took yet another knife in an attempt on his life. What value it has continues to elude him as the days pass. Yet another fever to follow, with his damnably bad luck. This is his lot to bear, to weather and survive all the beatings that his body, heart, and mind could take, yet losing all the people he ever cared for as payment instead.

Becoming the head of the cosca after his father passed the mantle has only increased such attempts.

Does it hurt?

The voice persists, eager in its pursuit to drive its hooks deeper into its prey’s flesh.

You pitiful little thing. All those sacrifices and you’ll only ever live in strife. Dreaming to change things for your country?

“Master-”

“The physician has seen me.” He deflects the maid’s concern, halting her in her tracks. “It’s not as if I’ll die, you’re too damn worried.”

She freezes entirely too still for a moment, reminding him of the uselessly pretentious paintings on his walls — still life , Michelle would have told him — that he’s never understood the point of. The gears behind those eyes shift until he’s left staring at a woman with a sharper smile than he’s used to, at once both empty and scornful.

“You are but a human man, master. Perhaps you should reconsider your limits.” With impudence born out of weary familiarity, she steps up to him. The passage of time weighs on Jacopo, more than ever before, as his own servant hefts his arm over her shoulder.

Aha, haha… Not a single thing has changed, my dear. You are only a single, impotent man.

He ignores it; he breathes a little easier, in the maid’s presence, despite the rather telling scolding he’s just received. From someone like her, this is a tongue-lashing. It’s perhaps a mark of how he’s grown that he could feel a smirk tug at his mouth.

Jacopo grunts as they begin walking, a twinging in his body he summarily ignores. “You’ve sure gotten bolder.”

“Oh my, whatever gave that impression?” With effortless movements, they make their way back inside the mansion.

They stop upon the threshold, looking into the lamplit foyer; out the corner of his eye, he sees a flicker within the maid’s shadow. It is gone by the next heartbeat, but the red has him breathing a little sharper.

Red. Red eyes? Red hair? Does it make a damn difference, in the end?

“Is it normal for a maid to lecture their foolish master?” His voice remains level as he makes a pointed motion to step inside, freeing himself from her with barely a stumble.

Every Bearzatti has his pride; perhaps there is little else, all things considered.

A wisp of a laugh. “Hehe… If that is how you interpret my words to be, Master, then who am I to deny you?”

“What do you mean… oh, do shut up.”

He walked into that one. But calling himself a fool doesn’t leave a sting this time.

“I shall escort you to your quarters, then, Master.” The silence that follows is as close to companionable as they could get, around each other.

The pale maid with her lifeless smile, who none can linger around for long without feeling the first pricklings of fear; the man with tired eyes, whose actions should give people more cause to fear him.

Another flicker, as they take the staircase. Bone white, and then burning, virulent gold, all melding into one unrecognizable mass. The only thing one can discern is hate, and even then, it is immeasurable.

He finds that he cannot step inside his cavernously empty room, once they reach his door.

“Wait.”

She stops, listing her head to one side. “What can I help you with, Master?”

“I can’t sleep.” The admission is torn from him, like a nail from a corpse strung up on a cross. It grates to show this much of himself to anyone, but it is almost bearable around her. “Come with me to the great hall.”

“Have you ever danced before, Master? You seem woefully inexperienced.”

A scornful click of the tongue is her only answer. That question is not worth even dignifying with a response. They both know of the woman who once gazed, so longing, at a phenakistoscope; a whisper of a dream in her heart, begging to be held within the arms of a bloody fool.

She is not that woman, though she has the embers of a similar dying dream lingering in her eyes.

He is still the same imbecile he was years ago, a dreamer come to reality too late and left with naught but a cold and empty hall and no wife to hold.

What shall they do with that?

The master holds his servant with a gentleness belying the severity of his face. She is a ghost, the pale beams of faint lamplight rendering her almost transparent, as delicate as a spider’s web. Yet she is far, far realer than his delusions, and much less monstrous.

This ramshackle and ill-matched pair begins to make their way across the floor, their heels echoing against polished marble.

For once, the voice that haunts him in his waking moments is silent, leaving a yawning emptiness.

There is no music for them to match their steps to. This is fine, for neither of them seem to have any experience in holding another person for the sheer joy of passion expressed through movement.

And passion? How laughable.

Rather, this is like an automated movement, like the machinery he is so fond of.

“Have you danced with them?” He does not beat around the bush. “Once, did you have someone who you wanted to ask?”

In the hazy, dreamlike hours past midnight, where a trick of the light can distort the truth so easily, the maid appears younger.

“I did not get the chance,” she says as they make one turn, raising their clasped hands high. “Or… I imagine I never did. It is hard to say.” A breath, thoughtful and measured as she picks through the broken glass of her memory, all to find one recognizable shard.

Maybe it would be easier on him, if he shatters the same way.

She offers him a vague smile. “Though I doubt that what you call dance in this fashion had existed during that time.”

Mulling this over, he murmurs, “Couldn’t have been that different.”

Did he not know a dancer, once? And a festival, where he clasped his hands and stamped his feet with Maria, and their friends.

No.

What festival?

The maid takes one look at his face, and lowers her gaze. “They were not a very… physically active master, I believe. I recall singing sometimes, though-”

Singing?

He remembers starlight captured in a melodious verse, but not the one whose lips once uttered it. He cannot, for it will undo him.

Jacopo laughs low in his throat, through the blinding agony. “I can’t imagine you doing that.”

“Hehe, so do I.” Her fingers tighten on his. “A rather humorous scenario, is it not?”

No, but their lives seem to be living comedies, he finds. “Well, I seem to remember a tune, somehow. Not that it matches this kind of dance.” The latter part is muttered to himself, but a flicker of life appears in her face.

“I have not heard a good song in so long, since the young Miss Rhodes passed on.”

There is no Miss Rhodes within the storied history of this property’s owners, when he acquired it. He dismisses the thought.

“Don’t expect much.”

And yet the voice that slips out of his mouth is —

It’s — pleasant, in a way that is at odds with Jacopo Bearzatti. He has not sung for anyone since Maria, back in their little Casa Nostra. And yet. The tune is warm like a sunrise spent walking while carrying someone precious, a loved one’s arms wound around his shoulders as they bury their face against his back.

Who is he? Who is that person?

The maid looks upon him, smiling wide, a flicker of not-quite envy making her gaze all the greener. It disappears once she shuts her eyes, choosing the path of pretending that he is someone else.

They make a full circle around the wide hall, the steps mismatched to the rhythm of his voice. It is the nearest that either of them will come to peace, under this mansion’s roof, for the days to come. It will be swallowed up soon by the voices, and the weight of unseen decades that continue to drown what remains of the maid and whoever lurks behind her smile. But for now, it is enough.

She recognizes the person who once was capable of humanity in him. And he acknowledges the woman who tends to a garden, to offer a rose to a memory.

It is as brief as all moments of respite afforded to people like them. Soon, they part, once again a master and his enigmatic maid.

Jacopo breathes out, “Thank you. Maybe…” He grants her something rare: his own, unskilled attempts at comfort, years too late for the one who needed it most. “Maybe, one day, they will come back.”

Raising her jade stare to his, she arches one dry brow. “And maybe, one day, you will find forgiveness.”

Before he could give his harshest bark of laughter yet, she lets out a soft sigh.

“Until then, I will keep you company, Master.” She reaches up and pats his head; the brief flash of a blonde girl, messing up his brown locks, steals his breath away. “A dance partner, if your nightmares prove too unbearable.”

#the house in fata morgana #fatamoru #jacopo bearzatti #giselle fatamoru #the maid fatamoru #luna's fics #fanfiction

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