#The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction

[connan-l]

Meandering Souls - Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Nellie Rhodes & Isadora Rhodes, Mell Rhodes & Nellie Rhodes

Summary: Until their souls cross path once more in the boundless sphere of fate.

Nellie’s mother gave her a mirror as a present for her fifth birthday. She’d always loved looking at her reflection with it, until she doesn’t.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @fata10thanni prompts:

Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany 

Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Happy 10th Anniversary, FataMoru! And happy Fata Week as well!

Shh, I know, I know, I’m late, but listen. Better late than never.

So, this was written for the Fata Week in celebration of… well, Fata’s 10th anniversary, from those prompts: on Tumblr and Twitter. Ideally I really wanted to wrote a little something for each of the 10 prompts, but I dunno if I’ll actually be able to make it. Even if I do it’ll probably take some time cause for some reason I have zero energy lately and it feels like a struggle for me to write. But well I’ll still try! We’ll see how it goes.

Anyway, here’s the first prompt for Door 1. This takes place, well, before, during and after Door 1, so spoilers for that as well as for the short story related to it, ‘A Slow-Killing Poison.’

And oh, yeah, in case you were wondering: the names used here for Nellie and Mell’s parents, Isadora and Barnard, are their actual official names; they were given in the guidebook as well as in one untranslated short story.

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When she turned five years old, Nellie’s mother offered her a huge mirror for her birthday.

It was beautiful — all golden and silver and shining, with gorgeous, delicate flowers carved in it (not roses, sadly, but those lilies were pretty enough that Nellie tolerated them). She was so small at the time that when she stood in front of it she could only see the top of her head and two amber eyes peeking out in the bottom of the glass, but even so she couldn’t help but stare at her reflection excitedly every time she passed in front of it.

“You really like this mirror, don’t you, Nellie?”

Her mother Isadora asked her this once with a soft, content smile, as she looked at the little girl spun around right before the mirror.

“Yup! Like that, I can look at how cute I am every day!”

Isadora laughed — and Nellie didn’t know why because she was very serious —  then gently caressed her daughter’s flaxen hair.

“You know, mirrors are very important for women.”

“To help us making us pretty!” The child exclaimed proudly.

“Well, there’s that,” her mother conceded. “But it also helps us to remember who we truly are.”

Nellie didn’t understood that. Isadora looked a little strange saying this, but just when she was about to press her further, she noticed Mell’s silhouette popping up at the door and her face beamed.

“Dearest Mell! Have you seen the mirror Mother gave me? Hey, hey, have you?”

She dragged her brother in front of the mirror — because he was slightly taller than Nellie, unlike her his entire head could be seen in the reflection — and then she excitedly told him all about all the other presents she’d gotten. Mell just smiled gently at her, nodding quietly, like he always did.

And so she completely forgot all about this conversation, until one night a few weeks later when she went to find her mother in her bedchamber. Nellie should be asleep already at this time, but she had a nightmare and couldn’t stand to stay alone in her bed anymore. Usually, she would’ve gone to Mell to comfort her, but both he and their father Barnard weren’t home tonight; they went out of town because of some complicated business matters and Barnard had wanted his son with him for some reason. They wouldn’t be back until a couple of days, so unfortunately only the women of the house were here tonight and she had to settle for her mother instead of her brother.

It wasn’t like Nellie disliked Isadora or anything. She very much loved her, in fact; just as much as she loved her father. Both of them were very kind and always complimented her and gave her everything she wanted.

But… they still weren’t Mell.

Her mother was quite affectionate, but she also strictly scolded Nellie whenever she did anything little girls weren’t supposed to. Her father always bought her the most beautiful dresses and dolls, but he hated letting Nellie play outside or forced her to talk and be polite to men and boys she had no interest in.

Mell never expected anything like that from her. He never tried to restrict her. He always listened to her in such a genuine, attentive way that her parents just never did.

With Mell, she was always free, and she never felt that way with anyone else.

Isadora was sitting down in front of a mirror in her gorgeous embroidered white nightgown, while her long, wavy blond hair — of a very distinct fairer color than the rest of the family — fell on her shoulders elegantly.

Her mother was very beautiful. The most beautiful woman on earth even, in Nellie’s eyes. She really wanted to be just like her when she’d be grownup.

“Mother,” she murmured while trotting over to her, and Isadora got startled when she felt her daughter’s presence and her arms wrap around her waist.

“Oh my. Nellie, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nightmare,” the girl mumbled in her mother’s clothes. “Can’t sleep.”

“Oh, poor dear.” The woman grabbed her daughter right away and put her on her lap, gently caressing her hair in a soothing manner. Nellie buried her face in her mother’s neck, letting herself get lulled by her warmth and faint citrus perfume.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Don’t remember.”

“I see…”

Isadora then fell quiet. After a moment of complete silence, Nellie lifted her head and stared curiously at her. Her mother…  looked strangely sad. She stared fixedly into the mirror, her features stretched in clear sorrow and nostalgia.

She did that, sometimes. She’d go quiet and all melancholic, lost in thoughts.

Nellie never knew what she must be thinking about when it happened, but she never dared to ask; as if doing so would break some kind of taboo.

That’s when she suddenly remembered what her mother had told her, when she’d offered her the golden mirror for her birthday.

“…Does it help you remember?” She asked.

Her mother blinked, then looked at her oddly. “Huh?”

“You said it the other day. You said mirrors help women remember and see us for who we really are.”

Isadora’s expression cleared in understanding, but then something more complicated spread on her face.

“Oh, right…”

She looked up into the glass once again, and stared. Nellie wondered what she must be seeing, because it didn’t seem to be her reflection.

“Yes, I suppose it does. Whenever I look at it, I can’t help but remember him, and her—”

“Him and her?”

Isadora smiled sadly, grief filling her eyes, and then she shook her head.

“Yes. It helps me remember them, and then, it helps me remember my sins.”

Nellie’s eyes widened with surprise. “Mother, you sinned?!”

‘Sin,’ in Nellie’s mind, was when she didn’t listen to her governess or broke a vase accidentally or went running around in the garden without being careful and dirtied her clothes. But those were all things she could never imagine her beautiful, elegant, always perfect mother doing. However, when her mother looked at her and replied, her answer had nothing to do with what she’d expected.

“I fell in love.”

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Nellie took the habit to stop and look at herself in her mirror every morning.

With each month, each years that passed, she could see herself grow up little by little in the looking-glass; her hair became longer, her silhouette refined, her chest a bit bigger.

By the time she reached fourteen, Nellie looked almost like a grown woman, almost like her mother — Isadora and Barnard and every adult around her always made sure to compliment her on this, on how pretty she’d became, how she’d have no trouble finding a good suitor with how beautiful of a young lady she now was.

But instead of making her happy like she’d imagined it would as a child, it started to fill her with dread.

The less she looked like a little girl, and the more it was harder to deny the reality that was catching up to her dreamy, ideal life.

Nellie wasn’t stupid, contrary to what most people around her seemed to think; she was well-aware her sheltered life where she could just spend her days playing around with her dearest Mell would inevitably come to an end.

She’d have to get married, leave Mell, have children.

The simple thought of it got her stomach tied up in knots. It made her want to run away and never look back; but she was too scared to do so. Not all alone, anyway.

Nellie hated being alone more than anything in the world.

That was why she couldn’t bear the perspective of getting separated from Mell, because he was the only one who truly loved her for who she was — but no matter how much she wished it, she couldn’t bend reality just because she wanted to.

At some point, she knew she’ll have to wake up from the dream — and she knew it’ll hurt more than anything.

And that point seemed to grow nearer and nearer as her appearance kept changing.

She didn’t want to grow up. She wanted to stay a little girl forever, so that she didn’t have to part away from Mell, so that she didn’t have to get married, so that she didn’t have to get locked up in that cage everyone around wanted to fit her into.

Unlike Mell, who had the privilege to keep meandering in life however he pleased, Nellie would be forced to wake up brutally.

(And maybe, just maybe, despite how much she loved him, there was a little part of Nellie who resented him for it. Just a little.)

She used to love looking into that mirror, but now it only made her feel ugly.

Maybe her mother’s words from all those years ago were true, after all.

Mirrors were there to help them remember who they truly were.

But Nellie didn’t want to.

“Oh my? Why did you cover it up?”

Isadora stared strangely at the big mirror, which was entirely hidden by a large piece of white sheet Nellie had gotten somewhere.

“Mother,” she said, softly, without looking at the other woman. “What do I look like?”

Isadora probably didn’t understand her real question, because she just smiled gently at her.

“You look beautiful of course, my darling. Soon you’ll be as pretty as all the noble ladies of the court.”

Nellie’s chest twisted. It hurt, even though it was stupid of her to feel that way.

She’d already knew her mother would say that, after all, because that was what everyone always said.

Her mother, her father, all of the servants and nobles and anyone glancing at her.

In the end, even her dearest Mell thought that way.

“I’d much rather having been born ugly.”

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The curtain kept flying up under the breeze in the room.

There was never any sound.

Or at least, there wouldn’t be from an outsider’s perspective, but to Nellie, the bedchamber was always filled with laughters and cheerful high-pitched voices.

Her brother, not much taller than the bed, was always next to her, reading and smiling — and Nellie was happy just staying by his side, occasionally trying to childishly bother him away from the story.

Mell would sigh at her exasperatedly, of course, but he’d never get angry at her.

Mell had never been able to truly stay angry at her for long.

Because he knew it’d hurt Nellie, and Mell could never hurt Nellie.

The door suddenly opened.

It took some time for Nellie to truly realize it; but even then she didn’t stray her attention away from her beloved brother. She wanted to give all of her attention to him and only him.

The person sat next to her bed. She had long, pretty blond hair, and a long time ago she probably would’ve been beautiful, but now she only looked ashed and exhausted.

It took a long time for Nellie to realize that this was her mother.

When was the last time Nellie had spoken to her mother?

“My darling, can you hear me?”

Her voice felt barely audible, like a dream’s whisper. A complete shadow from what her mother’s gentle voice used to sound like.

There was a sigh, some awkward gesture. A larger hand grabbing hers, holding her, caressing her skin.

“I know I haven’t come to see you in a long time… I apologize. I have been a very terrible mother. I…”

Fingers tightened their grip on hers, but Nellie couldn’t bother to care about it.

Nothing and no one could reach her, not anymore.

Only her dearest brother stuck in the dream mattered.

“Nellie, honey, I’m sorry. None of this would’ve happened if your father and I had not… made so many mistakes and actually paid attention to you. But I…” A pause; a shaky breath. “Please, my darling, it is not too late. We can still fix this. You can still… you can still come back to us. Please? Nellie?”

It sounded like someone was begging desperately, but it barely registered to Nellie.

The voice slowly faded away in a corner of her consciousness, words stopping making sense.

She looked away from her brother, and instead stared straight in front of her.

The mirror she’d gotten as a gift at five years old stood there, uncovered.

Her reflection smiled back at her, and she giggled.

She’d never been happier to look so ugly.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata10thAnni #Nellie Rhodes #Isadora Rhodes #FataMoru 10th Anniversary Week #FataMoru 10th Anniversary #Mell Rhodes #Fanfic #Connan's Fanfics #Fanfiction #Connan's Posts #Fata 10th Anni #Fic #FataMoru Fanfic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Nellie #Isadora #Fata #Novect

[flower-seeks-the-moon]

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

[connan-l]

Meandering Souls - Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Giselle & Yukimasa Aida, Yukimasa Aida/Pauline Asama, Yukimasa Aida & The White-Haired Girl

Summary: Until their souls cross path once more in the boundless sphere of fate.

The Maid teaches Bestia how to plant flowers; something he might've done before, a long time ago.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @fata10thanni prompts:

Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany

Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I’ve actually hesitated for a while to write something with Javi for this one. I went with Yukimasa in the end cause it’s still *his* door, you know? But I don’t really like it in the end so I wonder if I would’ve done better to go with Javi instead like I planned initially… Oh well. Sorry Javi, one day I’ll write something about you, I promise.

Also, just like in the first prompt with the Rhodes parents, Pauline’s mother’s name Filippa here is also her official name, in case you didn’t know.

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 The manor’s garden didn’t look much like an actual garden and more like some untreated, wild forest.

 Bestia didn’t know where he’d got this certitude, given he’d obviously never  seen   a normal human’s garden before, but somehow he was sure of this.  A fact  he  was aware of   innately.

Maybe he’d noticed without realizing it when he’d stopped at that village—

But no, he would not dwell on this.

Just thinking about the village  was enough to make   him nauseous.

Instead, he reported his gaze on the Maid,  sat  next to him, who was currently dirtying her hands in the  ground  .

“Do you understand now, Master?” She asked, after pulling out some more herbs and burying yet another seed. “Come on, give me a hand here. I might be a maid, but it is only the two of us here; and it is quite rude to watch someone work without helping, would you not say?”

Bestia did not understand. The Maid had solicited his help for gardening, but he couldn’t make sense of the reason why she bothered with this. She was  weeding out ,  digging a small hole  , then putting a handful of seeds into the ground. She did this almost every day. It seemed so useless to him.

“Why?” He managed to articulate, words still so foreign to him.

 The woman stopped, then looked up at him. “Why am I doing this?” She inquired.

She was always surprisingly astute to understand him even when he barely managed to put together comprehensible sentences. Her hand, as white and ethereal as the moon, came resting on her cheek in a thoughtful gesture. Bestia thought about how strange it was that her skin was completely clean despite the fact she’d been twiddling dirt for over an hour now.

 She truly didn’t feel human at all, even when she was doing the most  basic   of tasks.

“My, that’s a good question. Gardening can be useful to grow food, but what we are planting here is not food, so I can understand your bewilderment. Indeed, I suppose you could say there is not much purpose in planting flowers…”

 A melancholic expression spread on her face, and Bestia felt more and more confused by the minutes. Why was she even spending time on this if she agreed  it was useless  ?

As if she’d just read his thoughts, she quickly continued: “There is no purpose… and this land has been cursed and dead for centuries. I doubt anything would be able to grow in it anymore, to be honest, but…”

 Suddenly, she looked at him; jade eyes  shimmering, enrapturing  . “But I love roses. They are the flowers of love. And I know she  loved them  , too, so I am doing it for her.”

“For her.”

 The Maid looked down at the ground, face perfectly blank, but an odd little smile stretch  ed   her red lips.

“For when she’ll come back.”

 Bestia did not ask her who she meant by that.

 Not because he was not curious, but because there was something, somewhere, in her voice, that told him it was a secret  he had no right to be privy to.

 So he simply helped her plant the seeds in silence.

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“Tsubaki?”

 Yukimasa nodded at Pauline’s curious tone and eyes while she stared at his bag of seeds.

“This is what they’re called. That’s the name for Japanese camellias.”

“Ooh.” Pauline blinked at the seeds, looking at them fixedly as if she was trying to find something hidden in there. “But why does that has anything to do with me?”

 He sighed. Sometimes, some part of his mind thought that if he was a normal man, he probably would feel embarrassed  by this of interaction with Pauline.

“I… wanted to give you flowers,” he admitted. “And… because you always asks me so much about my home country, I thought… maybe you’d like some Japanese flowers…”

 Not like Yukimasa knew much of anything about  those  , even less so about Japanese ones. Or about gardening, really. He'd always been a man of the sea; he'd never really had to deal with working the land before then.

“…But it’s not like you can just find those around here, so I asked your father, and he told me about how your mother has a garden and loved gardening, so…”

 As the words  finally started to get   to Pauline’s head, a big smile spread on her face and her dark eyes shined with excitement.

“Yes, she has! Does that mean you’re asking for us to garden together?!”

“Well—”

“That sounds like fun! I’m not all that good at it, Mom always tells me I just make a mess of everything and so she generally want to keep me away from the garden— but if you’re here with me then she’ll probably agree! C’mon, let’s ask her!”

 Before Yukimasa  could reply  , Pauline pulled on his hand and hurried him inside the family house. Her mother Filippa did seem quite reluctant at first to let Pauline anywhere near her garden, but with the condition Yukimasa had to keep an eye on her they finally got access to it.

Although Filippa had initially been a  gainst   her daughter  having   a foreigner for lover, she’d quickly  warmed up   to Yukimasa because of “how well-mannered and gentlemanly” he was, and she’d been very amiable towards him ever since. Sometimes, she even actively favored  his opinions   over Pauline’s and was also very enthusiastic at the prospect of them getting married.

Maybe he should feel a bit bad over deceiving Filippa so overtly when he was anything but an ideal future son-in-law, but it wasn’t like it was in his interest to try to disprove her.

 He’d been deceiving Pauline for longer than that too, anyway.

“Okaayy, so they’re in! Do you think we need to do anything else now…?”

 Pauline spoke cheerfully before  patting   the ground in a gentle way, as if she was afraid of disrupting the task she’d just accomplished.

 They had finally put into the ground the seeds, and it had… certainly been interesting to watch Pauline make such a mess around her in so little time. Not only were her gloved hands  completely   covered in dirt, but so were her hair, face and clothes; and this despite her mother having insisted for her to take on an apron to protect herself. Yukimasa could now definitely understand Filippa’s initial reluctance about letting her daughter  anywhere near the fresh ground  .

 But he supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised — Pauline was always like that,  after all. So deeply e  arnest and intense about everything she was doing that it ended up scattering this energy everywhere around her.

“Those are just normal seeds,” Yukimasa finally replied. “There’s no need for anything else. Just water them.”

“Hmm, I see…” Pauline patted the freshly-covered hole a little once again with the tip of her fingers. Yukimasa was the one who had no experience in gardening, and yet Pauline was always asking him for instructions. “Heheh, well, I can’t wait to see them finally bloom! I wonder what they’ll look like… and when they’ll bloom…”

 As she seemed to get lost in thought, Yukimasa stared at her in silence. Her round, pale face was peppered with brown  mud   all over. It didn’t suit her, he thought, to be dirty like that.

 Pauline  had to   always be clean and pamper, that’s just how it should be.

 So before he could think about it, he reached out towards her and wiped out the  mud   off her face. Pauline, snapping out of her  reverie  , shrieked in surprise  and   blushed heavily, her cheeks feeling suddenly very hot under his fingers.

“Y-Yukimasa— What are you—”

“You were dirty.”

“O-Oh… Right…” After realizing what he meant, she giggled awkwardly. “I-It’s always like this with me, right? I just can’t seem to do anything right…”

“You planted the seeds right enough.”

“H-Huh? Oh…” For some reason, she appeared surprised at his comment; and then a gentle smile spread on her face. “Right, I guess so…”

 She then looked around her, as if checking if there was not her mother or anyone else around, and then leaned in; briefly putting a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, as  feeble   as a butterfly.

 Yukimasa could feel from here some dirt residual rest on his cheek as a result of this, but as Pauline pulled away and smiled shyly at him, he decided he didn’t mind it much.

“I don’t… know when they’re supposed to bloom,” he finally declared, then looked down at the seeds now deep in the ground.

Captain Asama had been the one to tell him those were red camellias, but he had not  added   anything else. A long time ago, Yukimasa had heard from his grandfather that red camellias in their culture symbolized a noble death for Japanese warriors, as well as love.

 Romantic notions  that didn’t fit him in the slightest.

 But he had thought they fitted Pauline.

“Oh… well, that doesn’t really matter.”

 He lifted his eyes towards  the young woman in front of him, the lover he didn’t love  , and she was smiling at him, like always.

“I’m sure they’ll be here when you come back either way.”

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“What are you doing in the garden?”

 A soft, gentle voice shook him out of his thoughts, and when he raised his head a blur of green and white greeted him.

Michelle was looking down at him, curiosity printed all over her face; although he knew she technically wasn’t able to actually look at anything at all.

Bestia hesitated for a moment, not certain of what he should reply, because he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. The one who had dragged him out there in the first place to take care of the garden — the Maid, or the Witch, or whoever she was — had been nowhere to be seen; so to say the truth, he had no need to go there anymore.

 But he’d noticed something unusual today, so he had to check it out.

“The flower,” he finally said.

 He could see Michelle tilt her head in confusion.

“Flower?”

“Rose,” he clarified. “She… The rose planted there, it bloomed.”

The young woman’s red eyes widened in understanding, and they seemed to shine in excitement. Bestia wasn’t really sure why, as he should be the most surprised out of the two of them. The Witch had made sure to tell him this land was dead and cursed and that nothing could grow in there anymore. It was strange this single rose had managed to bloom, then, wasn’t it?

 W  ell, it wasn’t like he had any experience in gardening before anyway. He was just a beast.

“My, you planted roses? It sounds wonderful. I didn’t know you liked gardening.”

 He didn’t. No more than anything else. It was the Witch that had planted them, but somehow he didn’t know how to properly explain it to Michelle.

(Or, at least, he didn’t think he liked gardening, but—)

The woman knelt down next to him, not caring about sullying her pretty green dress, and then with svelte fingers she patted around delicately, searching for the flower. At some point, Bestia decided to help her out, and with his much bigger hands he grabbed hers, pulling them towards the rose.

“Oh my,” she said, her small fingers gently caressing the petals. “It seems very pretty. What color is it?”

 She raised her head, and for a minute, Bestia suddenly saw the figure of another person.

 Another young woman, with black hair, earnest eyes, covered in  mud   from head to toes.

“I’m sure they’ll be here when you come back either way.”

“…White.”

“White roses, huh?” Michelle brought her fingers on her lips thoughtfully. “If I recall correctly, they symbolizes purity and loyalty. My mother told me so, once. Meanwhile red roses are for love and passion.”

 Bestia wouldn’t know, but somehow, that seemed right.

“Do you… want it?”

“The rose? Oh no. I think flowers are prettier when they’re left alive and in the ground, don’t you think?”

“…Not particularly.”

 Michelle chuckled, then looked down, as if trying to look at the flower despite her impaired vision.

“Why did you plant these?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, there must’ve been a reason, no? Did you plant them for something?”

There was no reason, of course. Bestia hadn’t even really planted them, it had been the Witch. And even the Witch hadn’t seemed to expect for those to really bloom.

He wondered if she was satisfied  even just a single one did bloom  , wherever she was now. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed it.

But even so, the words left his mouth before he could think over them.

“It was for someone. When she’ll come back.”

Michelle stayed silent at that.

When Bestia came back to the garden the next morning, however…

The white rose the  White-Haired Girl had touched had turned red.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata10thAnni #Yukimasa Aida #Pauline Asama #YukiPauli #Fanfic #FataMoru 10th Anniversary Week #FataMoru Fanfic #Fanfiction #FataMoru 10th Anniversary #Giselle FataMoru #Giselle Bollinger #Michelle FataMoru #FataMoru Fic #Connan's Posts #Michelle (The House in Fata Morgana) #Connan's Fanfics #Fic #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Fata

[connan-l]

Meandering Souls - Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Giselle & The White-Haired Girl, Giselle/The White-Haired Girl

Summary: Until their souls cross path once more in the boundless sphere of fate.

Michelle tries to know more about the mysterious head maid of the manor.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @fata10thanni prompts:

Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany

Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: So fun fact, I’ve actually been wanting to write a one-shot similar to this one focused on Door 3!Michelle and the Maid, so I actually struggled writing this one because I didn’t want to use much of my initials ideas I had for the OS lol.

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The first time she’d met her, her face had been one of utter despair.

It had been very brief, but Michelle had distinctly seen it and couldn’t manage to forget it; it was welded into her mind, carved into her eyes. Even Jacopo, not the most astute when it came to the feelings of others, had clearly noticed her stricken expression with the way she felt him tense to her side.

Michelle couldn’t wrap her mind around why. She’d never met the woman before, she was sure of it, and all she had done was smile at her and greet her in the most polite way she could.

Her shaken expression had quickly disappeared before her face went back to a neutral one, buried under a facade of placidity, but Michelle could still plainly see the shine of pain glinting in her beautiful jade eyes.

She kept replaying the scene in her mind — trying to find the slightest details that could explain such a reaction; what Michelle could have possibly done to wrong her this much, but nothing came.

The oddity about this woman didn’t stop there, though.

When she decided to ask more about her, Jacopo simply gave her a bewildered look, as if that was a ridiculous thing to want to know.

“She’s just a maid,” he said. “All I know is that she was here at the manor before I even came.”

He didn’t know where she came from, didn’t know who she’d worked for before — he didn’t even know her name, in fact. Michelle felt completely flabbergasted at this, and asked him how he could not even want to know such basic things about his own employees. He just shrugged.

“She is just a maid.”

Apparently, to Jacopo, as long as she was doing her job nothing else mattered — and doing her job, she was particularly good at it.

Not a single servant worked as efficiently and meticulously as her, and half the time, Michelle thought she almost looked like a marionette who was being manipulated by a puppeteer from the shadows.

Maria also shared Jacopo’s thoughts. When Michelle asked her about the head maid, she had just laughed and waved her hand in a dismissive way; “She’s just some creepy lady, leave her be.”

She probably should have headed their advices. The servants of the house were only employees, and there was no need for the masters to take an interest in their personal lives. Surely, if the woman had never said a word to anyone about herself, not even her name, then it was because she didn’t want to — and getting intrusive about it against her wish would be quite rude.

But somehow, Michelle couldn’t just leave her be.

She found herself oddly captivated by her.

Her eyes followed the Maid around whenever she caught sight of her in a corridor, or when she would come to serves tea. Whenever their gazes crossed, the woman would smile at her, but her face was blank, her eyes empty. It made Michelle’s heart aches.

This woman made her uncomfortable, but more than anything she made her sad.

She could tell, behind the walls of placidity she hid behind, that she was in a lot of pain — and, for a reason Michelle couldn’t explain, she felt that somehow this was her fault.

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She woke up in the middle of the night when a thunderous noise broke into her room.

Cold and water violently spread throughout the bedchambers, and Michelle looked around with surprise. She realized all of this was coming from the window, which had brutally opened upon the strength of the storm raging outside; the wind and rain were so powerful it had forcibly unlocked it and made the curtains wildly flapping around.

Michelle instantly stood up and ran to the window; her long white hair flying all around her, getting wet and sticking to her skin because of the rain. She tried to get it closed as quickly as she could, but the wind was so violent that her frail arms could barely manages to grasp each sides.

Suddenly, a firmer, stronger hand seized the window from behind her.

“Let it go, Madam. You are going to hurt yourself.”

Michelle jumped in surprised, inadvertently doing as she was told, and realizing the person who’d just spoken to her was the black-haired maid. She hadn’t even heard her enter her room, though she supposed it wasn’t that surprising given how noisy the tempest was.

Despite her surprise, she actually listened to her and stepped aside, while the Maid cleared off the curtains and bravely faced the animated window with unyielding hands. It took her only a couple of seconds before being able to close it tightly and put a bar to keep it that way, under Michelle’s impressed eyes.

“Wow, you’re a lot stronger than you look!” She couldn’t help but exclaim in awe, and then felt herself blushing a little because of how childish she sounded.

The Maid didn’t seem to mind as she put the curtains back in place, and then turned towards her. She silently scrutinized her in a way that made Michelle blush even more, so she looked away.

“U-Um…”

“At the risk of sounding rude, Madam… you are all wet and disheveled. I believe it would be preferable for you to change clothes and dry your hair before going back to bed.”

“H-Huh? Oh, right…!”

Michelle was, indeed, quite ‘wet and disheveled’ — and it was putting it mildly. Her nightgown was not exactly drenched but pretty humid, and her long hair was all soaked and messy around her face and shoulders, sticking to her frame. She must have looked quite awful. Thank goodness her husband wasn’t around to behold such a sight.

Before she could say any more, the other woman turned around, headed towards her wardrobe, and in a handful of seconds she was already handing her a new gown. She asked her if she needed any help putting the dress on, but Michelle quickly refused; even though she was used to servants helping her out since she was a child, she’d never liked letting others doing simple tasks for her like that. So the Maid let her do as she pleased, but stayed in the room while she undressed, only turning her back to her to give her some intimacy — which, for some reason, made Michelle’s stomach tie into knots. She didn’t know why, but the other woman’s presence somehow rendered her very anxious.

Once she was done, she smiled at her, almost about to say that everything was fine now and she could go, but then she noticed a comb in the woman’s hand.

“You might not let me help dress you, but please at least allow me to rearrange your hair a little.”

Michelle’s first instinct was to tell her it wasn’t necessary. She was going back to bed, after all — so her hair was going to end up a mess either way. But somehow she felt unable to open her mouth once her eyes crossed the Maid’s.

There was something odd, in her gaze. Something almost begging.Yearning.

Michelle’s lip trembled; she looked away, then nodded, unable to sustain the other’s eyes.

Soon she found herself sitting in front of her mirror as the Maid was slowly, gently combing her humid white hair. Michelle couldn’t help but vaguely ponder how strange of a situation this was; here she was, in the middle of the night, getting pampered by the unsettling nameless head maid of the mansion while a tempest was hollering outside.

A part of her almost felt like she was doing something taboo or forbidden, like cheating on her husband.

The Maid delicately threaded her fingers into the strands, as if making sure she wouldn’t forget a single knot, and the gesture was so tender that something in Michelle’s chest broke like glass.

She was handling her like something terribly precious; a treasured doll, a cherished daughter. A lover.

Somehow, somewhere, the whole thing felt upsettingly familiar. As she looked up into the mirror, she had a strange feeling of déjà vu; and in the light of a thunder, she thought she almost saw the silhouette of a younger version of herself, all dressed up in a beautiful, old-fashioned golden and white dress.

She blinked, and the vision was gone, but the hundreds contradictory feelings filling her chest and clogging up her throat stayed.

“You, um,” she tried — she needed to speak, to break the silence, otherwise she felt like she was going to suffocate. “—Uh, what, what are you doing here at this time? I mean, it’s so late… were you not sleeping?”

For a long time, the Maid stayed quiet, and Michelle almost thought she was not going to answer her.

“I never sleep,” she finally said. “So usually, I am doing rounds in the manor. But then I heard noises in your room, and I got worried.”

“O-Oh… Is that so?”

Admittedly, she did often look tired, with her skin almost as pale as Michelle’s and her big black circles under her eyes. Still, hearing her say she had been worried about her sounded… nice.

“I apologize if I worried you…”

“Don’t. I am only doing my duty.”

“I know… But still, thank you. Not a lot of people… have been very kind to me before.”

For a brief moment, Michelle felt the comb still in her hair; but by the time she got to lift her head and look at the other woman in the mirror, any trace of surprise or shock had disappeared and she was back to doing her task.

“I-I mean, my parents were very nice to me. And now, well… I have Maria. She told me we were friends.” She laughed a little. “I’ve never had any friends before, you know? I might have been… quite lonely in my previous home. And then, of course, there’s my husband—”

She was pretty sure she felt the comb stop yet again, but she was so caught up in her own feelings that she couldn’t bring herself to get distracted by it.

She wasn’t sure why she felt so talkative all of a sudden, opening up to this strange woman she knew nothing about.

But for as unsettling as she could — there was something about her… that felt weirdly comfortable, too.

“Well… he has been… acting a little strangely towards me lately. Like he’s… avoiding me…”

Her hands tightened on her on thighs, and she barely noticed the deep breath the Maid took from behind her.

“Would you… Would you have some advice to spare? I… I’m afraid of losing him, and… I mean, I’m sorry if that is rude of me, but I heard some of the servants gossip about you… maybe being married—”

Her question was brusquely cut by a vivid pain that made her shriek. Something — someone — had abruptly pulled on her hair, in such a brutal way that had unmistakably meant to hurt, and Michelle jumped from her chair and turned around.

The black-haired, green-eyed woman stood there, in front of her, but in the darkness she was unable to gauge her expression. Only her jade eyes were shining under the candle and the moonlight; something so deeply intense and full of resentment that Michelle’s throat and heart dried up instantly.

In the Maid’s right hand was dandling a few of her white strands that she had clearly torn up from her head.

They stared at each other in silence, and then Michelle felt something she’d never felt for this woman until now: fear. In this instant, for a brief, terrifying second, she was certain she was about to kill her; in some strange hallucination, she could almost feel her cold hands around her throat, pressing and pressing her trachea until nothing of her was left.

But the Maid did nothing of the sort. Instead, she lowered her hands, and the intensity of her eyes diminished until it was back to her normal, perfectly neutral stance.

“If you want advice,” she said, voice eerily cold. “Then I can give one. Do not trust in love too much, Madam.”

With some strength she didn’t know she possessed, Michelle was able to open up her mouth, even though the entirety of her body was trembling. Because she felt that the Maid was telling her what Maria had recently started rambling about; you’re too good for that guy. Leave him! With your looks, you’ll have no trouble finding a new one who’ll treat you like a princess!

“But I love him.”

She said it out loud, a little desperately, a little like a prayer.

The maid didn’t budge. Her expression was of stone.

“Sometimes, love is not worth it.”

And then she simply turned around, with the comb and the hair and the candle, closing the door behind her.

Michelle stood there, all alone, in the dark — and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, tears rolled down her face.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Michelle Bearzatti #Fata10thAnni #GiseWhite #FataMoru 10th Anniversary Week #JizeShiro #FataMoru 10th Anniversary #Giselle FataMoru #Giselle Bollinger #GiWhite #JizeWhite #Michelle FataMoru #The White-Haired Girl #Fanfiction #Connan's Posts #Connan's Fanfics #Fanfics #FataMoru Fanfic #FataMoru Fic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfiction #Fic

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 7: Domestic Family

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Michel Bollinger/Giselle, Michel Bollinger & Giselle & Morgana

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Morgana is sick, but she doesn't intend to let that prevent her from going to school. Unfortunately for her, she has a very nosy and annoying couple as neighbor.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I knowww sick fics are clichéd, but I didn’t have much inspiration to do anything else for this prompt… And well, it’s not like we have lots of these in FataMoru fandom anyway, right?

Anyway, this takes place post-True Ending & post-Reincarnation, so beware of spoilers for that.

PS: Do NOT try to watch the movie ‘Martyrs.’ I love it but it’s a terrible, terrible movie lmao.

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Today is going to be a bad day, Morgana decided when she woke up with her head throbbing, a stuffy nose and her vision blurry.

She felt so bad, in fact, that she didn’t even need to check her burning forehead to know she was sick.

Getting out of her bed, drinking a cup of coffee and braiding her hair felt like insurmountable efforts, and when she finally managed to step outside her apartment and stood in the corridor trying to fit the key in the lock, she honestly felt like she was going to pass out.

For a brief moment, she even contemplated the idea to just go back and stay in bed. But then she remembered her general precarious situation; missing even just a day of school could cost her the pension the association she depended on had granted her, which she couldn’t afford. And even without this, her innate personality just wouldn’t forgive her to take a day off when she could easily get over such a silly illness.

It was fine. She’d known worse; surely it wasn’t a little fever that would get the better of her. She didn’t have a lot of classes either today, so she could get through this.

Just as she’d convinced herself, the lock finally clicked, and she sighed in relief, ready to turn around and get down the stairs—

“—Morgana?”

—until she collided with a soft thing. It took her fuzzy mind quite some time to realize that said soft thing was in fact a whole another body that had been standing behind her, and the impact coupled with her dizziness was almost enough to make her stumble back into the floor.

Thankfully, she was able to keep her balance before looking up with a deep frown, narrowing her eyes for a while until she distinguished a blur of black and red and green staring at her with a concerned expression.

Giselle. Wonderful.

Out of all the people she could’ve run into, of course it had to be her.

“…Morgana, are you okay? I’ve been calling out to you for some time now, but—”

It took a lot of time for the girl’s brain to decipher her words before she could nod.

“…Yeah. I’m good. Thanks. Have to go now.”

Morgana tried to get away — almost run away, really — from the older woman, but at the last moment Giselle grabbed her wrist, stopping her in place.

“Ah, wait, wait! I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I’m going to be late for school.”

“Oh… I understand that, but it’s just about the mailbox—”

God. Why now.

“Look— I really can’t be late, so—”

Morgana tried to slip her hand away from Giselle’s grip, but doing so somehow managed to make her lose balance, and she had to seize and lean on the banister with all her weight as to not fall and trip in the staircase. Obviously, that peculiar uncharacteristic lose of control of her body didn’t went unnoticed by Giselle, whose face instantly darkened.

“Morgana?” She called cautiously. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I just— Yeah. I’m—”

But Giselle didn’t let her say anything else that she closed up on her and put a hand on her forehead brusquely.

“Oh my god! You’re burning!”

“I’m fine,” Morgana grumbled for the umpteenth time, slapping her hand away. “I need to go to—”

“Are you kidding?! You’re not going anywhere with such a fever! Look at yourself; you can barely stand!”

“I can’t miss school— It’s not a big deal, I’ll just…”

Morgana intended to turn around, but the moment she tried to her vision blurred entirely and her mind blanked.

The last thing she felt was a pair of arms wrapping around her before she fell onto Giselle’s chest and everything turned black.

______________________________________________________________

“—is she?”

“—you. —just sleeping, it’s okay…”

“—call… right?”

When she opened her eyes for the second time today, she was greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling and distorted voices echoing back in her skull painfully.

Well, not completely unfamiliar, she realized after some long minutes of contemplation, as she’d seen it a few times before.

It was the ceiling of a fairly modest, cozy pretty room; a big bed meant for a couple, a desk and wardrobe in the corner, some trinkets and shelves and photographs decorating the place here and there. It was rather dark, with the shutters and curtains shut, and the only source of light was a feeble ray that escaped from the half-open door.

Michel and Giselle’s room.

The cognizance made her straighten up on the bed, even if her head instantly turned and hurt as soon as she did. Her braids had been undone, letting her long red hair fall all around her face and shoulders, and the dress she’d put on for the day had been replaced by a comfy pajamas that was nothing like her own and was too big for her. Certainly a courtesy of Giselle.

She put her face into her hands, shook her head, and let out a sigh.

It’s definitely going to be a terrible day.

With trembling arms and her brain still feeling like it was made of lead, she slowly got out of the bed and tried to stand on her wobbly feet. After what felt like an excruciating time, she finally reached the door while taking the wall for aid — before the light blinded her eyes, accentuating her headache. She was able to distinguish her surroundings properly only a few minutes later, noting the forms of a white-haired man and his black-haired wife some meters away from her; the annoyingly perfect lovey-dovey couple that was as much of a pain in her ass as a blessing.

“—maybe I’ll just go to the pharmacy, then. Just in case.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary. She has a big fever, but it doesn’t seem to be anything more serious.”

“Still, that doesn’t really cost anything to do so, right?”

The dispute was relatively peaceful, but there still was some tension in their voices, which almost made Morgana groan and sigh. If there was one thing she hated more than stumbling in the middle of an argument between Michel and Giselle, it was stumbling in the middle of an argument between Michel and Giselle in which she was the source of.

Just as she was considering slipping out of her friends’ place before either of them could see her, she heard Giselle gasp.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Morgana winced. Well, it seemed like the escape plan was already doomed. She turned around to find herself almost nose-to-nose with both Giselle and Michel, who’d practically jumped on her as soon as they noticed her.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Giselle said in that admonishing, big sisterly tone. It was amazing how she was actually the younger sibling in her family given how often she took this one. “You have to go back! You’re still burning!”

Michel put a hand on Morgana’s forehead while she was speaking, and nodded as if to confirm his fiancée’s words.

“She’s right. You’ve only been asleep for two hours, you’re still in a bad state.”

Morgana’s eyes widened, a wave of panic washing over her. “T-Two hours? Wait, what time is it right now?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Giselle retorted. “You just need to go back to bed. Now.”

“But school—”

“We already called your school,” Michel replied. “We told them you were sick and wouldn’t be here for at least today and tomorrow.”

Morgana first gaped at him, which quickly morphed into a glare as her anger escalated.

“You did what?” She exclaimed. “Why? I’m not that bad! I can go!”

“Don’t be silly, you wouldn’t even be able to pass the door without collapsing!” Giselle argued back, and for as sweet and patient as she could usually be, some clear frustration was starting to slip through her voice. “Now stop being stubborn!”

“E-Even so, it’s not your place to do this! You’re not my parents!”

At this, it seemed both Michel and Giselle froze. A slight awkward silence spread between all three of them, and then the couple exchanged a look that Morgana couldn’t make sense of.

She wasn’t sure where the uneasiness even came from, as she’d only stated the truth — and, honestly, the attitude the two of them took towards her at times by trying to— to parent her was really something that could get on her nerves.

She wasn’t a child, and there were no reason for them to look after her as if she was their own kid.

It was unnerving at best, and actively uncomfortable at worst.

Finally, Michel ran a hand through his hair and started again.

“That’s true, we are not your parents,” he said in a calm, pragmatic tone. “And we’re not trying to be. However, we are still your friends, are we not?”

Morgana opened her mouth, then hesitated. It was only after a short while that she finally looked away, and vaguely grumbled an ‘I guess.’

“Well, that’s what friends do, looking after each other. And again, there’s no way you’ll be able to go to school in this state. Even if by some miracle you were to go, would you be able to truly study or learn anything?”

“But—”

“Morgana, you’re a very good student, are you not?” Giselle added, her voice softer than earlier. “Just skipping two days wouldn’t put your grades in jeopardy. And you don’t have to worry about your pension either; even in the worst case, Michel and I will help you out.”

She wanted to keep arguing. She hated the idea of not going to school because of a stupid fever, and more than anything she hated the idea of relying on others, even less so on Michel and Giselle.

She’d relied on them enough like that, be it in this life or the former.

Still… logically, she knew they were right. She could barely keep up with the conversation right now; there was no way she’d be able to go through an entire day of school in that state.

And… she did just feel really bad and tired.

“…I can… go back to my own place,” Morgana finally conceded with a big reluctant effort, gritting her teeth.

She was about to turn around when Giselle put her hands on her shoulders and shook her head right before.

“You’re already here, so it’d be better for you to stay. Don’t worry about sleeping in our bed, the sheets are clean.”

That’s not the issue, Morgana was about to say, but suddenly her legs failed her and the next second her knees were on the ground. She felt both Michel and Giselle jump towards her with concerned faces and jumbled words, but she barely could make out what they were saying anymore. The only thing she was able to comprehend was when, shortly thereafter, Michel grabbed her shoulders with one hand and slipped his other arm under her knees, lifting her in his arms with difficulty.

She absentmindedly thought that was a stupid thing to do as Michel had never been the strong type, and even in her dizzy state she could feel him struggle to carry her back to the bed.

Still, the warmth of his body and his heartbeat she could make out against his chest was instantly able to relax her, and all of her previous anger and annoyance slowly faded along with her consciousness.

Michel’s presence always felt soothing and comforting to her, like a safe place. Her mind instinctively went back back in time, in this dream-like world as that dying girl chained down to that tower while God’s angel descended to get her in her last moments.

That had never actually happened — but it was still engraved in her soul and heart in a more powerful way than the events that had truly taken place in real life.

______________________________________________________________

Everything that followed afterwards seemed to happen in a daze. She could tell she was laying down in a bed most of the time, and she could tell that Michel or Giselle were going back and forth inside the room, either putting some towel on her forehead or making her swallow things she felt like spitting back instantly — but everything was such a blur that none of it felt real, like it was all in a weird dream.

Sometimes she felt like she was back in her former house, with her mother looking after her like when she was sick as a child. Sometimes she felt she was back even centuries before then, at the brothel during the rare times where she’d gotten ill and the prostitutes fussed over her well-being.

Those memories still made her feel some sort of ambivalent, nostalgic warmth inside her chest. Having people take care of you and worry about you was a privilege most took for granted, but it wasn’t her case, and she was well-aware how extremely precarious this was.

It couldn’t be even more painfully obvious to her when, in her fever-induced phantasms, she also suddenly ended up being back to her cursed mansion, all alone; or worse, chained up in that tower.

The smell of blood spreading through her nostrils, the throbbing pain in her arm and the overwhelming, merciless cold slowly infesting her body was almost as vivid as when she was still actually there.

It was that coldness that brought her back to reality — her eyelids progressively fluttering open, her mind clearing up.

The first thing that then greeted her were voices, muffled and far away as if they were from another room — so it actually surprised her to realize those were, in fact, right next to her bed.

Both Michel and Giselle were sitting about a meter away from her, talking in hushed voices with stern expressions. Still half-asleep, what first crossed her mind was if they’d truly just spent the entire day tending after her like that.

“—fever doesn’t seem to go down… maybe we should call back the doctor after all,” Giselle muttered.

“…Let’s wait until tomorrow morning. See how she get through the night. Then if she’s not better, we’ll call.”

Giselle sighed, nodded; then let her head rest on Michel’s shoulder, their hands intertwining. In an act of casual tenderness, Michel gently kissed her forehead, and a gentle smile instantly bloomed on her lips, illuminating her face.

A thousands years ago, Morgana would’ve hated seeing this.

Watching them fall in love while she was stuck with them in that mansion — in her mansion — confined as a ghost inside the walls of this cursed tower had driven her insane.

She couldn’t stand seeing this woman slowly taking her Michel away from her. She’d cursed every single one of their lingering gazes, the tender way they’d come to look at each other; had wished for their demise at every contact of their skin, every embrace, every kiss.

It had all been a fiery entanglement of resentment, anger and jealousy burning inside her as she watched them share all the warmth and love she’d been forever denied.

And when their demise did finally come, she’d reveled in it; had taken utter pleasure in seeing Michel writhe in pain over his silly actions and Giselle scream in agony over her stupid optimism. She’d been delighted to break the woman’s identity and take away all of her love little by little — until somehow it stopped being fun and simply began to be pitiful and boring to watch.

Until it’d started become painful for her, too.

But that had all been a thousand years ago.

Now, well… that didn’t bother her as much. She could roll her eyes and grumble and make fun of them, but deep down, none of the actual ugly feelings showed their face.

Now, there was only… an odd complacent feeling. A pleasant warmth that emerged while staring at them from afar get all touchy-feely with each other.

A weird sentiment of contentment and familiarity.

A warm hand suddenly caressed her forehead, running into her moist hair sticking to her face, and she realized Giselle was looking down at her with a soft expression.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” she said gently. “How are you feeling?”

“…Awful.”

Giselle smiled sadly at her. “Well, that was to be expected.”

“Your fever’s still going strong,” Michel added. “We gave you medicine a little while back, so I hope you’ll start feeling better soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Ah, but I was just about to cook dinner!” Giselle exclaimed, with a sudden regain of energy.

Morgana, on the other hand, only felt herself deflate. “I… don’t think I can swallow anything right now…”

“I understand, but you still have to eat. Don’t worry, I intended to make you this pottage my mom always made me when I was ill. It tastes good even to the sickest of people!”

Morgana was about to reply she truly didn’t feel like gulping down anything regardless of if it was the greatest soup for sick people in the world or not, but then Giselle got up before she could say anything, kissed Michel on the cheek and then left the room. Now the two of them alone in the room, Michel only smiled at her with understanding.

“I get you probably don’t want to eat anything, but you won’t get better otherwise.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“You look really bad, you know.”

“You’ve seen me look worse.”

She only intended this as fun retort, but it didn’t seem like Michel took it this way because his face instantly darkened. Well now, if she couldn’t joke around about her own horrible death, what could she joke about?

“Did you two… really spend the day here looking after me?” She finally asked, deciding to change the topic before Michel decided to make the mood even more uncomfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to have jobs or something?”

He blinked at her curiously. “Well, of course we looked after you. We just both took the day off,” he replied simply, as if it was just obvious they would skip work just to take care of some random teen girl who lived next door.

Well, okay, fine, she knew she wasn’t just ‘some random teen girl’ to them, but still, the point was the same.

“Giselle wanted to close off the café, but Maria told her she could handle it by herself for one day. As for me I just said I had an emergency with my family so I couldn’t come.”

With my family.

Morgana tried not to let the words stick to her too much. It was just an excuse as to why he couldn’t come to work. They were not family, and would never be, after all.

“…What, and it worked? You can just skip your job like that? Sure sounds like a nice life.”

“I’ve been working at this company for five years after college and I’ve barely taken any days off since then, so my superiors tend to be lenient on me.”

“Still stupid, though. I have a fever, not cancer. And if Giselle’s already there, there was no need for you to skip work as well.”

“You really just hate it when people care for you, huh?”

There was something in the way he said it that made her a bit uneasy, so she just snorted and turned her head away. She still felt like her brain was about to explode anyway, so arguing with Mr. Goody-two-shoes wasn’t the first priority on her list right now.

But then she suddenly felt fingers gently ran across her forehead, pushing her red locks away from her eyes just like Giselle had done earlier. She looked up at Michel again and he had an odd expression on his face; a mix of tender affection, fond exasperation and… some sort of sadness, maybe.

“People just care about you, Morgana. You should let them sometimes.”

She opened her mouth, a witty retort all ready pushing at the tip of her tongue, but nothing came. Instead she just stared straight at Michel into his red eyes, something odd growing into her chest and her stomach and her throat suddenly feeling tight. Thankfully, Giselle choose this moment to barge into the room with a smile.

“It should be ready in about fifteen minutes!” She declared joyfully. “By the way, I was thinking. If Morgana doesn’t feel too bad, how about we watch a movie together? We could eat here in the bed together and put something on my laptop.”

“…Sounds like a nice idea to me,” Michel said, before the couple looked at Morgana for any agreement.

The girl sighed. “As long as I don’t have to move… it should be fine… but don’t blame me if I just fall asleep midway.”

Giselle’s face beamed again. “Perfect then!”

“Wait, do you know what to watch?”

“Yep! There’s this one movie I rented the other day. I’ve been wanting to see it for a while now, it’s called ‘Martyrs’!”

Morgana had never heard of this movie before — she still wasn’t very well-versed in pop culture things — but then she noticed Michel’s face noticeably paling, and knowing Giselle, she guessed it probably must be either very gore or with a very dark sense of humor or both at the same time — because for some reason Giselle really loved those type of movies, to her poor boyfriend’s dismay.

Morgana didn’t really care either way, but if she could see Michel get all squeamish for more than hour then it could be worth it.

True to her words, Giselle came back with three bowls of vegetables pottage on a tray only a handful of minutes later, and they all bundled up under the sheets with the laptop; Morgana in the middle and Michel and Giselle to her right and left respectively. She actually was surprised they were able to fit all three of them in that bed, but it was a pretty big one.

As expected, the movie was horribly bloody and pretty nauseous, and Morgana even noticed Michel gagging on his bowl a few times, but that didn’t really matter much to her.

What mattered was the way she could feel the warmth of both of her friends’ bodies next to her, the way Michel’s head fell on her head, the way Giselle would sometimes push some burgundy locks behind her ears without even thinking about it all while sharing fun small comments.

It was the way Michel and Giselle casually held hands and exchanged brief caresses and little kisses almost imperceptibly in the dimness of the room.

It was the way Morgana had no need for thousands-years long anger and jealousy anymore, not when she could easily share in the love these two had whenever she wanted.

______________________________________________________________

It took her two full days to recover completely.

However, she still stayed at their place for at least a week afterwards — eating Giselle’s meals with them, watching some other movies (of Michel’s choice, this time), and even sleeping there.

She wasn’t sick; there should technically be no need for her to stay anymore.

They weren’t her parents, weren’t family; just a couple of fools she’d kept torturing for centuries, who had somehow still forgiven her and welcomed her into their home regardless.  

But if they were fine allowing her in, she figured… maybe she could take Michel’s advice and accept to be taken care of sometimes — maybe even when she didn’t truly needed it.

The witch inside her wanted to sneer and scream at her for that; but that had been a while since she’d left that poor lonely creature behind now.

Because, for as much as she would never admit it out loud, she’d come to grow fond of watching these two love each other, and if she could bask in that love from times to times, well, who was there to criticize her anyway?

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Gischel #GischelWeek #Michel Bollinger #Giselle FataMoru #Morgana FataMoru #Giselle (The House in Fata Morgana) #Giselle Bollinger #More than a millennium #MisheJize #Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana) #Fanfiction #GischelWeek2022 #Gischel Week #Gischel Week 2022 #Novect #Fanfic #Giselle (FataMoru) #Morgana (FataMoru) #JizeMishe #Fata Morgana #FataMoru Fanfic #Fata Morgana no Yakata #House in Fata Morgana

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 6: Bad End

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death

Relationship: Michel Bollinger/Giselle

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Michel Bollinger's life is a very normal and boring one, except for his recurrent dreams of a maid with dead eyes he tries desperately to run away from.

Content Warning: Much like in Ending 2, there's a suicide attempt at the end, but it's only described very vaguely.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

______________________________________________________________

Notes: My favorite FataMoru bad endings are Ending 3 and Ending 5, so I was thinking about writing something about these at first, but in the end I decided to go with Ending 2 because I actually want to write something more detailed about these with fics on their own rather than as a one-shot prompt week. As a result I wasn’t super inspired by it though, so I hope it still feel satisfying enough lol.

I know in canon post-true ending, Michel’s modern family is completely different from his original one in the Middle Ages, but given in Ending 2 he didn’t get to come to terms with his past or with his brothers I thought it’d be interesting if he were to reincarnate with the same parents and siblings this time around (with maybe the exception of his brothers being a bit more supportive this time, especially Georges because of his former guilt?) Well, at least that’s how I wrote it here.

So anyway, this thus takes place during Ending 2: Coming for You, with spoilers for the entire main game.

______________________________________________________________

She is smiling.

The woman in his dream is always smiling.

She has very long braided black hair, surreal jade eyes, an old-fashion maid outfit — her hand is as cold as marble and she looks like a corpse, but she is always, perpetually smiling, like a picture, a statue stuck in place, forbidden to move with the flow of time.

Her grasp on him feel desperate, holding onto him so hard as if she’s afraid he’s going to slip away from her.

It had terrified him back then, but now, whenever he thinks about it, it only breaks his heart.

______________________________________________________________

He wakes up at the sound of his phone blaring next to his ears.

Every morning, he tells himself he really needs to change this awful alarm, and every time he forget to do it until it twists his eardrums all over again.

With difficulty, he rose from his bed, his hair getting all over his face — here, too, he often thinks about how he should just cut them off, but never end up doing it.

Maybe this is just his life’s philosophy at this point, honestly — thinking about how he should do stuff but then never doing them.

He has two missing calls from Georges on his phone, with whom he’s supposed to meet up with later on, but decides to ignores them and instead leisurely step inside his messy apartment’s bathroom.

He already knows he’s going to be late anyway — no need to hurry.

______________________________________________________________

Michel Bollinger’s life was a fairly normal one.

He was an engineer working for a company, lived in a small apartment in Paris, was single, didn’t really have any close friends but got along well with his coworkers and neighbors. He cut ties and was disinherited by his wealthy family when he was a teenager mostly because of his change in identity, and didn’t have any contact with them anymore with the exception of his brothers from times to times — but besides that, there was nothing much exceptional about him.

Michel Bollinger’s life was fine. Kind of boring, maybe, but it was not a bad life. His parents were shitty, but things have been better for his sanity since he stopped interacting with them — it could be worse.

He was a bit lonely, sometimes, but he just had to focus on his job and then it didn’t bother him that much.

Yes, his life was fine — or it should be, if it wasn’t for the deep emptiness he constantly felt afflicted with, and the absurd, surreal dreams he frequently woke up from.

He’s had those since he was a small child. They didn’t make much sense, and well, they’re dreams, right? It would be silly to try to get any meaning out of them either way.

That’s what he’d tell himself generally, but sometimes they’d just get a bit too vivid for his tastes, plaguing and infesting his mind like a leech, and he simply couldn’t get rid of them.

The most recurring one was when he’d find himself in a mansion. An old, ephemeral, decrepit mansion, in which he would wander around, all alone — until a maid would take him by the hand and they would wander together. When her hand grasped his, his heart instantly started aching — followed by a deep fear taking root in his heart.

But then sometimes he dreamed of a voice as sweet as honey and as sharp as a knife, of a white-haired girl, of a pair of siblings with golden hair, of a beast covered in blood or of a tanned businessman with arrogant eyes.

Sometimes the maid’s appearance would get blurry, and instead she reshaped into a young woman with short hair and a radiant smile.

Every times she appeared, something bloomed in his heart.

“Master,” she would say, and she would smile, and there was so much love in that smile that he wanted to cry.

He wanted to say her name.

But he can’t, and then he woke up, and he was back to his boring, normal, empty life.

______________________________________________________________

Michel sighed as he looked at his phone for the ninth times while sitting at a table in a café. It was almost six in the afternoon and Georges still wasn’t there.

They’d agreed to meet at five, and his idiot brother didn’t even bother to send him a text to apologize for being late. He should be used to it by now, but somehow he’s not. Michel doesn’t even know why he hasn’t left the café yet, or why he even accepted the offer at all. They rarely see each other anymore these days, and they are definitely not as close as when they were kids. Michel couldn’t even remember the last time he saw Didier.

It’s not as if he dislikes his brothers — in fact, he does love and owes them a whole lot. Unlike his parents, they’d come to accept him for who he was, and with the fallout he had with the family he would’ve been on the street with nothing if it had not been for Georges and Didier helping him out and finding him a place to stay at. But their relationship still became… a bit strained after all of this, and even when he could tell they tried to make an effort, there was like an invisible wall erected between them. Maybe some things were just irreparably damaged no matter how much you wanted or tried to fix them.

It was about fifteen minutes later that a man with dark wavy hair and an awkward smile burst inside the place and fell in the chair in front of Michel, grinning like a dumbass. He didn’t even have the decency to look sorry.

“Yo, Michel! You won’t believe what I got caught up into!”

“You’re probably right, and I’m also not interested in—”

“Now lemme tell ya, it was craaazy stuff! So y’see, I was in the street an’ that grandma walkin’ her dog—”

Michel sighed, knowing he had no choice but to have to hear Georges’ rambling until the end now. As usual with him, his story was utterly ridiculous, and only when he finally finished half an hour later did they start actually catching up with each other.

“Honestly, I never understood your career path,” Georges let out after inquiring about how his job was doing. “You should… I dunno, choose somethin’ more fun!”

“I’m not working to have fun, Georges,” Michel deadpanned.

The other man shrugged. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re boring.”

“At least I’m not the one who’s always broke asking Didier for money.”

“I-I don’t always asks him for money! And he’s the one who will inherit the most of Dad’s fortune, so it’s not like he can’t afford it. Anyway, let’s stop talkin’ ‘bout money! Ya just won’t believe the latest bullshit Aimée threw at me!”

Just saying her name managed to make Michel shudder, but he knew the topic was going to come up at some point so he might as well get it over with right now. Aimée was Georges’ ex-wife with whom he’s had two sons with. He’d divorced her a few years back, but the woman was an actual demon from hell who still to this day kept doing him all sorts of crass and had gotten full custody of their kids, which his brother desperately tried to get back in vain. So, she was effectively Georges’ ‘favorite’ topic whenever they saw each other, to Michel’s dismay as he also had far from good memories of the woman.

Still, he listened his brother complains about his demonic ex-wife until he finally sighed and asked a question Michel even less wanted to talk about.

“What ‘bout you then, little bro? Still no girlfriend?”

Michel snorted. “Of course not.”

“Why? You say this like it’s obvious, but c’mon! You’re almost thirty now, you don’t intend to spend the rest of your life all by yourself, yeah?”

Michel almost got the urge to reply ‘Why not?’ but he didn’t want to get into a fight with his brother so he instead simply deflected. His love life so far had been the extent of one girlfriend in high school that lasted a semester, one coworker he dated for a few months and another one whom he’d gone to take a drink with, with no further development. And, to be honest, it just… wasn’t something he was interest in or looking for.

It was odd, but there was… like something that prevented him from truly searching someone. Like a blockage; the idea instinctively rebutted him, and then a crippling feeling of guilt overwhelmed him. It was silly, he knew that, but well, as far as he was concerned he didn’t see any issue with not trying to pursue something that made him so intrinsically uncomfortable.

Even his feeling of loneliness and emptiness wasn’t enough to push him to find a partner. It didn’t feel like a lover would ever be able to truly fulfill what he was lacking, anyway.

Maybe there really was something wrong with him. Maybe he was just born broken.

Georges stared at him with what looked suspiciously like concern for a moment, and then he yet again rambled about some silly anecdote but Michel couldn’t bring himself to pay attention — when suddenly something caught his eyes and his heart stopped beating, freezing in his chest.

Long black hair flew just next to him; a glint of beautiful jade eyes sparkling to his right.

He stood up like by instinct, and ran through the café. Georges shrieked at his abrupt movement and then yelled his name, but Michel didn’t turn back; it was like everything around him had suddenly disappeared.

The only thing that mattered was the silhouette of the young woman who had just passed him by — his heart was beating so fast and his lungs were so tight and he knew her, he knew her, it had to be her, he had to say her name, she was—

“Gi—”

He grabbed her hand — the one he’d let go before, the one he’d failed — and the young woman turned around. Shocked green eyes stared back at him — and indeed, they were of the same emerald color he remembered them as. This was hair as black as ivory cascading behind her shoulders just like the one in his dreams.

But it wasn’t her.

Her features were different, her face more angular, her nose rounder. It wasn’t… wasn’t…

Who did he thought she was again?

“Um…?”

The woman stared at him strangely, cautiously; and suddenly the transient state Michel had found himself into vanished. He recalled he was in the middle of a café, that he’d just randomly grabbed a stranger, and that everyone was looking at him.

“W-Well, wow, real sorry ‘bout that, ma’am!” Georges suddenly popped up behind him, laughing nervously and making him let go of her hand forcefully. “My lil’ bro here’s been super tired lately, y’see, so sometimes he loses it a little. My bad, my bad!”

She look at the two of them weirdly, clearly debating if she should be more concerned about this, then finally decided to just ignore the whole thing and turned around without a word. Georges sighed before dragging Michel back to his seat.

“Hey, dude, what the hell was that? Is your head okay?”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure. Probably not.

Then again, he always felt like he’d never been very okay ever since he was a kid.

This empty spot in its heart seemed even wider than before.

Michel dreamed again, that night; of the same withered mansion, the same honeyed voice, and the same maid with jade eyes.

The one who didn’t want to let go of his hand.

The one he’d failed.

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“Michel? Were you daydreaming again?”

A giggle. A grasp on his hand.

“I swear, sometimes I feel like you just live in another dimension. I was asking you what you wanted for dinner tonight. You know we still have asparagus from last month, right?”

A sigh. She crossed her arms and pouted, looked at him impatiently.

“You do like asparagus, don’t you? It’s not parsley. Or carrots. …What do you mean, you ‘just don’t feel like eating it’?”

He doesn’t remember what he replied, but he remember the way she rolled her eyes at him exasperatedly, affectionately.

At this point in their relationship, she very rarely got annoyed at him without some hint of fondness in her gaze anymore; and he loved when she looked at him like that.

“Alright. Fine. Let’s do without the asparagus then. But if you don’t want to answer me, then I’ll just take the matter into my hands without letting you decide. You’re fine with this, right?”

She smiled mischievously at him, then stared, and then hesitated. Finally, she glanced right and left, looking a little shy, before tiptoeing on her feet and gently kissing his cheek.

“It’ll be a surprise, then.”

She smiled again, and her hand was still in his.

He knows he smiled back. He knows he didn’t want to let go.

He opens his mouth, and tries to say her name — but no sound comes out.

Then suddenly everything distorts around him, and the mansion take a darker turn.

It is the witch’s house now, and it is the maid in front of him, with the braided long hair and the empty eyes.

And she smiles at him again, but he cannot bear to stare back.

He cannot bear to see her like this.

She is too scary, too empty, too broken — and he doesn’t know who he is— but he knows someone is waiting for him and that’s not where he is meant to be— and this place is nauseous and suffocating and everything around him is so warped—

And so he let go of her hand, and desperately start running away from her.

After fumbling around in the dim corridors, his heart is beating fast with terror as he helplessly tries to open the large door of the mansion. When it finally does open, he barges outside, into the light, and her voice resounds in his mind, like an echo.

“Master! Please wait! You mustn’t go out there! Come back… quickly…!”

Looking behind his shoulder, she’s wavering like a mirage in the open door; reaching her hands out for him as he is already too far away.

Stuck in place inside the mansion, in the darkness. Like a statue.

She is not smiling anymore.

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The sky was gray.

It wasn’t raining yet, but with how heavy the clouds looked, Michel was certain it would soon enough.

He had just finished work, and had a missed call from Georges, and from Didier — a rare occurrence. But he is not in the mood to deal with either of them right now, so instead of attempting to answer to his family, he looked up at the sky, then stopped.

This was a sad day, and he felt even emptier than usual.

As he was just about to starts walking again, someone passed next to him.

Long white hair flying right next to his ear; a beautiful young girl, walking and gazing straight in front of her. She seemed too lost in her thoughts to pay him any mind, but Michel wasn’t, and he cannot help but stare at her in disbelief.

Because he knew her.

She’s just a teenager, and he has never seen her in his life — in this life — but he knew her. He knew that voice. He knew this pure white hair and ruby eyes that are just like his. He knew those gentle, soft features.

She has a fake red rose decorating her handbag. His heart stopped.

“Giselle.”

That wasn’t the young girl’s name, not her real one; but this was definitely the name he has been looking for all this time — suddenly coming back to him in a flash.

And as soon as the syllables escaped his lips, everything washed over to him.

The cursed mansion. The witch, Morgana. The cheerful, short-haired woman who barged into his life and made him feel alive again. How they met, hurt each other, fell in love. How he died, then came back a thousands years and three tragedies too late.

And then how he ran away from her just when she needed him the most.

His stomach turned, and alone with the overflowing memories and headache, he felt like he was going to throw up.

He abandoned her.

She was here, with him, right next to him, but he left her; he lost her, of his own volition.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he suddenly couldn’t breath, the only thing staying in his mind being that last moment he spent with the Maid — with Giselle — as she yelled after him while he ran, begging him to stay by her side, because he left her, left her, left her—

As if he’d just abruptly, finally woken up from a dream, his whole life suddenly made sense, and at the same time, nothing mattered anymore.

The way he lived those twenty-seven years in a nebulous bubble, as if unable to connect with anyone, with crippling unease and guilt that came from nowhere — from his sin — the dots connected very abruptly and hurts in an almost unbearable way.

And in the end he was just standing there in the middle of this street, and couldn’t understand what he was doing here.

He lost Giselle.

What was he doing, then, here all by himself? Without her? His family, his brothers, his work; none of it mattered without her. Not after what he did to her, condemning her to an eternity chained to this mansion.

His emotions were too staggering, and he never felt so much all at once; but one thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t stay there. That was simply unacceptable.

He needed to find her back — needed to get back to her, save her, somehow; by any means — but as his desperate mind tried to rack his memories for any ways to do this—

His eyes stopped on the road.

He didn’t know if he could find her. He didn’t know if he could fix his worst mistake.

But he needed to try. He couldn’t go on without trying to apologize to her — to save her, make sure she had a chance at being happy again.

So he prayed to a God he never believed in, prayed to a witch who had only ever wished but for his ruin, and turned around.

From the corner of his eyes, he distinguished the white-haired girl staring at him.

He could feel her gaze on him, her red eyes suddenly widening in horror as she realized his intent.

But he ignored her; even when she ran towards him, even when she tried to talk or screamed at him.

Nothing mattered to him anymore but the ghost of a broken woman he had left behind, and as he stepped on the road, he vanished into the void in a vain search of her.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Michel Bollinger #Gischel #GischelWeek #Gischel Week #Giselle FataMoru #Fanfiction #More than a millennium #Giselle Bollinger #Fata Morgana #Novect #Gischel Week 2022 #GischelWeek2022 #Fanfic #Giselle (The House in Fata Morgana) #Fata Morgana no Yakata #House in Fata Morgana

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 5: Proposal

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Michel Bollinger/Giselle

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Giselle struggles to share some of the house's domestic work, so Michel have a proposal for her.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: So I actually tried to not go for the obvious ‘proposal’ prompt with this one, but as a result I kind of struggled to write it and in the end I just… don’t like it lol (partly why it took me such a long time before finally posting it). I went for a ‘trying to adapt to each other while living together for the first time’ kind of theme and then it ended up as me trying to deal with Giselle’s Maid TraumaTM very briefly, oops.

This takes place during the modern era post-main game and post-Happily Ever After but pre-Reincarnation, though it does have some brief references for it. Also, there are a short mention to the short story ‘Joyeux Noël’ from the guidebook (you can read an English fan translation here).

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The two of them weren’t unfamiliar with the reality of living together as a couple.

They had, after all, already lived together for a whole year back in the Middle Ages; and even in the modern era, Giselle had quickly taken the habit of hanging around at Michel’s apartment a lot, even sleeping here quite often — she’d practically spent the entire two weeks of her Christmas vacations with him there.

However, as she would quickly discover, there was in fact a big difference between living together in the Middle Ages, spending a few nights at your boyfriend’s place sometimes and actually living together in the present days.

Their daily life at the mansion was nothing alike to what they had now. For starter, they didn’t have a lot of belongings before — a few clothes, some utensils, and food; that was pretty much it. The books stayed in the library, their own rare and small personal effects in their respective bedchambers; and the mansion was so big anyway it was hard to scatter things around — and thus, there was not much to actually keep in order or to trespass the other’s space. Back then, Giselle had been the one taking care of most of the chores as well. Michel would help with the cleaning from times to times — but with how she’d rapidly noticed he was most definitely on the sloppy, messy execution of housekeeping, and given she had quite literally been his servant then, it only felt natural she’d end up being the one handling all of it after all — and that hadn’t really bothered her much, either.

She was not his servant anymore, however — and now that they were just a normal couple of the same status, it meant that the natural thing would be to truly share equitably with him this kind of domestic work. But it hadn’t been the case so far.

Breaking out of her habits as the Maid was sometimes a struggle for Giselle, especially now that her previous life’s memories were back. So, whenever she stayed at his apartment and noticed the inevitable pair of socks or scattered papers Michel would leave left and right laying around, her instinctive reflex was to tidy it up automatically. She never considered herself like a very fastidious person, but it felt important to her to have her clothes properly ironed and folded, the dishes washed and put away right after a meal, or sweeping and vacuuming and wiping the place around regularly. On the other hand, Michel and his lackadaisical nature — while definitely much better than it was in the past — didn’t seem to care about that as he most often did the bare minimum required, which meant that she’d just mechanically reverted back to her servant self from the mansion, taking care of all the chores before he even had to raise a finger.

This quickly started to create an odd tension between them, as that was something Michel was not happy about and where he just barely managed to restrain himself from getting angry at times.

“I already told you, you don’t have to do this,” he once said sternly as he tried to get a dirty plate that had been left in the sink out of her hands. “I’m not a child, and I was doing fine on my own when you weren’t there. You can just relax and go watch TV if you don’t have anything else to do.”

“I know that, but you’re too slow! If you can do it, then do it now, instead of pushing it off until next week.”

Michel groaned. “I have more important priorities, and it doesn’t bother me—”

“Well, it bother me, so either you take care of it right away or you let me handle it.”

Her tone was unyielding and let no room for him to argue back. She could see his eyes waver for a moment, before he finally gave in and let her do as she pleased reluctantly, likely not wanting them to quarrel over something so trivial.

She and Michel had gotten only one big fight since their reunion, and it had been during Christmas Eve when they’d spent the night at a hotel at the Champs-Élysées together. This one time asides, all of the fights they had were barely fights at all; just some of their usual banters much like they had back in the days at the mansion, and Giselle wished it stayed that way. She really did.

But for some reason, whenever Michel would get insistent about the topic of her intensive housekeeping activities, it would instantly put her on the defensive — and she could feel how easy it would be to just let herself snap back at him undeservedly then.

She’d done her best to control her emotions in order to avoid that particular argument, and she felt Michel was doing the same — however, things got even more tense when they actually moved in together for real.

Michel talked to her about the building he inherited from his grandparents in late January; his parents had been taking care of it until now, and they’d been thinking about selling it. He thought it’d be a good opportunity to use to move in together — have their own proper place for them rather than his small, impersonal apartment that was starting to feel too cramped for two people, and of course Giselle was delighted at the prospect.

It went without saying that she was extremely happy to be able to live with him — a part of her missed her family, but being able to see Michel every single day, eat with him, going to bed with him and waking up nestled against his body each morning was an incomparable gift she’d trade for nothing else in the world.

But it also made her even more acutely aware of just how much she and Michel’s lifestyles and routines diverged.

It was like having to adapt and adjust to a whole new person — one she should already know by heart, but somehow didn’t anymore.

When the preparations for the café’s opening began, it only made things worse, as she felt that the slightest thing that wasn’t under her control would add stress to her already very anxious streak.

Michel observed her from afar for the most part with uneasiness, as whenever he tried to step in and do anything she’d simply blow him off — and it stayed that way for about a month until finally one evening where he came to seek her as she was ironing their laundry.

“Giselle, it’s late,” he started in a soft, cautious voice. “Come to bed already. You have to get up early to meet up with Maria tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I just need to—”

“Come on.” He insisted, and just as he saw that she was going to keep protesting, quickly added: “I’ll take care of it myself in the morning.”

At this, she put down the iron and glared at him with tired green eyes.

“You? Please, the rare times I let you took care of it you only do it sloppily.”

“That’s only because you never let me practice. I can learn, you know — if you just let me try.”

She shook her head exasperatedly. “Look, there’s not much left, and I—”

“Giselle, you need to stop.”

Suddenly, his voice became a bit firmer. A hand grabbed her wrist, and while it was gentle, the gesture made her stop everything she was doing right away — she froze, then slowly raised her head towards her fiancé. She wasn’t able to make sense out of the expression he was staring at her with.

“Come to bed with me. I want to… talk to you. It’s important.”

She stared down at his hand; bit her lip.

Something inside her stomach turned at the idea of leaving her work half-finished, and her first instinct was to keep arguing with Michel — but his gaze poised on her felt so intense she couldn’t bring herself to. So, with a lot of reluctance, she finally nodded and followed him back in their room.

For a moment, neither of them talked as she untied her hair and put on her pajamas, feeling Michel’s nervous eyes glimpsing at her back the whole time. It wasn’t until she sat on the mattress next to him that he finally opened his mouth again.

“Why were you so insistent on finishing this?” He started, his voice soft, careful; and she could tell with his way of speaking that he’d thought quite thoroughly about this conversation before bringing it up.

She shrugged. “I just don’t like leaving things half-done, that’s all.”

“…That’s not all there is, though, is it?”

Her eyes fell on the ground, and a strange feeling of annoyance and shame began to build up in her chest.

She knew what he was really asking her here, and she wasn’t sure she had a concrete answer for him.

Why had she been so adamant on completing something as trivial as ironing clothes? On taking care of all the domestic work by herself? On not tolerating Michel’s negligence?

That was hard to explain. It was like a visceral, instinctive part of her, in which not doing so felt like removing a crucial root of her being. Tearing out a piece of her identity.

Michel sighed. He leaned towards her, then gently took her hand in his. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for some time now, and… I have a proposal for you.”

Giselle raised her head towards him timidly, a curious look in her eyes. “A proposal?”

“From now on, I’ve decided to make sure to… stop being as messy. I’ll stop letting my clothes lying around, I’ll wash the dishes right after eating, I’ll tidy up things as much as I can… well, I can’t promise it’ll be instantaneous, but I’ll try my best to do better, at least. And, in exchange, you actually let me do half of the chores.”

Giselle blinked at him. “But…”

“I wouldn’t mind if it was just that you really love cleaning like with cooking, but… I don’t really get it, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I… think you simply do this out of habit from your experience as the Maid. Am I wrong?”

She opened her mouth, a bit stunned. No words got out.

He was right, though. She just hadn’t expected Michel to be able to figure out something like that by himself. Most of the time, she preferred to avoid talking about her life as the Maid, which he respected — and for as much as he could be a mindful person, he also tended to be pretty dense and not very attentive towards other people’s feelings.

Had he just gotten so good at reading her that he could decipher even the most hidden part of herself which she made a point of keeping locked inside?

He was staring straight into her eyes, his hand tightly grasping hers, waiting for an answer.

She stared back.

She was not the Maid anymore. She was not his servant anymore.

She was just a normal woman, with a normal lover — so it only was natural she’d confide in him like any normal couple, right?

Her eyes fell down again.

“…I… often had that habit of doing this, since I was a child. Tidying up things, I mean. My sister sometimes called me a clean freak.” She chuckled. “It’s like… I have that profound need of everything being in perfect order… Like a way to have control over things, I guess. Though back then I didn’t know why.”

He nodded, staying perfectly silent.

“It’s funny, you know, because back then… I mean, before… you know, before becoming the Maid, and before… everything, I didn’t really like doing chores. I didn’t really like being a servant either, nor was I particularly good at it. But as the Maid, it became the only thing that gave my life meaning, and… well, I don’t know. Maybe it still does on some level. Letting others doing this kind of things for me just feel… like removing a part of myself.”

It was odd putting all of that into words. Those were things she’d internalized for such a long time, but now that she’d started talking everything just flew out like water.

She didn’t think Michel would really get it. She didn’t expect anyone to really get it, honestly, not even Morgana who had spent an eternity in her company when she was in that spectral state.

It was her own personal burden she’d have to bear, a loneliness no one would ever be able to grasp or share.

And in a way, she was fine with it, too — it was like a sharp jewel that could cut and hurt at the touch, but was too pretty and comforting to throw away and let anyone see it.

Michel certainly couldn’t get it, but he still listened to her attentively, sympathized with her, loved her nonetheless; and that was all she asked of him.

“…But, you are not the Maid anymore,” he finally declared. “You are my partner, and as such, we should be able share those types of things.”

The word ‘partner’ took her off guard, but it soon enough made a smile bloom on her face.

“This must be the first time I hear a man fight his future wife for letting him doing more chores,” she teased, and he narrowed his eyes at her with annoyance.

“I don’t like it, but what I like even less is letting you do all the work by yourself. Especially now that you’re going to be busy with the café. We’re together in this, so please rely on me a little, all right?”

Giselle sighed, shaking her head with fond exasperation. She let herself fall on the bed, dragging Michel down with her under the sheets.

“Giselle—” He tried to protest, but she interrupted him by pulling the blanket over them.

“All right.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll accept your proposal. Or, well… I’ll try to. I don’t promise I’ll be able to do it right away, either.”

She turned her head towards him, then kissed him on the cheek. “And you definitely will have to make more efforts than this. We start tomorrow with letting you iron the clothes, but be sure I will check out afterwards how well you did.”

He smiled awkwardly. “I’ll… do my best.”

“Please do.”

She laughed then snuggled against his chest, burying her head in his neck. The sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body put her at ease instantly, soothing the anxiety at the prospect of having to let behind some of her most ingrained bad habits.

But he was right — as partners this was something they should share, and it was all with the purpose to built a good life together.

“Michel?” She murmured, lips against his skin.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

And she couldn’t see it, but she could feel his smile on his face as he put an arm around her while she closed her eyes.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #GischelWeek #Gischel Week #Gischel #Michel Bollinger #Giselle FataMoru #MisheJize #More than a millennium #Giselle Bollinger #Gischel Week 2022 #JizeMishe #Fata Morgana #Fanfiction #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Giselle (FataMoru) #House in Fata Morgana #Giselle #Novect #Giselle (The House in Fata Morgana) #Michel #Giselle x Michel #Michel x Giselle #Fanfic #FataMoru Fanfic #Fic

[connan-l]

Fiore Cadavere

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Jacopo Bearzatti & Morgana

Summary: Trying to take care of this traumatized little girl he saved turned out trickier than Jacopo had expected, especially with his own doubts getting in the way. So when she suddenly decide to disappear out of the blue one day, things become even more complicated.

Content Warnings: Requiem oblige, there’s mentions of prostitution (and underage prostitution given Maria is still 17 at this point) and of past child abuse/torture because of Morgana. Some mild descriptions of corpses as well I guess.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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The girl was still bundled up in there when he stepped inside.

The only anomaly to his routine lately, he thought with a bitter smile as the strong perfumes of the brothel piqued his nostrils and made him grimace instinctively; it was something he’d never entirely accommodated to, even after all those years.

Last room on the right, all at the bottom. That was where she’d taken shelter in for the past ten days since he’d first brought her here. She basically spent most of her days in there, refusing to interact with any of the girls as if they were lepers and not putting a single toe outside. At this point, most of the women had given up on the kid except for the really kind-hearted and patient ones like Iris who’d occasionally come to check on her, but if it wasn’t for him coming in every day to bring her the ointment and her meals he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just let herself die of hunger.

That girl — Morgana, right, she’d told him her name was Morgana — was committed on being a pain in the ass to everyone, it seemed. And, admittedly, it worked; Jacopo wasn’t really sure what to do with her anymore.

It’s barely been two weeks, he tried to reason with himself. And she’s a child who has been through hell. Just give her time. But a small, vicious voice, that could sounds either like Maria or Gratien or the goddamn lord himself depending on the circumstances, would in turn whisper in his ear that he would’ve done better to let her die during the uprising at the manor.

Even if it was slightly better than the first day he’d talked to her, she still seemed so determined to stop living. He wondered if trying to tire him out and force him to let her die was her end goal. That would be twisted, but then again, the words she’d told him when she’d woken up back then still plagued his mind.

“Would you… please kill me…?”

His blood boiled just remembering it, and he gripped his own fist tightly as he stopped in front of her room’s door.

Like hell I will.

“Morgana? Hey?”

He knocked once, twice. Then once again louder when he got no answer.

“…Who is it?”

A barely audible voice finally leaked through the wood, and he sighed. Which man could come to visit her besides him?

“It’s me, Jacopo?”

“…Who?”

“Oh come on, don’t screw with me! You should know my name by now. I’m the guy who bring you food every day!”

“Ah… the slave man.”

Jacopo tried not to let her odd insistence on never saying his name get under his skin.

She’s just a kid, he repeated again in his head, a recitation he’d learned by heart ever since he’d met her. Don’t get mad. Don’t get mad.

“Can I come in?” He asked, controlling his voice as much as he could. However after being given the silent treatment yet again for quite some time, he grumbled and couldn’t help but speak more forcefully. “Morgana.”

“It’s open.”

Jacopo sighed, then finally penetrated inside the room. Morgana was there alright; curled up on herself in a corner of the bed, all wrapped up in the blanket and that black cloak that she never let go of nowadays. She pulled her hood over face at his entrance, as if trying to hide herself even more than she already was. Jacopo couldn’t bring himself to understand why she persisted in wearing this large, cumbersome thing even inside; it really was as if she was trying to dissimulate her presence as much as possible from any pair of eyes that would dare to be too curious to stare at her. Though, knowing her, it very much could be the case, as she definitely always seemed to run away from any kind of visual contact. Shaking his head in disbelief, he decided not to comment on it as he was aware enough it’d only make things worse, and simply put the plate of food on the mattress.

“You know, you really should just start going to the kitchen all by yourself to eat,” he said instead while sitting down — far away from her so that she didn’t feel too threatened. “The girls won’t mind if you ask them nicely to share meals with them.”

Morgana eyed the bowl of pottage quietly for a moment, as if she feared it could be poisoned, and then slowly reached for it. Without looking at him and all while grabbing her spoon, she just mumbled back a sentence that sounded like, “You’re saying… I should go share my meals with these vile sinners?”

Jacopo sighed again, which was now a pretty regular occurrence in each of his interactions with Morgana. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Do you intent to keep insulting them for long like that? In case you forgot, may I remind you that those ‘vile sinners’ are the ones sheltering you for free right now. You don’t have to like their jobs, but is that really too much to ask that you talk to them like human beings? I’m pretty sure that ‘treating your benefactors like trash’ isn’t featured in the Bible.”

The girl said nothing, simply chewing on her bread in silence like a small mouse. The way she would simply fell silent whenever he made her notice she was being disrespectful made him think that maybe she did realize her behavior was uncalled for, but then again she still didn’t seem to make any effort to interact with the other women or just to stop calling them sinners.

Maria had said it’d take at least three years of work to get through to her. He’d originally been fine with the perspective of taking responsibility for saving her and taking care of her, but… Sometimes, he still couldn’t help but ponder if he’d truly be able to do something like this for such a long time.

“Well, whatever. Finish your meal and then I’ll take care of the ointment.”

As soon as she heard the word ‘ointment,’ the kid instantly tensed up, stopped eating and raised her eyes towards him fearfully. This was also another irritating behavior that he tried his best to not be irritated about. He’d come to put ointment on her for as long as she’d been here, every days, and yet she still reacted like that when he mentioned it. Sure, it had only been ten days — but certainly by now she should be aware he wouldn’t harm her, right?

“Christ, Morgana. Again, I won’t do anything you won’t like — it’s just putting the ointment on you. Nothing more. You should know that by now.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“No, but I want to, so I will. We are not having this conversation again.”

“It’s just useless. You should stop.”

Her dry way of speaking — a bit firmer than usual — stopped him in his tracks for a moment. Was she really still talking about just the ointment… or about herself in general? Maybe there truly was a part of her who was trying to be as unbearable as possible so that he’d eventually give up on her.

If Gratien or Maria were there, they’d most definitely tell him he should do so already — no point in trying to help someone who didn’t want to be helped. And in a way, they weren’t wrong, but…

He shook his head, trying to get rid of these thoughts. “…Oh, yeah. By the way, I wanted to ask you something… Erm, so you see, there’s this guy at the pub… um, a pretty nice dude; he often comes hang with us, and he helped during the riot at the manor too. Well, that guy, he has two daughters around your age — ten and eight years old.”

Morgana aimed inquisitive, suspicious eyes at him; he’d learned to recognize by now that it was the kind of warning gaze she used whenever he would say something she found particularly unpleasant and wanted him to shut up, but that didn’t deflate him to continue.

“I’ve talked with them a few times, and they’re really kind, cute girls. From time to time, they go out together with a few of their friends to play in the hills, collect plants and whatever so— well, what I’m saying is that, I’ve asked them yesterday if they’d be okay if another new girl joined them, so that they could show you around a bit and all, and they seemed really enthusiastic about it. So, what do you think?”

“You’re asking me to… join them? For what?”

“Huh? W-Well, you know… Play around… doing kids stuff? I don’t know, just, to have fun together. It’d be good if you could start making friends with other children—”

“I have no interest in things like ‘playing around,’ or in making friends with other children.”

Jacopo groaned. He had expected this type of answer, yes, but that didn’t mean it was any less annoying to actually hear it.

“Why do you just refuse to make any effort?” He let out in a frustrated voice before he could monitor his tone. “Making friends is a good thing, it’s not like I’m forcing you to do chores. Didn’t you have… um, well, friends, where you lived before?”

“No.”

This time, he actually hadn’t expected this type of answer. “Huh? Wait, really? Oh, come on, that can’t be true. I’m sure there must’ve been at least some, right? Kids you hanged around with?”

“There was none.”

“…Okay… Well, even if you didn’t have any back then, you can’t stay all the time on your own now, and I’m sure you must be bored to only be around people who are all older than you. You should find yourself some hobby too, instead of staying locked up inside all day. You know, if you’d just—”

“Stop that.”

Her voice rose; the spoon tinkled inside the bowl. Not quite a shout, per se — but still very loud for her standards, and it was so surprising for her to do something like that that Jacopo shut it up instantly, frozen in amazement. Golden eyes left the half-finished soup, and for once, hesitantly crossed his own willingly.

“Stop… deciding things for me… what you think is best for me… stop it. You… know nothing about me.”

A pregnant silence fell between them. They stared at each for some time, before Morgana finally gave in first and dropped off her eyes inside her bowl again. She didn’t seem to want to eat anymore, though, as she pushed the plate away from her; her fingers starting to play nervously with a pan of her robe.

Stiff shoulders, chin hanging down, fidgeting hands, a dodgy expression; those were all signs Jacopo knew very intimately — a collection of symptoms that he was a connoisseur of.

The body language of a child he’d known when he was younger; when he’d only just arrived to this town after running all by himself for days and days; after having been just barely saved by Maria — the language of a weak kid who was fearful of everything and would become cagey about any questions concerning his past, concerning himself.

That child who ran away and desperately tried to avoid people and hide from the stares was no more now.

He’d made sure of it — had buried him deep inside him, locked him away in a small box, destroyed his very existence.

Never would he have thought to see him again now, right in front of him, in the form of a young girl with red hair and skin scattered in scars.

“Sorry…”

There was a sigh, and then a head scratch.

“I’m… sorry, really.”

I’m sorry I can’t help you.

I’m sorry you gave up on living.

He didn’t say those parts out loud, of course. She wouldn’t hear it, wouldn’t understand it — just like he hadn’t when he had been like her.

Morgana didn’t react, and Jacopo knew that he wouldn’t hear a single word from her anymore for the rest of the day at least. He’d be lucky if she even allowed herself to speak to him again tomorrow. So, he simply took the plate of food and the ointment, departed from the room and closed the door behind him.

For as much she could be frustrating, he knew he had been her, once — but he just wasn’t sure if he’d be able to help her out the way he’d helped himself.

________________________________________________________________

There was too much noise.

Morgana’s head felt like it was going to explode. She pulled on her hood avidly, as if doing so could somehow protect her from the overwhelming sounds and people that surrounded her. She’d never been good at dealing with crowds, even back at her village — and her village had been pretty small — but now it just felt even worse somehow.

Ever since she escaped, it felt like if she closed her eyes she would just be back at the lord’s manor; hearing the nobles laugh and watch her bleed on the altar like hawks as they gawked and stuffed themselves up.

The memories made her dizzy, then nauseous, and instantly triggered her instinct to flight — but at this moment an adult’s hand grabbed her own, gently but firmly, and when she raised her head she saw a woman with black locks smiling at her lovingly, her dark eyes shining with concern.

“Are you okay, Morgana? If you feel bad you can just tell me, okay? I promise it won’t be much longer…”

The woman’s voice was very kind, but it somehow only managed to irk Morgana even more. She slapped her hand away and tightly grasped her cloak instead, looking down at the ground — hoping her hood would dissimulate as much of her face as possible. She couldn’t see the woman’s reaction to her rejection, but she could hear Maria snort from behind.

“Just leave the brat be, Iris. Honestly, I’m starting to regret we brought her along. Maybe we should just ‘accidentally’ lose her somewhere on the way or something.”

“Maria!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking! Jacopo would skin me alive if I ever did that.”

I never asked to be here, Morgana almost replied bitterly, but bit down her tongue at the last moment.

They’d needed to go out to buy a few things, apparently, and usually it would’ve been none of Morgana’s business and she would’ve just stayed locked up in her dedicated room. But Iris had showed up and asked her if she wanted to come, to ‘get some fresh air’ or something, and before she could say anything Maria had jumped on the occasion to push on the idea. Her argument, however, wasn’t that Morgana needed fresh her, but that given she was just a freeloader, the bare minimum she could do was help out with the chores like taking care of the shopping.

Morgana had tried to refuse, she really did. But that blond girl was just as stubborn as her, and she kept insisting, and… and, well. Admittedly, she had to admit she was kind of right. These… women had lent a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in and food to eat, while Morgana could give them nothing in return. She still would never approve of these their sinful lifestyles, but… she did feel guilty. If she could just reveal her real identity as a saint then she probably could use her blood as a way to repay them, but…

She just couldn’t. The idea of slicing up her skin like before, of just revealing her lineage brought back memories of the lord, of how she’d been used like an entertaining object, and with this all the sickening, disgusting feelings that were associated with him.

She should just leave the brothel. Run away from here, live on her own. The twelve days she’d been living there had already been too much.

But whenever she tried to gather her courage to do just that, she always ended up desisting herself at the last minute.

She didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t leave.

The fear of the unknown, the dread of not having any home, any future, anyone to count on anymore overwhelmed her, and then her thoughts just went back to what the slave man had told her about his hometown and of the possibility of them being family and—

How ridiculous.

She truly had now become the most disgraced, cowardly being on this earth.

“Anyway, what do we have left again?” Maria declared, sighing heavily as she ran her hand through her short hair. “Not sure we’ll find the rest around here… Should we just try to go to the city proper for once?”

“We’ll never be able to afford it in the city proper,” Iris intervened. “I think that—”

“Guards! Guards!”

“The guards are here!”

The people in the street suddenly began to get agitated, a few of them running away in smaller, darker alleys, as if they searched to hide. Maria and Iris instantly tensed up, but Morgana didn’t really understand what all this turmoil was about until she noticed a few horses trotting on the paved road, with on top of them men in what looked like heavy, metallic armors.

Guards. In her mind, guards were representatives of justice and goodness, loyally serving and protecting citizens, so she had no idea why everyone here seemed so panicked at the sight of them or why Iris suddenly gripped her hand once again in a protective manner.

It was as if… they were suspicious of them. Fearful. And then her blood went cold. It was only when this thought crossed her mind that she remembered…

Before serving and protecting citizens, those guards were first and foremost serving the lord. A shiver ran through her, and despite how callously she’d rejected Iris just a little while back, she now grabbed her long skirt tightly.

The men, up high on their horses, entirely engulfed in robust silver plates and with long swords hanging at their belts, looked incredibly imposing and intimidating as they surveyed the street and the people there. Then, the gaze of one of them stopped when he saw Iris and Maria, and directed his horse towards them. The blond-haired girl’s face instantly hardened, while the older woman nervously bit her lower lip before shoving Morgana behind her back.

“Well, now… Look who we have here,” one of the guards declared. “If it isn’t last time’s whores. What are your names again?”

“Since when do you fuckers care about the names of some rat slums?”

Maria replied sharply, her hand on her hip and her eyes glaring at the guard without an ounce of fear. Iris grimaced, but the man only chuckled, manifestly indifferent at the girl’s impudence.

“Cocky as always, huh.”

“Um… may I ask, why are you here?” Iris hesitantly tried, a very clear ‘you never come here’ accompanying the rest of her question.

“A few days ago, there was a slave revolt at the mansion of the lord. A revolt induced by people of the city. Lord Barnier wants us to find the instigators… But I believe you already know all of that, don’t you?”

“Hah. And of course, the first place you come to for that are the slums, huh?”

“It is always you guys who causes the most problems, so can you blame us for being suspicious?”

“And why don’t you start asking yourself why, exactly, do we fucking ‘causes problems,’ huh?”

“I-I am sorry to hear about what happened,” Iris cut in, trying to calm down the growing tension between the men and Maria. “But, um, neither I nor my friends know anything about that.”

“That, you see, I have troubles to believe. You all always know everything about each other, so I definitely think you must be aware of at least a few of those criminals. The lord is certain some of you are behind this.”

“Then why doesn’t the great Lord Barnier come to see us himself, hmm? Or maybe is he too afraid of a handful of slums rats for that?”

This definitely seemed like the one sentence too many. Iris gasped an anxious ‘Maria!’ through her teeth, and the guard leaned on his horse, fiercely glaring down at the women. Morgana only tried to bury herself even more inside her hood, erasing her presence as much as she could behind the two prostitutes.

“You better be careful, whore,” the man hissed menacingly. “Next time, the lord won’t be as forgiving.”

“Bring it on,” Maria replied back dryly without hesitation, a muffled anger vibrating through her voice.

The man snorted, then to Morgana’s surprised and relief, he actually straightened up, patted his horse, and finally he and his men turned around and walked away, not without throwing a last glare in their direction. It wasn’t until they disappeared at the corner of the street that the tension created by their arrival dissolved, and that the people of the district seemed to start breathing again. Iris, however, didn’t appear relieved in the slightest and instead grabbed Maria’s arm in an uncharacteristic mild anger.

“What on earth were you thinking by trying to provoke him like that, Maria? You realize how wrong this could’ve turned out?”

“It’s fine. They were just here as a warning, they wouldn’t have done anything unless they were sure we were connected to the revolt.”

“But you don’t know that! Honestly, you sounds like Jacopo! What if they tell the lord and he finally decides to take some drastic measures against the slums?”

“I don’t think some random whore being kind of rude to one of his guards is what will end up ticking off that guy,” Maria replied, shrugging. “And I get mad sometimes too. Okay, listen, I know we have to play it safe, but there’s a difference between this and actually creating a riot at the manor like the other dumbasses did. And the lord can’t bring himself to anger the people living in the city proper either, which by now could happen any time if he takes some measures too extreme. Like I said, in the end he’s just a fuckin’ coward afraid of us.”

“He is not afraid.”

“Huh?”

The words escaped Morgana’s mouth before she could even think about them; as if the mention of the lord had instinctively unlocked her voice, awakening a force that allowed her to speak up from behind Iris’ skirt when she would’ve never done so under normal circumstances.

The man’s deranged, black eyes — standing large and imposing in his sumptuous, shining clothing and jewels — were still burned in her mind; and even now, when she was so far away from him, she still felt like his gaze was burrowing inside her, wringing her soul dry.

No, that man had not an ounce of fear left in his body; not even for God Himself. There was only warped cruelty and madness.

“The lord… is not afraid of coming down here. It is more like… He just does not see the people who live here. He does not fear or hate them, he only think of them as if they don’t exist, as if they are…”

“You are my property. You are to do as I say. You are not to talk back or criticize.

And you are to give everything to me. Your life. Your body. Your soul. Your love. Every last thing.”

Laughters. Blood. Torn flesh.

“Not human.”

Maria and Iris exchanged a look, an uncomfortable expression spreading on both of their faces. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. She vaguely wondered if they now thought she was insane — but then quickly realized she didn’t care.

Many people here talked about the lord; there hadn’t been one day spent in the slums where she hadn’t heard his name, even in her limited social space. They were all so scared of him, but most didn’t even knew what he looked like. She was the only one here who had a very personal experience with him, besides the slave man and his big blond friend, so of course these women who’d never interacted with the man wouldn’t understand. And even then, she was still probably the only person who’d spent as much time with him and held actual, prolonged conversations.

How much time had she spent at that manor, tied up on that altar? Weeks? Months? Years?

She hadn’t been able to tell, as if time broke inside these walls.

At some point, it had just stopped mattering — stopped feeling real.

In a way, it still didn’t feel real.

A throat clear snapped her out of her thoughts; some clumsy attempt at getting them out of the uncomfortable silence that had prevailed until now.

“O-Okay, well, who cares anyway, right?” Morgana recognized Maria’s voice, although she couldn’t bring herself to lift her head to confirm it. “We have better things to do. We should go now or we’ll still be there tonight.”

“Th-That’s right,” Iris agreed, and without waiting a beat they started walking through the street again. Her hand was still holding Morgana’s in hers, and this time the girl didn’t try to slap it away.

The routine bustling of the slums had gone back to normal, forgetting all about the threatening visit they’d just experienced, and Morgana let her eyes ran over the weathered buildings, the starved homeless people and the emaciated orphans at every corners of the streets. Morgana’s birth village had been relatively poor, but even so it had never reached this level of miserable, and of indifference in that miserableness, that could be seen here. Such a stark display of human depravity piqued her instincts as a saint, her desire to help and use her blood on the sick, abandoned people lying down on the side of the street resurfacing strongly.

Until she realized there were not just sick people that lied on the side of the street. In the darkest corners, hidden and confined so that they wouldn’t be as obvious to the naked eye, were bodies; unlike the diseased, none of them moved, breathed, whimpered.

Soulless corpses, sprawled and forgotten by all, slowly rotting away in complete apathy.

Her stomach turned.

“Huh…? Morgana, what’s wrong?”

Iris stopped as soon as she realized the young girl was not following them anymore, and Maria imitated her shortly after. Morgana had come to a halt right in front of a dark alleyway, and her eyes were staring intensely at the dead bodies.

“What… are those?” She articulated slowly.

That was a stupid question; of course she already knew what those were, but the words escaped her anyway.

“Oh… that,” Maria said. “Well, you’re new here, so I guess it must be unusual to you. It’s just some poor guys who are too unfortunate to have anyone care for them and died here alone. Or, guys that no one wants so they just ditch them out here.”

Once again, a nauseous, dizzy feeling washed over Morgana, and her throat felt dry.

“J-Just… leave them here?” She stammered. “B-But, you don’t— you don’t bury them?”

Maria arched an eyebrow and stared at her as if she was some curious creature.

“Well, why bother, y’know?” She finally let out. “Like, we don’t know these folks, and we have already a lot of shit on our hands to deal with, so… Who would actually waste time to bury some randos?”

Her answer actually horrified her. She just couldn’t comprehend how could anyone think that way; it just went against every single one of her principles.

“B-But if you don’t bury them… then their souls can’t move on to the afterlife!” She exclaimed, and she couldn’t tell if she felt angry or saddened or both at the same time. “They’ll stay stuck on earth and never reach the purgatory!”

The two women seemed taken aback by her behavior. Maria looked uneasy, as she bit her lip and smiled awkwardly.

“I mean… maybe…? Sucks for them, I guess? But again, it’s none of our business. And it’s none of yours too, isn’t it?”

Something burned inside Morgana’s chest, her stomach, her whole body. She couldn’t like Maria for the simple fact that she was a prostitute — a woman choosing to live in sin — but at this very moment, she actually felt hatred towards her and her cold words. She wanted to yell at her; how could she so unceremoniously spat on God’s teaching? Throw away others’ souls and lives for her own? Did she simply had no moral consciousness at all?

Maybe Iris sensed her distress, because she then put a hand on her shoulder, crouching down to reach her height, and smiled gently.

“It’s not like we think it’s a good thing. I know it can be upsetting, Morgana… but, you see, we’re still just trying to survive as best as we can here already, so… we simply cannot care as much for people who cannot be saved anymore anyway. Do you understand?”

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t; that made no sense. What did she mean, ‘people who can’t be saved anymore’? Their physical envelop may be dead, but their souls weren’t — in fact, it was the most important part of a person. They absolutely could still be saved; it was when it would be decided what’ll happen for them in the afterlife.

And they were saying it just didn’t matter? That their own survival was more important?

If she hadn’t been the dignified daughter of God, Morgana would have screamed in her face. But she controlled her anger and did her best to keep it in. Doing so would not only be unbefitting of her, it would also serve no purpose, she realized.

Clearly, these women were way too sinful to even realize what sort of blasphemous inanities they were proffering. And Morgana didn’t think they’d understand, even if she were to take all the time in the world to explain it.

“C’mon now, let’s stop talking about those depressing stuffs,” Maria finally cut in. “Let me remind you, we still have work to do, girls! So let’s move on already!”

“Yes… that’s right. Let’s go, Morgana.”

Iris smiled, and extended her hand towards the girl again. She didn’t take it. Instead, she ignored her and started walking with her head hung down, trying her best not to turn around.

She bit her lip. Her scraped, fleshless lip; cursed along with the rest of her life, festered and desecrated along with the rest of her body and mind.

A constant reminder of how defiled she was, how her entire identity had been ripped away from her, how useless and meaningless her life had now become — and how she was just a coward running away from her duties.

In this instant, she really felt like she wasn’t that different from the corpses rotting away in the dark alleys that everyone here had forgotten about.

________________________________________________________________

“What do you mean, you ‘lost’ her?!”

Jacopo felt like tearing out his hair — he yelled, not even trying to hide his frustration. His childhood friend, on the other hand, seemed very indifferent; both concerning the news she’d just broke to him and towards his anger.

She just shrugged. “Well, y’know. Shit happens.”

And this definitely didn’t help her case. Iris was at her side, looking down shamefully, and the contrast between the two would have been kind of funny if not for the circumstances.

“Maria, it was your job to look after her! Bringing her outside wasn’t a bad idea, but you had to be careful!”

“Dude, chill, okay? I’m not a freakin’ babysitter. You’re the one who brought her to the brothel to start with!”

“And you’re the one who agreed to help me take care of her! Which you clearly didn’t do, right now!”

“N-Now, please you two, don’t fight… We won’t find her like this…”

Iris stepped forward, trying to put some distance between her arguing friends, and Jacopo reluctantly listened to her, sighing and running his hands in his hair.

Certainly, fighting only made them lose time that could be used to look for Morgana, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop feeling annoyed at Maria.

“Well then, explain everything again. What happened exactly?”

“I told you! We’d just came back from our little shopping trip, and I turned my back for like two minutes then poof, she was gone. I really can’t tell you more than that.”

Jacopo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, is there anything that could indicate where she went? Did she say anything on the way?”

Iris tilted her head thoughtfully, putting a finger on her lip. “Not particularly… But, well, she was her usual odd self, you know? The only instances I can think of is when we ran into the guards like we told you earlier, or… the moment where she stopped because of the corpses.”

“The corpses?”

Maria sighed. “Oh, yeah. At some point we came across some corpses. You know, nothing unusual. But when the girl saw them, she kinda threw a fit. About how we couldn’t just let them rot like that, that we needed to bury them, yadda, yadda.”

“We explained to her that we didn’t have any other choices,” Iris continued. “We don’t know these people, but she still seemed upset… She must be very pious.”

Maria snorted derisively, and Iris shot her a disapproving look. Certainly, Jacopo was well aware by now just how deeply religious Morgana was, and it didn’t surprise him that she wouldn’t like the idea of letting dead people unburied, no matter how silly he personally thought it was.

“So, that’s all then? You’ve got nothing about where she could be?”

“Look, dude, we already did all we could for her, okay? I can’t have my eyes on her every waking moment, and like I said, I just let go of her for two minutes. We’re already doing the best we can, so cut it out with the haughty tone.”

Maria glared at him with her arms crossed, and this actually made Jacopo feel a bit ashamed. Truth be told, he did feel bad to leave Morgana so much in Maria and the other girls’ care. After all, that child wasn’t their responsibility, and they struggled enough like that with the brothel and to survive out there without having to look after a kid with a bad character who hated them. But they were the friends he trusted the most, and he didn’t know who else to ask — that certainly wasn’t a service he could demand of the guys at the pub, and, for as much as Morgana couldn’t stand the prostitutes, he was still certain she was more comfortable living with other women than with some older men she didn’t know.

“You’re right… sorry. I’m just… I’m worried. Anything could happen to her, so we need to find her quickly, especially before it gets dark.”

Iris smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We still have time before opening the brothel, so I’ll ask Lili and the others to help look as well. It’ll be okay.”

“I appreciate it,” he said, sincerely.

Iris simply nodded back at him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, and then she stepped aside towards the backroom. Maria let out a sigh as soon as she went away, and she and Jacopo exchanged a look.

“Well, we’d better start looking as well, then.”

And so they did. They separated into three groups with the other prostitutes; he and Maria inspecting the west of the slums while the others took upon the east and south. But even with a few people, the slums were big and it felt like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“That’s where we stopped for a while,” Maria declared, as they stopped at the street the three of them had been earlier. “And where the guards showed up. They were really mad, by the way. It seems you guys really did a number on the lord with your little revolt.”

“Yes, well, that was the goal. Even so, something like this still won’t be enough to stop him.” Jacopo could feel Maria was about to make a snide comment, so he decided to quickly change the topic — not wanting to fight with her about this right now: “So you think she must still be around here?”

Maria shook her head exasperatedly. “I don’t know, Jacopo. I’m just telling you where we went, but honestly, she could be anywhere right now. And we already retraced our steps with Iris to look for her; she’s not here.”

Jacopo raised his head towards the sky — it was slowly starting to tint itself of a red-orange color, indicating evening was arriving. Soon, Maria and the others would have to open the brothel, and he’d be the only one left who could look for her.

“We can’t just look through the entire city before it gets dark, so we have to think strategically,” he declared. “We need to find her before the night.”

Maria stared at him in silence for a moment. She glanced left and right, bit her lip, and then finally scratched her head.

“Why, though? In a way, maybe it’d be better for all of us if she ran away and didn’t come back.”

Jacopo looked back at her with a bewildered expression.

“Are you really that hellbent on wanting to let her die?”

“God, of course I don’t wanna see that kid die! Stop making me sound like a heartless bitch, you know what I mean. A brothel isn’t a right place for a little girl, especially not if she can’t work. And — well, I definitely don’t have the best track records with them, but it’d probably be better for her to go to an orphanage or something. Surely not all of them are as bad as mine was.”

She wasn’t actually wrong. Jacopo knew that too, of course — logically, getting her to a place that could look after her properly like an orphanage should be the best course of action. Leaving her into hands that were infinitely more competent than him for that type of task.

So why couldn’t he just do that?

Maria waited for a response, and as none come, she looked at him weirdly.

“Do you really care that much about that girl?”

“It’s not like that,” he replied. “I just… I feel responsible, you know? I’m the one who saved her life.”

She kept staring at him dubiously, as if she was trying to read his mind. Maria was usually pretty good at reading his mind, but Jacopo wasn’t even sure what was going on in his head right now, so he doubted she’d be able to decipher it in his stead.

Even now… he still wasn’t really sure why he had saved the girl.

Of course he hadn’t wanted a child to die, especially so cruelly. It had been the right thing to do. But Barnier’s words resounded ominously in his brain, plaguing him like a curse, and he couldn’t get rid of them, no matter how hard he tried.

Still, he thought back about the morning he spent with her two days ago. About the way she’d bundled herself up in her bed, hidden under her hood. About the way she’d warily chewed on her bread like she was afraid he’d take it away from at the slightest mistake, and the way she was so completely unable to sustain anyone’s gaze.

And then he thought back to the young boy he’d been at least ten years ago now.

“I understand what she’s going through right now, that’s all.”

“What do you understand? You just met her!”

“I just do, okay?!”

Maria opened her mouth, apparently ready to argue back, but no words came out. Instead, she simply stared at him, straight into his eyes. Jacopo couldn’t make out her expression, and for all their usual shared complicity, this time he also couldn’t make out what could be the thoughts crossing her mind. Her pointed gaze on him started to feel uncomfortable, and he ended up looking away.

A silence followed their outburst, until finally his friend sighed.

“All right,” she declared. “All right. I get it.”

Jacopo risked a glance at her, and she seemed… understanding. He didn’t really know if she truly ‘got it,’ because if she did then that’d meant she’d figured out something about him not even he himself had been able to. Then again, if there was someone out there who could do that, it definitely was Maria.

“I think we’ll have more chance to find her if we separate as well,” she finally added. “I’ll take the south, you keep looking in that direction. But I’ll have to go back when it’s time for the brothel to open. Is that fine with you?”

“…Yeah. Sounds good.”

Maria nodded, then started to walk away — however, she seemed to change her mind at the last minute and went back to put a hand on Jacopo’s shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” she said in an unusual soft voice. “I do hope we’ll find her in one piece. I don’t want her to die.”

“…I know.”

She leveled a concerned look at him, before finally setting off. Once all alone in the street, Jacopo let out another sigh. Still, with all that said, he wasn’t actually more advanced. He followed Maria’s advice and kept looking around, trying to get her words out of his head, and not doing a good job at it.

“You’re a puny worm, powerless to truly ‘save’ anyone. You merely want to help the girl so you can pat yourself on the back and pretend you did a good deed.”

No matter how senseless the lord’s words were, they were glued to him and followed his every steps. He almost felt like the man’s shadow was right behind him, murmuring in his ears.

He shook his head, and looked up at the sky once more. Was Barnier right, after all…? Had it been nonsensical for him to try to save that girl’s life? Should he agree with Maria when she said it might’ve been better for the girl to get away from them?

Was he just making everything worse, after all?

The sky’s orange tint kept on getting darker and darker. Soon, it would probably be of a similar color as Morgana’s hair. He let his gaze fell on the street, and noticed in the corner of the district a dark alley littered with corpses. A sad sight he’d gotten way too used to in his years of living here.

But then suddenly, what Iris and Maria had told him earlier came back to him. About Morgana’s reaction to the slums’ dead bodies. He’d already looked around to see if she’d stayed nearby them, but hadn’t been lucky. Still, if he remembered well, Maria had said Morgana had been particularly upset about the fact they weren’t buried—

Of course…! Why didn’t I think of it before?!

He instantly turned away and began to run.

________________________________________________________________

There was a small, deserted hill a little outside the slums, near the town’s entrance.

A tranquil, quiet field full of green grass, leafy trees and other growing plants no one was taking care of. The place was not good for any kind of plantations except those wild herbs, which was why despite the surface and the convenient placement, no farmers had tried to exploit the land, so only the rare travelers or kids who tried to find a place to play would hang around here.

In this field, kneeled in front of a handmade hole under the vermilion sunset, was the little girl with the red braids.

“Morgana!”

The child jumped and turned around as if she had been stung by a needle. Jacopo couldn’t really make out her expression under her hood and her scars, but she was clearly looking at him with wide, frightened golden eyes. However, as soon as she realized the person who called out to her was a familiar figure, her panic cooled down a little.

“As I thought,” he said, sighing.

“Wh-What are you doing here?”

“I should be the one to ask you this! Seriously, look at you.”

She was covered in mud from head to toes and was panting heavily, as if she’d just spent the afternoon running around — which could be true, for all he knew. Now that he was only two meters away from her, he also could clearly see a decrepit wooden plate she must’ve used to dig, as well as the rotting corpse at the side of the hole; the decomposed body of a middle-aged man, and given the gray state of his mangled, decayed flesh under which the bones stood out, he must’ve been dead for quite some time. The awful smell emanating from him was nauseous, and Jacopo had to really force himself to keep standing so close to him instead of turning away on the spot. He was used to corpses and rotten fleshes, sure, but that didn’t mean he was going to start finding them pleasant any time soon.

“How… did you find me?” The girl questioned suspiciously.

“Maria and Iris told me about what happened earlier… I thought if the corpses had really upset you that much, maybe you’d try to actually bury them yourself. And that for doing so you’ll search the most quiet, far away place without people.”

For all response, Morgana just stared quietly at him, but he knew he must’ve been right. He honestly felt kind of proud to have been able to guess her thought process, given how unreadable she was most of the time, but he wasn’t going to let that show on his face.

“Though seriously, I can’t believe you actually did this! Did you really brought that corpse here all by yourself? And made that hole?”

“…Of course I did… Who else would?”

Jacopo winced, before looking at the corpse and the hole. She was so tiny and meager, it must’ve been a freaking challenge to bring the dead body of an adult man here, and then to make that hole with nothing but her bare hands and some wooden plate. She must’ve been at it for hours — and with that sickening smell for only company on top of that. That girl really was completely crazy.

“Do you realize how dangerous what you did is? Running away like that on your own is stupid, especially without telling anyone! You really worried Maria and Iris, and anything could’ve happened to you! This is the slums here!”

“Well, nothing happened. Furthermore, that is… none of your business.”

“None of my— Oh, Jesus.”

Jacopo honestly thought about just leaving the ungrateful brat here — with her corpse and her hole, since she seemed so attached to them — and simply go back home and sleep. But of course his conscience would never let him sleep in peace if he did that. So he tried to calm his nerves, and sat down in front of her.

“Come now, that’s enough. Let’s go back at the brothel before it gets dark… Ugh, god, and look at your hands! They’re all scratched—”

“Don’t touch me!”

All while taking, he had tried to grab her wrists, but the moment his fingers had brushed hers she had brusquely hit his hand, pulled away, and glared at him fiercely.

Ah, right. He forgot about that, too.

“Uh… sorry. I won’t touch you. Okay? But we need to go back now.”

“…I… won’t go back.”

He blinked. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

“I won’t come back. Not until… I finish to bury him.”

“Oh for god’s sake… It’s a fucking corpse, Morgana! It’s— It’s dead! It won’t run away. It’ll still be here tomorrow!”

“I need to bury him now, that’s all,” Morgana replied, and dammit, why was that girl so annoyingly stubborn?

“Why do you even need to bury him at all anyway? I just… don’t get it. Whether it’s in the ground or not, it won’t change the fact he’s dead. It won’t bring him back to life.”

“It will not bring him back to life, no. But if he is not buried… then his soul cannot have a proper farewell. It will… not be able to depart from this earth, to join my Fa— God. This is an incredibly… cruel fate to inflict upon someone… and I cannot bear that idea.”

Restraining himself from rolling his eyes was harder than he’d thought right now. Here she was again, babbling about souls and God and duties. As someone who couldn’t give less of a damn about religion or God, he had very little patience for those kinds of talks; especially after hearing her preaching about it for days.

“All right, maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s dead, and you’re not, so I’m sorry but as long as it’s the case, you comes first.”

“I’m… fine. I won’t…  die just because I’ll stay a bit late to bury this body…”

“I swear, it’s just stupid! Why are you so obsessed with this? In fact, maybe that guy was scum who doesn’t even deserve to be buried anyway! Again, it’s just not important—”

“It is important!”

Morgana had yelled.

An actual shout, which Jacopo never thought he’d ever heard from her — not when up until now the only sounds she seemed to be able to produce were barely audible murmurs. Her voice was trembling, and she was… clearly upset. He felt so taken aback that it froze him in place.

“It is important! M-Maybe he was a sinner, maybe he’s not worth it, but that’s not for us to judge! Only God can decide that! And if he doesn’t get a proper burial, th-then his soul will just wander around on earth for the rest of eternity… with nowhere to go, nowhere to go home!”

She raised her face towards him, and her golden eyes stared straight at him. They shined way too much, looking red under the sunset.

“It— It was the same at the manor, too! The lord just killed and killed and then threw away the corpses as if they were vulgar toys, without ever burying them! A-And if you can’t— can’t understand how heartless and barbaric that is, then— you’re really no better than him!”

She stopped yelling, but her body was shaking and she was breathing really heavily. She brought her hands to her face, and he heard her sniffling. Sadness and sympathy gripped him, and a little bit of guilt as well, for once again losing the control of his emotions and pushing her to this extreme uncharacteristic reaction.

“All right… fine,” he said softly, gently. “I get it. There was no need to get that upset or to cry—”

“I-I’m not crying! And I’m not upset!”

“Okay, okay.” He actually couldn’t really tell if she was crying or not, but she was very visibly upset. He wasn’t going to fight her on that point, though. “Either way, I get it, so… it’s fine.”

Then he leaned down, grabbed the wooden plate she’d left hanging on the ground… and began to dig. He couldn’t see the girl, too focused on his new task, but he could plainly feel her stare at him with wide eyes — could easily imagine her stunned expression.

“What… What are you doing?” She asked, her voice still trembling a little from her outburst.

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m helping you. Otherwise we’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“But… But you kept saying you thought it was stupid—”

“Yeah, and I still stand by that. I really don’t think dead people deserve that much attention… but…”

He stopped, then looked up at her in the eyes.

“But it’s important to you, right? So it doesn’t matter if I don’t get it.”

Morgana kept staring at him. Jacopo couldn’t tell her expression or what she was thinking, but at some point she just ended up nodding slightly, before starting digging as well.

None of them exchanged a single word while they were working. They simply finished making the hole in silence, dragged the body inside it, and recovered it with as much soils as they could. And as the final touch, Morgana put a rock a bit bigger than her hand on top of it, before grimacing.

“It needs a better gravestones,” she concluded, and Jacopo couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have all the time you want tomorrow to find a better one, so please tell me you don’t intend to spend the night on it.”

Morgana stared at the makeshift burial, then at Jacopo, and, to his relief, she shook her head. “I’ll think about it… but tomorrow, not now.”

“Good! Then we can go—”

“Wait.”

He arched an eyebrow at her umpteenth protest, and then watched her kneel on the ground, join her hands together and hang down her head. At first he wasn’t sure what she intended to do, until he heard her small voice recite a feeble string of words.

A prayer, he realized. He instinctively let out another sigh, but decided it would do him no favor to interrupt her — so he just went to sit under the nearby tree, putting his hands behind his head as he watched her back and listened to her religious whispers.

After a while, he slowly closed his eyes. It felt soothing, somehow. Morgana didn’t speak much, but she had a very beautiful voice, so hearing her utter a prayer in such an unusual confident, fluent way felt particularly special — like he could genuinely believe there was something divine to this whole thing.

When was the last time I felt this relaxed? I can’t even remember…

It seemed like a very unique experience. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so at ease before; not even when he was having fun with Maria or his friends at the pub…

He practically let himself fell asleep when she finally stopped, and upon reopening his eyes he realized she was now briefly rearranging the improvised tomb, letting her small fingers run through the soils.

“Do you really know all these prayers by heart?” He asked; not that he was that interested in the topic, but it seemed like a lot of words to memorize for a young child.

“…Yes,” the girl replied. “The Bible too.”

“Wait. You know the entire freaking Bible by heart?”

“Of course. After all, I am the—”

Morgana stopped herself though, and then she looked away.

“You’re…?” Jacopo pressed her.

She seemed hesitant, but then she shook her head.

“Nothing,” she finally said.

He half-wanted to push her further on the issue, but he knew that doing so would only manage to close her off even more. So he just shrugged and looked around. The field was large and completely desert; definitely vast enough to bury dozens and dozens of holes like this one.

“Just out of curiosity… Something tell me this isn’t the only abandoned corpse that bothered you in slums, right? So do you intend to just… do the same with the others? Bury them?”

“Would there… be a problem with that?”

“Well… this land belongs to no one, so I guess not, but… Are you sure you want to do something like that?”

“…You’re the one who told me to find a hobby.”

“I-I did, but… I was more thinking about something like playing with other kids, not— burying corpses. I mean, you realize it’s a lot of work, right? And corpses can bring in diseases so it can be dangerous to—”

“I want to do it.”

She turned around towards him, golden eyes piercing him.

“I… need to.”

A part of him had been about to object some more, but staring straight at her, all of his arguments about it suddenly felt moot. Of course he still wasn’t very enthusiastic about this creepy idea of taking care of the random dead bodies that littered their streets, but… He knew, the moment he saw her eyes, that he wouldn’t change her mind.

But more than that, even without knowing anything of this girl’s life, he could understand, relate to her demand — to her need to do something.

That was why in the end, he simply nodded and whispered ‘all right,’ in a soft voice.

“Then now we should really go back. Maria and the others should be worried sick by now.”

“Maria…?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Short. Blonde. Angry.”

“No, I know who she is… It’s just that… she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to get worried…” She paused, then added more softly: “And I don’t think she… likes me very much.”

Jacopo laughed out loud at this. “Well, I won’t deny she’s not super fond of you right now. And I know she can be kinda scary sometimes, but I promise she’s a good person at heart. She’s very protective of people she cares about. Once you get to know her, she would die for you without hesitation.”

He knew, because she’d done so for him a lot of times already. Well, without the dying part thankfully, but that was the attention that counted.

“Though, you know… if she’s harsh with you, that’s kinda your fault too. If you stopped being so awful to her and the others at the brothel, I promise you’d get along well. The other women are all kind people as well. Just try to be a little more friendly, and you’ll see.”

The girl stayed quiet, and Jacopo was aware that it would probably take more than a few words to convince her. But he still hoped one day she’ll manage to get along well with Maria and the others… and with him too, of course.

“Anyway, let’s go,” he concluded, standing up.

He extended his hand towards Morgana, smiling. She looked up at him, then at his hand. For a brief moment, she seemed to be about to reach out towards him… but the instant she saw her own hand, covered in cuts, she stopped. To his surprised, she instead got up on her own.

“I don’t need your help,” she replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

And without any more words, she walked away— leaving Jacopo all by himself with his extended hand feeling like an idiot.

“Hey, are you kidding me?! You could’ve at least accepted that much, right?”

He screamed, running after her, and — although it could’ve just been his imagination, as soon as he got to her side he got the impression to distinguish the premise of a smile behind her scarred face.

A small, amused smile; and he realized, then, that regardless of if that had been real or if it was just his mind playing with him, the feeling of warmness it made bloom in his chest was genuine. That the happiness born from the idea of having managed to maybe makes her smile was one of the most content and pleasant feeling he’d experienced in a while.

And that if he could, he definitely wanted to try to do anything to make it happen again.

He still didn’t know what to make of the lord’s taunting or Maria’s warnings; maybe they were right. But in this moment, as the two of them together were leaving this bereft field slowly engulfed in darkness where was buried a single corpse, it didn’t matter.

What mattered is that he knew he had a renewed wish to help this girl, and he was well-decided to do anything in his power to make it work.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Jacopo Bearzatti #JacoMoru #Morgana FataMoru #Morgana #Morgana (FataMoru) #Fanfiction #Connan's Fanfics #ヤコモル #Fata Morgana #Connan's Posts #Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana) #FataMoru Fanfic #ファタモルガーナの館 #Morgana Fata Morgana #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Fanfic #ファタモル #Fata Morgana no Yakata #House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru Fanfiction #Jacopo

[connan-l]

Feverish

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Morgana & Nellie Rhodes, Morgana & Mell Rhodes

Summary: Morgana was only going to give her blood to Mell’s sister, as usual. But when the boy has to go out for an emergency, she find herself all alone in his home, for only company the heavily sick Nellie…

Takes place during Requiem before Morgana get kidnapped.

Content Warnings: Mentions of self-harm/cutting, blood, brief past child abuse, and vague codependent sibling incest because of the mess that is Nellie and Mell.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Hi, no I did not give up writing fanfics, I’ve just been kinda busy and in a sort-of writer block for the past few months lol. But anyhow, I’ve had this in my drafts since like January and thought it was time to finally complete it!

This is kind of a “I’m curious about what a relationship between Morg and Nellie would looks like” and “I wanna see Morgana be friends with other girls her age” mixed story lol. Nellie in Door 8 sounded so intrigued and grateful towards the “saint” who saved her and was so determined to help her that I wanted to experiment a little with this…

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The flaxen-haired boy opened the door, and politely let her enter his small house before him. He was just as gallant as ever, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, staring instead at the floor distractedly. It was obvious how nervous he was around her — just as it was obvious that he really wanted to quickly get this over.

Morgana didn’t mind. He had been acting this way for weeks now, so she was pretty used to it. And really, she had no reason to mind at all. It was perfectly normal for him to be nervous (afraid) of her — to be distant and uneasy.

It was how things should be. She was fine with it.

(It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt at all.)

“Uh, Nellie is still sleeping,” Mell said hesitantly, and Morgana simply nodded as she stepped into the young girl’s room. His sister was generally always sleeping whenever she came, and even when she wasn’t, with such a high fever, she was barely aware of her surroundings at all.

She was lay down on a small bed, her round face flushed and sore, and her chest heaving with difficulty in the spasmodic rhythm of her painful, guttural breathing. Her fever was still going strong, and her dull blonde curls stuck to her sweaty skin.

Morgana had only ever seen her in this state. A barely awake, deteriorated body, that sometimes even seemed at the gates of death. According to Mell, she was but a shadow of her usual self; a very bright, smiling, energetic child, which was hard to imagine upon witnessing her current corpse-like condition. A selfish part of Morgana felt relieved to not have to encounter the normal Rhodes sister, though — as she had never been really good at dealing with bubbly people.

Nellie was fourteen, only two years younger than her. Now that she thought about it… that was probably the first time she hanged out with another girl her age (as much as she could call this ‘hanging out.’) In her village, the other children never approached her, their parents always making sure they didn’t — “Do not importunate the saint!” — and at the brothel, the prostitutes had all been older than her by at least a few years. There were other kids in the slums of course, but most of them didn’t want to have anything to do with her because of her face, and even when some rare courageous ones dared to speak to her Morgana just turned cold and chased them away. The slave man would reprimand her for that, but she didn’t need friends and she didn’t see why she had to make such an effort.

Morgana faintly shook her head. Mell’s sister herself didn’t matter much to her — she was only here to heal her, after all, and as long she could recover without any issue, then the rest was without importance. So she did like usual, lifting her long sleeve and starting to recite her prayer in a soft voice.

“This body was created not in a mortal womb; this flesh is not the flesh of man; this blood is not the blood of man…”

She could feel Mell’s wary gaze on her during the whole process — he was standing at the very end of the room, as if trying to stay as far away from them as possible, while she cut her scarred wrist and let blood trickle down Nellie’s lips. His presence was distracting to her — he looked at the ritual with such intense, uncomfortable emotions that it made Morgana herself uneasy. He was giving her the impression she was doing something wrong when she was just trying to save his sister’s life — and, frankly, it felt almost offensive to her.

She didn’t want to keep doing this any more than him, and she had no idea why it seemed her Father was in such a whimsical mood when it came to this girl and refused to let her heal completely but also to let her die, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She thought about asking the boy to leave the room altogether more than once, but she could never bring herself to.

Once she was finally done, Mell quickly brought her a towel with trembling hands — despite the fact she had told him a thousand times it was unnecessary, he kept doing it — and as Morgana started to slowly swab her wound, the boy suddenly let out an odd squeak.

“Oh no!” He exclaimed. “I completely forgot!”

“What is it?” Morgana inquired, although to be honest she didn’t care much about the matter now that her task was finished.

Mell bit his lip. “I… I’ve been short on money ever since… Nellie got ill, so it’s been getting harder to buy healthy food. But the other day I told my situation to the fishmonger, and he kindly proposed to give me some leftovers he’d keep for me if I could come before six in the evening…”

“I believe it is not yet that time, so you could still make it?”

“P-Probably, but…” He looked over at Nellie, then around him, and then finally at the ground, before murmuring: “Could I… Could I ask you a favor?”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. She thought about refusing — because their relationship had definitely become extremely fraught ever since she started giving blood to his sister… but at the same time, her duty as a saint tugged at her, preventing her from ignoring a person in need.

“Depends on what that is,” she finally concluded.

“I-I really need to go, but… I don’t want to leave Nellie all alone right now… Uh, would you mind keeping an eye on her while I’m gone?”

“That’s…”

“It’ll just be for an hour, at most! I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Morgana sighed. She looked back at the sleeping girl snuggled under her blanket. Certainly, it wouldn’t cost her much to stay while Mell was away and keep watch on an unconscious sick child… Even so, she still hesitated. She didn’t want to do any more service for Mell than what she was already doing, and she wanted even less to stay in his home, even for a short while. But… the boy was looking at her with pleading honey eyes, and despite herself, Morgana still found herself fond of him. Surely, an hour in this house wouldn’t cost her much.

“All right,” she surrendered.

“Oh, th-thank you very much!”

Mell smiled brightly at her — in that genuine, sweet way he hadn’t used since she had started giving blood to Nellie — and for a brief moment, Morgana’s heart skipped a beat and she hated herself for that.

It was as if, in that instance, they were back to before — before she could remember her true identity, before things turn out wrong and twisted. When she could just enjoy his presence and share small, casual conversations with him as if they were friends. As if they were two normal teenagers hanging out and having fun together.

But they weren’t, and they never were, and up until now their relationship had just been her fooling herself.

She looked away, hoping to camouflage the way she had briefly gotten flustered, but Mell didn’t even seem to notice as he was already grabbing a satchel and running towards the door.

“It’ll be very quick! I promise!”

Before Morgana could reply, the door closed brusquely and suddenly no sound resonated in the house anymore.

No sound, except for her and the fair haired girl’s breathing.

Morgana let out another sigh and ran her fingers through her red bangs. Admittedly, she now felt pretty lost as to how she should spend time for an hour. Despite having come to this place more than a dozen of times, she still didn’t feel that familiar with it, and she didn’t really felt comfortable trying to do anything in it either. This was a really modest, small house; only a few basic furniture here and there, a chimney that was soon going to be lit up in wait of the winter, a few colorful fabrics and curtains that she supposed Nellie had hang up to decorate. Richer than where she’d lived in the slums, but poorer than someone living downtown. However, while it looked like a residence any average peasant would have, a few elements were standing out; three or four pretty books posed on the table, or some sophisticated clothes and dresses dangling around that must’ve been quite expansive. Morgana remembered Mell telling her their backgrounds; about how they were originally two kids from a wealthy, noble family, and so she guessed those were things they had taken with them after getting exiled.

She slowly headed towards the table, and let her fingers run across the pages of one of the books. The paper was old, thick, and alien under her digits. Except for the few small, handmade scrapbooks detailing botanic and medicine that had belonged to the original lake witch, she never had the occasion to get her hands on such things. The words seemed to be in a language she was unfamiliar with, probably the siblings’ mother tongue. Although Morgana had never actually learned how to read, so she wasn’t really able to tell and even if it was in this country’s language it would still mean nothing to her.

“Mell…”

Suddenly, she heard a shifting of clothes from behind her and a moan, and in her surprise she almost let the book fall down on the ground. She whirled around and saw the girl in the bed move slightly, rubbing her red and irritated eyes. Morgana bit her lip nervously and held back her breath, trying to make herself as small as she could. Damn it, she hadn’t thought about the possibility of Nellie waking up while Mell was still gone. She really didn’t want to have to talk to her.

Please, just go back to sleep, she prayed quietly. Come on…

But unfortunately, her prayer went unanswered. Instead, the girl weakly lifted herself on her elbows, looked around the place with a vacant gaze… and finally stopped her eyes on Morgana’s silhouette. For a moment, none of them talked, just staring at each other in silence.

“Mell…?” Nellie murmured, her voice hoarse and painful. Her eyes narrowed, as if she couldn’t see well the person in front of her, and maybe she really couldn’t.

Morgana winced, and tilted down her hood as much as possible, hoping it was enough to dissimulate her face entirely. She wasn’t great at interacting with people in general, but it felt worse with a girl around her age somehow, and even more so with Mell’s sister.

“Sorry, I’m… I’m not Mell,” she finally blurted out as the girl was still staring at her, expectantly.

It seemed it took a long time for her to understand the sentence, but finally she saw her massage her eyes again before she opened back her mouth:

“Where is he…?”

“Out. He had some shopping to do… He asked me to look after you in the meantime…”

“Who are you…?”

“I’m…”

She stopped and hesitated. She wasn’t sure what to answer — mostly because she didn’t think Nellie would be really apt to understand the truth in her current state. But in the end she didn’t have to, because the girl then added:

“Oh… Are you the saint…?”

Morgana bit her lip again, hesitated, then finally feebly nodded. Even while burning and half-awake, Nellie seemed to caught it, and surprisingly enough, she smiled.

Her smile looked so pure and bright in spite of how sick she was, just like her brother’s. Maybe even brighter.

“Mell told me… You’re the one who’s been healing me… right? With your blood… Ah…”

“Y-You should stay in bed…”

All while talking, Mell’s sister tried to stand up but Morgana rushed towards her to lay her back and put the blanket on her. Clumsily hovering over the bed, she tried to think of something to say or do, but she actually didn’t really know how to take care of someone when they were sick. If Nellie had stayed asleep, it would’ve been one thing, but now that she was awake she felt lost. She vaguely remembered the times where some of the girls at the brothel would fell ill, but… it wasn’t helping as she generally wasn’t the one watching over them, and she barely had any memories of this period anymore anyway.

“Do you, um… do you want to drink something?” She finally asked awkwardly instead.

Without waiting for an answer, she turned around to seek a cup of water, but at the last moment Nellie grabbed her sleeve. Her grip was very meek, but it was enough to make Morgana stop in her momentum.

“Stay,” the blonde girl mumbled.

“But…”

“I don’t wanna be alone… Stay.”

Her voice was a wisp of glass, fragile and imploring, and her eyes were brimming with sadness and limpidity that made her appear so small, as if she was much younger than her actual age — and as she stared straight at her, Morgana realized she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She quietly sat down next to the bed, and looked down on her hands. Nellie finally let go of the sleeve once she appeared certain the other girl wouldn’t leave.

“Is that true… about the blood…?”

Morgana assumed she meant if it was true she was giving her her blood to heal, so she nodded.

“Yes.”

“That’s gross…”

“My blood is different from normal humans. It is not filthy like yours.”

“Hmmm…”

Nellie hummed absentmindedly in a way that made Morgana thought she didn’t really understand what she meant by that, and suddenly the girl’s hand raised from under the blanket and reached out towards her. At first, Morgana wasn’t really sure what she intended to do, until she flinched a little when she felt Nellie’s tiny, plump hand grab hers.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

Alien fingers ran across Morgana’s skin on her hand — softly brushing the scars and the cuts, the rough patches of mangled and ugly flesh. Her reflex at this was to want to snap her hand away — and that was what she would’ve done usually after such a breach and invasion of her boundaries.

Not even Mell had dared to touch her in such a way. He had brushed her arm two or three times; had intended to maybe hold her hand once, but in the end he never was able to gather the courage to actually do so.

(Morgana couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been too intimidated by her or because he thought her too disgusting, but either way she was glad he hadn’t.

She didn’t want to think about the warmth and comfort the embrace of someone bright and kind like Mell could bring her.)

But Nellie had no hesitation to caress her wounds and hold her hand.

For some reason, Morgana’s entire body froze under her touch, and she couldn’t do anything but look until she realized the other girl’s eyes were stuck on her, expecting an answer. She looked away away distractedly, before muttering:

“I’m used to it.”

Nellie kept staring at her for quite some time, to the point where Morgana began to wonder if she had understood what she had just said, but then finally let go of her hand and stared blankly at the ceiling. Coldness gained back her fingers and palm, normality retrieved its way. Morgana felt relieved.

Nellie closed her eyes, and stayed quiet. For a moment, Morgana hoped she was going to drift back to sleep, but unfortunately for her it wasn’t the case.

“When will Mell come back?”

“He said it shouldn’t take more than an hour, and that he’ll do as quickly as possible.”

“Oh…” She let out. Paused. “I thought he might’ve been gone for good.”

There was… something very fragile, in her voice. Like a glass fragment about to break into a hundred pieces, and somehow it made Morgana’s chest tighten. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. She didn’t want to get involved with this girl — had no need for that, would get no benefit out of it. But even so, the words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.

“Why is that?” She asked in a very soft, shy voice, as if she hoped the sick girl wouldn’t hear her.

And for an instant, she really thought she hadn’t, because Nellie didn’t answer — didn’t even move or flinch or made anything that would indicate she’d heard her. Morgana risked herself to throw a glance at her, and saw that she was simply motionless in her bed,  staring at the ceiling with unfocused amber eyes. There was no expression on her round, flushed face, and something about this and her silence made Morgana uncomfortable.

“I will die, right?”

“Wh-What?”

“You… are a saint… aren’t you? So… you must know.” She turned her head towards Morgana, and plunged her eyes into hers. “I will die.”

This was not a question anymore, and Morgana’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as she felt trapped by the other’s gaze. She might technically be the saint here, but it felt like it was Nellie who had just declared a prophecy. She sounded so certain that Morgana couldn’t even bring herself to try to contradict her.

“Why do you think so?”

Nellie looked away, her eyes fixing themselves on the window this time, though from where she was she doubted she could see much of the scenery.

“I don’t wanna die,” she muttered. “It’s scary. I don’t wanna die, but… It’s painful for Mell to take care of me… and the idea of him hating me because of this… is much scarier than dying.”

Morgana looked down on her knees and began to pull at the hem of her long sleeve. There was a lump in her throat, and she couldn’t tell why. The silence fell in the room again, and as she felt she ought to say something, she finally gathered her thoughts and muttered:

“If… he truly care about you…” she tried tentatively. “Then surely… he wouldn’t hate you just because he has to take care of you… You cannot help being sick.”

These words obviously didn’t convince Nellie, as it would’ve been too easy, and much to Morgana’s despair, she continued to talk.

“But this is my fault,” she hiccuped. “Mell was the one who got banned by our uncle… I could’ve stayed home. But I insisted to go with him… because… I didn’t want to be all alone… Mell is the only one… the only one who truly loves me… so I can’t live without him… that’s what I always thought, but…”

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with her hands, and Morgana knew she was crying now.

“A-And I know… that he’ll hate me if he learns the truth about my feelings for him… Cause it’s wrong… And gross… And you think I’m wrong and gross, too, right…?”

“I…”

Morgana looked away, biting her lip and praying Mell could just hurry up and save her from this disaster already. She almost had the instinct to reply to Nellie she did think she was gross — what on earth was she saying, after all? She couldn’t possibly mean she had feelings that way for her brother, right? — but she managed to hold in her sharp tongue. She was certain that love for her brother truly seemed… a bit too excessive. That couldn’t be ordinary behavior for siblings, could it? It wasn’t like Morgana knew much about normal human relationships in general, but even she could feel something a bit off from what Nellie was telling her.

Wonderful. How was she supposed to deal with this? She couldn’t even deal with normal crying people in the best of circumstances. How had she ended up in such an awkward situation? Was that some twisted trial from her Father? Why was Nellie telling her all of this to start with, anyway?

Well, maybe it was because of the delirious state she was in, and the fact she was in presence of the saint who was (trying to) saving her life, was putting her at ease… But that didn’t mean it was any less unpleasant for Morgana.

Muffled sobs kept sprinkling the room. Sniffling, rubbing sounds and ragged breathing.

Morgana was not human; she couldn’t empathize with such raw emotions and painful state. She couldn’t heal them. Only watch, observe, from behind a windowpane, imagining she was much further away and not just sat next to the bed.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” the broken, barely audible voice murmured. “B-But Mell’s the only thing I have… I don’t want to be left alone.”

She wanted to pretend she couldn’t relate, that she was only there to watch — but at this a rock fell in her stomach, one too heavy to ignore anymore.

It was like a scene from a long time ago played in front of her eyes; and the child in the bed wasn’t the flaxen-haired girl, but a much younger version of herself.

An ugly little girl with red plaits who had lost everything dear to her and who was crying desperately in the middle of an abandoned shack, scared to be left all by herself. Begging to God to not be left all alone.

She couldn’t precisely understand Mell’s sister feelings or why she was crying, but that deep fear of abandonment and loneliness, she could relate. She could feel that deep in her bone and heart.

So, her saint mask be damned, not caring anymore whether or not Nellie was able to see her horrendous face, she extended her arm and, with timid fingers, gently took the sobbing girl’s hand in hers. She clutched at it awkwardly, revealing how inexperienced in this kind of human contact she was, then brushed Nellie’s smooth skin like the other had done to her earlier.

Their hands were so different in so many aspects it was almost amusing, but their sizes were practically a perfect fit.

Nellie threw a questioning glance at her, honey eyes still shimmering with tears, and Morgana fought the instinct of looking away with all she had in her body.

She couldn’t reassure Nellie that she knew her brother cared about her. She couldn’t affirm to her that she wasn’t a burden to him. She couldn’t guarantee her that she would never be left alone. After all, in the end she barely knew anything at all about these siblings.

But there was still something she felt the need to say with as much conviction as she could:

“I will not let you die.”

Nellie’s eyes widened as more tears rolled down her round, red cheeks. It was likely a conceited thing of Morgana to say. The only one able to decide whether a human was going to live or die was God. Even as His daughter, it was not her place to even just speculate of such a thing. But despite knowing this, she repeated it yet again.

“I will not let you die. My Father will make sure to save you. You can believe me.”

Nellie stared blankly at her, as if she could not register the words that were told to her. However, the next moment her features softened, her eyelids half-closed and a smile blossomed on her cracked lips. She didn’t say anything, but Morgana could read her thoughts on her face without any issue. Nellie weakly clutched her hand back, and she had no idea why seeing such a simple gesture managed to put her heart at ease or why seeing the girl’s peaceful expression relieved her, but somehow it did.

“Your voice…” Nellie muttered, slowly closing her eyes. “Your voice is really pretty…”

Morgana blinked with surprise at her, as that was the last thing she thought she’d hear at this moment. “Oh… Um…”

“Could you… sing for me?” Nellie continued. “I wanna hear you sing…”

Her brother had told her the same, Morgana noted. That she had a beautiful voice and that she should sing. In fact, multiple people had told her so in the past. She herself never found her voice all that special, though. But… she did love singing.

For a moment, she hesitated — she didn’t know if it was the pleading or the solitude in the girl’s voice that made her feel this way, or if it was the small hand clutching at her desperately as if she was afraid she’d suddenly vanish, but a surge to listen to the request crossed her.

She tentatively opened her mouth, took in a deep breath… however, at the last minute she felt unable to produce a single sound. An image from the past flashed through her mind; of an isolated, makeshift graveyard, a young man with kind eyes, a hand gently brushing her scars — and instantly her throat was dry and her tongue tied. Her body trembled a little, and she quickly did her best to bury the memory as deep she could in her heart.

She didn’t need that anymore. That warmth and kindness… She’d already thrown everything away. Or she’d had no other choice than to throw it away, rather. Either way, there was no need for her to reminisce them.

“I’m sorry,” she articulated softly, “But I won’t sing…”

However, Nellie didn’t seem in the least disappointed or disturbed, as she was quietly snoring, bundled up in her blanket. Well, given how sick she was it wasn’t a surprise she’d fall back asleep so quickly. Although her hand was still holding Morgana’s, surprisingly firmly.

Morgana had already thrown away everything. She had no need for human warmth and feelings — as she was, after all, not human. She’d made that mistake with Mell, taking complaisance in the brightness of his smile and the gentleness of his words, but she’d brutally realized how much of a mistake it had been as soon as she revealed her miracle blood and he’d turned cold on her.

So she really shouldn’t make the same mistake with the sister, or with anyone else. But, even so… watching Nellie sleep so tenderly, with a soft smile on her pink lips, made something odd and warm birth in her chest. A feeling of satisfaction — the same one she’d had when she first thought she’d healed the girl.

A feeling that… maybe, for once, she hadn’t been so completely useless. That even if she still hadn’t entirely saved her yet, she at least managed to fill in her saintly duty of helping others a little.

That was a ridiculous, childish, earthly emotion — one she knew a being like her shouldn’t let herself indulge in — but her wretched heart felt too tired to fight it right now, and against all logic she simply closed her eyes and let her mind get lulled by Nellie’s feeble breathing.

She only let go of the other girl’s hand when Mell came back with a bag filled with fishes — quickly hiding it under her sleeve, making it as if this brief slip-up of hers never happened.

With the flaxen-haired boy back, she had to return to being a saint, return to building up her walls and steel her weaknesses.

She could pretend the warmth in her hand never existed, lock it up at the same place she’d locked up her makeshift graveyard memories— and surely in two days or so, when she’ll come back to this house, it would flow away at the same time as her blood would spill from her skin.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Nellie Rhodes #Morgana FataMoru #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Novectacle #Morgana (FataMoru) #Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana) #NelliMoru #It's platonic but I still tag them cause why not #NeriMoru #Connan's Fanfics #A Requiem for Innocence #FataMoru Fanfiction #Connan's Posts #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #House in Fata Morgana #Text #Long Post

[connan-l]

Skeletal Doll

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Michel Bollinger & Morgana, slight Michel/Giselle in the background

Summary: Michel had met her as a soulless skeleton, hated her as a witch, saved her as a girl — so of course he would do his possible to keep helping her even a thousand years later.

Content Warnings: Death mention and depiction of a corpse, slight trauma, vague allusions to child abuse and Michel and Morgana’s pasts.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Michel and Morgana’s friendship means the world to me.

Takes place post-canon/Reincarnation, so spoilers for all the games.

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That place always smelled like death.

Whenever he would cross over the chapel, climb up those long, interminable stairs and open the door leading to the room on top of the tower, a suffocating odor of dust and mold and dried blood would flare up his nostrils.

To be honest, he didn’t really know what “death” smelt like, but if it had a smell it certainly would be this one.

This should be repelling — something that would make anyone run away with a grimace, but for some reason, it had the exact opposite on him. It drew him in.

The skeleton — the corpse — that rested there, immobile, at the bottom of the room had an unusual alluring attraction to it. An attraction that couldn’t help but makes him comes here regularly, once every few days.

He knew there was something deeply unhealthy about this routine he had created. Climbing a tower to spend time with a skeleton was deranged, creepy. Mad. In his darkest hours, he thought with irony that maybe his family had been right about his lack of sanity, after all.

Whenever he would go down the stairs and stir away from the tower, his stomach would turn and an urge to threw up would overwhelm him. He felt disgusting and unsightly. Taking comfort in the corpse of an abandoned mansion, how depraved was that?

And it was not a positive kind of comfort, either.

Even so, he still stepped forward towards the dead body. He stared at it in silence for a long time, then after some hesitation slowly sat next to it.

When he was a child, his mother would often gift him dolls. Pretty, girly little things, that were certainly made by skilled artisans and must’ve been quite expansive. He had played a bit with them when he was really young, but once he started growing up he began to actively hate them and to hid them away in their house, to his mother’s chagrin. He couldn’t help but think she seemed to love these dolls a lot more than he ever did.

At some point, he started to wonder what girls even found alluring to these — if he were to be honest, they looked more creepy than pretty to him. Those were miniature little girls who stared at you with glassy, vacant eyes without moving, without flinching no matter what happened to them. They were just like dead bodies.

He had came to hate dolls over the years, and yet, now almost an adult, he found himself playing with one, except the difference was that this one was a real dead body.

The skeleton wasn’t really all that different from a doll to him, he thought cynically. It wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, wouldn’t flinch no matter what he would do to it. He played make believe with it, talking to it as if it could answer, embracing it as if it could understand his pain and loneliness.

He could pretend pitying the poor thing, look down on it for being more pitiful than him, and found some kind of sick comfort in it.

It was both his plaything and his companion, and the only thing in this manor that could bring him some sort of peace and solace.

Slowly, he extended his arm and brushed the dirty bones with his fingertips. They looked so frail, so feeble, that he thought he could break them just by doing so. Yet, when he reached out to the fleshless hand and hold it in his tightly, the bone stayed solid and firm.

It was cold, and lifeless, and rough. The doll didn’t flinch at his contact, like always.

He knew this was miserable and pitiful and creepy and insane.

But at this point he was just as broken and dead as this skeleton, and in the end it did not matter.

So he kept holding the bony hand in silence.

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Michel woke up with a start. Beads of sweat ran down his face, his messy hair clung to his skin disagreeably, and his chest struggled to get back a normal breathing.

In his upset, half-asleep state, his first reflex was to look around him, his eyes searching for Giselle — but she was just next to him, sound asleep, just like she had been when he first went to bed.

In the past year they had been together, he had noticed Giselle was a pretty heavy sleeper, unlike him. She never seemed to wake up in the middle of the night, or to have nightmares, for that matter. A part of him wondered if she slept so much to get back at all those centuries she had spent without experiencing tiredness.

Either way, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now. He looked at the clock on his bedside, which indicated ‘02:17’ of a faint red light, and sighed. He gently kissed his fiancée on the forehead, then got out of the bed as silently as he could so as to not wake her up.

His legs were still trembling when he stumbled into the kitchen, the emotions of his nightmare fresh in his mind. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t really remember what the dream had been about — his past life, definitely, but which part of it precisely was unclear… Usually it was those miserable months he spent suffering Aimée’s abuse, or his brothers’ betrayal, or the way his corpse had been crucified. Sometimes all of those blended in together and he couldn’t make any difference between the events anymore.

Having memories of his past life was odd — sometimes they felt like fibers of his imagination, something so far away he made it up himself and could almost forget it at any moment, and at other times it felt so vivid that it was almost like he was back there again. Dreams were when he had the most palpable experiences, almost as if he revived those moments in real time, but nowadays they weren’t all that frequent and happened rarely. He wondered if Giselle or Morgana felt the same too, though he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

His mind still a fuzzy mess, he grabbed a mug and turned on the machine coffee, which purred softly as it started to work. The sound felt reassuring somehow, grounding him in reality and reminding him he was in the 21 th century and not lost in a cursed mansion in the middle ages. When his coffee was finally ready, he felt the need to get some fresh air, so he snatched a vest and his mug and headed towards the door.

Michel stepped into the building’s courtyard and breathed the cold air of the night. The sky was still dark outside, but he couldn’t distinguish any stars, as per usual in Paris. That was something he missed from the mansion — being able to see a beautiful, black starry sky, which was impossible here in such a big, polluted city. He hadn’t cared at all about the sky or the stars during the ten years he’d been locked inside the cursed house, but when Giselle arrived this changed, and from times to times she would drag him outside in the middle of the night so they could watch the stars together. Michel had found this annoying at first, but little by little he’d started to secretly enjoy it, though he never admitted as such to her. So he was sad this was a habit they couldn’t reproduce here in their new home.

As a sad smile rose up on his lips, he was about to take a sip of his hot coffee when suddenly he caught sight of something moving. His first thought was that it must be a stray cat or a dog, but quickly his imagination began working and he got worried. What if it was a thief? Or worse, what if the building was actually haunted and it was a ghost? Honestly, among the worst parts of having his past memories returned to him was that now he knew that stuff like ghosts and curses were real, and so sometimes he couldn’t help but be a little paranoid. He certainly had his fair share of bad spirits for the next hundreds of centuries.

Michel quickly surveyed the area, then tried to look for something to defend himself with — unfortunately the only tool he could find was an old broom Giselle must’ve forgotten here the day before. It certainly wouldn’t be very effective against an actual threat, but it was better than nothing, so he grabbed it tightly, slowly advanced towards where he heard the noise while brandishing his made-up weapon… and then a scream resounded.

There, he didn’t see a criminal or some supernatural creature… but just a young girl who looked at him with two wide golden eyes.

“M-Morgana?”

“Oh my God! Were you going to hit me with this thing?”

The girl stared at him with disbelieved eyes which quickly morphed into a glare, as Michel stood there with the broom still up in the air.

“I-I thought you were a thief!” Or a ghost — but that, he wasn’t going to tell her. He shook his head and quickly put down the broom. “A-Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” the girl replied dryly.

“Morgana. You’re pacing in the courtyard at two A.M.”

“So what? Is that illegal now or something?”

“No, but most people don’t do that. Most people sleep at two A.M.”

“Well, clearly, you’re not sleeping either.”

Well, she had a point, he supposed. But he wasn’t that much of an obtuse fool to not notice this was a way to try to deflect the conversation and put the matter on him.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“Why is that the conclusion you’re jumping to?” Morgana replied defensively, but somehow, Michel instantly knew he was right.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently.

“I did not have a bad dream. Good grief, do you even listen to people when they talk?”

She sighed in an annoyed way, then began to play with one of her long red lock with her finger. Her hair was let down and she was still in her nightgown — a strange sight to Michel, as he wasn’t used to see her without her braids like that. It made her seems a bit more vulnerable than usual somehow, an understanding he had caught her at a bad time he chooses to be considerate enough to not press the topic any further — he knew well enough that trying to make her talk would only close her off even more, anyway.

“Well, I had a bad dream.”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. “I’d guessed as much. And?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at Morgana’s cold indifference. “Usually when people tell you they had a nightmare, you ask if they’re all right and what the bad dream was about, you know.”

The girl eyed him from head to toe, then crossed her arms. “You seems fine. And I am not interested in knowing what your dream was about.”

Michel smiled wryly. “As expected of you.”

“I have always thought it was stupid to ask someone what their bad dream is about. They said ‘talking about it make you feel better,’ but it’s a lie, I have never felt better after talking about a nightmare. It is not going to erase it not matter what, so why bother?”

“Is that why you don’t want to talk about yours?”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to though, Michel already knew what she was thinking.

“It’s not the first time you wake up in the middle of the night because of one either, right?”

“And how would you know that? Are you stalking me?”

“No, I have ears, and I do notice you seem to make quite some noise while the sun isn’t up yet.”

Morgana seemed a little surprised at that. She probably didn’t know Michel was aware of her nocturnal walks — and to be fair, it did took him a lot of time before noticing them, given she was as discreet as a cat. It was only when he himself had sleep troubles he would remark that his neighbor wasn’t as asleep as she should be.

“Well,” the girl said after regaining her composure. “Again, I’m not the only one, am I?”

“That’s true, but I am not trying to hide it.”

“Me neither. That’s just none of your business to start with. Also, are you really not trying to hide it? I wonder if Giselle knows about these, hmm?”

Michel frowned, as the provocative voice tone of the teenager in front of him started to get under his skin. “She does know, actually.”

“Oh really? Then you don’t mind me asking her tomorrow?”

His frown deepened and he had to muster all he could to not glare at her. Most of the time, the three of them were getting along perfectly fine, but if Michel were to push Morgana a little too much about a topic she didn’t like, she would resort to some of her manipulative tactics from when she was a witch. Michel wondered sometimes if she did it in purpose or if it was just a habit hard to kill for her. Either way, he still didn’t appreciate her doing this, at all.

“In case you weren’t aware, after everything that happened I swore to not keep any secrets to Giselle anymore. You can ask her if you want, but I already told her all about my nightmares, so I’d rather you’d stop threatening this kind of underhanded blackmail, would you?”

“Then stop putting your nose in my business, and when I told you I have no bad dreams then that mean I have no bad dreams.”

She glared at him coldly, then turned around and disappeared inside the building, before almost slapping the door behind her.

Michel winced and let himself fall on the bench in front of the house, before staring at the sky with exhaustion. Morgana could be so annoying, but still he hadn’t meant to anger her — he genuinely was worried about her, and had thought that there was maybe a way he could soothe her nightmares. That certainly wasn’t healthy to wake up in the middle of the night so often.

He took a sip of his coffee — which was now lukewarm — and kept gazing at the pure black sky, trying to find any glimpses of some stars or of the moon.

But he couldn’t find any.

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“—and then she told me I didn’t need it! Can you believe that? How on earth does that makes any sense?”

“Hmm.”

Giselle was spacing around in the living room agitatedly while Michel stared outside the window and nodded vaguely to every sentences she uttered without actually understanding their meanings. He wasn’t sure what his fiancée was upset about — and he knew that he should listen to her, but somehow her words couldn’t manage to pierce through his thick skull that was currently engulfed by other worries.

“I mean, I like to think I’m a rather patient person, but there are still some limits, you know? What am I supposed to do now?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, Michel. Are you listening to me?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Michel, this morning I went out and killed your father so that we could eat him for dinner. Does that sounds good enough to you?”

“Hmm, perfect.”

Giselle suddenly placarded her hands on the table brusquely, almost knocking over the water pitcher and glasses that were on it. Michel jumped and practically fell off from his chair, before blinking with incredulity at the frustrated woman in front of him.

“I’ve been talking to you for at least half an hour!” She exclaimed, offended. “Did you even realize I was here at all?”

“Y-Yeah, of course… Sorry, I was… lost in thoughts.”

“Well, obviously,” Giselle said dryly before crossing her arms. “May I ask what’s worrying you so much that you’d dare to ignore your beautiful, lovely future wife?”

Michel smiled a little in an apologetic way, but thankfully Giselle didn’t seem all that angry. Maybe screaming in the void about what had frustrated her had been enough to soothe her mind, even with her partner not paying attention to her at all.

“Really, I’m sorry,” he added. “I was just… well, I didn’t sleep well last night, you know, so…”

Giselle hummed pensively, then took a seat at the table and sat in front of Michel, her face now serious.

“Another bad dream?”

Michel sighed and nodded vaguely, his gaze falling once again outside the window next to him.

“What was it about?” Giselle continued gently.

“I don’t really remember it… It felt too blurry and far away… I just know it wasn’t a good one. But that’s not actually the thing that’s bothering me right now, not really.”

Giselle arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s Morgana.”

She narrowed her eyes at this, and her expression became unreadable. Michel wondered if that meant she had been expecting it, or if that was something else entirely.

For all the time they’d known each other, Giselle still felt like a mystery to him sometimes.

What he had told Morgana yesterday had been the truth — in the past year they’d been together, he had always tried his best to be as open with her as possible, even with things he’d rather keep to himself.

He just didn’t feel like Giselle tried her best to do the same in return. In fact, it felt like she would often actively shut him down and tried to hide things from him.

But that wasn’t an issue that mattered right now.

“I came across her last night after I woke up from my nightmare. You know how I told you I noticed she often wandered around in the middle of the night?”

“Yes. Well, her having nightmares wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I tried to talk to her then, but she just ended up getting angry at me.”

“Not surprising here either. Is that what’s bothering you?”

Michel sighed. “It might not be surprising, but that’s still worrying me. I wish she could be… more open about her problems, at least with me.”

“She might have said she wanted to move on with her life, but you can’t expect her to suddenly act like a whole new person. It’s only natural for her to want to keep some things to herself.”

Giselle’s jade eyes shined of an odd glow as she said this, and her mouth formed a tight line. Michel couldn’t help but vaguely wonder if she was talking about herself more than Morgana, but quickly chased the thought away.

“I’m aware, but still…”

“Well, if it bothers you that much, just go apologize to her the next time you see her and try asking her more subtly. Just don’t pressure her, or she’ll shut down completely again. She trusts you more than anyone, Michel, so I’m sure she’ll talk to you when she feels like it.”

Giselle smiled at him — the same kind smile that always managed to make his heart beat a little faster — and he slowly felt the knot in his stomach untangle itself. It was amazing how just a simple chat with her managed to instantly make him feel better.

“You’re right, I’ll do that,” he said while returning her smile. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“You’re welcome. Maybe next time do the same thing with me when I’m angrily complaining about clients.”

Michel grimaced. “Uh, right… Sorry about that.”

Giselle giggled and winked at him. “I forgive you. I still feel better now that I got to yell in to the void, even if you didn’t listen to a single word!”

Michel smiled again as he watched her head towards the kitchen, then heaved a sigh. He might also feel a bit better now, but Morgana still preoccupied his thoughts. He felt that he’d be unable to accomplish anything until he was able to see her again, so he decided to go talk to her as soon as possible.

Morgana was still at school at this hour, but her classes should end in two or three few hours. Michel didn’t know her exact schedule, but she generally came back around four or five in the afternoon. He could just wait for her here, but somehow he felt unable to stay put while doing nothing, so he had the strange impulse to go get her to her high school directly.

He didn’t realize how bad of an idea it was until he reached the building and saw the groups of teens hanging out all around. Michel had pretty much only bad memories of his high school years. He had been an awkward, introverted and solitary kid uncomfortable in his own skin — and this added to his growing body and newfound gender identity had created a lot of issues both at home and at school. His parents were thankfully decent people in this era, so there was no abuse, disownment or forced confinement involved, but it didn’t mean it had been easy for them to understand and adapt themselves to the situation. And that was without even including the weird dreams and flashback that sometimes plagued him from his past life, which at the time, without his full memories, he had no idea what this had been all about and was quite disturbing. Yeah, it had not been a fun period at all for him.

So somehow, setting foot once again near a high school and hearing some teenagers’ laughters and teasing revived some dreadful recollections and anxieties he hadn’t felt in about a decade, and it instantly made him feel like wanting to turn around and run away.

Don’t be ridiculous, he started to tell himself. You’re a twenty-eight year old grown ass man, why would you feel anxious approaching a bunch of high school kids?

He took a big inspiration, then got closer to the school’s gate with firm steps. He felt some the kids’ eyes fell on him questioningly, probably wondering what this weird, tall white-haired dude they’d never seen before was doing at a high school, and Michel couldn’t really blame them. Still, he tried his best to ignore them and his gaze darted left and right, desperately looking for some familiar red braids that would pop up at a corner. He kind of had the sensation of being like a father waiting to pick up his kid at the school’s gates, except Morgana wasn’t his kid and she wasn’t an elementary school child so it just felt doubly ridiculous and embarrassing.

He waited patiently for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. After twenty and still seeing no trace of the girl he was looking for, he started to question whether Morgana was actually finishing much later today. Or worst, maybe she had finished earlier and had already left. Michel bit his lip, and looked around at the group of high schoolers. At this point, he really couldn’t feel dumber than he already was, so he decided he might as well try to ask.

Trying to bury his nervousness about having to talk to some teenagers — except for Morgana, he hadn’t talked to one in years — he slowly approached the nearest group, constituted of two girls and three boys. The kids stopped chatting as soon as they realized the weird white-haired man wanted to talk to them, and they exchanged a confused glance with each others.

“Um, sorry to bother you,” Michel started, and he hated how awkward he sounded. “Would you happen to know a girl named Morgana? She’s short, with long red braided hair, and she kind of always have a glare that make her seems like she wants to kill you.”

At first, the kids’ faces scrunched up in bafflement, but one of the girls’ face lit up in understanding.

“Oh yeah. She’s in my class.”

Michel sighed in relief, then continued: “So are your classes finished already? Do you know where she is?”

The girl, Morgana’s classmate, tugged at one of her blonde locks while staring at Michel suspiciously. “We finished an hour ago, yeah… but, uh, who are you?”

“I’m—”

Michel opened his mouth, then realized suddenly he wasn’t sure what to answer. Her friend? He certainly was, but it sounded off to answer this somehow. Her landlord? True, but here again it didn’t sound like a good answer. The poor guy who found himself dragged into her thousand years revenge scheme against his will? Yeah, right.

“—her uncle,” he finally concluded. Right, that’ll do it for now. “I was supposed to meet her after she was finished, but…”

“Uncle?” One of the boys repeated in a joking tone. “Wow, so that weirdo isn’t some kind of cursed ghost and has an actual family? Ow!”

“Shut up, you’re not funny,” the blonde girl curtly replied while elbowing him in the ribs.

Michel looked at them and arched an eyebrow. “Are you friends with her?”

The boy chuckled. “Friends? No, we just see her from time to time.”

“She’s alone most of the time,” Morgana’s classmate added, shrugging. “I’ve never seen her hang out with anyone here. It’s not like we didn’t try to include her when she first came here, but… she either refused or ignored us. So, well, we left her alone.”

She added this in an annoyed tone, which meant Morgana’s cold behavior had slightly peeved her. Michel smiled wryly at this. It wasn’t really a surprise, as this was something he had kind of suspected already. Morgana never told them anything about her school life, but knowing her it wasn’t hard to guess she wasn’t especially looking for friends at her school. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but be a bit sad about this. As someone who had also been pretty much friendless during high school, he hoped Morgana would’ve been able to get at least a normal teenage life this time around.

“Either way, if you’re looking for her you won’t find her here. She left a while ago already,” the blonde girl continued.

“I see… Would you know where she went?”

The classmate winced. “Well, I’m not really sure, but… if I have to give it a guess, she’s probably at the graveyard again."

Michel kind of felt his brain shut down. "G-Graveyard...?"

He heard some of the boys snickering again, but they didn’t add anything when their friend shot them a glare.

“Yeah. There’s a small cemetery not far from here. From what I’ve seen, she goes there regularly, at least once a week.” She shrugged. “Gotta admit, it’s not a very common hobby. I think she gets along well with the graveyard caretaker too.”

Michel felt too stunned to say anything. Why on earth would Morgana go to the cemetery? And regularly, on top of that?

The only reason for that would be if someone she used to know was buried there… but Michel knew that both her mother and stepfather were still alive, and that she knew nothing about her birth father. So, her grandparents, maybe? She never talked about them. It was possible, but even so, it seemed a bit off for her to go visit them so frequently given how… distant she had seemed to be with her family.

“Well, uh… I see,” he finally added once more. “Thank you.”

He asked the teens where said graveyard was, and after they gave him directions he waved them good bye and finally left the high school. The place was indeed quite close from here, only about fifteen minutes of walk, right after a little church. Most of Paris’ cemeteries were quite big and carefully taken care of, but this one seemed to be the opposite of this; it was small, appeared badly maintained and almost abandoned, really. Michel stepped inside, and while looking for any trace of red he couldn’t help a shudder to spread through his body. It was desert and quiet, and almost felt like penetrating into some kind of eerie parallel world.

When he walked through the forest of large, gloomy tombs, a wind of nostalgia submerged him. He had only been to a graveyard a rare few times in his life, and the last was probably at least five or so years ago, when he went there with his mother to take care of his grandparents’ tombs. He had already lost all four of them — the last one was when he was three years old, and he had only brief, vague memories of the funerals. Even in his previous life, he had never known any of them either, as they all died long before he was even born — even before Georges was born, actually. Only Didier had known them, but even then he had been so young he had no recollections of them, according to what he had told him.

Lost in his own thoughts, it took him some time before realizing there was something off in his field of view. The place was completely empty, not a soul seemed to breath around, but then a few meters away from there he spotted what looked like a silhouette squatting on the ground. It was shaking and breathing heavily, as if hyperventilating, and curled up very tightly as if they tried to disappear. It would’ve been worrying and Michel would’ve intervened regardless of who this person was, but once he noticed the long burgundy braids falling behind the trembling shoulders his concern went up a notch and he ran towards the curled up girl.

“Morgana!” He exclaimed, his voice filled with panic as he kneeled down next to her and grabbed her shoulder. “Morgana, are you okay?”

However, the girl didn’t react at all to his questions, didn’t even glance at him. It was as if he wasn’t even here. Michel hesitated a moment, then tried to shake her gently and call her name once again — but nothing managed to get a response out of her. Her golden eyes were vacantly staring into the void, as if her soul itself had left her body, and an unpleasant feeling ran down Michel’s spine as the horrifying memory of that instant he had found the young girl dying on top of the tower flashed back into his mind. The sensation of her livid body in his arms felt as vivid as it had back then, and it unconsciously made him tighten his grip on her shoulder.

“Morgana!”

Finally, the girl tensed, and then she turned her head towards him. Her eyes very slowly regained some life and shine.

“You…” She uttered. “Ah…”

Michel wanted to feel relieved he’d managed to get her back, but… something felt off. The way she stared at him — it was like she was seeing a ghost or something. She didn’t seem to be here, even now.

“Morgana? Can you— Are you okay?”

“Um… I— Yes. Yes.”

All while talking, she eyed Michel from head to toe, then drifted her gaze on his hand on her shoulder, as if trying to analyze the situation bit by bit. Then she slowly started to get up, but her legs were trembling and she was clearly struggling to gather her strength, so he grabbed her arm firmly and helped her stand up. He didn’t let go until he was sure she stood steadily on her own two feet. She turned her head towards him, and then Michel thought he was the one hallucinating this time. Because she offered him a small smile, and gently uttered “Thank you,” as if it was the most natural thing in the world and not the most abnormal reaction he had ever seen. Since when Morgana could smile so sweetly and thanked people in such a genuine way?

“Morgana…? Are you okay?” He repeated once again, really doubting his eyes and mental health.

The girl tiled her eyes and looked up curiously at him.

“Yes? I am fine now. Thank you for asking.”

Once again, Michel felt a deep sensation of wrongness overwhelm him, but before he could open his mouth Morgana squinted her eyes and brought her hands to her head, as if her skull was suddenly aching. She stayed that way for a few long seconds, then rubbed her temples and shook her head. Finally she narrowed her eyes at him, and frowned.

“Michel…? What… What are you doing here?”

“What?” He replied, dumbfounded, because he really didn’t see what he could say much more.

“Since when are you here?”

“Since when…? Are you serious?”

Her frown deepened, and she stared at him as he was the one being unreasonable here.

“Of course I am. Have I never been anything but serious?” She asked coldly, and at least Michel was relieved to get back the normal Morgana he was used to. “So what are you doing here? Are you really stalking me after all?”

“Ah… no, um, I was… I wanted to talk to you, and some classmates of yours told me I could find you here… M-More importantly, are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” she said annoyingly, in a tone of voice that clearly showed that she wasn’t, in fact, fine at all.

But Michel felt he couldn’t press any further the topic without her snapping at him, and angering her was the last thing he wanted to do. She turned around and started to walk slowly among the tombstones, her feet steady despite the fact she was still trembling a little.

“You wanted to talk to me?” She brutally cut off the silence.

“Yes… I wanted to apologize for yesterday. Um… you were right, it was none of my business, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t. No need to apologize.”

Silence fell back between them again as Michel just kept on following her silently. Morgana didn’t seem to have a destination in mind, she just crossed the graveyards while her eyes wandered aimlessly among the silent, motionless tombs, and he wondered why she might be thinking about.

“Can I ask you a question?” Michel finally asked.

“Since when do you need permission?”

“What… What are you doing here? Did you come to… visit someone?”

“No. I don’t know anyone buried here,” she answered. “In fact, I’ve come to this cemetery for the first time when I moved in at your building.”

“What…? Then… why are you coming here regularly then…?”

Morgana heaved a long sigh, then finally came to a stop. They were in front of a particularly tall, elegant tombstone, which Michel guessed must belong to an old and wealthy family. But it also seemed to not have been maintained for quite some years, which made it seems lonely.

“Maybe that’s going to sound odd,” she finally said after some time. “But I… love graveyards.”

Michel blinked and looked curiously at the young girl next to him. She was staring at the old tombstone in front of them, but no expression crossed her face and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“I’ve loved them ever since I was a child. There was one not far away from my old home, and for as long as I can remember, I would sneak out of the house and go there, take care of the tombs and stuff.” She snorted. “Of course Mother hated it when I was doing that. She thought it was creepy and scolded me about it a lot of times, but I never listened when it came to this.”

Her eyes fell on the ground, and she mindlessly put one of her red locks behind her ear.

“That’s also where I went whenever things got too tough at home. Guess it’s a bit like my secret base. I always feel at peace and safe when I’m here. Dead people are easier to deal with than the living. At least I felt like I was doing something useful for once, by taking care of them. It felt… comfortable.”

She marked a pause, and then added, in a much smaller voice, almost a whisper:

“To be honest… I’ve always felt more at home in cemeteries than in my actual house.”

Michel stayed quiet. It was a very rare moment for Morgana to talk so freely about herself, and he felt that if he were to say something back to her, it would break the instant and make her shut down all over again. Furthermore, it wasn’t like he really know what to answer to what she was confessing to him right now.

“Of course, back then I wasn’t sure why, but now that I remember my past life it makes sense. You know it, don’t you? That when I was still living at the brothel as a child, I made that… makeshift graveyard for all the nameless corpses we found in the slums.”

He didn’t answer, but yes, he was aware of that. He hadn’t witnessed a lot of Morgana’s past, admittedly, but he could still remember that moment when he saw Jacopo’s memories — of that disfigured little girl crouched down in front of those rough graves, taking care of them meticulously.

“Back then, I started doing that because… well, I felt it was my duty, as a saint. These people had no one else, so I couldn’t bear the idea of their souls not being able to reach purgatory. I couldn’t use my blood anymore, so I felt like I had to do something, at least. But, when I think back on it now… this wasn’t really out of selflessness. It’s just it made me feel… better about myself — it made me feel not so useless. In a way, maybe it was really pretty egoistical of me.” She smiled bitterly. “I was pretty pathetic, wasn’t I?”

“You were just a little girl, Morgana,” Michel replied gently. “A severely traumatized little girl, at that. And even if you doing that wasn’t absolutely out of selflessness, I don’t think it is something pathetic at all. In the end you still gave those people a proper burial and took care of them every day, right? I think it is more than worthy of respect.”

Morgana sighed. Michel knew his words probably wouldn’t do much to change her mind, but he still felt the need to say it.

“In any case, doing this became a comforting routine to me,” she said. “I guess it just stayed with me even all those centuries later. And I like doing that.”

Michel took a deep breath, and nodded. “Somehow, that does sound like you,” he simply added with a slight smile. “If you feel comfortable doing so, then that’s good.”

Morgana didn’t reply. Her eyes fell back once again on the tombstone erected in front of them, standing solemnly.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? A lot of things changed in a millennium, but cemeteries are always the same. They’re constant.”

This was certainly true. No matter the time period or culture, humans were always faced with death and grief, and had the need to honor their lost loved ones and gather around a place to think about them.

That was, unless they were bestowed with a particularly cruel fate where no one would bother to give them a proper burial, like it had happened with Morgana a thousand years ago.

Her body and soul had been left abandoned, and that entire cursed mansion had become her graveyard and prison.

None of them uttered a single word, but Michel instinctively got closer to Morgana and gently wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him.

For a long time, the girl didn’t react, before finally slowly let her head fall on his shoulder.

And for what seemed like an eternity, none of them moved, lulled by the sound of the wind and the company of the dead.

______________________________________________________________

Things went relatively back to normal after this. In the following days, Michel got really busy at work and came back home pretty late, so he didn’t get the time to see Morgana much or have any more conversation with her. He also didn’t get any nightmares, which meant there was no secret night meeting with her either. In fact, the only time he got to really see her was the tomorrow of their graveyard encounter, when she burst out into their apartment angrily and wanted to know why on earth her classmates were now questioning her about her “weird, tall, white-haired uncle.” He tried to justify himself that this was the less odd explanation he could come up with, but then she retorted he should not have come to her high school to begin with — and, well, she actually had a point here. Giselle watched their argument from afar while giggling quietly, and then she teased him about being “Morgana’s weird uncle” for the next few days.

In any case, despite the heartfelt conversation they managed to have at the cemetery the other day, Michel’s worries about her still hadn’t decreased at all, at the contrary. From time to time, he thought about maybe visiting Morgana to her graveyard, but in the end could never bring himself to do so. After all, she had told him herself that this place was like a ‘secret base’ to her, so it felt wrong, somehow, to trespass this place without her consent.

However, these peaceful days came to an end about two weeks later when the phone suddenly rang one afternoon.

Michel was completely focused on writing an important email about an upcoming project to his superior, so it took him some time to realize the ringing, and when he did he caught sight of Giselle heading towards the phone before he could even get up. As her hands were already occupied with what seemed to be a big cardboard — maybe something from the café? — she hurriedly put on the loudspeaker and wedged the receiver between her ear and her shoulder in an elegant movement. Michel had always been in awe by the way she was able to take care of multiple things like that as if it was the most natural thing in the world, whereas in her place he would’ve just let the box fall on the ground.

“Hello?” Giselle asked, her voice politely playful.

“Hello, sorry to bother you,” a courteous, feminine voice resounded faintly from the phone. “Um, I would like to speak to Mr. Michel Bollinger… Are you Mrs. Bollinger?”

Michel frowned slightly upon hearing his name — the person’s informal and serious tone made him wonder if it was something work-related — but Giselle seemed unconcerned and only giggled.

“Um, well, not yet! Why?”

“You are the guardian of a seventeen-year-old girl named Morgana, aren’t you?”

Giselle blinked curiously, a little confused this time.

“Um, well, we do live with a girl like that but we’re not… Wait, what is this about?”

For a short moment, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation, before the person finally answered by saying something that made Giselle’s smile fell from her face.

“This is the police. We got her in custody. Could you please come pick her up at the station?”

______________________________________________________________

Michel had only went to a police station maybe two or three times in his life, always for trivial, unimportant things like retrieve lost objects, so that was why, when he stepped inside the big building and was greeted by a bunch of solemn-looking officers in uniforms, that he couldn’t help but feel a little anxious.

The woman on the phone hadn’t told them much about what had happened, just that apparently Morgana had gotten into trouble and that she had told them he was her legal guardian, so he was the one who had to come to get her. To be honest, Michel felt a bit annoyed by this and didn’t understand why Morgana had claimed such a thing given he was far from being her guardian, but he certainly couldn’t refuse to help his friend if she had problems.

So he headed towards the reception, trying to make himself as discreet as possible but as usual it wasn’t very effective, as his appearance always attracted looks wherever he went. When he presented himself, the woman at the desk sighed, and with tired eyes she lead him to a nearby room. The moment he opened the door, he heard angry yells fly out at him, and distinguished three persons: a police officer, a middle-aged man, and Morgana.

“Do you realize that this is all your fault to begin with, right?” The man shouted exasperatedly. “You’re the one who assaulted me! Stop playing the victim here!”

“I’m not playing the victim,” Morgana replied coldly with annoyance, before rolling her eyes. “And ‘assaulted’… No need to use such words. You’re oversensitive.”

“Oversensitive?” The man screamed in disbelief. “Are you saying that this—” He showed up his hand that was wrapped up in bandages. “—is me being oversensitive?”

Morgana eyed him, then shrugged. “Well, you still have your hand and it still moves, right? Not sure why you’re making such a big deal about it.”

The man’s face became completely red, and Michel honestly thought he was going to strangle the girl here and there if the cop hadn’t instantly stepped in, putting a strong hand on the guy’s shoulder and separating the two of them.

“All right, please keep your calm, sir… I see that her guardian has finally arrived, so let’s settle this peacefully.”

While saying this, the officer looked up at Michel, and suddenly all the attention was reported on him. A look of relief spread on Morgana’s face upon seeing him, while the middle-aged man’s face hardened and glared at him.

“You certainly took your sweet time! I swear, what kind of father are you, raising such a brat and letting her hang out in a police station for hours?”

“Um… that’s—”

“Well he’s not my father,” Morgana cut in annoyingly, and when she saw the questioning gazes of the two other men she quickly added: “He is my guardian, but we’re not blood related.”

“Well, fine, in any case could you all please sit down?” The cop asked, his voice straining and Michel could tell he had been taking care of this issue for a while now and was starting to get quite frustrated at it.

“Uh, I’m sorry but, we still didn’t explain to me what had happened? What did Morgana do?”

“Why would you instantly assume I’m the one who did something?” Morgana retorted while glaring at Michel.

“Because you are!” The man shouted yet again. “That kid, I swear…! Here’s what happened: your girl stabbed me in the hand!”

Michel had to admit, he was expecting a lot of things when he heard Morgana was at a police station, but this he still wasn’t prepared for that. He frowned in confusion, and threw a questioning glance at the concerned girl, who just sighed as if this was none of her business.

“So, wait,” Michel started, massaging his temples. “She… stabbed you? With a knife? Do you just walk around transporting a knife, Morgana?”

“Okay, first of all, it wasn’t a knife, it was a cutter,” she argued, as if this was a very important detail.

It doesn’t make it any better! Michel almost burst out, but did his best to control his temperament.

“It doesn’t matter what it was!” The man resumed. “I was just walking in the street when I saw she dropped her wallet, so I tried to tell her, but then when I grabbed her arm she suddenly pulled out that thing and stabbed me with it!”

“I thought it was a thief or something, so I panicked.”

“And when you panic you stab people?” Michel interfered.

“Well, that was just a reflex. Seriously, you should not accost young girls like that without warning. It’s your fault this ended up like this, really.”

The man seemed so taken aback by Morgana’s flippancy that he couldn’t even seem to be able to yell at her anymore. He just stared at the girl, eyes and mouth wide open, until Michel let out a sigh.

“Okay, I think I got the situation. I am genuinely sorry for what Morgana did to you. It wasn’t her intention, she’s just a very cautious person—”

“It was absolutely my intention,” Morgana cut him off. “And you don’t need to apologize to that man. I certainly won’t. He’s the one overreacting over nothing.”

“You’re not helping me here!”

The man stared at the both of them, then shook his head as if giving up protesting. “I don’t care about apologies at this point. “But I certainly won’t stand for that. She stabbed me. I want to file a claim and you owes me at the very least the treatment fees.”

“File a claim? Treatment fees? As if I would—”

“That’s understandable,” Michel interrupted in a serious voice. “I’ll make sure to see through that.”

“What? Michel—”

“Just let me take care of this and try not to make matters worse, please.”

Michel’s voice was not severe, but still firm enough to make the girl understand it was best to let him handle the situation from now on. Morgana sighed, then finally after a few moments of hesitation, she nodded, although she clearly wasn’t satisfied with this.

What followed was a very egregious, long hour of trying to salvage the situation somewhat despite Morgana’s icy jabs and the man’s punctual anger. Michel felt much more exhausted at the end of this than at the end of a heavy week full of work. When they finally managed to get out of the police station, his head was still full about the future appointment with his lawyer he’ll have to make and the treatment fees he’ll have to pay.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” Morgana said, and Michel really hoped this was her way of saying ‘thank you’ because he didn’t feel like dealing with any more jaded cynical retorts.

“You’re the one who told them to call me to start with. Actually, why did you say I was your guardian?”

“Well, I didn’t want to at first… but I’m not yet eighteen, and I didn’t want them to call my parents. If my stepfather had showed up, it would have gotten ugly.”

Michel suddenly felt a bit stupid for not having realized this by himself, and softening a little, he sighed. Morgana was pretty secretive about her family situation, but he knew she had a bad relationship with them — so it wasn’t hard to imagine that if her stepfather had been called because she was at a police station it would’ve indeed not ended well.

It truly was a cursed fate that this girl had ended up again with bad, uncaring parents in this era. She deserved to have an actual loving family… In a way, although he still felt a bit annoyed with her for this, he also was kind of happy she had not hesitated to rely on him when she was in trouble.

“All right, fine… Still, what a mess… Now I’ll have to talk to Giselle about all of this and organize our finances, huh…”

“Like I said, you don’t need to do this. I’ll take care of it.”

“And how, exactly? If you don’t want to contact your parents, then I fail to see how you’ll be able to deal with this… Is the association you’re in contact would really take care of something like this?”

“Oh, no, I would never ask them that even if they could help me. I’ll just call Jacopo.”

Michel stopped walking.

“Uh, what?”

“I’ll ask Jacopo to pay and handle this for me.”

“But, you… I thought you hadn’t talked to him since you came back from your trip in Italy?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“And you’re going to call him now just to ask him for money?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… Did you keep in contact with him just to extort him?”

“Is that a problem? He has to be useful for something, at least. Furthermore, he’s pretty rich, you know.”

Michel sighed deeply and put his face in his hands. “You’re impossible… Are you really serious?”

Morgana stopped in her trail brusquely. She turned around to face him, and her eyes suddenly turned cold.

“In case you forgot, I shall remind you it is the man who killed me we are talking about. So no, I have no problem at all in taking some of his money. I believe it is actually a pretty low price to pay for ruining my life. He owes me at least that much, don’t you think? Plus, he’s also the man who indirectly ruined your life too, so I’d say he really do not deserve your pity.”

“I wasn’t pitying him…”

And you had more of a hand in ruining my life than he did, is what he restrained himself from adding. Certainly, Jacopo was basically the cause of the whole mess that had happened in the cursed mansion, but Morgana had still been the one who spent all those years tormenting Michel. She’d been the one who had enslaved Giselle in the mansion until she broke her and destroy her very identity. Even if Morgana had been a victim and that some of her actions were rooted in rightful pain and anger, no one had forced her to do those things.

Michel had forgiven her and had a lot of deep affection for her now, but he still didn’t like the way she sometimes glossed over the very real harm she had done to instead push all the blame on her killers — and specifically on Jacopo.

Still, he didn’t want to have that peculiar argument with her right now, and on top of that… Even if Morgana had never been at the mansion, even if the place had never been cursed, unfortunately Michel’s life would have still likely ended in tragedy… This thought made him pause, though.

He wondered… what would have happened if he had never met Morgana?

If there had been no cursed witch at the mansion? No skeleton to hug and makes him feel better about himself — about his pain and loneliness? No mean spirit to abuse and drain him? How would he have spent those ten years completely alone? How would he have reacted to Iméon and to Giselle without a witch to whispers in his ears?

Things would have been… a bit different, maybe, but in the end it would still have ended up with him being pierced by his brother’s spears.

The biggest difference would have been… that Giselle wouldn’t have become the Maid. They never would have reunited centuries later as lost ghosts in this dark haunted mansion, and maybe they wouldn’t even have reincarnated together in this era at all… But that also meant Giselle wouldn’t have had to suffer during all of those centuries, so wouldn’t have been better…?

Or maybe there would have been no mansion at all, and he would have been sent in exile elsewhere. Maybe he wouldn’t even have met Giselle at all. He had no idea.

What he did know was that if none of that had happened, he wouldn’t be walking next to this young girl right now.

______________________________________________________________

The wind was raspy and the sky gray when he finally reached the cemetery, which made it looks even more gloomy and eerie than last time.

It looked the exact same as it did before, as if he was back a few weeks prior in time. The place was just as abandoned as ever, and it made Michel wonder if anyone even ever bothered to come here. Except for Morgana, that is.

He wouldn’t have bothered to come either, usually, but as strange as it may sound, it was actually Morgana herself who had asked him. He had tried to talk to her yesterday, but she evaded him before slipping “I’ll be at the graveyard again tomorrow after class,” and promptly disappeared. Implying, “You can come to me there to talk to me.” Well, that was how Michel had interpreted it at least, but with Morgana he was never sure of the exact meaning of her words.

“Oh, you’re here.”

He brusquely turned around, and Morgana was there, holding a pretty big watering can in her arms.

“Right in time,” she said. “See this tombstone? I’d need you to water the flowers next to it. I still have to clean those two others in the meantime.”

Michel arched an eyebrow, but didn’t have the time to ask anything that Morgana pushed the heavy can in his hands and headed towards another grave.

“What— Wait, what do you mean?”

“I don’t think I’ve said anything all that complicated?”

“No, what I mean is— why are you doing this?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him.

“What? Did you think I just spent all my afternoon looking melancholically at those gravestones? Sorry to disappoint, but generally I actually take care of the place.”

“You… take care of the place?”

“Yes. You know, I clean up, arrange the plants, all that. That’s a small graveyard, but it still actually takes a lot of time.”

Michel felt more and more confused. Indeed, now that he thought about it, it seemed a bit weird that Morgana would spent hours hanging out in a cemetery just walking around the tombstones despite knowing no one buried here. But the idea of her cleaning up the place was even weirder.

“What are you, the graveyard caretaker?”

“No, though I talk to him from time to time.”

“He’s okay with you doing that?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Well, Michel supposed it did remove some work for him, so of course he wouldn’t complain. “But why would you do this?”

She shrugged. “It relaxes me.”

“Taking care of a graveyard relaxes you?”

Morgana turned around without answering and kneeled down in front of a tomb a little further away. Michel sighed, looked at the water can in his hands — which was starting to feel pretty heavy — and decided to do as she said for now. While watering the daffodils and begonias that littered the ground, he threw slight glances at the girl behind him, who was very meticulously concentrated on her task, and that’s when their talk from a few weeks ago came back to him.

Right, Morgana had spend a good chunk of her time as a child taking care of a graveyard in her past life. With this in mind, then her behavior did makes sense. Maybe it’d seems odd from any other person, but Morgana loving to take care of such place wasn’t weird at all.

“You’re holding the can badly. You’re not used to gardening, are you?”

Michel got startled as the girl appeared by his side and grabbed the can, carefully bending it with expert hands.

“I don’t have much occasions to do this,” he admitted.

“Don’t Giselle loves gardening? At least she did back then.”

“She does, but… we’ve never done it together. Plus her family lives in an apartment…”

“Is that so…”

“I didn’t know you loved gardening, though?”

“I don’t really like it. But it’s necessary when taking care of a graveyard.”

Morgana kept arranging the flowers, and Michel’s mind wandered back to the roses Giselle had grown in the mansion, centuries ago. They didn’t have a garden in their current house, only a courtyard, but maybe he could arrange himself to make one… It would surely make her happy.

“Ugh, stop that.”

“S-Stop what?”

“Thinking about doing something ridiculously cheesy for Giselle. I hate when you do that.”

“How do you even know what I was thinking about?”

“Because you always make that stupid, disgusting face whenever you think about her.”

Michel sighed. “Well, do forgive me for being happy while thinking about the woman I love. I’ll try to do it discretely from now on.”

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes, and almost retorted another jaded reply before he just remembered that he had a reason, actually, for coming all the way here today, and it wasn’t just to bicker with Morgana.

“Did you call Jacopo?”

“Yes. He was kinda annoyed, but he’ll pay. I don’t have any worries about it.”

Michel grimaced, guessing she probably did her best to remind him all the horrible things he had done to her to make him feel as guilty as possible. Then again, a part of him couldn’t entirely reprehend her for that, because, like she had said before, it wasn’t much compared to what he had actually did to her. He couldn’t reproach her anger, but at the same time he didn’t like at all this unhealthy relationship she had started in this era with Jacopo. Maybe he’ll have to talk about it with her. Later.

“So, um…” Michel started, then hesitated.

He did come all the way here to talk to her, but now that he was actually there he couldn’t bring himself to find the right words. He was afraid of setting her off if he brought this in the wrong way. As if reading his thoughts, Morgana brusquely stood away from the flowers and turned towards him, brow burrowed.

“Yes?” She pressed on. “Stop beating around the bush and tell me already.”

Michel took a deep breath in, and nodded.

“All right. All right, um… So, I talked with Giselle about this for a bit, and I was wondering…” He paused, and eyed Morgana cautiously. “What would you think about going to see a therapist?”

Ar first, it seemed as if she didn’t understand the question. Then, as it sunk, her shoulders slumped, her mouth formed a tight line and she uttered the following with so much disdain it almost made Michel choke:

“What?”

“I, er… To tell you the truth, that’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while… but the recent events decided me it was, probably, really necessary.”

“What recent events?”

“Do you I really need to remind you your visit at the police station?”

“That has nothing to do with this, and it’s already solved.”

“That’s not the issue. And it’s not the first time something like this happen, either.”

There was the episode that happened the first time he came at this graveyard, and the frequent nightmares, but those weren’t just isolated incidents either. There were moments where Morgana would just stare off into the distance and didn’t seem to… respond to anything. As if she was just cut off from reality. And even without all of this, Michel thought it’d do her a lot of good to see a specialist, even just to talk. However, Morgana visibly thought very differently.

“I’m not crazy,” she dryly cut out, her eyes shooting daggers.

“It’s not about being ‘crazy’,” Michel replied patiently. “It’s about talking to someone about your problems, which you obviously really, really need.”

Her reaction was pretty ironic, Michel thought, given how many times she had tempted him to “just go insane” or to “join her in her madness” during their time at the mansion. But maybe she just didn’t remember that.

“No way,” she continued, her tone sharp. “I’m not going to see a shrink.”

She spat out the last word with so much vitriol Michel actually wondered if a ‘shrink’ had done something to her in the past or something.

“I’m not saying this to piss you off, Morgana,” Michel resumed in a more concerned, serious tone. “It’s because I’m worried about you. A therapist could actually help you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like hell they could. What would I even tell them, anyway? ‘Oh yeah I remember by entire past life where my life was a miserable hell and where I was killed horribly which turned me into a witch and made me curse my killers for centuries.’ How good they’d take that, you think?”

“Obviously, I’m not saying you need to tell every single details… You could start with your modern life, I believe there’s already enough things to work with here.”

“And with what money would I pay that? I certainly can’t ask my parents, and the association already do enough for me.”

“I could take care of that if you want. That’s not a problem.” Or you could extort Jacopo again, he almost said, but he thought it wasn’t a good idea to encourage her in this kind of behavior, even for a joke.

“Oh please, stop acting like you’re my father or something, it’s extremely annoying.”

Michel groaned. Of course he had expected her to react this way, but it didn’t mean it was any less annoying that she just completely refused to listen to him.

“Morgana. You are not okay. You realize that, right?”

“How am I not okay?”

“Oh, I don’t know, to me stabbing some guy’s hand in the street because you ‘freaked out’ is not something a person who’s perfectly okay would do.”

“It was just an accident. It never happened before, and it won’t happen again.”

“But how can you know? Do you really realize how serious what you did is? You’re lucky you ended getting away with it this time, but maybe the next you’ll get in trouble with a much more dangerous person. What would you do then?”

Morgana lifted her head and grinned at him. “I’ll kill them and dispose of their body, obviously. See? That way, no problem.”

Michel stared at her blankly. Morgana stared back.

“I’m joking! Oh my God, you didn’t actually think I’d do that, right?”

“I mean… With you, I can never tell for sure.”

Morgana snorted. “Then what about you? Are you seeing a shrink?”

“Yes, I do, actually.”

Manifestly, Morgana wasn’t expecting this answer at all, because she just stared at him with her eyes wide and her mouth open.

“W-Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been in therapy since I was around fourteen, I think.” As Morgana was still staring at him with a confused look, Michel added, “Ever since I came out as a boy to my parents. They insisted because they… weren’t sure how to deal with this.”

“Oh.”

“And you know what? I thought like you at first, but I think it really helped me in the end. It still does.”

“Well, I’m not you. And again, you’re not my father, you can’t force me to do anything, so the conversation stop there.”

And as if giving more weight to her words, she turned around and started walking towards the back of the graveyard with steady steps. Michel sighed for what was probably the tenth times since he entered this place.

Dealing with Morgana was always a real headache, but he wouldn’t give up on her just yet. He hadn’t given up on her back when she was a cruel witch who had tormented him and Giselle, and he wouldn’t do it now that she was just a stubborn teenage girl.

“Morgana.”

He didn’t even had to grab her hand or to hold her back — the tone of his voice seemed to be enough to make her understand it was important, and she stopped.

“I am not going to force you if you really don’t want to,” he continued, then smiled wryly. “Like you said, I am not your father, and even if I was I still wouldn’t force you.”

This time, it was Morgana who sighed, and he could see her shoulders drop, in what seemed to be more tiredness than annoyance.

“When we met again in this era, you said… that you wanted to take your life back into your hands. Were you lying?”

The girl turned around and glared at him, her gaze shining determinedly.

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you so afraid of living and trying to be happy?” Michel took a step forward, ruby eyes not letting go of the golden ones for a second. “You have a life full of opportunities in front of you, but somehow you prefer to stay stuck in your suffering. Like you did back then.”

Morgana opened her mouth as if wanting to say something, but her lips trembled and no words could get out.

“You’re not locked up in that cursed mansion anymore. You can go wherever you want. Taking care of a graveyard is nice if that makes you happy, but… it’s not by staying with the dead that you’ll take back your life. It’s by being with the living.”

It hurts, sometimes, to look at the girl in front of him. It was a similar sensation as to stare in a mirror and seeing the reflection of a painful past self he had managed to overcome.

A child playing pretend with dead dolls when they were too old for that.

Morgana had done this since she was a little girl, but unlike him she had never let it go. He had left this behind in the past, but she was still desperately clinging to it.

Michel advanced once again, and stopped only a few centimeters away from her. Morgana was small and only barely reaching his chest, and the way she seemed to intensely stare at the ground in this moment made her seem even smaller.

He put both of his hands on her shoulders, making her look up at him, and when her eyes finally crossed his, he smiled softly.

“I love you and want you to be happy, because you deserves it. You don’t have to treat the entire world like it’s your enemy, so let people help you and love you. That’s all I really wanted to tell you.”

Morgana’s eyes widened as if not believing he had actually said this, and Michel had to admit he kind of felt the same. The words were like ashes in his mouth, and he had never been good at being open with people, not even after all those centuries. It was hard and uncomfortable and awkward, but he meant every single one of them, and he hoped Morgana could sense that, too.

Before the girl had the time to recover, he leaned in and gently kissed her forehead affectionately. He didn’t hear her gasp, but he could feel her shock and her body tense through his hands. He pulled away slowly, smiled one last time at her, before turning around.

He didn’t need to face her to know she was completely motionless and inert, but this was in a good kind of way this time.

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The odor of death was the thing that remained the most vivid in his dreams.

It wrapped and clung to his sense of smell and made him want to wince and gag. Even after he’d wake up, it would still linger with him, stuck to his skin. He had to really struggle to get it off and to fight the blurry images of the dark tower and of the soulless, dusty skeleton sitting next to him.

The unmoving, unbreathing dead doll.

But the doll wasn’t here when he came back to him, only the warm body of the black-haired woman he was going to marry in a few months. Her chest was slowly moving up and down, her lips ajar and eyelids closed. She was smiling and breathing and living, a far cry from the corpse that had been his only companion for years and years a long, lost time ago, and that was enough to bring him back in the present.

As he had often the habit by now, he stood up and headed in the kitchen, preparing his mug of coffee almost mechanically before getting outside. He noticed with regret as he sat on the courtyard’s bench that still no stars sprinkled the dark sky.

“Seems like meeting down there is starting to become a routine for us.”

There she stood in front of him, the skeletal doll.

But she wasn’t skeletal or unmoving or unbreathing anymore — with her golden eyes and long red hair slightly illuminated by the moon, she looked more like some sort of unworldly nymph.

“Seems like it,” Michel said quietly.

Morgana grimaced slightly in disappointment. “And here I thought I’d manage to pay you back and startle you like you did with me last time. Were you expecting me or something?”

“Something like that, I suppose. Maybe a part of me can always sort of tell your presence, like when we were in the mansion.”

“That’s not possible. You’re joking, right?”

“What do you think?”

Michel smiled mischievously at her, and the girl rolled her eyes, before simply sitting next to him. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

If he closed his eyes, maybe he could feel like he was still that barely adult young man in the tower seeking comfort from a corpse.

“That was kind of unfair, what you did at the cemetery,” Morgana finally said in a soft, quiet voice. “Leaving me all alone behind after saying something ridiculous like that.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous. I meant it.”

“I know. That’s what makes it ridiculous.”

She was staring at her feet now, and while there wasn’t any expression on her face, her voice was barely a murmur. Michel felt that Morgana wanted to talk for once, and it was a rare enough occasion that he kept his mouth shut as much as possible.

“You shouldn’t love me. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“Not after… I don’t know. Everything.”

“Hmm… Could it be some backward way trying to apologize for what you did to me and Giselle? That’s quite something, coming from you. Did you hit your head or something?”

“It’s not. I just don’t get it. I don’t get you. You don’t make sense, that’s all.”

Michel sighed. It didn’t really surprise him. Forgiving Morgana and becoming her friend made sense to him, but it certainly was understandable that it wouldn’t really from her perspective. The sad thought of how a part of her probably would not believe anyone who’d say ‘I love you’ to her regardless of who it was crossed his mind…

“I did felt a lot of ways towards you during these years,” he finally said. “I hated you, and resented you, and pitied you. You did a lot of heinous things to me. But I think I myself did a lot of bad things to you. Though, well… you already know that, don’t you?”

No response came, but he didn’t need any, so he just let his eyes wander at the starless sky.

“My point is, that when I really started to see you as a person, when I really started to emphasize with you and wanted to save you, I’ve stopped resenting you and started loving you. I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but that’s how it is. I hope you’ll be able to understand it one day.”

Morgana sighed, and also raised up her head. “I… will not make any promise,” she finally said. “But…”

She bit her lips. Looked away.

“But I’ll… I’ll think about it. The shrink.”

And then Michel couldn’t help but chuckle, because in this moment she sounded so much like the stubborn teen girl she was supposed to be and not like the centuries years old cruel, vengeful witch, and it was how things was supposed to be.

“You know, Morgana… some time earlier, I got myself wondering what would have happened if I had never met you.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

“How would that work…?”

“Well, I don’t know… Maybe if you never had died the way you did, and never put a curse on the three men. Maybe if Jacopo had never locked you up in that tower.”

Morgana snorted. “That indeed would have prevented a lot of annoying events, yes. But that would mean counting on the fact that this idiot can possess anything resembling human common sense.”

“Well, regardless… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“Hmm… Well, if I had indeed never been killed that way… for starter, the mansion itself would have never been cursed. So maybe you would not even have been sent at that mansion at all. Or maybe you would have, but either way I do not think it would have changed much about what happened there, or changed anything about your death.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

“However, Giselle… would have never become the Maid.”

“Indeed…”

Morgana’s gaze seemed unfocused as she looked into the horizon, and Michel wondered what was going through her head. Maybe she reminisced all those centuries she spent in company of the Maid.

“Maybe… it would have been better for her,” she finally blurted out.

“That’s… also what I thought. But then… that might sound selfish of me, but… if she had never become the Maid and stayed in the mansion, then we likely… would have never been reunited. The both of us getting reincarnated here was principally thanks to your wish.”

“Heh, I’m not so sure about that. That’s going to sound cheesy, but I think your bond was strong enough for you to meet again.”

“Maybe… It’d be nice if it is the case…”

Michel put his gaze inside his cup of coffee, that was probably cold by now.

“But you know… while I do wish Giselle hadn’t gone through so much suffering during her time as the Maid, and that I would do anything to take it back… I still… do not regret meeting you.”

He turned his head towards the young girl sat next to him, and stared straight into her eyes.

“Despite everything, I am still glad to be your friend now.”

Michel smiled gently at her, and put a hand on the top of her head, gently ruffling her red hair. Morgana sighed and rolled her eyes. “I am not a child,” she grumbled, but even so she did nothing to put off his hand. So Michel chuckled, and despite her reluctance, Morgana joined in his laugh soon enough.

Years, decades, centuries ago, she was just a lifeless doll he’d shared an abandoned mansion with — a convenient plaything to make a desperate, broken boy feel less lonely.

And then when she started talking as a witch, she became an annoyance and he wanted nothing but to get rid of her.

But he was glad to not have given up on her in the end, so that he could now see into what kind of woman she would grow into.

And just like he had done an eternity before, he extended his arm and grabbed her hand, holding it gently but firmly.

This time, those were not cold, dusty bones that met his fingers, but warm, smooth skin.

This was not a skeleton sat next to him that he could play pretend with like a doll, but a dear friend he had pitied, hated, resented sympathized with and loved all at once.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Michel Bollinger #Morgana Fatamoru #Morgana (FataMoru) #Michel and Morgana #Novectacle #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfic #Connan's Fanfics #Connan's Posts #Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana) #Morgana The House in Fata Morgana #Morgana (Fata Morgana) #Text #Archive Of Our Own #AO3 #TheHouseinFataMorgana #Fata

[connan-l]

Flower Person

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Maria Campanella/Iméon

Summary: Iméon wasn’t the kind of person to care about flowers and she never liked receiving these as gifts, but could she really refuses it when a pretty blond woman she doesn’t know show up on her doorstep with a bouquet of lilies? [Femslash February 2021 Day 24: Lily]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: So, I admit I actually tend to headcanon Iméon as being nonbinary/trans masc, which wouldn’t really fit a femslash event, but well as far we know in FataMoru canon she still identifies as a woman. Another headcanon of mine is that Iméon does remember her past life even after being reincarnated (which is what happens in the short story ‘Tír na nÓg’), and I wrote the fic with that in mind. Also I know Iméon likely just goes by ‘Noémi’ in the modern era, but… weh, I’m too used to refer to her as ‘Iméon’ lol.

This takes place after Reincarnation so spoilers for all the games, and there are also brief references to the short story ‘Girl Hunt Girl.’ (If you don’t know about it, it’s just a very short post-Reincarnation story where Iméon meets Ceren in Paris by saving her from a conman.) And warning for slight drinking/alcohol, I guess.

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Iméon had never been a flower person.

It wasn’t like she hated them or anything, but she couldn’t really unsderstand what people found so captivating or pretty about these plants. They smelled nice, sometimes, she supposed — but that was the extent of the qualities she’d gave them.

She had told as much to Michel once when they stopped by a flower shop so he could buy a few roses for his wife — the fact this guy ended up getting married was still mind-boggling to her even months after she’d learned that fact — and he laughed, saying he used to think the same ‘back then’ but that now he couldn’t help but love them. He hadn’t explained to her how this change of heart happened, but Iméon could guess pretty easily it was also a courtesy of Giselle.

In any case, that was also why people never offered her flowers as gifts, either — the only time she could remember this happened was when she was maybe eight or so and her grandma had given her a bouquet of hydrangeas. Iméon had never been able to tell the absentminded sweet old lady that she couldn’t care less about those flecks of blue-purplish petals and she’d unfortunately had to keep them in her room against her will until they withered.

Tonight, however, would mark the second time of flower-offering she’d received in her life, because the first thing she saw upon opening the door after it rang twice was a huge bouquet of lilies, followed by a turf of messy, short blond hair and a pair of clear green eyes that popped out just barely above the white bell-shaped plants.

“So, okay, here’s the thing,” her visitor started, trying to speak clearly in spite of the enormous gift in her arms that was camouflaging almost all of her upper body. “That’s kind of a long story, but bear with me. There’s this dude where I work — a client — who sort of got a crush on me. Not, like, the creepy kind, but still pretty annoying. He hit on me a few times, and despite me trying to fucking tell him subtly, ‘Hey, dude, not interested, let it go,’ he brought me this tonight upon seeing me. I thought at first about throwing it away in the trash cause flowers are not my thing, you see? But then my boss — I mean Giselle, you know her too, right? — threw a damn fit, ‘bout how it wasn’t nice for him and those were such beautiful flowers or something, so I was like ‘then take them cause I don’t want this’ but she refused cause Michel is allergic to lilies or something and — who the fuck even is allergenic to goddamn lilies? Anyway, after that I—”

Iméon blinked incredulously, trying to makes sense of why there was a short irritated blond woman with a thick Italian accent she didn’t know in front of her who kept rambling on and on at her at eight in the evening. She seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t recall why — where had she seen her before?

“—asked my stupid childhood friend cause of course she’s the kind of gal who’s into flowers and stuff, except I forgot she was in Amsterdam to introduce her creepy boyfriend to her parents, but as a result the only person left was fucking Jacopo and I sure as hell wasn’t going to show up to this dumbass’ door to give him some lilies — and then it hit me; ‘Oh, there’s this chick who’s friends with Michel and Ceren and doesn’t live far away, so why not check her out!’ And so here I am.” She finally stopped and breathed in deeply. “So. Yeah. Want some lilies?”

The names of Michel and Ceren awakened Iméon’s memories and she realized it was, indeed, because of these two that this woman was familiar to her. More than a year ago, she had met Ceren by coincidence and helped her out of some trouble and since then they’d become good friends, and she managed to meet Michel again a few months later. Seeing her old friend from a past life neither of them should remember had been quite a shock — though a pleasant one — but discovering that somehow he’d gotten married to a bubbly lady and now lived in the same building as the goddamn little witch who’d messed around with them had been quite confusing. And to top it off, apparently Michel also knew Ceren because she herself was friends with said little witch. Fate really was a funny thing.

In any case, about three weeks ago she’d briefly gotten introduced to this woman by Giselle, but it had been a five minutes meeting so the encounter had quickly left her mind. If she recalled her name was… Martha? Marianne…? Mar—

“Oh, Maria,” she suddenly said out loud, snapping her fingers, and the woman frowned at her.

“What?”

“Your name. It’s Maria. Right?”

“Wait, you only now remembered who I was?”

“Yep.”

“Maria is like, the less forgettable name in the world? How did you do to forget that?”

“Sorry. I’m just not good with names. And faces. And people.”

A big silence propagated between the two of them, and then Iméon cleared her throat.

“You know… if you wanted to ask me out on a date, you could’ve just… said that. Or ask Michel my number or something.”

Maria arched an eyebrow at her, looking genuinely surprised. “What? Wait, no, that wasn’t… it’s not what it’s about.”

“No?”

“If I wanted to ask you out, I’d just do that. I’m not the kind of person to make excuse or beat around the bush.”

Iméon literally knew nothing about this woman, but somehow she could believe that.

“Oh. Okay. So it’s… really just about the lilies.”

“Yeah.” Maria marked a pause. “It did sounds less weird in my head when I thought about coming here. But I’m just, uh… a bit desperate to get rid of these.”

Iméon hummed thoughtfully and crossed her arms. Desperate was indeed quite an apt descriptor — her hair was all disheveled, her clothes unkempt and she appeared out of breath, as if she had run left and right for a long time to try to get someone who’d agree to take in the huge bouquet.

Iméon wasn’t a flower person, but… she didn’t mind accepting a few lilies for this one time.

“All right. I’ll take it,” she conceded, and Maria seemed so relieved to hear that it was almost comical.

Iméon gathered the flowers into her arms, the soft perfume tickling her nostrils and the petals brushing her cheeks, and then she turned around towards Maria once again. She was clearly about to leave and go down the stairs, but somehow Iméon felt a tinge of pity for her to have to yet again hurry to go home, so she grasped her wrist.

“Hey, no need to rush out of here. I was just about to eat something, so… Wanna have dinner with me?”

“What? Really?”

Iméon flashed her a smile. “Sure. I mean, you’re a friend of Michel, so I’d feel bad to just let you go home like that.”

Maria stared at her in silence for a while, as if hesitating, then returned her smile. “Oh well. Not like I had anything else to do anyway.”

And so the both of them stepped into the small two-room apartment together — the inside was a mess, to be honest, with various clothes and papers laying around, but Iméon didn’t care in the least and neither did Maria apparently as she threw herself on the couch without eve asking. Iméon somehow managed to install the lilies in an empty jar on the table, then tranquilly started to prepare their meal. The dinner only consisted of a quick reheat from yesterday’s leftovers and Iméon had always been far from being a super good cook, but it didn’t matter much as the room quickly got filled with cheerful chats and laughters. They talked about their common friends and then their jobs and movies and Maria’s home country, and while Iméon wouldn’t reveal too much about herself and was careful to keep her walls up even once they added a few beers in the mix, she had to admit she felt quite comfortable with this woman whom she couldn’t even remember the name a few hours prior.

Maria was a fun and easygoing person to talk to and despite her crude words and rough attitude she had a smile as bright as the sun, and it just felt nice to be around her.

“So you’ve only moved in here recently?” Maria asked.

“I don’t like to stay in a same place for too long. That’s just not in my blood. I travel a lot too, went to a bunch of different countries…”

“Hmm. I get that. I traveled around quite a bit too before coming to Paris.” She sighed, then stared vacantly at her beer. “I wonder if I should try going moving somewhere else again. I mean, I like it here, but…”

Maria fell silent, suddenly looking surprisingly melancholic. But in a way, Iméon felt she could understand that. She herself had spent most of her life jumping from a place to another ever since her parents kicked her out of the family house, and she liked living that way, but occasionally she wondered if it wouldn’t be best to find somewhere to truly settle in and call home. Maybe she envied Michel’s stable life a little bit for having this, or Ceren’s airheadness for never even questioning what the future might held in for her.

In that sense, she got the feeling Maria was more similar to her because of that. Weird, given she’d basically been a stranger to her only a few hours ago.

As Iméon was still lost in her thought, Maria abruptly rose up from her chair, almost knocking over the lilies from the table. “Oh, wow, fuck! I didn’t realize it had so damn gotten so late! I should go now.”

Iméon looked at the clock, and it was indeed already past three AM. She also had not noticed the time flee at all.

“You sure you don’t want to spend the night here?” Iméon asked while Maria hurriedly put on her coat. “I mean, we did drink quite a bit, and there’s no metro at this time…”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll call a taxi or something. Ugh, and tomorrow I have to work… I’m going to be a fucking mess and Giselle’s gonna have my head.”

“Giselle?” Iméon repeated, because she didn’t know Michel’s wife all that well but somehow she couldn’t picture her as the kind of employer who’d got angry at anyone.

“Yeah, she seems all cute and sweet like that, but she’s actually fucking scary and ultra perfectionist at work. Don’t let her fool you.”

“Huh… I’ll remember that.”

Maria grabbed her last beer and gobbled up all that was left of it in one shot, before quickly heading towards the door. She stopped her pace on the doorstep, however, and turned around towards Iméon.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said, smirking. “It was fun. Let’s do this again.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Maria stared at her, seemed to hesitate, then finally leaned forward and kissed her. It was a pretty brief kiss, lips only brushing against each other, but Iméon still hadn’t really expected it and she blinked back at her when she pulled back.

“I thought the bouquet wasn’t an excuse?”

“It wasn’t,” Maria argued. “That was just as thanks for the meal. Now, I really have to go, so see ya!”

She waved at her with a smug smirk, as if she was quite proud of herself for what she had just done, and then disappeared in the stairs. Iméon still felt pretty confused, but she was much too tired to try to think more about it.

So she got back inside her place, locked the door, and found herself face to face alone with the big bouquet of lilies.

For a brief second, she felt kind of bad for the guy who’d bought it for Maria in the first place, and it was kind of annoying she’d have to keep that bouquet until it wither away like her grandmother’s hydrangeas, but…

If it meant she’d get to have a fun evening dinner and a kiss from a hot Italian woman, maybe it had been worth it.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Maria Campanella #Imeon #Noemi Castagnier #ImeMari #Femslash February #Iméon #Noémi Castagnier #Imeon FataMoru #IméMari #MariIme #Fata Morgana #Femslash February 2021 #Femslash Feb 2021 #Connan's Fanfics #Connan's Posts #Imeon (FataMoru) #Maria x Imeon #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfic #イメマリ #Imeon (The House in Fata Morgana) #FemFeb #Novectacle #ファタモルガーナの館 #Maria FataMoru #Imeon x Maria #FataMoru Fanfiction #Fata Morgana no Yakata

[connan-l]

Quiet moments — Chapter 2: Mell and Giselle

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Giselle & Mell Rhodes

Summary: A collection of unrelated short one-shots containing interactions between two FataMoru characters.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Takes place five years before the events of Door 1, in 1598 (so Mell is twelve).

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He ran up the long corridor, his eyes searching left and right. He didn’t have much time. He had to find it now, or else it would be all over.

He had been living in this mansion for several years now, and he knew most of its corners and recesses. But so did his sister — no, actually, she knew them even better than him. Despite her princess-like behavior and her strict noble lady upbringing, she had always been quite the adventurer — much more than him, who preferred to stay inside and read books than play outside — so of course she generally loved to spend her time running around in their domain and finding all its little nooks and hideouts, to their mother’s chagrin.

His legs suddenly came to a stop when he realized that in his hastiness, he had penetrated a place he wasn’t so familiar with. He had run until the far east of the house, in a dark, isolated place, which instantly made him shiver. He knew this place — a long time ago, when they had just moved in the manor, he had wandered here… or it would be more exact to say that his sister had dragged him in her first enthusiastic exploration of their new home. Their parents had scolded them quite badly for this, and forbidden them to ever go here again. Apparently, it was a place their grandfather had condemned once he renovated the mansion, and as such no one was allowed to go there anymore.

He had always been an obedient and serious child, so he had no intention of misbehaving. His first thought was that he should get out of here before anyone notice him and he got scolded again, but…

But for some reason, his feet refused to move. They were stuck on the ground as his eyes suddenly caught sight of the end of the corridor.

The entire place was dark and eerie, no one had come here in years and it was extremely unpleasant and unwelcoming, far from being somewhere anyone would like to stay. However, there was something about it that was… strangely captivating to the boy. He had never considered himself like a brave person at all — far from it — and a voice inside his head kept screaming at him to run away from here right now… Yet, without knowing why, and before he could even think more about it, he started to walk again and head straight in front of him. As expected, all of the walls, ceiling and floor were old and decrepit, covered in spider webs and scratches and dust, but that didn’t stop him. When he reached the end of the hallway, he found an ancient, big, decayed door. Gathering all of his strengths, he pushed it, and in a disturbing loud sound, the door opened.

The first thing he saw was a strange dazzling light among the darkness, and it took him quite some time for his eyes to adapt to it. He blinked a few time, and narrowing his eyes, he finally noticed he was in a huge, spacious room. A large, majestic stained-glass enthroned at the very end of the place, which seemed to represent an angel. Once his sight stopped stinging because of the strange lighting of the room, he next realized that he was standing in what looking like a chapel.

“What is… something like that doing here…?”

This was so weird. He had never thought a chapel would ever be in a mansion, even less so the one that had been his home for years now. Was that the reason his grandfather had condemned the place? No, why had a chapel been constructed inside a manor in the first place?

The more he stayed there, staring at the angel stained-glass, and the more an odd uneasiness began to take root into his heart. He felt… an unsettling familiarity to this place. As if… he had been there before, and this thought made his heart feel heavy and his stomach turn. But that didn’t make any sense — he was certain he had never put a single foot in this chapel until now, he didn’t even know its existence.

Then he suddenly realized this wasn’t actually the first time he experienced this sensation — when he first arrived in this mansion, just after his grandfather’s passing, he also felt like he… sort of already knew this house. It was as if… he had lived here before, maybe. But that had never been the case. His father had always been on bad terms with his own parent, so the only time he had seen his grandfather was for his sister’s birth, and he certainly never got the occasion to visit him here when he was still alive. It was uncomfortable. Creepy. It made him want to run away, and maybe he would have done so at the time if it hadn’t been for his sister’s presence next to his side. So what—

“Oh my. If that isn’t the young master.”

A velvety, feminine voice reverberated from behind. The boy gasped, and quickly turned around. There, a silhouette seemed to move amongst the shadows. Fear instantly overwhelmed him, and he froze in place. The figure stepped forward, then finally emerged from the obscurity to take place in front of the stained-glass angel.

It was a woman, all in black and purple and green.

In this dark eerie place, and with her skin as pale as ivory, she looked like a ghost.

The Maid giggled.

“Did I scare you? I apologize, Lord Mell. I had no intention of frightening you like this.”

She laughed again, and for some reason Mell thought that she very much had intended to frighten him. This woman had always scared him ever since he first met her in the rose garden years ago. Apparently, she had been quite a loyal servant to his grandfather, but that didn’t matter much to him. He was generally doing his best to avoid her at all cost, but here, in this unearthly, sinister chapel, where there was only the two of them, there was no way he could just escape from her, and he cursed his fate for that.

“What were you doing here all alone, young master? Were you lost?”

“I-I, uh… I was playing hide-and-seek with Nellie…” The boy stammered, unable to look at the lady in the eyes. His eyes scanned the door behind him with envy. Maybe he could just make a run for it, get out of this abandoned place and never approach it ever again. But his feet still refused to listen to him.

“Hmm… Hide-and-seek, is it?”

When she repeated his words, Mell suddenly felt his cheeks heat up. It was actually a bit embarrassing to admit it out loud… The boy kept thinking recently that he was starting to be too old to play these kinds of games, but whenever Nellie looked up at him with her big honeyed eyes, begging him in a small, cute voice, Mell just couldn’t say no to his adorable little sister.

He eyed the Maid from the corner of his eyes. She seemed lost in thoughts, as if him mentioning this childish game had truly made her reconsider her life.

“What… What about it?” He asked, cautiously.

She looked down at him, her frozen smile the same as always. “Nothing,” she answered. “It is just… um, I think that… a long, long time ago, I used to play that game too…”

Mell tilted his head. “A long time ago? When you were a child?”

“Yes. I used to gather with the neighborhood kids and my sister, and…”

But then her voice trailed and her gaze became vacant. Her eyes seemed to stare at something that didn’t exist, and for the first time since Mell had met her, her expression seemed to falter a little. Her eternal smile fell from her lips, and an unreadable emotion spread on her face instead.

“I…” She muttered. “I… do not really remember…”

And, strangely enough, seeing this… reassured Mell.

Maybe it was because it was the first time this indifferent person seemed to have some sort of reaction, instead of being the perfect servant she always was.

For the first time, she appeared… a little bit human. A little bit alive.

And maybe this oddity gave the boy some unusual courage, because he took a step forward and asked in a hesitant voice:

“Is… Is something wrong?”

But the Maid didn’t answer. It was as if she hadn’t even heard him at all. Her glassy jade eyes seemed to still be lost in bygone recollections.

Up until now, Mell had only ever felt uneasiness and fear towards this impenetrable woman. He found her so disturbing that he had even wished more than once that his father could fire her. But she was a flawless servant, so there was no reason why his family would want to get rid of such a hard worker employee.

However, here, he felt some sort of… concern. Right now, she didn’t look so much like the cold lady of marble he had known her as, but more like… a helpless lost child, who tried to grasp at some old memories, some past that was long lost behind her.

“Are… you okay…?”

So taking another step forward, he tried to reach out to her again. But he didn’t get any more response. She truly seemed to be in another world than him.

Mell had never been a courageous person.

In fact, no matter what Nellie might think of him, he really was more of a coward. He had enough self-awareness to know that much.

However, in this instant, some braveness he had no idea where it was coming from pushed him behind his back. And so, he extended his arm, and slowly grabbed the woman’s hand.

This finally seemed to snap her out of her daydream. She looked down on where their fingers were intertwined. Her hand was bigger and much colder than his — as cold as ice, as a corpse. Mell had the sensation he was he was touching the skin of a dead body.

But in spite of this perturbing thought, in spite of his trembling fingers, he still didn’t let go.

The Maid kept looking at their hands. It was as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. As if no one had ever held her hand like that.

“Your hand…”

It was a whisper, barely audible at all.

“Your hand… is small… and warm.”

This sounded like such an innocent comment that Mell couldn’t help but smile at this.

“Yes,” he replied, with the same gentle voice he used only around his little sister. “Yours is really cold though.”

“It is.”

She then paused, and after narrowing her eyes, added:

“It has been a long time since anyone has held my hand like this…”

“Really? I hold hands all the time with Nellie. Well, she’s always asking for it.”

Mell chuckled, a bit embarrassed, and then he saw the woman’s face softening. A small, vague smile blossomed on her lips, and this stole his breath away.

The Maid always smiled. Even when his father scolded severely the servants, even when she was overwhelmed with work, even when Nellie threw tantrums at her over some silly, unimportant detail. She never ceased to smile, so this shouldn’t be a shock to him at all.

This smile, however, seemed somewhat… different.

It seemed… genuine. Endeared.

“I know,” she said gently.

“O-Oh…”

She then turned around, without letting go of Mell’s hand, and looked over at the angel stained-glass.

“It was around here too, the last time someone held my hand. In this mansion. We ran through this chapel, and then…”

Once again, her voice trailed, and she stopped.

Then she looked at the boy, and this time, her plastic smile was back in place, as if the expression he had seen on her the instant before had just been a mirage.

“But it was a long time ago. It does not matter anymore.”

She slowly raised her arm, and with her free hand, she patted Mell’s pretty flaxen hair. It was a mechanic gesture, but there was some sort of warmth in it.

“Let me escort you back, young master. There is no way Lady Nellie could find you out here, and she will get worried if she does not.”

Mell grimaced. Right, Nellie. He had been so taken in the moment that he had basically forgotten about his sister. She would get really angry if she learned about this.

“Y-Yes…”

The Maid smiled again, but there was no trace of genuineness in this one. She still hadn’t let go of his hand though, and with slow steps she guided the boy towards the condemned door of the chapel. Mell looked up at her once more.

She seemed to have definitely retreated back to her usual self. Traces of the lost child or of the warm gentle smile he had seen a minute ago had completely disappeared, as if it had never existed. Maybe it truly had been a mirage, after all…

“What…” For some reason, this thought process made his chest feel tight, so he raised his voice to stop thinking about it. “What were you doing here?”

“How come?”

“I mean, I told you what I was doing here, but what about you? What were you doing here all alone?”

“Oh…” She giggled eerily, which sent chills in Mell’s back. “Well, you see… this mansion is cursed. But this chapel is the only place that feels pure and free of hatred. So from time to time, I come here… to meditate, I suppose.”

She looked down at him, then put a finger on her lips.

“It is a secret, though. So do not tell it to anyone, all right?”

“R-Right…”

Mell looked away, uncomfortable. What they had shared just a moment ago definitely seemed like an illusion now. Maybe he had even imagined the whole thing, he thought. There was no way that this creepy and cold woman could ever smile warmly and have a tender expression like that.

When they finally reached the door, Mell glanced one last time at the stained-glass. The angel looked just the same as when he first came here.

His implacable gaze made the boy shiver, so he quickly turned around, as if hoping that doing so would prevent the angel from inflicting judgment on him.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Mell Rhodes #Fata Morgana #Quiet moments #Connan's Fanfics #Giselle Bollinger #Fanfiction #Fanfic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Giselle (The House in Fata Morgana) #Connan's Posts #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfic #Novect #FataMoru Fanfic #FataMoru Fanfiction #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Fata Morgana Fanfic #Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Fic #Fanfictions #Door 1 #Fanfics #Door 1 (The House in Fata Morgana) #Fics #Text #Writing #Archive of Our Own #AO3 #Post

[connan-l]

Quiet moments — Chapter 1: Michel and Maria

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Michel Bollinger & Maria Campanella

Summary: A collection of unrelated short one-shots containing interactions between two The House in Fata Morgana characters.

Content Warnings: Very brief mentions of child prostitution, child abuse and suicidal ideation.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I just love making characters who wouldn’t normally interact, well, interact — and I also love giving attention to side and minor characters no one care about, so that’s how it happened. I wrote this on a whim and have no idea when I’ll be able to update it though, so don’t expect anything from me.

This will take place literally anywhere among the main game, Requiem and Reincarnation, so beware of spoilers!

I used the ‘Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings’ on AO3 just by precaution, but I don’t think there will be much to warn about, really. And if there is, I’ll put a content warning on top of the chapter anyway.

Takes place during Door 8, after Yukimasa told his story and Michel went to speak with Maria.

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Maria sat next to him and started talking, as promised. Despite being her usual assertive, confident self, she seemed a bit reluctant to discuss about her past — not because she was especially distrustful of Michel (although she still seemed pretty skeptical about everything he had told her), but because it just was her nature, he guessed. Given she was a young woman who grew up alone in a poor, dangerous district, it was only to be expected.

“I’m not actually born in this country, y’know?” She said suddenly.

“You’re not?” Michel asked, but he was not all that surprised. After all, Maria had been an Italian woman in the third door, so although a lot of things had changed in this era, it wasn’t odd that she wasn’t French.

“Yeah. I don’t really remember much about my hometown, though. I left when I was like, five or six maybe. My family… I think they must’ve been merchants or something, and they were travelling here for business. But they got into an accident and died. I had no one else, so I went into an orphanage here. I was a newly-orphaned foreign kid who barely spoke the language at all, so it was pretty rough at first…” She smirked. “But that’s when I met Pauline. She was a foreigner too, so although we didn’t come from the same country, I think maybe we felt some sort of kinship and that’s why we ended up clinging to each other…”

Michel tried to picture the two little girls in his mind; a mischievous six-year-old Maria and a tiny Pauline awkwardly following her around, none of them truly speaking the other’s languages but still trying to understand and play together… This mental image made him smile gently.

“Then you know the rest. Got fed up with the orphanage, ran away, ended up here and started working at the brothel… but anyway, you wanted to hear about Morgana, right? Bet you don’t care much about some ol’ whore’s childhood, haha.”

She laughed light-heartedly — as if she was talking about someone else, a character in a story, and not about her own difficult past. Michel winced instinctively, and hoped it didn’t show too much on his face. Maria had already briefly told them earlier about the abuse she experienced at the orphanage and that she became a prostitute when she was still just a young child. This life seemed so detached and so far away from the one he had lived that he struggled to imagine what it must’ve been like.

“There were… no other options for you at the time?” He asked softly, tentatively. “Maybe you could’ve gone to another orphanage, or…”

Maria narrowed her eyes with an annoyed expression, and Michel understood immediately he had said something insensitive.

“Which options?” She snapped back. “No way on earth I would’ve gone to another orphanage, I was done with that shit. It was the brothel or starving on the fucking street, so the choice was quickly made. Not everyone can be a noble rolling in dough like you, my dude.”

“Wha— How do you know I’m a noble?”

“Well, you just have that aura, you know? Your manners, the way you speak, you seem well-educated… You’re like that cute blonde pipsqueak — it’s just obvious we don’t live in the same sphere.”

Michel wondered if it really was that obvious, or if Maria was just very acute. Maybe it was both. He remembered, centuries ago, that Giselle had told him something similar, too — that he had a ‘regal’ aura, though back then he could never say if she was teasing him or if she was serious.

“I really… don’t consider my life to be that bad,” Maria whispered, her voice unusually quiet. “I mean, obviously it’s not great. I’ve been through some shitty times, I won’t deny that. I certainly wouldn’t complain if one day my good pal God took pity in me and decided to make me rich.”

She looked up in front of her — towards the horizon, her eyes vacant, and started to rub her naked arms. Michel couldn’t tell if it was because she was cold or because she tried to comfort herself from some bad memories.

“But… the simple fact that I am still alive right now makes me feel pretty damn lucky. Not everyone can say the same. So many of my friends — good, nice folks — didn’t get the same chance…”

The more he listened to her, and the more Michel felt kind of… uneasy. Had he ever felt like he was ‘lucky’ to be alive? Even during his darkest times, when he was locked up in his room at the Bollinger estate or during the ten years living in that haunted mansion, he couldn’t remember a moment where just the fact to be alive felt like a blessing. It rather felt like a curse, honestly. He couldn’t count the number of times he thought about dying, about all the times he almost made a suicide attempt — but how every time, old, fond childhood recollections of his brothers would come flocking back and make him hope that, maybe, just maybe, things could get better. But the idea that others may have had worse than him — like the dead girl who he tried to ignore for years and never attempted to understand, because understanding her would mean actually seeing her like a person and not like a formless cackling witch — thus that he should feel lucky never once crossed his mind. Back then, he was way too deep into his own pain and suffering that it never seemed relevant — until he met Giselle, that is.

And now that he thought about it… Michel certainly couldn’t say he had an easy childhood by any stretch of the imagination — especially not after his fourteen years old — but he still had been lucky enough to have been born into a noble and rich family. Aside from those two terrible years he spent being abused by Aimée, he couldn’t recall a time where he felt hungry or missed of anything. The same couldn’t be said of Maria.

Maybe she truly was good at reading people, because she seemed to instantly guess his train of thoughts and added: “Hey now, I didn’t say that to guilt-trip you or anything. I’m not interested in pity, anyway.”

“I wasn’t…”

She sighed. “If you nobles really feel so bad, then actually do something and use your power and money for a good cause, instead of ruminating. Some peeps could really need that.”

“Well… I am technically… not exactly a noble anymore…”

“Oh?”

“I was disowned.” And then I was killed, he thought. But I can’t exactly tell her that. “So I don’t have any power anymore. Though… even back then, I never had any actual power… everything was decided by my father and older brothers…”

“Hmm… Is that so… That sucks,” she declared, before crossing her arms. “So you had brothers?”

“Yes, but…” He took a deep breath. “We… something happened, and… They…”

Michel hesitated. Should he really start talking about himself right now? To Maria, of all people, who he only (technically) first met yesterday? But then he looked at the woman next to him in the eyes, who was silently and attentively listening to him. And he felt the need to continue.

“They betrayed me. And… they’re dead now. They died… a long time ago…”

He felt his chest tightening as soon as he mentioned his brothers, and his hands trembling a little. Maybe he shouldn’t have started talking about them after all. Mell and Nellie’s debacle had already reawakened some bad memories, and right now he needed to stay focused on Morgana and Giselle and—

Suddenly, he felt a soft, comforting pressure on his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw Maria looking at him with understanding green eyes as she was gently holding his shoulder, like an old friend would do.

“I dunno what happened to you exactly, so sorry if I asked something I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it’s fine…”

Maria looked away, wincing a little. “Though I… can relate. I had… well, I’m an only child, but… I did have someone I considered a brother once. And he… also betrayed me.”

Michel frowned, and was going to ask her more details… but then Maria looked at him and smiled.

“He died a long time ago too.”

It was… a strange smile. There was something nostalgic in it. Bitter, maybe. But also tender. Gentle. It wasn’t a smile he’d ever thought he’d see on the face of that rambunctious woman.

“I’m… sorry,” he said, stupidly, not being able to think something more eloquent.

She shrugged. “It’s okay. Like I said, it was a long time ago. I’m over it now.”

Michel could tell by the way she looked away and the sound of her voice that it was a lie. Maybe it hurt less — just like the intense pain of his brothers’ betrayal had slowly faded with time. But it wasn’t something you could just ‘get over.’

“Well, your brothers were idiots,” she suddenly said, and Michel arched an eyebrow.

“What?”

“It sounds like it’d be nice to have you as a brother, so they must’ve been idiots to betray you. I mean, you seem like a handful, but I’m sure I’d have a lot of fun teasing you. Too bad I wasn’t born as your sis. In another life maybe?”

Maria gently punched Michel in the shoulder with a wide grin and a wink, which earned him a chuckle. He wondered how much his life would have changed if he had had a sister in it, especially a sister like Maria. Would it have made things better? Or worse?

He couldn’t tell. However, he certainly wouldn’t refuse to have her as a sibling in another life.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata Morgana #Fanfiction #Fanfictions #Quiet moments #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfiction #Michel Bollinger #Connan's Fanfics #Connan's Posts #Door 8 #Door 8 (The House in Fata Morgana) #Maria Campanella #Michel and Maria #AO3 #Archive Of Our Own #Text #Writing

[connan-l]

Glitters

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Maria Campanella/Pauline Asama

Summary: Teenage Maria is going to spend the summer holidays at Pauline’s home in Amsterdam. Some things goes as expected, some others do not.

For ‘Day 9: Ocean’ of Femslash February 2020!

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Just a short and fluffy gay thing I wrote for Femslash February 2020! Well I say ‘short,’ but it actually got a lot longer than originally planned...

To be honest, I actually struggle to ship Pauline and Maria — Pauline seems way too much into Yukimasa, and Maria kinda struck me as aromantic and as the type who’s just more invested in platonic friendships — but… they’re also the most obvious f/f ship of the game? So, hey, why not. They can be cute!

This takes place during the modern days pre-Reincarnation, but I admit there are probably some details I forgot about it (can’t recall if they mentioned anything about Maria and Pauline’s childhood or about Pauline’s family), so, sorry if there are any inconsistencies with the game.

Disclaimer that I don’t speak Dutch and I’ve never been to Amsterdam or even in the Netherlands, thus there will likely be some… mistakes.

Technically this is for ‘Day 9: Ocean,’ though I actually started writing this before seeing the prompts.

Spoilers for the main game, Requiem and Reincarnation! Though you can understand even without having read Requiem or Reincarnation.

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The first thing Maria did upon leaving the plane was to throw up.

Which was a pretty unusual thing; she was never sick, be it in cars or planes or boats. But here the journey had been particularly cantankerous.

It’s the last time I take the plane in my entire freaking life, she thought to herself while she was wiping her mouth. Though she knew pretty well it was a lie, as her return ticket had already been booked. She now practically regretted bitterly to not have cancelled her vacations altogether — but it was a rare occasion, as her family rarely went on vacation, especially not in another country.

“Ahh, Maria! There you are!”

Maria turned around, and saw a young black-haired girl with a ponytail waving and running towards her with a smile. However, when she saw Maria’s pale face, she stopped and put both of her hands in front of her mouth.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Do I look okay, you idiot?” Maria snapped back.

She actually hadn’t intended to sound that mean — especially not to her best friend she hadn’t seen since at least six months — but it had been a knee-jerk answer. Pauline just tended to instinctively get on her nerves and activate her hostility button.

“N-No, you don’t,” she blurted out, wincing. “Uh… I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, forget it,” Maria said, grabbing the handle of her suitcase. “The flight was pretty awful so I just got a bit sick, but I’m good now.”

“O-Oh… well, I can ask my mom to give you some medicine once we get home—”

“I told you, it’s fine. Don’t bother. More importantly, you’re alone?” Maria asked, as she could only distinguish her friend in the halls. She looked around to search her mother’s blonde locks or her father’s boorish figure, but saw neither of them.

“Orlando is the one who brought me,” Pauline answered. “He’s waiting for us in his car in the street below.”

Right, Orlando. An old friend of Pauline’s mom. Apparently, they had known each other since they were kids, and as far as Maria was aware he’d always hanged out around the Asama family. He didn’t seem to be very fond of Pauline’s father though. (Maria always thought the dude had a crush on Pauline’s pretty mom, but she would never tell her theory to anyone of course.)

As they were slowly walking towards what Maria supposed was Orlando’s car, she caught Pauline’s gaze on her — she had a dumb, gentle smile on her face, her black ponytail bouncing softly behind her back at the rhythm of her steps.

“What?”

“H-Huh? What, what?”

“You’re staring at me!”

“Ah, umm… sorry, I was just thinking you’ve changed since the last time we’ve seen each other.”

Maria cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You on the other hand you haven’t changed at all.”

“Th-That’s not true! I’ve changed too. I took three centimeters since last time! And I bought new clothes!”

Maria just laughed, and Pauline began to complain about how “mean she was” and how “she could compliment her a little.”

Maybe Pauline had changed a little in the months they hadn’t seen each others, but on the other hand it felt like their relationship had stayed the same during these all years they’ve been friends.

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Maria had only come to Pauline’s home in the Netherlands two times.

They had first met when she was around six years old — Pauline’s father had been on a business trip in Milan, and exceptionally he had decided to bring his wife and daughter along with him. She and her mother had came in a park one afternoon, where Maria had been playing with her grandfather, and like the little bully she had been back then, she stole the ice cream of that annoying foreign little girl. But then said little girl started crying so loudly that in the end she just handed it back to her. And then for some reason they started to play together. None of them knew how to speak the other’s language at the time, but as the small kids they were that didn’t bother them much.

After that, their parents met and so they stayed in contact. Pauline’s family was actually surprisingly wealthy — her father was a tradesman traveling very often, so she was able to come to Milan at least once a year, and the rest of the time they’d call or sent each other letters and emails. Maria’s family, on the other hand, had always been more on the poor side. Not excessively so — Maria always had a roof over her head and food in her plate, and she never truly lacked of anything — but she certainly couldn’t bring herself to pay some vacations in another country whenever she wanted. Which was why, three months ago, Pauline had proposed to invite her over for the summer vacations to celebrate her fifteenth birthday together — and she would pay for everything, trip price included.

“You still haven’t decided what you’re going to do after high school?” Pauline asked, tilting her head.

They were both chatting side to side on the car’s backseat, catching up with each other’s, while Orlando was silently driving. Both Maria and Pauline were speaking in English, and the poor man barely knew how to say ‘Hello’ and ‘Good bye,’ so he was probably feeling sidelined. Pauline always tended to treat him like he was her manservant. Maria kind of felt sorry for him.

“Not sure,” she mumbled back, her eyes falling on the window behind which scrolled through Amsterdam’s streets.

“That’s not good,” Pauline said, in that big sisterly tone she sometimes used and that tended to really annoy Maria. “You’re going to enter your last grade next year, right? So you should hurry up and decide.”

“Gee, thanks Mom,” Maria replied, glaring at her.

Pauline puffed out her cheeks. “I’m saying this for your sake!”

“I don’t want to hear this from the girl who can’t even choose her own clothes the morning,” Maria said dryly, and before Pauline could reply, she just added, “And you know what? I’ve decided already. I’ll probably enter the mafia or something.”

Maria grinned at her friend, and as she expected, Pauline stared at her with her brown eyes and her mouth wide open. It was so easy to predict her reactions that it was almost ridiculous.

To be honest, Pauline had actually good reasons to believe Maria wasn’t joking: ever since she was a child, she’d always bragged about how her grandpa was originally born in Sicily and that her family, the Campanellas, used to have ties to the mafia. Now in all honesty, Maria didn’t know how much of this was true — it was some kind of unspoken rule within her family to not talk about this, and her grandfather had always dismissed her whenever she’d questioned him about it — but she certainly had a lot of fun of teasing Pauline when they were kids by telling her that if she pissed her off, some mafioso would come to skin her alive. She had stopped doing this now, of course — that had been pretty childish of her, and Maria was going to be eighteen next year, so these days she tried her best to act more like the grown up she was soon going to be. Though teasing Pauline was just so much fun and so easy it was still hard to kill that habit.

“I’m just joking,” she finally admitted, releasing Pauline from her shock. “I’m not that much of a delinquent.”

“Yes, well,” Pauline said, sighing. “With you, I never know.”

Maria chuckled, when suddenly the car came to a stop.

“Wij zijn hier,” Orlando suddenly said in a stern voice.

Pauline and her family lived in a huge, modern house in Amsterdam-Oost with an extensive view on the sea. They had two floors with multiple rooms, a big garden, a pretty balcony and a garage. The first time she went there, Maria was ten, and she could still remember the intense jealousy she felt while seeing this. Compared to this, her small humble family apartment in Milan felt miserable. It’d be a lie to say she wasn’t still a little bit jealous now, but she was used to it at least.

The two girls went out of the car, and Pauline chatted in Dutch with Orlando through the window for a moment, before finally turning around towards Maria and signaling her they could enter the house.

“He doesn’t come?” Maria asked as she saw the car pulling away.

“No, he said he had a lot of work to do. Anyway, let’s go!”

“W-Wait, don’t run! I have my suitcase with me, remember?”

Both of them entered upon the spacious patio, and Pauline excitedly opened the front door.

“Mama! Wij zijn gearriveerd!” She exclaimed, before adding to Maria in a quieter voice: “Let your suitcase here, we’ll put it in my room later.”

Maria was going to reply, but before she could she heard a sound of door open, a few footsteps, and then a beautiful woman with long, wavy blonde hair in a harlequin sundress showed up.

“Maria! Buongiorno!”

Pauline’s mother beamed at her, and Maria instantly imitated her. “Goedemorgen, Filippa!”

Maria had always liked Filippa quite a bit. She was a nice, smiling woman, radiant like the sun and always dressed in colorful clothes, and unlike her daughter, she actually had some spice to her personality. She was a stay-at-home mother, as apparently her husband’s pay was more than enough to sustain the family (and, from what Maria had gathered, it was also because Filippa’s family was pretty rich). However, she was still a busy person, as not only she was taking care of her daughter and of the house almost all by herself, she also often participated in all sort of town activities and events, and was pretty invested in charities.

Looking at Maria, Filippa brought her hands to her chest, her blue eyes shining as if she was about to cry. “Oh my God, you look so grown up now!”

“Well, it has been about two years since the last time we’ve seen each others, right? So that makes sense,” Maria said, then sighed. “Though to be honest, I don’t think I’ve grown up that much. I used to be even taller than the boys in middle school, but now I’m one of the smallest girls. Hell, I can’t believe that even fucking Pauline is taller than me now. It’s depressing.”

“Oh, but small girls are so cute!” Filippa said, giggling.

“Bleh. Not interested in being cute. I’d rather be huge and frightening, like a bear!”

“Bears stink, though,” Pauline said, wincing.

“Why is that the first thing you think of saying?”

Filippa laughed heartily. “Still, I can’t believe how much you’ve changed… The both of you are going to become young women before I even realize it. It makes me a little sad.”

“No need to be sad. Pretty sure Pauline’s gonna be eighty and still be an unreliable kid inside.”

“H-Hey!” Pauline protested, elbowing her friend, while Filippa laughed again.

“Now, now, don’t fight! Though I suppose Maria isn’t wrong.”

“Not you too, Mom!”

Then Pauline began complaining in Dutch to her laughing mother, and Maria wasn’t able to catch everything they were saying. They may have been friends since they were kids, but they’ve always mostly babbled in English. Maria could understand some basic Dutch, but she was far from being fluent. Though the same could be said for Pauline — despite the fact she’d come to Milan quite a few times, she only knew how to say a bunch of Italian sentences, and her accent was absolutely awful. Maria, like the brat she was, used to make fun of her because of this back then, and little Pauline would start crying and call her a “meanie.” Fun ol’ times.

“Anyway!” Filippa said again in English. “You girls are here just in time. I just finished the meal’s preparations, you just need to go set the table.”

“Oh, okay,” Maria replied, as Filippa was exiting the room. “So we need four plates?”

“No, it’s just the three of us,” Pauline replied.

“What? What about your dad?”

“He’s back in Japan right now, for work,” she answered.

“Eh? But it’s August. Shouldn’t he be in vacation?”

“No vacations for sailors,” Filippa answered from the kitchen. There was a very clear sharpness in her voice, and with the grimace Pauline displayed, this told Maria her mother was irritated.

It wasn’t something new. As far as she could remember, Pauline’s parents always had this problem. They didn’t have a bad relationship exactly — from what Maria had seen, they actually were quite a loving and happy couple. But Pauline’s father still privileged his work over his wife and daughter, and he was very rarely home as a result, which was something Filippa had a lot of issues with.

This never seemed to bother Pauline much, though. Her parents’ problems seemed to completely pass over her head. Maria had asked her about it once — if sometimes her mom and dad’s disputes were something distressing to her — but she had just shrugged and replied that “It’s just how it is.”

To be honest, Maria thought it was a little… weird. Admittedly she never cared much about her own parents’ problems either, but she could still remember that some of the biggest arguments they had had still impacted her a big deal. So Pauline’s indifference concerning her family’s issues felt off sometimes. Her friend had always been an airhead, sure, but sometimes it really seemed like… she was a bit too much disconnected from reality and the world around her. But maybe Maria was just overthinking it.

For lunch, Filippa served them a bountiful plate of Italian spaghettis with tomato sauce, which she had cook specially for Maria, and which was of course delicious. They finished the meal with a vlaai for dessert, and then the girls ran into Pauline’s room and Maria started to unpack her baggage. The Asamas’ house had a guest room and was big enough in general for Maria to sleep alone in a bedchamber of her own, but Pauline had insisted for them to stay together. She had accepted without thinking much about it, until she realized it also meant sleeping in the same bed as Pauline’s.

This shouldn’t be something weird; it wasn’t the first time they’d sleep together — though the last this had happened, they were in elementary school. So now that they were older — almost ‘young women,’ like Filippa had said — it felt… a bit odd to her, somehow. This shouldn’t be odd. Friends slept with each other platonically all the time, right? So there was no reason for it to be odd. Maria hoped that if she told herself this enough times, this would convince her. Somehow.

But this issue quickly faded from her mind as Pauline dragged her in the living room in front of their really big, flat screen TV, where they spent the afternoon switching channels and making fun of the stupid melodramatic soap operas broadcasted while eating snacks. Although honestly they mostly spent their time chatting and laughing rather than truly watching the TV. Filippa interrupted them two or three times to try to make them leave the couch and go outside while the sun was still up and shining, but she finally left them alone when Pauline promised her they’d go out tomorrow. And before they even noticed it, the night had already fallen.

After the dinner, Maria was the first to change herself, then she let herself fall onto the bed while Pauline was busy in the bathroom, the muffled sound of a Dutch TV presenter resonating in the background from the living room — except this time it was Filippa who was in front of the screen. In the meantime she looked around the room, which honestly hadn’t changed much since the last time she came here. Pauline’s room was pretty girly and common; some posters of boys’ bands on the walls there, some cute stuffed animals here, some romance novels scattered around. The most distinguishing features were the trinkets from all sorts of different countries and cultures that her father always brings her back from his travels as souvenirs, and that she collects on top of a few shelves.

Pauline entered back into her room, and she was dressed in a white pajamas with dolphin patterns, her long black hair unusually let down and falling on her shoulders gracefully — and, despite the fact Maria thought the dolphin pajamas looked pretty silly (she wasn’t ten anymore, dammit), she did admit she was kinda cute like that. She thought it was honestly a shame Pauline never let her hair down like that. As far as she could remember, she’d always tied it in that messy ponytail, even when they were young children.

“So,” Pauline started, smiling at Maria. “What do you want to do now? I have some board games if you want. Do you like Monopoly? Or Cluedo?”

Maria sighed, then scratched the back of her head. “Nah, I think I’d rather go to sleep.”

Pauline gasped, then stared at her as if she had just confessed she had murdered someone.

“What? I’m tired!” Maria exclaimed, feeling almost offended.

“It’s just it’s not like you at all,” Pauline gently replied. “Usually you’re the one who want to stay up as late as possible, and I have to beg you for us to go to sleep… On top of that we spent the afternoon on the couch in front of the TV…”

“Yeah, well, I spent hours travelling in a plane before coming here, remember? And the trip was pretty awful. So I’m exhausted.”

“Oh… I see…”

Pauline looked genuinely disappointed, and it was so funny Maria couldn’t herself but grin. “Ahh, I see you expected me to keep you up all night, huuuh? You naughty girl— Hmph!”

Her face as red as a tomato, Pauline threw a pillow at her, which crashed directly into her face before she could say any more words.

“No, you don’t start!” She exclaimed, then sighed heavily. “You said you were exhausted right? So fine, let’s sleep.”

“Don’t sulk, Pauline! I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We’ll stay up late as muuuuch as you want!”

“Ahh, shut up!”

Pauline turned away from Maria who wasn’t trying to hold back her laughers now, and picked up something from her desk, that looked like a small ball.

“What’s that thing?” Maria asked.

“Oh, it’s my nightlight,” she simply answered.

It took some time for Maria to process what she meant by that. “What, are you fucking kidding me? You’re still sleeping with the lights on? How old are you?”

“J-Just with that tiny nightlight!” Pauline protested, blushing. “It’s very faint, it shouldn’t bother you!”

“God, that’s not the issue,” Maria replied, rolling her eyes. “I swear, you’re such a baby.”

All while talking she lied down and buried herself under the sheets, while Pauline plugged her nightlight. It was indeed of a very faint, soothing blue color, and light never bothered Maria to sleep anyway, but she still couldn’t believe Pauline needed this as if she was a freaking toddler scared of the monsters below her bed. She felt the other girl rejoin her beneath the blanket, the mattress shifting under her weight. This reminded Maria of the times where they slept together as kids — Pauline is a rather touchy-feely person around her loved ones, so she’d always ended up snuggled against Maria the morning, arms tightly wrapped around her waist. She really hoped Pauline wouldn’t do this tonight. It just… wasn’t the same thing anymore, now that they weren’t kids. For a moment, neither of them spoke, only the sound of their breathing and of the muffled TV resounding in the room, and Maria almost thought she was going to fall asleep when Pauline raised her voice again.

“It’s because I have nightmares.”

Maria raised her head and looked at her friend. Pauline was staring at the ceiling, and she couldn’t really make out her expression in the darkness, but her gaze seemed unfocused.

“Nightmares?” She repeated. That was new. She’d never heard about Pauline having nightmares before — or at least, she’d never told her about it…

“It’s pretty rare,” the younger girl admitted. “But a few months ago I’ve had a really bad nightmare. Ever since, the dark prevent me from sleeping well, so Mom bought me the nightlight, and it helps.”

“Huh…” Maria didn’t know what to answer to this, and now she actually felt a bit like an asshole for having made fun of her without knowing this. Maybe Pauline read her thoughts — a pretty rare occurrence, as she usually wasn’t very good at this — because she smiled at her softly.

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal, really, so don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Maria replied by reflex, though it wasn’t completely true. She hesitated for a moment, before asking in a softer voice: “What… What are they about, exactly? Those nightmares.”

“Hmm…” Pauline’s frown burrowed, as if she was searching through her memories. “To tell you the truth… I don’t really recall well. It’s very blurry. But…” She stopped.

“I think… there’s a monster in it…” She finally added, and her voice sounded a bit odd. “A beast.”

Maria blinked. “A… beast.”

“And… I think he kills me.”

(The beast killed her.)

For some reason, a chill ran down Maria’s spine, and she felt as if her entire body grew cold.

“Strangely enough, though, I… I’m not scared,” Pauline continued. “I think… maybe it’s a bit sad, but it’s not scary…”

Maria really struggled to stay focused on her words; she felt as if she was far, far away, in a place where she couldn’t reach anyone. For a very brief moment, it was as if she wasn’t in that room anymore, warm and safe under the soft the blanket, but somewhere else, in far away old city drenched in blood and corpses — among them, clothed all in black and white, lied Pauline, looking older and motionless—

“He won’t kill you.”

Pauline blinked, and stared at Maria blankly.

“The beast won’t kill you,” she repeated, firmly. “I won’t let him.”

The black-haired girl next to her looked so confused, and Maria honestly couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t even sure herself what she was saying exactly. She just knew her body was still cold and that the scent of blood still persisted in her nose and that she had to tell her that. Instinctively, she reached towards Pauline and grabbed her hand in hers, as if she felt the need to feel her warmth there — to reassure herself she was safe and alive, by her side.

“If… If the beast ever comes to you, then all you have to do is call me, and I’ll go kick his ass. I definitely won’t let him kill you.”

Pauline’s shock slowly faded from her face, and instead a warm smile replaced it, which Maria suddenly felt kinda embarrassed about. Why was she spouting all this nonsense? What the hell was wrong with her tonight? But then Pauline giggled softly, a silly, but content and happy expression on her face… so maybe it didn’t matter after all.

“Okay,” was Pauline’s only response.

And then she gently tightened her grip on Maria’s hand, and closed her eyes.

“Maria?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Maria couldn’t really see Pauline in the dark, but she could imagine her soft and genuine smile from her voice, and while she had always loved to tease Pauline and would’ve usually retorted a snarky reply at this… this time, just for this one time, she chooses to answer sincerely.

“Me too.”

________________________________________________________________

 “I’m sorry, but I just don’t get why you find those sandwiches so good. I mean, they’re just… sandwiches.”

“They’re not ‘just sandwiches’! They’re ham sandwiches! And it’s not my fault if you don’t know how to appreciate good things.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m saying it’s… normal. Common.”

“Well, that’s why it’s great! Ah, geez, whatever, forget about it.”

Pauline puffed out her cheeks, then forcefully bite into her ham sandwich they had just bought, as if she was trying to prove to her friend how good they truly were. It had been almost two weeks now since Maria arrived in the Netherlands. They had spent a big part of their time hanging out at Pllek beach and in the Vondelpark, though Filippa had also managed to drag them to the Rijksmuseum, despite the girls’ complaints. Right now, though, they were just a few streets away from the Asamas’ home, in a cozy place with a pretty view on the sea. It had always been Pauline’s favorite spot ever since she was a child; a bit like a secret base. Well, except it wasn’t secret or a base.

“So did you manage to make Filippa tell you where we were going for your birthday?” Maria asked, swinging her legs on the bench where they were sat.

“No,” Pauline answered, shaking her head disappointedly. “She kept saying it was a secret.”

“Fuck, I hate secrets. I just hope it’s not another museum…”

“Well… I did hear her vaguely mention the Anne Frank House…”

Maria chocked on her sandwich, then glared at Pauline. “You’re kidding me! No way am I going to some dead girl’s museum for a birthday!”

“Now, don’t be disrespectful…”

“I’m not being disrespectful, I just don’t want to think about freakin’ Nazis during my summer vacations!”

Pauline chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’re just going to go celebrate to a restaurant. The Anne Frank House was about something else.”

Maria narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Did you just trick me?”

“Pauline!”

A voice called out from behind, and the two teens turned around to see a familiar middle-aged man heading towards them.

“Orlando? What are you doing here?” The interpellated girl questioned dubiously.

“Filippa asked for you two to go home,” the man replied in Dutch, and Pauline could see Maria frown besides her while trying to decipher what he was saying as much as she could.

“Why?” She replied.

“She needs your help. Did you forget? She had her new wardrobe and shelves delivered today, and she wants you to help install them.”

Pauline gasped and brusquely stood up upon hearing this. Her mother had in the prospect of redecorating the house, and she decided to start with the furniture. A few weeks ago, she had ordered a new wardrobe and shelves, and Pauline had promised her to help her out with them. Except she had completely forgotten about that! Her mom was going to be so angry!

“Hey, what’s going on…?” Maria asked tentatively, but she wasn’t able to get an answer that Pauline had already grabbed her hand and started running.

“We need to hurry! Otherwise there will be no birthday party at all, be it at the Anne Frank House or elsewhere!”

They managed to reach the house in ten minutes total, which was a record, and while Filippa reprimanded her daughter for her usual absentmindedness, there was no much of a scolding, as the girls helped as much as they could — although Maria did spend quite a few of her time grumbling. And she was still complaining about it even after the night had fell and that they were about to go to bed.

“If I’d known I was going to do manual work and have history lessons, I wouldn’t have accepted to come,” she said grumpily, sat on the half-opened window.

“It was not so bad,” Pauline tried to argue, but she only managed to get a glare from Maria.

“Vacations are made to have fun! Not to work! Your mom is a tyrant. Geez, seriously, what kind of idiot works during vacations?”

“Don’t… Don’t your parents often work during vacations…?”

“Yes! And they’re idiots!”

Pauline smiled awkwardly, then cleared her throat and quickly tried to change the subject to improve the mood. “Aren’t you cold in front of the window? We should close it. Plus, it’s starting to be late.”

“I’m not tired,” Maria replied. “And it’s not cold either. In fact, it’s still surprisingly warm outside.”

As she said this, Pauline came to her side, and indeed, she was right — there was a cool breeze, but overall the weather was still pretty hot. This wasn’t really surprising in August, though.

“Hey, Pauline?”

The girl turned her head towards Maria, and when she saw the wide grin her friend had placarded on her face, she instantly knew she was going to propose her something she wasn’t going to like.

“Let’s go hang out outside.”

I knew it! Pauline thought, and instantly frowned at Maria.

“No!”

“C’mon, let’s go! It can be fun!”

“B-But I don’t have Mom’s permission to go out tonight!” Pauline protested.

Maria rolled her eyes. “You’re fifteen! Stop acting like a baby already!”

“T-Technically, I’m not fifteen yet…”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’ll be fifteen in like, five days!”

“The point is, I don’t want Mom to get mad at me…”

“She can’t be mad at you if she doesn’t know.”

“You… You want us to sneak out of the house without permission?”

“What? You never did this before?”

“O-Of course not!”

Maria was looking at her with such a stunned expression Pauline honestly thought she was going to shook her for a minute.

“Never? I’ve been sneaking out of the house without permission since I was like, ten!”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can be like you!”

Maria rolled her eyes for what was probably the hundredth time today.

“Come on, let’s go! It’ll be fun.”

“But…”

Maria sighed yet again, then she took Pauline’s hand in hers, and stared at her straight in the eyes. Her face was so close to hers that she could feel her breathing and that their noses could touch.

“You trust me, right?”

Pauline stared at her for a few seconds, and then she slowly nodded.

“Then let’s go.”

And despite her reluctance, Pauline decided to listen to her friend, and so they started to prepare themselves. Maria grabbed a top with a cleavage that was a bit too revealing and a skirt that was a bit too short in Pauline’s eyes, then took out red high heels from her suitcase. The other girl chooses a more simple and comfy blue dress, and then Maria winked at her and unpacked a box from her bag, before Pauline realizes it was makeup. Filippa refused for her daughter to wear makeup, because she always said she was still too young for that, but she felt that if she were to say this to Maria she would just laugh at her again, so she decided to stay quiet.

“Let me guess,” Maria suddenly said. “You never used makeup before, right?”

Pauline winced. “I did,” she argued.

Maria arched an eyebrow. “For Halloween?”

“Yeah, well, that counts!”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s not the same thing at all. But don’t worry; I’ll teach you. It’s not that complicated.”

And so she did; she first put lipstick, some blush and eyeshadow on herself, and then on Pauline. She made her sit straight on a chair, and the whole experience felt pretty stressful to her — she had to stay still during the process, as Maria was only a few centimeters away from her face, applying and bumping and brushing all sorts of products on her cheeks and eyes and lips while she couldn’t see any of it. And she honestly couldn’t tell if it was not knowing what her friend was doing with her face that bothered her so much, or if it was the proximity and intimacy of feeling her delicately touching her lips and eyelids. Maria, however, seemed unfazed by this, completely focused on her work, and Pauline was honestly surprised by how thorough and meticulous she was. It made her wonder how much experience she had with this — how many parties she went to before, how many friends she have back in Milan. She knew Maria was quite the sociable type, and she had told her a bit about some of her Italian friends, but Pauline never actually got the occasion to meet any of them.

To be honest… sometimes she felt like she actually didn’t know much about Maria. They’ve known each other for most of their lives, but because of the fact they lived in two different, far away countries, they still missed quite some parts of their respective lives. And Maria wasn’t exactly a secretive person, but she was still the kind who preferred to deal with her problems by herself, or to downplay the things that happened to her. She wondered if Maria felt the same about her too — that if, in the end, she also had the impression she ignored a lot of things about her supposed best friend…

“That should be good!” Maria exclaimed, putting aside the eyeliner. “What do you think?”

Pauline finally looked at herself in the mirror, and… she had to admit that, although she’d always thought of herself as a rather plain girl, right now, with her lips shining of a pretty pink color and her eyelids and cheeks softly colored, she was… quite pretty.

“It’s… really good,” she said. “You’re really good at this, Maria!”

“Yeah, I know,” the blonde agreed, a smug grin on her face. “I’ve had quite the occasion to practice before.”

Once again, Pauline wished she’d know what she meant by that, but for some reason the question stayed stuck in her throat and she felt unable to say anything when Maria put her hands on her hips and smiled brightly at her.

“Well then, let’s go!”

“Ah… yes.”

Pauline rose from her chair, and then was going to head out of the room when Maria suddenly grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

“No, wait. Let them loose.”

“What?”

“Your hair. Let them loose.”

“Why…?”

“Why? Uh, no reason. It’s just… You always tie them up. So I’m curious to see you with your hair down.”

Pauline blinked at her, incredulous. Then she realized she had no reason to refuse, so she did as she asked, and slowly untied her long black hair, letting them fall on her shoulders.

“Like this…?”

Maria smiled. “Yep, perfect! Now let’s go for real.”

She enthusiastically grabbed her hand, and following her friend’s firm step, Pauline exited the room. Maria softly closed the door behind her, then put a finger in front of her lips and mimed a ‘Shh,’ which made the other girl gulp. She had almost forgotten that now came the most difficult part: sneaking out of the house without her mother noticing them. Maria still in head, they slowly advanced in the corridor, and Pauline was impressed at how little noise the blonde was making despite the fact she was wearing high heels — while on the other hand, she had the feeling she was a giant elephant with just her normal shoes.

Then Maria suddenly came to a stop, and Pauline noticed that the door of her mother’s room was open, and that light escaped from it. This almost made her panic and turn back; but Maria’s hand was still tightly holding hers, and she started to walk with such confidence that Pauline didn’t even get the time to say anything. So they managed to go down the stairs and reach the house’s entrance without Filippa show up. Pauline realized they were actually extremely lucky her mother wasn’t in the living room, because otherwise the whole operation would have been impossible. Maria then quickly asked for the keys, which Pauline knew were always hidden under a flower pot near the door, and without making a sound they got out of the house and disappeared in the darkness of the night.

________________________________________________________________

Amsterdam at night was quite different from the day. Pauline may have been born and lived in this city her entire life, but she still had very few occasions to go wandering in the street when it was dark outside, and whenever she had it had always been with her parents. Under the starry sky, her hometown almost felt like a completely different world, and even with the bright street lamps at every sidewalk, she felt wary of the dark, and she couldn’t help but threw nervous glances behind her shoulders whenever she heard a noise.

Maria, on the other hand, seemed to be completely oblivious to her struggles, and didn’t seem frightened the least in the world — she walked with so much conviction, her high heels clicking confidently on the pavement, as if she owned the entire city. Watching her from behind, Pauline felt genuinely envious of her self-assurance. How did Maria always manage to appear so bold and assertive, in every situations? It was almost frustrating.

There was quite a few people around; some workers coming back to home late, some group of friends hanging out together — and despite the fact all of these strangers seemed to be absorbed in their own little world and couldn’t care less about the two teenage girls trotting down the streets, Pauline felt suspicious of every one of them. At some point, a very tall, middle-aged man in a big black coat walked past them, and she shrieked and grabbed Maria’s hand, as if she was afraid he was going to hit her. Maria, obviously, sensed her fright and rolled her eyes.

“I swear, what a wimp,” she commented, though she still didn’t let go of Pauline’s hand.

“You’re not even a little bit worried?”

“No? It’s cool, I’m used to it.”

“But— But what if that man had assaulted us. What would you have done then?”

“I don’t know. Kicked him in the balls? Wouldn’t be the first time it happens.”

“Wha— You know what? No, I don’t want to know what happened.”

Pauline sighed, but she didn’t have the time to regain her composure that Maria then instantly added: “So, where do we go?”

“Where…? Uh, I don’t know… I thought we were just going to hang out outside…?”

Maria sighed. “That’s boring. We need to do something. I dunno, maybe go to a bar.”

“But we’re both underage.”

“So?”

“So it’s illegal! They won’t let us enter!”

“Do you think something being illegal ever stopped me?”

Of course it didn’t. “No, but, I mean, that’s still— A-Ah, Maria?”

Her friend had stopped caring about what she was saying. Her eyes suddenly lit up, and she had brusquely started to run, crossing the street in the opposite direction. Pauline felt obligated to follow her, so she hurried to chase her down. When Maria finally stopped, she felt out of breath, and it took a few long seconds before she could regain her respiration.

“What… What’s going on?”

“Look!”

Pauline raised her head, and in front of her, behind a small wall, was a big, cleared esplanade, that directly gave view on the ocean. Pauline had already been to this place before, but it was the first time she actually saw it during the night; and she had to admit that the undisrupted sight of the sea, shining brightly under the moon and the stars, was quite enchanting.

“I wonder if the water is cold,” Maria pondered in a soft voice.

“It probably is,” Pauline argued. “I mean, it is the middle of the night…”

“Hmm…” Maria scratched her head, her eyes still staring at the ocean, and then a grin took shape on her face and she turned around towards her friend. Pauline instantly knew what she was thinking about without she even needed to open her mouth.

“No! Maria, don’t—”

But she had already thrown away her high heels, and without even taking the pain to remove her clothes, she climbed on the wall, and made a dive head first inside the sea, splashing everything around her, Pauline included. She resurfaced a few seconds later, the water only coming to her waist.

“Aaahh! It’s so fucking cold!”

“Of course it is!” Pauline yelled. “Hurry up and come back here! You’re going to catch a cold!”

Maria only laughed at her, then waved her hand. “Hey, you’ve always loved the ocean, right? C’mon! Join me!”

“What? I will absolute not join you!”

“Come on! For once in your life, stop being a coward!”

“I’m not being a—”

Pauline suddenly felt something grab a pan of her dress and pulling on it with all of its strength. And, as she never had the best sense of balance, this inevitably made her fell into the sea. Before she could understand what had happened, icy water was overwhelming her, and as soon as she got her head out of the sea she instantly started rubbing her arms and chattering her teeth. Then she glared at Maria, who, of course, was just giggling.

“You’re insane! I could’ve got seriously hurt!”

“But you didn’t, so everything’s cool.”

“Ah, God… I hope you’re happy now.”

“Hehe! Yes, very!”

Maria had that pesky wide grin on her face, and she looked genuinely so happy that Pauline couldn’t even bring herself to stay angry at her, which was annoying.

“Geez… The makeup you spent so much time doing is all ruined now…”

Maria shrugged. “No big deal. It’s just makeup. And it’s not like anyone can see us anyway.”

Pauline looked at Maria, and all of a sudden the situation seemed so weird and ridiculous — the both of them, two girls fully clothed into Amsterdam’s sea in the middle of the night — that she couldn’t help but chuckle. A chuckle that quickly morphed into a full on laugh, and that was contagious as Maria quickly rejoined her shortly after. Pauline knew that she should be upset at the other — the water was so cold and her hair and clothes were clinging to her skin in a really disagreeable way… but even after she calmed down and stopped laughing, despite everything, she still couldn’t help but feel strangely warm and happy.

Suddenly, she felt a hand brush her cheek. When she raised her head, her eyes met Maria’s. She was smiling gently — a soft, tender expression on her face that was a far cry from her usual smug smirks or mean grins. That was an expression Pauline wasn’t familiar with at all on her friend’s face, and it took her aback. Her hand was cold, but there was still something incredibly warm in the way she touched her cheek and put some of her black locks behind her ear.

“See? I told you.”

“T-Told me?”

“To let your hair loose. Your look a lot prettier like that.”

It was very dark, even with the light of the street lamps, so Pauline really hoped Maria wouldn’t notice the blush creeping on her cheeks.

She knew that she’d always been of the romantic, dreaming type. She had been the kind of little girl who dreamed to have a handsome prince to sweep her off her feet. Ever since she was a child, falling in love with a man, marrying him, and having children had always been her dream — and, despite the fact the people would tease her because of it, it was still her dream even now, and she never thought there was anything wrong with that.

As such, she’d always thought her first kiss would also meet all of the standard romantic criteria — after a lovely date with her boyfriend, he would bring her to a place where you could see the sea to watch the sunset, and then he would gallantly embrace her in his strong arms and gently put his lips on hers. It had always been how she pictured it. And yet…

And yet, when she looked at Maria, her blonde hair a mess and her clear green eyes shining like jewels, in the middle of that ocean of glitters, she felt a strange impulse taking root in her heart. She looked honestly so pretty, all sparkling and smiling and dazzling under the moon, and so without thinking she leaned in…

And kissed her on the mouth.

It was a brief, soft kiss; lasting only a handful of seconds. Maria’s lips were thin and soaked and salty. When Pauline pulled away, she saw her friend’s expression, which made her froze. She was staring at her, stunned, her eyes as wide as saucers, her mouth open, and her face the color of a brazen fire. Never in her life had she thought she would see Maria Campanella makes such a face, and she was absolutely sure that if she were to tell anyone, no one would believe her. And that’s only then that what Pauline had just done struck her.

“Ah!” She exclaimed. “Th-Th-That’s— I-I mean, that’s— This is—”

Pauline tried to search an excuse, an explanation. None came. She felt herself panicking. Why on earth had she done that? Sure, she’d always loved Maria a lot, but not… not like that. She… She didn’t think, at least? And Maria who just kept staring at her blankly in silence, as if her brain had just ceased functioning.

“S-Say something!” Pauline finally exploded.

“Ah, uh… I…”

At long last, Maria seemed to come back to herself, and winced while scratching her head. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and only a few seconds had probably passed by but those were actually the most excruciating seconds of Pauline’s entire life—

—until she sneezed.

The girls looked at each other in an awkward silence, and then, eventually, Maria spoke again:

“We should… probably go home before we got sick.”

________________________________________________________________

“Thirty-seven nine for Maria, and thirty-eight for Pauline,” Filippa declared, putting the thermometer on the nightstand.

The first one groaned, and the second sighed. Both of them were in Pauline’s room, muffled under the bed’s blanket with wet washcloths on their foreheads. It seemed it was a lot harder to discreetly came back home when you have an unstoppable cough, and they ended up getting caught before even reaching the stairs. Filippa had been generous enough to let them take a shower and sleep before any scolding, and when this morning they’d wake up with a high fever, she had also been relatively calm and understanding about their escapade.

“Honestly, what went through your heads? Going outside this late, all alone, without telling anyone. This is so dangerous! You’re lucky to only get out of this with a fever!”

“I’m sorry,” Pauline murmured, dipping her head under the duvet as if she hoped to disappear under it. “I didn’t want to…”

“You better not put the whole blame on me,” Maria suddenly added. “I didn’t have to insist that much for you to come with me.”

“Yes you did!”

Filippa sighed, then rose up from the bed. “Well, in any case you’ll have to stay in bed for at least quite a few days. I’ll see if Orlando can go to the pharmacy to buy some medicine…”

“So… there will be no punishment?” Pauline asked warily.

“I think spending your fifteenth birthday bedridden with a fever will be punishment enough.”

Her mother’s voice betrayed some irritation, but Pauline felt she had been more worried than angry about the whole ordeal. She then exited the room without saying anything more, closing the door behind her.

“You know your mom is still super cool,” Maria commented. “Mine would have never let me live if she’d have caught me completely soaked in the middle of the night in her living room.”

“You called her a ‘tyrant’ yesterday…”

“I was exaggerating. Trust me, compared to my parents, she’s an angel.”

Pauline had actually no troubles at all trusting her. She was well-aware Maria’s parents tended to be really strict, especially her mother. She witnessed it multiple times before, and it always made her feel grateful for the parents she had.

“It still doesn’t seem to prevent you from continuing to do bad things though…”

“What can I say? That’s just how I was born.”

A faint silence followed, until Maria broke it, in an unusual awkward voice:

“So, er… are we going to talk about it or not?”

“Talk about…?”

Maria groaned. “C’mon! You kissed me yesterday! On the mouth! Remember? I think that’s something that deserve a bit of a talk, right?”

Oh, right. The kiss. Pauline had, indeed, done that. For some reason. Yesterday felt like such an odd night honestly, and with her fever, everything seemed so far away and in a blurry that she had almost wished it was something she’d hallucinated. She and Maria hadn’t exchanged a word on the way back home, then they went to bed, and they’d been with her mother all morning. But Maria was right; obviously, this had happened, and they couldn’t just… ignore it.

“Well… I…” Pauline started, doing her best to not look at her friend in the eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You… don’t know.”

“I-I’m aware how silly it sounds. But it’s just… yesterday, things were weird, you know? We were in the sea, it was dark, and the water was so shiny, and, and… I don’t know! I thought you looked pretty so kissing you didn’t felt… out of place at the time… maybe…”

Pauline could hear Maria’s breath right next to her, but she couldn’t guess what kind of expression she had. She wasn’t courageous enough to look at her.

“So you just… felt like kissing me,” she finally said.

“Yes…”

“Because… what? I looked pretty?”

“Yes…”

Maria stared at her. She was clearly expecting… something else. But Pauline honestly couldn’t give her a comprehensive explanation. She herself didn’t truly know what had crossed her mind at that moment.

“So it wasn’t anything more.”

“More…?”

“You don’t have… any feelings for me.”

Pauline gasped. “Oh no! No, no, no! Of course not.”

Maria let out a huge, big sigh. “Right. It was just a weird impulse on the moment. You’re… just my friend. You like me, but, like, platonically.”

“Yes, yes, that’s it.”

“Yeah, of course that’s all. That’d be silly otherwise, huh?”

“R-Right…”

Then both of them looked away, an awkward silence still hanging in the room. Yes, Pauline was sure it was nothing. She wasn’t in love with Maria or anything. She was just her friend. So, really, there was no need to feel as awkward as she was feeling right now, right? She looked over at her friend (and nothing more!), who seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

Surely Maria didn’t have… any feelings for her either, right? She always spent her time making fun of Pauline or telling her what a crybaby and an idiot she was… Sure, she knew Maria still liked her, otherwise she wouldn’t keep seeing her, but she wasn’t, like, romantically interested in her… She didn’t think…

Pauline felt like her brain was burning and about to blow up, and she didn’t know if it was because of the fever or because her thoughts were continuing to going back in circle in her head. So she decided she needed to stop thinking altogether, to speak.

“It was… my first kiss.”

Maria blinked, and stared at Pauline weirdly. “What?”

“You know. Yesterday. It was my first kiss.” She paused, before continuing: “I’d always thought my first kiss would be with my boyfriend, during an incredibly romantic date…”

“Oh. Uh. Sorry?”

“It’s not your fault. I mean, I’m the one who kissed you, after all.”

For some reason she still couldn’t fathom. Though thinking about kisses and Maria suddenly made an odd question birth in her mind.

“Say… Was it…”

“What?”

“Was… That wasn’t your first kiss?”

Maria snorted. “Of course it wasn’t.”

Pauline was kind of expecting that answer — Maria was older than her, and she knew she’d always been pretty popular. She never mentioned having dated anyone before, but Pauline still felt a bit disappointed that unlike her, it wasn’t her first kiss. Maybe it was childish of her. Now that she thought about it, she remembered that time two years ago when Filippa had asked her if she had a boyfriend, and Maria had just laughed awkwardly while dismissing the question… She thought she should let the matter at that, that it could be a potentially slippery topic, but the next question escaped her mouth before she even thought about it:

“Did the people you kiss before were boys or girls?”

“Is that any of your business?”

Her tone wasn’t especially disgruntled, it was just her usual snappiness, but Pauline still winced at it. And Maria noticed that, because she then sighed and added: “Both, actually.”

“Oh…”

Maybe that was why, then, that she never brought up the subject with her. Maria had never been the kind of person to be bothered by what others thought of her or to be judged, though, but… then again, what did Pauline knew about Maria, truly? They never seemed to discuss about important things together, or to really confide in each others.

But… maybe it was Pauline’s fault, too, a little bit. Maybe she should just ask Maria more about herself. She would never be able to know more if she never asked. Maybe she should take the first step and try to confide herself more to her, too.

“Though… you know, to be honest, I…”

Pauline hesitated a little, thinking maybe she shouldn’t say the rest for fear to be misinterpreted, but Maria’s green eyes seemed to push her to keep on.

“I actually don’t really regret it that you were my first kiss. I think it’s… actually rather nice for it to be with you. Plus it was also… kinda romantic, I guess.”

Maria stared at her, then finally she smirked, and let out a small chuckle.

“Sometimes you’re really so fucking weird, you know that?” She commented, and Pauline wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but there was an odd fondness and warmth in her voice, so it couldn’t be something mean.

Then she gently bumped the top of Pauline’s forehead, and she thought that, definitely, even with them ending up bedridden and with a fever, she didn’t regret at all any of the things they had done yesterday, or since the beginning of the month, for that matter. Maria always ended up causing her problems or dragging her into troubles she would have never gotten into without her, but maybe sometimes, just sometimes, it was worth it.

She thought it was worth it just to see the Maria who’d promise her to protect her against an imaginary beast from her nightmares while holding her hand, or to eat common ham sandwiches together, or to see a tender, genuine smile on her face during the night in the middle of an ocean of glitters.

And seeing a smiling, glittering Maria was worth all the fevers and punishments, and she would exchange it for nothing in the world.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #MariPauli #Maria Campanella #Pauline Asama #FemslashFeb2020 #Femslash February 2020 #Fanfiction #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Femslash February #FataMoru Fanfiction #Connan's Fanfics #Connan's Posts #FataMoru Fanfic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfic #Filippa Asama #Orlando (The House in Fata Morgana) #Orlando #Maria x Pauline #Pauline x Maria #Femslash #AO3 #Femslash Feb 2020 #Reincarnation (The House in Fata Morgana) #Archive Of Our Own #FataMoru Fanfictions #FataMoru Fic #Fanfictions #Reincarnation Maria #Reincarnation

[connan-l]

Cleavered

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

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

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

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

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

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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

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

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

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

________________________________________________________________

She was definitely lost by now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… I see…”

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

“Um…”

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

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

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

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

“The Saintess…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Rena! Nice to meet you.”

________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

“Haoo, those teacups are so kyute!”

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

“From where you lived with your brother?”

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

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

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

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

“Aw, really? I’d love to see that!”

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

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

“What about you?”

“H-Huh?”

“You’re a foreigner too, aren’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, Nellie,” he said gently.

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

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

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

“‘We’?”

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

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

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

“R-Rena…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you got sick?”

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

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

“Everything…?”

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

“Try me. You’d be surprised.”

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

“You’re drinking real blood?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aha, yay! Thank you, dearest Mell!”

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

“Do you… intend to sleep here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

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

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

“Bye!”

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

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

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

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

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

________________________________________________________________

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

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

“You’re late.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“B-But…”

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

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

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

“I… I can’t—”

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

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

“As you wish, lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The. Key.”

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

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

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

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

“I-It’s there! It’s there…”

“Thanks!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘I’m innocent,’ huh…”

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

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

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

“Hey, you there!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What were you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait.”

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

“Lord…”

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

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

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

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

“She knows?”

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

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

“You’re right… I apologize, lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now I want you to come towards us.”

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

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

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

“You saw me earlier, didn’t you?”

The man only lifted his head towards her.

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

“That… must’ve been your imagination…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, she raised her cleaver once again, and gave the man one final blow. He didn’t try to protest or resist, and just collapsed on the ground like his subordinate. Rena then quickly kneeled besides the two bodies, searching them, and finally retrieved the two last keys, as well as another one which she guessed was for the chains.

The young girl was standing here in the chapel in front of the angel, her white dress all drenched in red, with two barely-alive bodies at her feet.

If she were from this country, she would probably find this to be quite the profane picture.

But she wasn’t, and there was only one thing she was interested in.

________________________________________________________________

She took out the three keys one by one, and slowly inserted them. Her hands were greasy because of the blood — both her own and others’ — but she still delicately handled them. The lock opened right away, she barely had to force at all, and then she pushed the door.

Climbing the circular stairs almost felt ceremonious, and the steps seemed a lot longer than the first time she had came here, as if they had suddenly grown infinite during the instant she was dealing with the three men. It took a few minutes for her to reach the top, and when she did she stopped in front of the closed door. As if nervous, she grabbed her satchel in which she had put away her bloody weapon. Her cleaver wasn’t the only thing covered in blood — her dress, her hair, her entire body were completely dark scarlet, and even if she had managed to stop the bleeding, her wound was still hurting quite a bit. She looked as if she had just been out of a war battlefield. She definitely was far from looking like a brave knight rescuing the princess.

But well, she wasn’t a knight, and that girl wasn’t a princess.

With hesitation, she grabbed the handle and stopped. For some reason, she felt… anxious. Why, she had no idea. She had done all of this just to save this stranger, and now that she was so close to her goal, it felt wrong, somehow. She knew she had to hurry before anyone notice something was off inside that mansion, but her feet refused to move. She didn’t even know how she should greet that girl or what to tell her. What if freeing her was a mistake, after all? What if the best choice was to just run away right now?

Rena shook her head, then breathed in forcefully. That wasn’t the time to hesitate. She couldn’t go back now. So she opened the door.

The dim luminosity hurt her eyes, and it took a few seconds for her to adapt to it. Once she did, the familiar, pitiful scenery she had seen earlier appeared yet again before her, in the exact same state, as if nothing that had just happened had been real. The girl was still there, chained, slumped against the wall. Her eyes were closed. Was she asleep? She seemed to be barely alive, to be honest. She looked more… like a corpse.

Wouldn’t that be funny if Rena had done all of that just for the girl to die at the least moment? But she pushed that thought away and took a step further. At this moment, and to her relief, the girl twitched. She suddenly opened her golden eyes and stared straight through her, making Rena almost jump out of surprise. But with the shook cooling off, she was just glad the girl was definitely still alive.

“Hi,” she said in a friendly tone, smiling gently. “I’m Rena.”

The girl replied nothing. She just kept staring at her vacantly, as if she wasn’t really seeing her.

“Ah, d-don’t worry! I’m not here to hurt you, or— or anything like that,” Rena added hurriedly, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m here to save you!”

But her reassuring words seemed to do nothing for the captive. Rena quickly started to grow uncomfortable, and she tilted her head.

“Can you… hear me? Can you?”

No answer. Rena sighed. Well, she seemed to be really out of it. It probably shouldn’t be surprising given what she’s been through until now. Rena didn’t know since when she had been detained here, but she guessed it must’ve been quite some time. Well, it didn’t matter much if she could speak or understand her or not. She just needed to get her out of here as soon as possible. First, she needed to—

“—el…”

Rena suddenly stopped when a hoarse, barely audible voice resounded inside the dark tower. It took some time for her brain to understand that it was coming from the girl.

“—gel…”

“Huh?”

Her murmurs didn’t even sounds like words, more like some background noises that struggled to get out of her mouth. Rena slowly approached the girl, and kneeled in front of her, putting herself down to her height and staring at her in the eyes. But the girl acted as if she didn’t even see her.

“—angel…”

“Angel…?”

“Are you… angel…?”

Rena blinked with surprise when she realized the question. She wasn’t sure if this was addressed to her exactly. Maybe it was addressed to no one. Even so, she slowly took her hand in hers — a tattered, dirty, covered in scratches small hand.

“I’m sorry… I’m not an angel. I’m just some foreign girl who got lost and wandered around here by mistake.”

The girl became silent again, her golden eyes empty.

“But I’m still going to save you.”

And with that, she searched for the keys she had retrieved on the lord’s body, and freed the girl from the chains. As she expected, this got no reaction out of her, so she then grabbed the only remaining arm, and then, after struggling for a bit, she managed to hoist her on her back. It wasn’t easy to carry another girl of the same age while wounded, even if she was extremely light, but Rena could handle it. She had no other choice.

With fumbling steps, she hurriedly get down the steps, walked through the chapel without doing so much as glancing at the men’s bodies spread there, and finally got out of the mansion, not even the stained-glass angel daring to stop her.

________________________________________________________________

She was bleeding.

Red liquid poured out from her wounds, trickling on her bare skin, sullying her body and the ground. It seemed as if the flow was endless. She felt no pain, though — the throbbing and aching had left her a long time ago, and in its stead there was only numbness and emptiness. Her vision was a blur, her mind a haze. She could only perceive shadows moving in front of her, vague laughing and chuckles, joyful voices rejoicing in her torment, like demons dancing in front of her. If someone had told her she was in Hell, she would have believed them.

But she wasn’t in Hell — this was earth, and those were humans, and maybe this was the most disgusting of truth to face for her. The chains around her wrists bounded her to the altar, preventing any escapes she could have.

Suddenly, the shadows stopped moving, and her surrounding began to scramble. Before her mind could understand what was going on, vivid pain reached her arm, lacerating and pitiless. All sorts of landscapes scrolled in front of her eyes — a carriage full of bloody corpses, a cottage in front of a lake, a mansion, a tower.

And finally, the figure of the lord, always standing in her way.

Despair, agony, betrayal, anguish all agglutinated inside her heart at the same time — but the most powerful of all, the one that overwhelmed everything else—

—was hatred.

She rose up, clutching sorely at the sheets as her eyes darted right and left around her. She felt like she was lost inside a fog, the walls around her waltzing and shrieking as if they had a will of their own. As she painfully tried to regain possession of her broken five senses, yet another shadow took shape to her side, producing sounds.

“—ke… —p…”

But she didn’t even try to decipher what it was saying. There was only one and unique shadow that appeared both in her dreams and reality, after all. The lord.

So she pushed him with all of her forces, making him fall on the ground, and then, desperately groping blindly around her, she was able to feel the cold touch of a blade brush her fingers. Without waiting, she grabbed the handle of what looked like a cleaver and jumped on the silhouette before it could move again. She wasn’t strong enough to actually stand up, but she could still hold a weapon. Or stab someone with it.

“Die!”

That was the first word that escaped her mouth. The most precious wish she had cherished during all these months, the only thing that had kept her alive all this time — her voracious hatred.

“Die! Die…! I’ll— make you pay…! You… You—!”

The lord she was straddling caught the blade with his bare hand, unbothered by the blood that soon trickled down his hand. She tried to get back the cleaver, but his grip was too strong.

“Let… go! I will— I’ll kill you!”

“Given how weak you are, I doubt you’ll be able to even kill a fly like this.”

The voice made her stop instantly. Because this… this wasn’t the lord’s voice.

That person didn’t sound like the cruel man who had haunted her nightmares since she was a child… but like a young girl she didn’t know. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that voice before—  

“—I’m still going to save you.”

She felt completely lost, and the shadow took the occasion to push her away and get back the cleaver. She collapsed on the ground, and all of a sudden it was as if she was a puppet whose strings had been cut off. She had no strength anymore, and just lay there on the floor, her whole body hot and aching. She heard a few slow steps coming towards her, and soon a face came into her view.

Blue eyes like the sky, and orange hair like the sunset. A sweet smile.

“I’m glad you’re awake! Please wait here, I’ll bring you back something to drink.”

________________________________________________________________

The girl came back in the room a few minutes afterwards with water and bread, and helped Morgana get back into the bed. Well, it wasn’t actually a bed, more like something that looked like an old mattress with some blankets thrown on it. As the other sat next to her, she took the glass of water and stared at it absentmindedly.

“I promise it’s not poisoned,” the girl said in a joyful voice. “It’s just water.”

There was a part of Morgana that felt silly of being suspicious of a simple glass of water… but then she remembered that given she had no idea where she even was, it was only natural. So she still didn’t try to drink it.

“I’m really relieved you woke up and seem well! You slept for almost two days, you know? So I was worried. So, um, well, anyway, I already introduced myself before but you probably don’t remember so… I’m Rena! Hey, what is your na—”

“What happened?”

“Wh-What? What? About what…?”

Morgana let out a big sigh and looked away. She could already tell that girl was going to be hard to deal with.

“About everything.”

“Oh… um, um…”

The girl, Rena, fidgeted with a flustered face, as if she was about to tell a very embarrassing story. After a while, she finally managed a small friendly smile.

“Well, it’s a bit, uh, messy, but I’m a foreigner who got lost, and I found out this church by coincidence. I saw you and those… men in the tower, and so… so… I thought I should do something, you know? You know?”

Morgana stared blankly at her, somehow expecting more. But there was nothing else.

“You make absolutely no sense,” she finally declared. “Why would you randomly decide to help out a complete stranger at the risk of your own life?”

“I-I know it’s not very logical! But, well, I just…” Rena closed her mouth. Looked down. “I just couldn’t do nothing.”

“Yes, you could have. That wouldn’t have been very difficult.”

“Are… Are you actually angry at me for saving you…? Are you?”

“So how did you do it? How did you manage to get past the lock and get me out of the tower? I can’t believe these men cooperated willingly.”

“Oh, that. Well, I just cut them with my cleaver, retrieved the keys and got out of here with you as soon as I could.”

She said all of this with a wide smile, as if it was no big deal at all. Morgana stared at her, expecting her to tell her she was kidding, but nothing came afterwards.

“And?”

“Th-That’s all…?”

“That can’t be all. There’s no way a single girl could overpower three men with just a cleaver.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy, it’s true, but it’s possible. As proof, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Morgana felt the urges to yell at her, but managed to stay calm. She didn’t believe her, but she had the sensation that even if she kept asking questions she wouldn’t get another answer. So she breathed in deeply, and tried to gain the most knowledge possible.

“Where are we?”

“Oh… um, I’m not really sure to be honest. I think it must’ve been an old ranch to keep cattle or something, but it seems to have been abandoned for a while. It’s in the middle of the forest, about an hour away from the city. It’s not ideal to hide in, but for now we’ll have to content ourselves with that.”

“What happened to them?”

“The men? Oh… I just knocked out the flaxen-haired boy, so he should be fine, but I dunno what must’ve happened to him afterwards. As for the other two…”

Rena grimaced and looked away. She seemed hesitant to continue speaking, so Morgana had to push her.

“Are they dead?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure? I cut them pretty badly and they were bleeding a lot when I left, but I didn’t actually, um, checked if they were still alive or not…”

“So there’s a chance they’re still alive?”

“Yes… I think.”

“I see… Good.”

“Are you… relieved they’re possibly still alive?”

Morgana snorted at this, which quickly morphed into full on chuckles.

“I suppose you could say that,” she finally blurted out. “Yes… these men, they can’t just die like that… Not after what they did to me…”

She clutched the blanket and her long hair fell in front of her face, darkening her usually pales eyes.

“Dying would be a way too easy fate for them… They need to suffer… Suffer just as much— no, even more than me…”

A fate worse than death. A fate worse than being locked up in a tower and having their blood drained.

A curse — she wanted— needed to inflict a curse upon them, watch their lives slowly get torn apart, one by one—

“Do you intend to take revenge on them?”

Morgana turned her head towards Rena at the sound of her question, and their eyes met. The orange-haired girl was staring at her without saying anything, her face unreadable. She didn’t appear disturbed by Morgana’s grudgeful words in the least, and her question had a surprising innocuous tone to it, as if she had just asked her what was her favorite food.

“Aren’t you… scared of me?”

“Huh? Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Because of… my scars.”

“Oh, those!” Rena chuckled. “Not at all! In fact, I think they are really kyute! That was why I wanted to take you home, you know?”

Morgana felt as if she had just been hit with a rock. ‘Cute’…? Did she just call her scars ‘cute’? Was that girl completely insane? Maybe it should’ve made her feel happy, to hear someone call her hideous face ‘cute’ for the first time, but it actually ended up have the opposite effect.

Instead, she felt angry. Like that girl was mocking her. Mocking her suffering, her struggles, and entire life.

She tensed up and grinded her teeth.

“What are you going to do with me now?”

Rena blinked ingenuously and tilted her head. “What?”

“I’m not an idiot. If you saved me, it must’ve been because of personal interest. So what do you want of me?”

“Wh-What? No! Did you think I was lying earlier?”

“Of course. Who would believe such an inane story? I’m betting you must’ve heard about my blood and came here to profit off it.”

Rena frowned, and she seemed to think for a while before replying:

“Your blood… I saw the men drain it from you in the tower. It’s what the church is giving out as medicine, isn’t it? I heard it was called ‘Saint’s Blood,’ but… it’s actual, real blood. Yours.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, but stayed quiet.

“Did these men kidnap you? I mean, I can’t believe you would’ve ended up in this tower willingly…”

“This is none of your business.”

“I wasn’t lying earlier. I told you the truth, I promise. So the least you could do is told me your story as well, right?”

“Please. Do you honestly want me to believe you just randomly decided to save me, out of the kindness of your heart? What a generous person you are.”

“Is that something that sounds really so impossible to you? That people just do kind things sometimes?”

Of course that was impossible to her. Everyone in her life had only thought of her as a tool and acted kind as a way to profit off her, even her own mother.

And the only people who hadn’t… well, they were dead now. She had absolutely zero reasons to trust this suspicious foreign girl. For all she knew, she wasn’t even the one who had saved her.

And then, suddenly, Rena started to giggle, which made Morgana even tenser.

“You know what? You’re not wrong, actually. I didn’t save you just out of kindness. I’m not a kind person at all, really.”

Her voice sounded a little off, and Morgana felt a chill goes up her chine. Rena stared at her, but there was an odd shine in her blue eyes, something unwell.

“I just thought you looked kyute and wanted to take you home. So I did. That’s all.”

“What… What are you…?”

“But for now, I don’t intend to do anything with you.”

She suddenly stood up, her smile not leaving her face. “After all, you can barely get out of the bed yet, right? I am also wounded, to tell you the truth, so for now we’ll have to stay here for at least a few days. We won’t be able to stay too long, though, because I can’t believe people won’t do anything after what happened to their lord, so afterwards it’d be safer to just leave the region…”

Morgana couldn’t bring herself to say anything as that girl seemed to plan her next few weeks all by herself. She definitely felt irritated and wanted to shut her up and tell to stop taking all these decisions by herself… but the fact was that, she wasn’t wrong.

Morgana could barely walk, she had one arm missing and had lost a huge quantity of blood during the past few months. There was no way she could just go off on her own.

As if she was reading her thoughts, the girl smiled again and told her in a light voice:

“So in any case, it seems we’re stuck together for now, that you like it or not.”

And then she left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Morgana all alone in the dim room.

________________________________________________________________

It took Morgana at least three days before starting to feel like she was regaining some strength. She still almost couldn’t get out of bed though, so she was spending most of her time in the arranged room, in that bed that wasn’t one, staring at the ceiling and counting the spider webs while she was lost in thought.

Her thoughts, of course, usually came back to what had happened to her. A lot of her memories felt fuzzy, and trying to think too much about it would give her a headache, but she still had managed to retrace the events she had been through in the last few months. Her encounter with the flaxen-haired boy. His betrayal. The beast cutting off her arm and kidnapping her. And finally, discovering it was the lord, out of everyone, that had been behind all of this, for some disgusting greedy plan of using her blood yet again.

Just recounting all of this made her hatred feel stronger than ever, but at the same time, it all felt surreal, as if she had dreamed everything up. As if it was a story she had read somewhere and not something that had actually happened to her. But her missing arm was a sore reminder that all of this was true.

She wanted revenge. That was the thing that had been on her mind all these long, insufferable days inside that tower. She wanted to kill them. Tear out their eyes. Stab their stomachs and watch them bleed to death. Just made them suffer, as much as possible, and by her own hands.

But despite how overwhelming her anger and hatred was… she still felt that slight pang of guilt at this. Not because she pitied the men, but because wishing harm upon others would just go against her very identity as a saint. Saints were martyrs. It didn’t matter how much humans could hurt them, they had no right to retaliate in any way, because they were pure and selfless.

But could she really call herself a saint, after how much she had been mutilated and tainted and mangled?

(Had she ever been a saint to begin with, though?)

“Hey! Lunch’s ready!”

Her door brusquely opened, and a smiling young girl burst into the room with a tray full of food.

“I tried to make something new today, I hope you like it! Sorry, I’m not too used to the food of this country yet, so hopefully it’s not so bad…”

The girl kept babbling happily while sitting next to Morgana, not seeming bothered in the least by her glare. She had acted like that for the past few days, as if the two of them were friends and not strangers clearly suspicious of each others.

Rena was a weird girl. She was a cheerful, friendly person, and despite how coldly Morgana treated her or how much she tried to ignore her she kept talking and taking care of her with a sweet smile on her face. From time to time, she’d have odd reactions like getting flustered about the most ridiculous of things or getting lost in thought and fawning about things that escaped common sense. She wasn’t afraid or disgusted by her scars, either. She loved cooking and pampering her and ran around the abandoned ranch energetically despite her own wound.

She had told her some vague information about her, how she came from a country in the Far East and had been here for business with her father and how they got separated, but she never gave any details about it.

In a way, Rena reminded Morgana a little of her time at the brothel, as a weird mix of the blonde woman who acted as a big sister to everyone and the exhaustingly cheerful dark-skinned girl. (But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t remember their names, or even their faces.)

And all of this, actually, made Morgana more uncomfortable than anything. She actually would’ve preferred that Rena treat her coldly rather than that, it would’ve been less tiring and unpredictable. Because she was sure these acts of kindness and friendliness would end soon enough, at any moments.

There was something… dark lurking in Rena’s shadows, in the deepness of her blue eyes, and that darkness couldn’t help but make Morgana suspicious of her whenever she’d smiles at her.

“You don’t eat?”

Rena asked her with a worried look, as she was biting into her own piece of bread.

“I’m not hungry.”

“No, that’s not good! You have to eat, otherwise you won’t get better.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get better. Maybe I just want to stay here and wither away all alone.”

Rena’s happy smile fell from her lips, and instead a frown darkened her face. This was a serious expression she would take sometimes, when Morgana acted a bit too cold towards her.

“No, you won’t,” she said, and it almost sounded like an order. “You will eat now. I didn’t prepare all of that for you to waste it, and I didn’t save your life for you die now.”

“I never asked you to prepare this, or to save my life, for that matter.”

“So you would’ve preferred to stay in that tower and die all alone there?”

Of course not, who would want that? Morgana almost spat out, but she restrained her tongue.

Certainly, she wasn’t content with her situation right now and it was more than frustrating to be at the mercy of this weird, suspicious stranger… but she knew there were still worse fates. Like being chained up on that altar under the cruel mad eyes of a lord. Or dying little by little in a tower without anyone even knowing about it.

She sighed, then after a few moments, finally grasped the fork Rena was holding out to her and piqued inside her plate. She made a point to not look at the other girl, but she could still guess her satisfied smile on her face, which pissed her off. She had the reflex to want to use her second arm, before having the painful realization she could never do so ever again. She still wasn’t used to this, and with the pain having fading away, she sometimes had the sensation to still have it.

Her life would never be like before ever again. She already knew that of course, and it wasn’t the first time she had experienced that feeling, but right now she felt even more lost and disoriented.

She had her hypothetic revenge to keep her alive, sure. But then what? What was she supposed to do after that? She couldn’t go back to being the witch of the lake selling herbs to whoever would dare to come. She just…

“Do you want me to help you eat?”

Morgana glared at Rena. “I am not a child,” she dryly replied. “Don’t treat me like one.”

“A-Ah, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, uh…”

Morgana angrily started eating her food while Rena fell quiet, her cheeks as red as a tomato. Their meals were generally just a handful of vegetables and bread, or sometimes potages. Which was comprehensible given they were technically in hiding, so Rena couldn’t go in town often to buy supplies. Furthermore, they had no money.

Well… I don’t have money. I actually don’t know about her… That’s right, how did she even get the flour for the bread? And the dishes?

“So, um, don’t you think it’s time for you to tell me now?”

Morgana stopped eating, and looked up at Rena strangely.

“What?”

“I want to know your name,” Rena specified gently. “And, well… I’d like you to tell me a bit more about you, too. Like, what were you doing before getting… in that tower? Don’t you have any family?”

“You don’t need to know my name.”

“But I told you mine. You can’t risk much by telling me your name, right?”

Well, she had a point. But the last person she had trust with her name had betrayed her and she found herself with one arm missing locked up in a mansion.

“I… don’t have any family,” she finally decided to say. “Before that, I lived by myself in a small cottage near a lake.”

“Oh. That sounds… lonely.”

Rena grimaced while saying this, and the idea of being pitied by that girl felt incredibly insulting for some reason.

“And then those men kidnapped you?”

“Yes… Well the beas— the swordsman did. The flaxen-haired boy lured me in so he could have my arm. It was all under the lord’s orders.”

“Hmm…”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell her all of that, but those were all things she could’ve guessed by herself anyway. More than anything, Morgana still expected her to ask her information about her blood, and then to give some to her… But apparently that wasn’t even something that crossed Rena’s mind.

“Don’t you have any friends either?”

“What? No… Why would you demand that?”

“Well, for nothing? I did have a nice group of friends back in my village, you know. We were pretty close, I think… I think.”

For some reason, her gaze became a bit vacant, as if she was doubting her own words.

“Then what happened to them?”

“Nothing… They’re still back in my village.”

And then she stayed unusually quiet. Not like Morgana was all that interested in knowing more about this girl or her so-called friends, anyway.

“So, so! You finished eating, right? Let me bring all that back, then!”

“Ah— Wait—”

Morgana tried to grab Rena to stop her, but she missed her and instead fell on the ground. She heard Rena gasp loudly and run towards her instantly.

“A-Are you okay? Are you? O-Oh, wait, I’ll help you get up, I’ll—”

“I’m okay! I’m okay…”

Morgana raised herself up with her only elbow, and grinded her teeth at how difficult it was without her other one. Rena stared at her worryingly.

“How did you fall so bad…?”

“It’s… my arm, I think…”

“Huh?”

“I’m… still not used to it, so I lost balance… It’s nothing.”

“Oh…”

Morgana instinctively brought a hand to her shoulder, where the rest of the arm should have been. It felt so off. So wrong, to have just an empty space here, and it made her stomach turn. They both sat on the ground face to face, without saying anything for a moment. It felt too awkward, for some reason. Then, suddenly, Rena broke the silence:

“You want me to bring it back to you?”

Morgana almost strangled herself.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You said the one who took it was that boy Mell, right? Then I could go ask him to give it back.”

“Y-You want to bring me back my arm?”

“Yes? That’s a bad idea?”

“D-Do you even hear yourself? That’s insane. Even if you were to get it back somehow, what would I do with it now?”

Rena put a finger on her lip, and tilted her head innocently. “Sew it back?”

“You’re completely crazy!”

Morgana shouted at her, and the process made her whole body hurts. She coughed a little, and then heard a giggle. When she raised her head, the other girl was laughing softly.

“It’s the first time I see you getting angry like that,” she simply said, smiling. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I see you having any kind of emotion at all… Well, except for glaring at me. Does that count as an ‘emotion’? Does it…?”

Wait. Could it be… that she said all those inane things on purpose? To makes me react?

Morgana stared at Rena blankly for a moment… then she snorted.

“You are really weird,” she mumbled.

“Hmhmm, I know.”

Maybe… being at the mercy of this strange girl wasn’t the worst of fate. Maybe it was something she could actually survive, this time. She sighed, then looked up at Rena.

“I… am Morgana,” she said softly.

Rena blinked at her in astonishment, her mouth opening so wide an entire apple could fit in it.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t trust you in the slightest. But like you said, it would be pretty awkward if I was the only one knowing your name…”

A big, silly smile brightened Rena’s face. She giggled yet again and nodded happily.

“Your name ends just like mine,” was the only comment she made.

________________________________________________________________

“—ou think?”

“Huh…?”

Morgana gasped, and looked around her with agitation. Rena was in front of her, looking strangely at her.

“Morgana? A-Are you okay…?” She asked warily.

“I-I… ah…”

The first thing she saw was a blinding light. There was a soft wind brushing her skin. Her eyes stung and it took her a few long seconds to make sense of her surroundings. She was outside, in front of the ranch. The entire area was covered by enormous trees, so the place felt fairly dark, but some sunlight still managed to pierce the foliage. In a way, it gave her a sense of security, as if no one would ever be able to find them here.

Morgana was drowsy and numb, her mind a mess, as if she had just wake up from a particularly deep slumber. The sudden light made her feel a bit dizzy and she quickly sat on a rock nearby to not stumble, under Rena’s worried gaze. What was she doing here…? She remembered waking up this morning, eating lunch, and then… then nothing came to her mind, like she had just blanked out.

“Hey, what’s going on…?” Rena asked again.

“I’m… fine,” Morgana blurted out, massaging her temples. “What… uh, what are we doing here?”

Rena blinked, a clear confusing sprouting on her face. “What? What do you mean?”

“I… mean what I mean. Why are we outside?”

But her precision only seemed to worsen the situation. Rena looked at her as if she had told her the world was going to get destroyed.

“We… um, u-um, th-that’s… I mean, well, uh, you— you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Ah, a-after lunch I proposed we go outside for a bit, and you accepted, and we were just talking about what we would do if it started raining…”

This time, it was Morgana who was confused. She stared at Rena as if expecting her to explain the situation, but manifestly the other girl didn’t understand any more than her.

“You… really forget?” Rena asked again. “Y-You were talking with me normally up until now though…”

“I… was?”

She had no recollections of such a thing, though. After lunch, she had no recollections at all. What had happened? Had she really just… blanked out? She breathed in, trying to regain her calm and reflect about this logically. Now that she was thinking about it… this wasn’t really the first time this happened. She had vague memories of experiencing something similar as a child during her time at the brothel, but she was pretty sure it had stopped after she started living at the cottage. Or, well, maybe it did happen again, but given most of the time she was alone it was hard to tell…

“Morgana…?”

But in any case, it wasn’t something she needed to tell Rena about.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing important.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes. Forget about it.”

Rena stared at her for a while. It was obvious she wasn’t convinced at all, but still one of her usual smile blossomed on her face and she nodded.

“All right! Well, I’m just glad you’re able to walk and go out by yourself now. I’m sure you’ll be full of energy in no time!”

“I have… never been ‘full of energy’…”

Rena laughed light-heartedly and started to spun and bounces on her legs, as if practicing some sort of weird dance. Morgana sighed. Just watching her move like that was tiring to her. But… in the last few days, she had managed to get used to it. Sort of.

“What about you?”

Rena stopped moving and looked at Morgana interrogatively.

“What?”

“You were wounded too, right? At the shoulder, if I recall.”

“Ooh! That! Haha, I’m okay, I’m okay!”

“It seemed like it was a pretty severe injury, though…”

“It did hurt quite badly, but I’ve always recovered very quickly! I’m tougher than I look, you know? You know?”

“Is that so…”

“Were you worried about me?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Rena laughed yet again, and Morgana rolled her eyes, and it seemed it had pretty much been their relationships since at least their first conversation.

“And…” Morgana started again, a bit hesitantly. “What do you intend to do now? Didn’t you want to find you way back? To search your father?”

“Hmm…” Rena crossed her arms, a pensive look on her face. “I guess so. Yeah, that’s probably what I’ll do, once you’re completely fine again.”

“You don’t seem convinced… Aren’t you worried about your father?”

“I think he’s fine… He’s a bit clumsy, but he’s still a grown up, you know.”

Even so, Morgana thought she was talking about him in a weird detached way, like he was some random neighbor or distant relative she didn’t know well.

“Aren’t you very close?”

“We are! Of course I’m worried. I’m just… I dunno. Maybe it’s just better that way, because I can’t really go back to him, or to my village…”

“Why? What about your mother?”

“My mother’s gone.”

A smile was still on her face, but it was a cold one. It made Morgana uncomfortable, and she understood she wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of her about this. The more she tried to learn about Rena, and the more mysterious she felt. It was almost frustrating…

“Anyway, how about we play a game?”

Morgana felt startled at Rena’s sudden change of mood and proposition. At the very least, she couldn’t say she was bored with that girl…

“A game?”

“Yeah! Look, I have this with me…” All while talking, she began to look through her satchel and pulled out what looked like a deck of cards. “One of my friends, you see, is a big game collector, and she gave this to me before we come here. The rules are really easy! Wanna try?”

“I don’t like games.”

Rena looked suddenly horrified, as if Morgana had given her a death sentence.

“You’re kidding, right? Right? There’s no way anyone dislike games!”

“Well, I do,” Morgana added. “I never even played one.”

Back in her village, the other kids would never approach her. At the brothel, maybe some of the prostitutes had proposed her to play some simple games with them at times, or the slave man had tried to get her to play with other children her age, but she had always refused. As the daughter of God, she couldn’t let herself be associated with such baseless entertainments.

“N-Never?” Rena sounded even more shocked. “Not even when you were a child?”

“No, I never had any interest in that. It is just meaningless.”

At this moment, Rena’s expression changed. Her face grew serious, and she frowned, as if Morgana had said something particularly offensive.

“It is not meaningless,” she declared, in a tone so serious Morgana wasn’t even able to retort anything. “Games are so important. They can bring so many things to people. So many things! If you have never even played one once, then there’s no way you could be able to understand that.”

Morgana felt bewildered. Why did she seem so angry about something ridiculous like that? Wasn’t that just a game? But before she could say anything, Rena fiercely grabbed her hand, forcing her to stand up, and dragged her inside the ranch.

“I’ll show you!” She said with determination.

“Wh-What?”

“We’ll play together! Whether you want it or not!”

Morgana felt like yelling at her, but for some reason the strength of Rena’s hand holding hers and the firmness of her steps felt undefeatable. So she let herself got dragged inside, sat on a bench and watched the other spread the cards in front of her without saying a word.

Rena explained the rules to her in a confident voice, as if she had done this her entire life (maybe she had, after all). The rules were, indeed, fairly simple: the cards had all different colors with some cute animals drawn on them. There was also a few characters on them which Morgana guessed were in Rena’s country language, but she told her it was just the names of the animals and not necessary to the game. To win you had to get rid of all the cards.

She was given one mercy round to get used to the game, but when things actually started Morgana quickly realized behind her sweet façade, Rena was extremely ruthless. She may be an airhead, slow girl in appearance, but she was in reality pretty shrewd.

“You have to cheat,” Morgana suddenly said after losing for the eighth time. “It’s not possible to win so many times.”

“I did not! I’m just really good at this game, and you’re not.”

“You liar. I refuse to play against you again until you tell me your trick!”

At this moment, Rena smiled maliciously, and looked at her with a mix between amusement and endearment, which felt incredibly condescending.

“Wh-What?”

“You know, despite the fact you act so composed and mature most of the time, you’re actually a really sore loser.”

Morgana felt her cheeks flare up, and never did she felt as glad that her hideous scars were there as now to cover up that fact.

“That’s quite the accusation, I am certainly not a sore loser. I think this is fair of me to ask for a proof that you are not cheating.”

But Rena simply starting laughing and Morgana suddenly felt like a flustered child trying to deal with a bully.

“S-Stop making fun of me!”

“Haooo, you’re so kyute! I wanna take you home! Ah, but I guess we’re already home, huh… Then can I hug you? Can I?”

“No. Stop that, you are grossing me out.”

“H-Hao… How mean…”

“I already told you to stop treating me like a child.”

“S-Sorry! You’re just… really making me think of one of my friends right now. She was also quite the sore loser.”

“Like I said, I am not—”

Morgana stopped, and let out a deep sigh. Evidently, Rena would not listen to her no matter what she said. The other girl giggled a little, and then an odd, nostalgic smile stretched her lips.

“My friends and I, we used to play these games all the time. We would gather everyday and play together like that… It was fun.”

For a few seconds, she seemed lost in thought, as if thinking back about her hometown. Then she looked up at Morgana, this time with a gentle smile directed at her.

“It felt a little like when I played with them right now,” she admitted. “It was fun too. Thank you.”

Morgana only looked away while restraining another sigh. She couldn’t say she had ‘fun,’ — she even felt quite annoyed she hadn’t been able to win even once — but… it had not been a bad experience. She would never bring herself to say this to Rena, though. Or to anyone, for that matter.

“You sounded close,” she suddenly blurted out, without looking at Rena in the eyes. “With your friends.”

“Yeah… I guess…”

“You ‘guess’?”

This time, it was Rena who looked away — not out of embarrass or shame, but in a contemplative way. Her face was neutral, as if all emotions had left her.

“I think… other people are quite weird, you see. I like my friends, but we were only just playing around together. We were close while laughing, joking, messing around… But…” She stopped. “When things actually started to get rough, I still was unable to believe in them and ask for their help. I couldn’t help feeling they’d betray me anyway. I was stabbed in the back like that in the past, you see.”

Morgana almost felt like Rena was more talking to herself than anyone else, so she simply listened to her in silence.

“I wanted to be… happy. And I thought I was happy, in my village. I was around people I loved and who loved me. But sometimes I just wonder if it all wasn’t just some façade. A factice happiness, maybe. Or maybe it’s just all part of Oyashiro’s curse too…”

She turned her head towards Morgana, and smiled at her in an odd self-deprecating manner.

“What is happiness, though? How do you know when you are truly happy?”

Morgana was unable to answer to that.

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The lord was laughing.

His voice was strident and raucous, rasping her ears, piercing her mind. But she couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop listening to it. The ground seemed to get loose with each chuckles, and the walls appeared to want to swallow her alive. Everything was hurting, aching, crashing. She wanted to scream, but her throat didn’t even allow her that.

“No tears — now that’s a good girl. Dignified and saintly — that’s what I need you to be.”

Mangled words resounded in her head, but she couldn’t make any sense of them. The only thing she could feel were the chains around her ankle, and the vivid, unbearable pain in her arm.

It hurts, it hurts, it all hurts so much — and it was all their fault — those three disgusting men. The lord.

That’s right, she had swore to get her revenge against them, to get their heads, for what they had dared to do to her. They locked her up — she who was a saint, the daughter of God — and treated her even worse than cattle — made her a witch, draining her blood day after day until nothing was left of her…

Everything was hurting her, this whole world was worse than Hell itself — and the only way for it to end was to finally kill her torturers.

I wasn’t born to spend my whole life suffering—

She woke up with a start, gasping for air and feeling nauseous. Her entire body was trembling and she couldn’t breathe. She felt like a fish out of water and her mind, still trapped inside that tower, could see nothing but blood and chains and death. Her surroundings was spinning around her, but in a desperate attempt to make a term to her suffering, she jumped out of bed and ran outside the ranch.

It was pitch dark outside, even barely any stars shined in the sky, and the giant trees in front of her looked more like demons ready to tear out her soul at any moment. Yet, she kept running into the woods, bare feet, not caring about the way her long red hair got caught in the branches or how her skin got scratched. The feeling felt familiar, like an odd sensation of déjà-vu, and for a moment she thought she was back to being eleven years old in the slums, running without any goal in the middle of the narrow streets.

(Except this time, no kind young man would come calm her down and carry her on his back to show her the sunrise—)

She only managed to stop when her legs stopped supporting her and she collapsed on the ground. Leaning on the trunk of a tree, she kneeled down, coughed, and finally threw up everything she had in her stomach. It was as if she was trying to evacuate all the horrifying events she had gone through, trying to purify herself from all the pain and suffering and hatred. When she finally stopped, she felt empty — both in her stomach and in her heart. With no strength, she simply lay down against the trunk and stopped moving, before slowly closing her eyes.

Suicide was a sin and she would never even consider this an option, no matter how tainted she was, but in this very instant… she honestly wished she could just die. Just slowly fall asleep here, and never open her eyes again…

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on her side, as instead she heard noise that instantly got her out of her slumber. She immediately turned around, and in the horizon, she saw some vague small lights. There were footsteps, too. And voices.

Who on earth could be out there in the woods this late at night? The will to know the answer to this question was stronger than her exhaustion and numbness, and she gathered all of her strength left to stand up and slowly approach the lights. After a few moment, she noticed apparently a group of men — at least four of them, on horses, with torches.

Actually, those weren’t simple men. They were wearing heavy armors, and swords — which meant they were likely knights or guards. At first, she didn’t think much of it. These men were working for the Church generally after all, weren’t they? Anyone serving God was deserving of respect. But then she suddenly remembered that actually, there was another authority they listened under other than the Church: the lord.

At this moment, a chill ran down her spine and she instantly backed away. A part of her wanted to believe it was only a coincidence. But it would be too naïve a way of thinking. Why would a group of guards wander in the middle of the woods at night? If the lord had survived, then there was only one answer…

They were searching for the witch that had escaped the lord’s clutches.

Panic grasping her, she started to run yet again despite how much pain her legs was in, but this time in the inverse direction. She traversed the forest with even more speed than earlier while her heart was beating so strong in her chest she thought it was about to explode and that her mind was only focused on one thing: that she didn’t want to go back there. She didn’t want to go back in the tower, not back to being chained and getting her blood drained. She’d rather get killed horribly than this.

The ranch appeared in sight rather quickly, but it was barely a relief at all, and she entered it before slamming the door behind her. There, she had only the strength to fall on the floor, gasping painfully.

Why was this happening? How did these men manage to arrive there? It had been about two weeks since her escape, but still, it felt too early. How were they able to find them in the middle of these lost woods? Had someone told them? Had someone—

“Morgana?”

A sweet voice got her out of her thoughts, and when she raised her head, Rena was here, in a pink nightgown, holding a candle.

Rena.

“Is everything okay? I heard noise…”

There were only the two of them here, after all.

“Morgana…?”

With some strength she didn’t know she still possessed, Morgana stood up, grabbed the cleaver that rested against the wall, and jumped on Rena. The candle crashed onto the floor, plunging them in darkness — only the dim moon through the window lightened the room. It was like a reenactment of their first meeting, except this time Morgana was fully aware who she was threatening with the blade.

“What are—”

“Shut up! You’re the one who warned them, right?”

Rena’s blue eyes, shining like jewels under the moon, widened like saucers.

“Them?”

“I knew it! You were suspicious from the start! Of course you’d do something like that!”

“I have no idea what you—”

“Stop lying now! I knew you’d betray me!”

An odd expression spread across Rena’s face that Morgana couldn’t exactly identify, but she had no intention to anyway. Anger and panic and fear all overwhelmed her mind and reason, and flashes of the flaxen-haired boy and of his kind smile and sweet words turned in a circle inside her head.

This girl was just like him, after all. Her smile was only there to trick her, and all of her words were honeyed poison.

“Calm down, you don’t make any sense,” Rena talked again. “Think about it, why would I—”

“I told you to stop lying!”

Morgana raised the cleaver and lowered it towards the other girl’s neck, but she managed to block out the blade and kick her in the stomach with her knee. Morgana momentarily coughed and lost balance, giving Rena enough time to got away from her and stood back up, but she didn’t let this rattle her. Quickly getting back on her knees, she yet again swung the cleaver at Rena, who avoided it by only a few margins.

“Stop that! You might be better now, but there’s no way you can win against me with my own cleaver!”

But Morgana couldn’t care less about Rena’s words. That girl was just like the three men. No, maybe she was worse — because she had actually tried to save her and gain her esteem before throwing her back into hell.

She wouldn’t forgive her. Not Rena, not the lord, not the three men, not anyone—

She kept swinging the cleaver at Rena, again and again, destroying quite a few of the woodwork in the process, but the girl was as agile as a cat and managed to get away from her hits with only a few cuts.

She couldn’t forgive, because that was all she had left now.

Everything else had been taken from her.

Her identity, her life, her possible happiness and future… everything had been crushed at the hands of humans.

Everything was just unfair and cruel and disgusting.

“Just… disappears!”

For some unfathomable reason, her Father had just abandoned her.

No… maybe he had never been at her side from the beginning.

Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe she was not the child of God, but of some devil.

Maybe she truly was a witch, after all—

“Die!”

Finally, blood splashed onto her face and dress. It looked black under the moon. She had hit Rena on her left hip, which made her let out a constricted moan while glaring at Morgana, before putting her back against the wall and letting herself fall on the ground. Morgana looked down at her coldly, taking slow steps towards her.

The girl was completely at her mercy. There was no way she could defend herself with such a wound. She would probably bleed to death if she left her like that too. Yet, Rena’s eyes showed no fear. It was as if death wasn’t something that even crossed her mind… or maybe it did, but it wasn’t something she cared about. Well, it was fine either way.

She raised the cleaver one last time, her eyes glaring down at the gasping girl.

She saw the flaxen-haired boy figure in her stead. The beast’s. The lord’s.

Her hands tightened around the handle, and she lowered it.

But the blade didn’t hit Rena at all.

Instead, it planted itself inside the wooden ground next to her.

Morgana was shaking. Her trembling hands let go of the cleaver, and she fell on her knees, her long hair scattering around her like a veil. A long silence swallowed the room, where even barely their breathing could be heard.

“What are you doing?” Rena suddenly asked softly.

Morgana shook her head.

“I have… no idea…”

She plunged her face in her hands.

“I have… honestly no idea at all. I don’t know what I should be doing anymore… I lived all my life being so sure of who I was and what I should be doing, but now… I have nothing of that anymore… The only thing I desire is revenge, but I don’t even think I have the strength to get it…”

She didn’t know why she suddenly bared her heart like that. Maybe she wasn’t really talking to Rena. Maybe she was just letting out feelings that had been swarming inside her head for the past days… no, maybe even for the past months and years.

“I really… don’t know what I should be doing from now on anymore… I feel—”

—like the entire hate me. Like God Himself hates me. Like fate and the universe have just decided to make me miserable for the rest of my pitiful life.

‘I wasn’t born to spend my whole life suffering,’ she had yelled in her heart, as hatred and anger and despair boiled inside her…

But what was she born for exactly?

“I feel… cursed.”

Another silence — no sounds, no noise to disturb her intimate monologue. Until a giggle break the moment. Morgana lifted her head slowly, and stared with confusion at the girl who was chuckling heartily as if she had just said the funniest joke ever.

“What a coincidence,” she finally said. “I am cursed too.”

Morgana blinked, her eyes stinging. She wasn’t crying, though — she felt as if all of her tears had left her a long time ago already, maybe when she had been brought inside that tower — and now she was just completely empty.

But in this moment, the girl in front of her looked just as empty and lost as her.

“I might… have lied to you a little,” Rena suddenly admitted. “I didn’t actually come here with my father.”

Her gaze lifted up towards the moon behind Morgana, as if to help her focus.

“There’s a deity called Oyashiro in my village, you see. She protects it and its inhabitants, and prevents any strangers to come in. But, on the other hand, there is also an unspoken rule you are not allowed to leave the village or you’d trigger her wrath.”

“A… deity?”

“I know in your country there is only one God who rules everything, but in mine, we have different faiths. Our ‘deities’ are not really the same as yours, but at least I know Oyashiro is real. She spoke to me, quite a few times. And she also cursed me.”

Morgana restrained her instinctive envy to say this was nonsense and that there was only one God in this universe, as stating the contrary felt like a personal insult to her. But she felt too exhausted to fight Rena on this, and just wanted to keep hearing the rest of the story. Maybe Rena guessed her train of thoughts, and Morgana wondered if maybe denying her village’s ‘deity’ would feel like an insult to her too, but she made no comments about it.

“Why did she curse you? Oh… Because you left.”

“Yes, though I was cursed before that. As a child, my family left the village to find jobs in a bigger city. I’ve lived there a few years, but then my mother… left,” she said, spiting the word, and Morgana felt there was a lot of grudge in that sentence, but she didn’t ask about it. “So my father and I came back. And then I thought it would be okay. It was, for some time. I met my friends. I thought I’d be happy again. But… Dad was still jobless, and in the end, he attracted the attention of some bad people.”

Her eyes darkened, and she clenched her jaw.

“These people wanted to use him. They wanted to take away my happiness. So I had to do everything I could to prevent this. I had to.”

“What did you do?”

Rena stared straight into Morgana’s eyes, her gaze resolute.

“I killed them.”

This should’ve come off as a surprised. This should’ve shocked Morgana to her core. But for some reason, it didn’t. Maybe she had already understood, somewhere deep inside, that this girl was a killer.

“But… I suppose I made a mistake. Or maybe that was just the curse. I think, some people related to the two I killed discovered it, and tried to come after me. I was knocked out, and when I came back to myself I was inside a boat’s hold, chained up, with a lot of other people.”

The blurry image of the aftermath of the brothel’s raid flashed through Morgana’s mind, as she was tied up inside that carriage with all those other strangers… just before the beast slaughtered all of them.

“Slave traders?” She asked.

“I’m not sure,” Rena added. “I was dragged around for quite some time, in boat and carriage, and thankfully none of them thought of checking my satchel. So when I got the occasion, I slashed them up and escaped. And that’s how I ended up here.”

Morgana sighed. She could understand why Rena would make up that lie, it certainly wasn’t a story she could to tell to everybody.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get back to my village, and even if I do… with what I did, I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever gain my happy life back anyway.” She chuckled. “Well, that’s something I’ve always known. Happy days never last.”

That was something Morgana could relate to all too well, and she hated how much similarities she could find in Rena’s words. The girl in front of her had just admitted to her she was a killer, a sinner of the worst category. It was disgusting and almost above salvation. And yet… she felt no disgust towards her at all. Only…

Maybe only something akin to sympathy.

That just illustrated how far she had fallen. But right now, she didn’t care all that much about it.

Without saying a word, she rose up, disappeared in the other room and came back her hands full of bandages. Rena watched her kneel besides her and starting to clean up her wound.

“What are you doing…?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m treating you. We can’t stay here any longer. I spotted some guards afar from here, and I bet they’re working for the lord. We need to get out of here before that.”

“Oh… so that’s why you suddenly panicked.” Rena chuckled. “Do you not think I betrayed you anymore?”

Morgana stopped her treatment, her eyes staring fixedly at the ground.

“I don’t know,” Morgana admitted. “You’re a killer and a sinner. I cannot trust you.”

“I bet,” Rena said, and there was clear amusement in her voice.

Morgana wondered how she managed to use a joking tone with such a heavy wound, but then again, she had been able to narrate her entire life story without so much as flinching despite it.

“But,” she added, still without looking at the other girl in the eyes. “I… can’t let you die here.”

“Really?”

“Take this as thanks for you saving me from the tower.”

“It’s you who inflicted this wound on me, though…”

“I won’t apologize for that, if that’s what you’re expecting. I still think my suspicions were fair enough.”

Rena opened her mouth to reply, but instead she just let out a moan as Morgana started to apply the bandage.

“You’re really rough,” she complained.

“I’m more used to handle dead bodies.”

“You what?”

“It’s nothing… For now, this should okay. We can’t spend any more time here anyway.”

All while talking, she helped Rena to stand up by handing her a shoulder and letting her lean on her body. Morgana was far from being a strong girl, so supporting the other weight of another human was quite the struggle for her. She thought about how Rena must have carried her all by herself from the tower to here, and wondered how on earth she managed to accomplish such a prowess. She certainly didn’t look any physically stronger than her.

Am I really starting to trust her words now? Stop being silly, Morgana.

But despite lecturing herself, she still gathered all of her strength to help out support the other girl as best as she could. As they slowly passed by the window, they could see a few lights twinkling in the distance. The guards had probably noticed the ranch by now, and were starting to approach dangerously close to it.

“They seem to be quite a few…”

“I’ve seen at least four of them earlier. Let’s hurry.”

In spite of these words, they couldn’t exactly run with Rena in this condition, and Morgana could hear her hiss and groan with each steps they took. She knew her wound was still bleeding too, but now was too late to regret her hysterical episode from earlier. She still thanked God that the ranch had a back door, and they managed to reach it after a few minutes of hobbling, finally leaving behind the dilapidated habitation they had occupied for the last weeks.

Once outside, they staggered a little in the middle of the forest, then took a pause against a large trunk. Rena was already gasping heavily, and they hadn’t even been walking for five minutes.

“How’s your wound?”

“Pretty bad,” she groaned. “I… doubt I’ll be able to run away from them like that.”

“We don’t have a choice, though.”

“You have a choice, however. You could just leave me here.”

“Not interested.”

Rena chuckled. “You really are a sore loser.”

“Shut up.”

Morgana sighed and sat down next to Rena, and the two of them stayed quiet for quite some time.

“You’re really okay with taking the risk to get back inside that tower because of me?”

“Then what about you? I just tried to kill you, and you seem completely fine with putting your life in my hands.”

“That’s right. That’s really weird, huh.”

“It truly is.”

Rena giggled yet again, and if Morgana didn’t felt so exhausted, maybe she would’ve let herself laugh with her.

“If we do manage to get out of these woods…”

Rena started talking again, her voice a whisper.

“What do you want to do?”

That was a question Morgana had asked herself ever since she had been out of that tower. How ridiculous that she’d spent the last few months wish for any kind of miracle to free her, and now that she was free, she was even more lost than she’d ever been in her life.

“Do you still intend to take your revenge?”

“Probably…” She hesitated a little, trying to search for the stars behind the heavy foliage of the trees. She found none.

“That’s the only thing I have left.”

“I see…”

“And you?”

“I still have no idea either. Healing that wound would be a start. And then maybe I’ll be able to find another kyute thing to take home.”

“We really won’t have much to look forward to then, huh.”

“I guess.”

They shared another moment of silence. Behind them, the sounds of the guards breaking open the door resounded brutally, but this put neither of them into a panic.

They just kept staring at the sky, entirely camouflaged by the trees.

Until, Morgana finally stood up again, and handed her hand to Rena. The girl smiled, neither a gentle or cruel one, before grabbing it.

Morgana had no idea where they could go, and they had very little chance to be able to run away from the guards.

But, in this instant, putting aside all of her complicated and complex feelings, she swore to herself they’ll manage to escape this place no matter what.

This was her gratitude for the lost girl who had saved her from the tower.

A mean for both of them to find their ways back.

#The House in Fata Morgana #Higurashi: When They Cry #Higurashi no Naku Koro ni #FataMoru #Higurashi #Rena Ryuuguu #Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana) #Ryuuguu Rena #Morgana FataMoru #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fic #Crossover #Connan's Fanfics #Connan's Posts #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Higurashi: When They Cry Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfic #Higurashi Fanfiction #Higurashi Fanfic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfic #Text #Fics #Fanfictions #AU #Fanfics

[connan-l]

Those Left Behind

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Georges Bollinger & Giselle’s Family Summary: Years after his brothers’ deaths, Georges decides to go visit the family of the young woman who had supposedly lived at the cursed mansion with Michel. Why though, he is not sure himself.

Content Warning: Discussion about grief and death. Vague allusions to Michel's past abuse, Giselle's sexual assaults and all the bad stuffs in general that took place in Door 7.

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Link on Archive Of Our Own

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Notes: I've always been a little disappointed that we know almost nothing about Giselle’s family. I wish we'd been given a bit more information about them... I mean, we don't even know their names. If you named that asshole Amédée, you could've named Giselle's mom and sister too, Novec. I understand that they didn't have as much importance in the narrative as Michel's family, but I feel they still would've been great to flesh out Giselle's character even more. She is the main heroine, after all.

But in any case, I wrote this because I’ve been curious about what must’ve become of them after Giselle took on the role of the Maid. Her mother and sister spending the rest of their lives without ever knowing what truly happened to her is pretty sad…

It was also interesting to write Georges in the aftermath of Michel's death. I made him a lot more... mellow in it, which might seem a bit out of character, but I was thinking that it'd make sense, with him being older and having to deal with his brothers' deaths and his remorses.

There is brief mentions of the short stories The Painting's Ramblings and III. Boy Meets Girl.

Also, this takes place in 1106, so Georges is fourty and it is two years before his own death, and six years after Michel's death.

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The streets were pretty empty. There were a few middle-aged women here, some kids playing with a ball there, but otherwise, they seemed almost completely devoid of people. Devoid of sounds. Maybe it was because of the gray sky and the thick clouds that threatened to break down in a heavy rain at any seconds now. It certainly wasn’t a beautiful day at all; not a day anyone’d choose to randomly stroll the capital's streets. Yet, Georges had felt the need to go out now — felt it had to be today, otherwise he’d never do it.

It was a day where he didn't have much to do, anyway. Although, if he was being honest... he had been relatively free since more than a decade already. He still had some work as a painter, of course, but this had diminished with the years, and albeit the fact he was still officially the head of the Bollinger family, it had been a long time since he had actually bothered himself with any business related to it. Instead it was his wife, the beautiful Aimée and her eternal smile, who took care of it — and she had done so ever since they got married about eighteen years ago now. It had been a gradual thing. At first, she would only bring him drinks and give him some advices here and there; then when things started to get too hard or frustrating for him, she'd told him to go sleep and to leave it to her; and before he even knew it, Aimée had the entire control of their family's affairs. Obviously Georges had been reluctant about this at the beginning — he had tried more than once to get things back in his hands, but every time Aimée would assure him that everything was perfectly fine, that she could absolutely handle all of that by herself. And, well, to say the truth... she was right.

Georges may not be the kingdom's brightest person, but he still could easily see how extremely intelligent and clever his wife was. Never had the Bollinger family been as rich and influent than now under her leadership. She was more than capable to be in charge of everything; be it finances, politics or otherwise — Georges would even say she seemed to have been born for that. She was infinitely more skilled and smart than he could ever hope to be — infinitely more than even his father or grandfather had been in her place before her. She had a gift to rule and manipulate people, and if he was being honest, it was a little scary. The only thing holding her back was her gender — and Georges could only imagine how much more terrifying she would have been had she been born a man.

So, after a while he ended up letting her do as she pleased — even if it wasn't actually to the taste of everyone. Although he was technically the face of the Bollinger household, nearly all of the nobility was aware of who was truly pulling the strings, and a lot of them didn't like that. That was only to be expected — a man leaving all of the truly important work to his wife was unthinkable, outrageous. People openly looked down on them sometimes. Georges couldn't even remember the number of inappropriate remarks Aimée had gotten, both subtly and unsubtly telling her she would be better off at home taking care of their children. But Aimée never seemed to mind it — she only smiled politely, and continued to do as usual as if nothing happened.

Georges didn't care much about the condescension either. He had never liked doing all of those boring and annoying family business — always thought Dee would have been a better head for the house, or hell, even Michel. He'd rather concentrate on his one true passion: painting. Which was exactly what he had done for the last twenty years or so. Even if truthfully, painting had actually taken a back seat in the order of his priorities since the birth of his two sons, Séverin and Dieudonné.

Georges had never imagined himself as a father. He always thought the task to be way too hard — here again, both of his brothers would've been much better dads than him. But the day his first boy was born, it had been as if his entire world had been turned upside down. Suddenly, all of his prime concerns became completely dedicated to his children's lives — about what was their needs, their education, their tastes and hobbies.

The day Dieudonné, only three years old, had excitedly showed him his first ever painting — an abstract landscape with all the colors of the rainbow — Georges didn't think he'd ever felt as happy and proud in his entire life, and he had actually started bawling right on the spot while his tiny son had just stared at him curiously.

The boys both had pretty differing personalities — the oldest, Séverin, was a tough adventurous little guy — he loved spending most of his time outside, with a soft spot for animals, and was an outstanding equestrian, despite being only seventeen. The other one, Dieudonné, was one year younger than his brother and had a more gentle personality — while he also loved playing outside, he had taken more after his father, being instead more interested in art. The two of them were pretty close — Georges had made sure that no matter what might happen between them, they always knew they had each other's back. Made sure that they don't make the same mistakes he had made with his own brothers.

In general he spent a lot of time with his kids — maybe it was, in a way, to really set him apart from his own father, who had always been extremely distant and too taken by work to allow himself a lot of time with his children. Aimée wasn't really fond of this, however — she had told him in mutiple occasions that she thought he spoiled them too much, that he was too easy on them — but Georges would honestly rather be close to his sons and "spoils them too much" than the opposite. Even if, lately, he had... some sort of tension with Sév. The boy had started to be quite rebellious and to spend more time with his mother rather than him. Georges wasn't very worried about this, though; he missed his son and the time where he had no difficulty getting along with him sometimes, yes, but he just thought it was something normal. Sév was a young man who was just on the cusp of adulthood, so there was nothing odd about him wanting to get away from his dad.

Georges sighed, his eyes surveying his surroundings. The more he walked through the shopping streets of Paris, the more the sky seemed to get grayer. He honestly worried that at this point it was going to rain soon. He hoped he'd be able to find what he was looking for before, though. Or rather, to find the people he was looking for. He was aware he actually had very little chance to find them — hell, for all he knew they could have moved out of the city a long time ago. From what he had heard, they did have money troubles, after all.

Still, he wanted to talk to them no matter what, so he continued to do his best searching by asking around, talking to all the shopkeepers he saw. He didn't have much chance, until he found an old man with a rough face and two small eyes as gray as the sky.

"Um, hi," Georges greeted him. "Is that okay if I ask you some questions?"

The man first eyed him strangely — probably because of his expansive-looking clothes, which wasn't really something the people here could afford. Georges grinned at him.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he continued. "But do you know if a merchant family lives around here?"

"You'll have to be a bit more precise, my good sir, 'cause that's kind of almost half the families from the area."

Right. It was a shopping street, after all, so of course. "Yeah, um. I think they used to be a family of three ladies: a mother and her two children. One of the daughters was named Giselle."

As soon as Georges pronounced that name, the man's eyes brightened. "Ahh! Are you talking 'bout Margot's daughter?"

"Uh... maybe?"

"That's the only family that fit I can think of. Margot's husband died from a plague almost thirty years ago now, so she raised her two girls alone. She never remarried. The youngest's name was indeed Giselle."

"Oh. Then that must be them, yeah."

"I remember her well, Giselle. A sweet girl, always peppy and smiling. A shame, what happened to her."

Georges raised an eyebrow. "May I ask what happened to her?"

"What? Ya don't know?" The man asked, then scratched his head. "Well, one day she started working for some noble's house and... disappeared. There was a lot of... unsavory rumors about her that spread around a while after that... To tell you the truth, it's a bit unclear what happened to her exactly... Some say she was killed, other that she ran away. In any case, she just never came back home."

As Georges had expected, the man didn't give him much more information than what he already knew, but he still thought it had been worth trying.

"Her mom and big sis live over there, two streets below in a small house," the man said while gesturing to the left. "It's just the two of them ever since Giselle's gone."

He crossed his arms and sighed. "The eldest was supposed to marry some rich guy at one point, but in the end the wedding was cancelled. They both loved each other, but she was just a poor merchant lass and didn't have enough money for the marriage to go through... and with the rumors about her sister... Sad story, really."

"I... see," Georges simply said, as he wasn't sure what to answer to that. "Well then, thanks. Good bye."

He waved at the man, then turned around and started walking again, following the instructions he had been given. He made his way through the city's streets, eyeing the rare passerbys and the modest houses with a kind of nostalgia. It had been a while since he had just strolled through Paris like that — especially since he had stopped taking as much work as before. And even then, the people who commissioned him were mostly just nobles or rich bourgeois, so he very rarely adventured himself in the poorer districts. This part of town was far from being the slums — but it was still a lot less wealthy than what he was usually accustomed to.

In fact, he thought that the last time he came around here was... that afternoon when he was still just a teen and where he had taken Michel outside dressed like a boy, without telling it to anyone, not even to Dee. Georges vividly remembered that day because of the heart attack he almost had when he lost Michel for a few hours. Now that he thought about it, that had been... probably the only time where Michel had went into the city like that, as their mother always refused to let him out of the house. The only other time he had been outside after that was for... going to that mansion. Even though there had been so many other things Georges had wished to show him...

But this peculiar trail of thought tended to send him spiralling into interminable sadness and self-hatred, so he decided to stop thinking about his brother altogether for now.

As he kept walking, the road became more and more narrow, until finally, he managed to reach a house that fitted the description he had been given. Just like the man had told him, it was a small, humble house — not old or decrepit or anything, but certainly far from being a wealthy residence. He thought it looked a little bit cramped to live here for what had initially been a family of four... even though they had only been two for a few years now.

Lost in thoughts, it took him some times to notice he wasn't actually alone here and that there was another presence not far.

A woman was on the porch. She seemed to be at least a decade younger than him — in her early thirties, probably. She had long, wavy black hair tied in a pony tail. She was currently extending the laundry on a small drying rack, plunging in and out of the basket in rhythmic, meticulous movements. Although Georges was only a few meters away from her, she didn't seem to have remarked him at all, being instead too focused on the wet clothes.

Georges watched her for a moment silently. He knew that he should try to talk to her... but he was hesitating.

The reason he was here in front of a strangers' house was because of something that had happened a few months ago. He was with Sév, helping him out with his studies, until he decided to go search an old mathematics book that was in his former father's room to teach his son something. After Antonin's death, Aimée had been the one to take care of his belongings, and she had almost thrown and given away everything. Her cold attitude regarding this had surprised Georges, as she had always seemed close to the head of the Bollinger family. He and Dee had still managed to save a few things, and since then Antonin's room have been left empty, pretty much abandonned. It was only used to stock some things from time to time.

When Georges entered in the dim and dusty bedroom, he started to tamper with his dad's things unceremoniously and inadvertently made an ancient stack of papers fell on the floor. All while swearing, he gathered the pages... and then one of them caught his eyes. It was... a sort of old official document, describing the firing of some maid who had worked for their family because of a mistake she had made. She had been exiled to a mansion to expiate said fault... This didn't interested Georges in the slightest, until he noticed which mansion this maid had been send off to.

It was the same place where Michel himself had been exiled.

A chill ran through Georges' back as he intently continued to read the document. The maid's name was Giselle, and she was a young woman who came from a relatively poor merchant family — unusual thing, as normally the maids working for their family were abigails who themselves came from pretty well-off households. Why would their family employ some run-of-the-mill town lady? There was something off about all of this, but as Georges kept reading, suddenly he remembered.

He didn't think he had ever actually met in person this woman, but he certainly had heard her name a few times before. It had been about seven years ago, maybe — some sort of scandal had blow up within their family. Their father apparently had an affair with a maid. This had been kind of a shock to Georges at the time — even if, retrospectively, it shouldn't have. His parents' relationship had degenerated more and more over the years, until they almost didn't even talk to each other — things having been made even worse with Lydie's illness eating away at her. Rumors of the maid having seduced the head of the Bollinger house while seeking his richesses and status spread around, and so the woman was quickly condemned for adultery — but then Antonin intervened. Instead, she was just sent into exile, at the same mansion were Michel lived — though, of course, that had been something their father ignored.

Georges recalled Dee panicked a little upon learning this, and in the end he told him he had secretly sent a letter to the young woman so that she'd take care of Michel as his servant. And then, none of them heard any more about it — that was, of course, until Antonin died, and that... Michel was sentenced to death. Which Georges only heard all about after everything had been settled. He had learnt about the letter Michel had sent to their mother, the assault on the mansion and finally his brother's death only afterwards.

He hadn't even been able to read that letter — the last letter his little brother had written — until a long, long time after Dee's death. Because everything... was just too painful. He still had it now; carefully folded in a small box in his room, that not even Aimée or his sons had the right to touch. And he had memorized every word drafted on it — Michel's determined claim of his identity, his demand of being accepted as such by them... and him announcing that he was in love with a woman.

He hadn't mentioned the name or any more detail about his beloved, but there was only one woman who Michel could have fallen for — the only other human being who had been sent in exile with him. So it wasn't a stretch to assume that this maid Giselle... had been the one he was talking about.

Georges now remembered the smile that had unconsciously sprout on his face upon reading this, and then the overwhelming sorrow that had followed. His little bro being in love should have been something special; something worth celebrating — and in normal circumstances, Georges would have definitely spent days teasing Michel about it and would have done and said things pretty embarrassing to him. But when he finally read that letter, Michel had already been dead since a long time ago. So instead the only emotions left in him were sadness and guilt. His thoughts then had been full of conflicted feelings and mostly about his brothers, thus that maid had completely faded from Georges' grieving mind.

He didn't think Dee said anything about a woman when he attacked the old mansion with the other knights. He didn't say much about anything, actually — which, given how Georges kept hurling insults at him and practically jumped at his throat, wasn't surprising. But, then...

What had happened to her? Did she ran away somehow? Did she came back home, to the capital? Or did she die there in the mansion with Michel?

For some reason, these questions wouldn't leave Georges' mind. He kept obsessing over this woman — his brother's lover, the last person who had been at his side before his death. So, he decided to make some research about her. He asked the old servants of the house, and when he questioned the head maid who had served them for about ten years now, she grimaced. Manifestly, this wasn't a story she looked back on fondly. Still, she told him what she recalled of this Giselle — about how she was an upbeat and hardworker person, albeit being inexperienced and a bit clumsy. She didn't know what happened to her after her departure, but in any case, it seemed she never came back to Paris. She mentioned that her family kept harrassing the Bollinger house for months afterwards, wanting to know what had happened to Giselle, and they were only given the explanation that she had been exiled for a mistake she made. Although Antonin kept sending some money to her family even after her exile — maybe out of guilt. But they ended up refusing and cut off all ties to the Bollingers, so he still stopped shortly after.

In other words, there was no concrete answers to what had happened to her. It was as if... she had just vanished. Stopped existing. It was kind of a scary thought. But the more Georges learnt about her, the more he wanted to know. He didn't know why exactly he was drawn to her like that. Maybe it was because... he felt that if he could know more about this woman, maybe he could know more about Michel. Maybe he could know more about the life of the brother he neglected for more than ten years.

A part of him thought that he shouldn't do that. That he didn't even had that right. 

You abandonned him. You did that to him. 

But his curiosity was stronger than that.

And it was how, in this ugly day, he had decided to survey the shopping streets of Paris in search of this mysterious young woman's family. However, he hadn't been able to find much about them; only that they were composed of her mother and older sister, and that they were merchants.

Now, against all odds, he had actually managed to do it. He had been able to find the house of his brother's beloved. And now, what? What was he supposed to do? Talk to the woman on the porch? How? To be honest, he hadn't actually thought that far ahead. He started thinking this had been a bad idea, that he should get back home — but at this moment, the lady raised her head.

As she did, two bright, beautiful jade eyes pierced him.

"Hello?" She said hesitantly.

She was obviously very perplexed by this unknown man who had been staring at her from afar quietly. The last thing Georges wanted was for her to think he was a creep, so he hurried to grin in the most friendly way he could.

"Uh, hi!" He greeted her while scratching his head. "Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I'm Georges."

The woman — who he guessed was probably Giselle's big sister — cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Okay...?"

"Uh, right. Don't worry, I'm not a bad guy or anything."

"Sounds like something a bad guy would say," she replied without missing a beat.

"I-I'm really not! I just wanted to know... are you, uh, the daughter of a merchant lady named Margot...?"

She still looked intensely dubious and on the fence, but nodded despite it. "Yeah, Margot's my mother's name. What is this all about, Georges?"

"Well... uh..."

Georges sighed. What was that all about? That was a good question. To be honest, he wasn't sure himself. What did he expect to see, coming here? What did he expect to learn? Did he think knowing more about that maid would... give him some closure regarding Michel? Regarding Dee? After all these years, all these mistakes?

How ridiculous. Then again, him being an idiot wasn't something new.

The woman's frown in front of him deepened the more he stayed silent, so he finally started talking again while giving her an awkward smile. "I, um... it's gonna sound a bit weird, maybe, but... I am here because I wanted... needed to know more about someone. Someone... you used to know."

After hearing this, her expression kind of softened and she looked a little less hostile — instead, there was a clear curiosity and surprise shining in her green eyes. She was a really beautiful lady. Georges wondered how much her sister had looked like her. Did she have black hair too? The same pretty emerald eyes? Unfortunately, he doubted he would ever be able to answer these questions.

"Someone I knew?"

"About... seven years ago, I think, there was a young woman who worked as a maid where I live," he continued. "Her name was Giselle."

This time again, the woman's expression changed. But it was a way more radical change — her entire body tensed up visibly, her face lost its colors and her eyes widened.

"How do you know my sister's name?" She exclaimed.

"So she really was your little sister?"

"Of course she was! Th-That's not the point, how do you— Oh, wait... you said she worked as a maid to your place... No way... could it be you're from the Bollinger family?"

She almost spat the name with disgust, and Georges felt a disagreeable feeling engulf him. She was clearly angry — and so for a moment, he thought about denying it. Denying his identity, throwing away his name, running away from this angry, hurt woman who glared at him, getting as far away as he could from Aimée, from his house full of bad memories, from his dead brothers, from the guilt and the self-hatred, from his entire past and life as Georges Bollinger—

But as he continued to stare at the person in front of him, he felt as if her jade eyes pinned him on the spot and gave him no escape.

"I... am," he finally admitted.

It was obvious Giselle's sister already knew the answer before he even said it, but her face still contorted in cold rage.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said in such an icy tone that it sent shivers in Georges' back. "Go away."

She turned around, highlighting her message, and while Georges maybe kind of understood her reaction, he just... couldn't let it end at that.

"W-Wait a minute, please!" He said, grabbing her arm, but the woman brusquely released herself from his grip and glared at him once again.

"Don't you dare to touch me! I don't have to spare a single second for you."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch you," Georges apologized, and he meant it — he always had a tendency to act before thinking. "I just— I just want to talk with you. I won't take a lot of your time, I promise, just a few minutes—"

"Do you not understand what "no" means? I'm a busy woman, and I don't want to associate with you or your family in any shape or form anymore. So scram!"

"I... understand that... But please, at least hear me out first."

The woman's face became red with rage. Her eyes were not only angry now, they were outright hateful, and Georges honestly thought she was going to slap him. It wouldn't have been the first time he got slapped. Or punched. Albeit generally, Dee always interfered before things get too bad, even if he really didn't want to.

Dee wasn't here to save his ass anymore, though.

"I can't believe the gall you have!" She screamed. "Do you realize what you're asking me? You said you weren't a "bad guy," but you randomly show up at my house, want to force me to talk about my sister who disappeared years ago, and for whose disappearance your family is directly responsible! The Bollinger family is the one who took Giselle away from us, so if anything, you should tell us about her! So no, you have no right to ask anything from me, or even to put a single foot into our house!"

Georges felt frozen in place. Her words resonated in his mind, stuck in his brain. None of them were wrong, he knew that. They certainly were the ones who had exiled that maid because of a "mistake," and then made her "disappear" because Michel became inconvenient to them. Although her sister probably didn't know the last part, it wasn't wrong of her to assume the Bollingers were the cause of Giselle's misfortune...

“Clémence? Is everything all right?”

Suddenly, a voice called out from inside the house. Giselle's sister — "Clémence," it seemed — winced, then turned around to exclaim: “Yeah, it’s fine, Mom! Don’t worry!”

She then sighed, glared once more at Georges, and started talking again, this time in a quieter tone in order to not alarm her mother inside. "Now leave. Mom's old and she has a poor health, so the last thing I want is for some fool to stress her out."

Georges stared at her silently. He knew he should listen to her, that he should go. He knew that his family had irremediably hurt these people. That because of them that person had lost a sister. The words of the man he had met earlier came back to his mind, and he realized that she had also probably lost her fiancé too because of all of this. So he was aware that even if he never actually hurt them directly, or never even intended to hurt this woman or her family — the only fact of him being involved with the Bollinger house made him guilty by association.

But, even so...

"I'm sorry," he said.

Clémence blinked, incredulous. "What?"

"I'm sorry... for what my family did to you. For what... we did to your sister."

"And you think some half-assed apologies will make anything better?"

He chuckled lightly. "No, of course not... I know I can't do much to repair the wrong that has been done to you... I can't give you back your sister... but I... still wanted to apologize."

He paused. He didn't really know what he was saying, honestly; he just tried to bare his heart to her as much as he could.

"I had... a younger sibling too. And I made... a lot of mistakes, and did a lot of hurtful things to him... but I was never able to apologize to him for that..." He swallowed loudly. "Nor will I ever be able to."

Clémence looked at him. She was still wary and angry, but looked a bit calmer now.

"So... I'm not saying you have to forgive me or my family... I wasn't expecting it. I just... wanted to apologize. Sincerely."

She kept staring at him in the eyes, her expression unreadable. The cowardly part of me him wanted to look away, but he couldn't bring himself to. It would have felt... rude. Then finally, after some time, Clémence sighed and ran a hand in her black hair.

"They didn't even told us anything."

"Huh...?"

"When Gigi... got exiled. No one came to tell us anything." She snorted. "I guess some lowly merchants like us don't even register in rich nobles' minds, so why would they even bother?"

The resentment in her voice was palpable — and it hurts. She obviously didn't seem to want to tell him all of that, but she kept on talking anyway.

"When she began to work there, we already barely heard from her at all. But she was supposed to come see us during winter towards the end of the year. So when she didn't show up... we got really worried. I came all on my own at your house, and I almost had to fight for anyone to give me any answers as to what happened... and then finally a servant came to me. And you know what he told me?"

Georges didn't, but he could easily guess. Because he had heard all of the rumors that had been propagated about Giselle back then, even if he had paid no mind to it.

"That my sister was a "greedy whore" who "seduced" the head of the family. That she had been "rightly punished" and sent away in a place far away to atone for her "sins"."

She glared at him yet again so fiercely it was as if she was looking at that servant who had told her those things.

"What a load of bullshit! Gigi would have never done something like that. She was such a stupid airhead, never on earth she would've been able to "seduce" anyone! And the guy was going on and on about how he couldn't even tell me where she had been sent, or how I should just be happy that she was even alive at all!"

She was starting to get very worked up, and realizing this, she stopped for a moment, plunged her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

"Mom and I couldn't just leave it at that, though. So we kept coming there every time we could, asking for more answers. But every time we were just met by the same rubbish. Until one day..." Her voice trailed. "One day, about a year later, another guy came to me saying that, apparently, my sister had just... disappeared from the place she had been sent. That she would never come back anymore."

She laughed out loud. "Ridiculous, right? They were the ones who exiled Gigi, and yet they had lost trace of her somehow? They had— lost her? Don't make me laugh!"

Georges recalled the head maid mentioning something like that to him. However, he himself had never heard about merchant women going to visit the household frequently before... Though he guessed that maybe Aimée knew, and that she had just judged it unimportant to tell him, as she so often did...

“Do you know what it’s like?” Clémence asked bitterly. “To have a sister who just… just suddenly disappear? Not dead, not runaway, just… disappear. Gone. Without any explanation.”

He felt his throat tighten even more. He had the reflex to want to reply he knew, actually — that he knew what it was like to lose a sibling. To have a younger brother disappear on him — and an older one too. But he also knew that his situation and Clémence’s were radically different, and he had no right to compare his to hers.

She never actually let her little sister rot locked up in a room for two whole years. She never exiled her all alone in a mansion and then just forgets about her for a decade.

She never indirectly (killed her) caused her death.

“I’ve always known Gigi shouldn’t have gone work there.”

“What?”

“To your freaking household. I knew there was something shady about it. I just felt it,” she said. “I mean, who would propose a job as an abigail to some poor merchant’s daughter? It never made sense. Mom and I were against it at first. But Gigi, she… she was so enthusiastic about it. She kept repeating that it was an ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’ That ‘with the money she’ll make there, she’ll solve all of our problems’…”

She snorted. “‘Solve all of our problems,’ my ass. She was such an idiot…”

Clémence sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Despite her harsh words, there was no anger in them, only… sadness. Maybe a bit of resentment, but it was decidedly not aimed at her sister.

In fact, she seemed almost about to cry.

"So, yeah," she continued. "If you ask me if I forgive you, then no, I don't. And I don't care much about your apologies, either. You can keep them."

Georges looked at her sadly. He had already guessed as much already. He realized now that this attempt at genuine apology had problably come off as incredibly self-centered from her persepctive, even though it had never been his intention at all. Georges always ended up hurting others without meaning to, even now that he was a middle-aged man, it seemed...

"Clém, what on earth is taking you so long? Oh..."

Finally, another woman appeared on the porch — the mother, Margot, Georges guessed. She was a small, plump lady who was clearly a lot older; her round face smeared with wrinkles and the few black locks that escaped from under her headscarf had some obvious silver streaks, but otherwise her eyes were of the exact same beautiful jade shade as her daughter’s.

Clémence bit her lower lip and looked annoyed — she manifestly had not wished for her mother to see Georges.

"Oh my... Who is this man, Clém?"

"No one. Just some lost guy. He was going to leave," she said, while glaring at Georges and making him very much understand that his presence was not wanted anymore. "Right now."

And Georges had no intention to protest anymore. He didn't know if he had gotten what he wanted. Probably not. But he felt like if he stayed any longer, it would only add salt to the wound. However, just as he was about to turn around, a hand grabbed his arm.

"Wait a minute, please," Margot said, at the surprise of both Georges and her daughter. "I cannot just let you leave like that... Who are you?"

Georges felt stuck. He threw a desperate look at Clémence, who instantly put a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder.

"I told you, Mom, it's no one. He was just lost."

"Clémence, please. I may not be all that young anymore, but I am not senile either. You've been talking with this man for a moment now, so he can't just be someone asking for his way."

Clémence sighed, understanding that she wouldn't be able to get her way out of this. The older woman looked at Georges and smiled sweetly — and she looked so adorable and charming that he was sure she was the kind of person who could win anyone's trust.

"I'm sorry if my daughter said anything rude to you, she tends to have a bad character with strangers."

"Mom!" Clémence exclaimed, offended, but her mother paid her no mind.

"My name is Margot," she continued in a warm voice. "And you are?"

"I..." Georges looked over at Clémence, as if he was waiting for some kind of permission. But she said nothing, only looking away in annoyance, so he had no other choice. "I am Georges Bollinger."

Margot didn't seem surprised or upset at all upon hearing his name. Maybe she had already overheard them talking before — which wouldn't be surprising given how loud they had argued up until now. But he was still nonplussed that not even her friendly smile seemed unfazed — it was especially jarring considering Clémence's extremely hostile attitude.

"Oh my, is that so," she simply said instead. "I am honored to receive the visit of such a noble person. That is very unusual."

Georges grinned back at her, as her smile was contagious, but in a more reserved way. He wondered if maybe she was being sarcastic, but there didn't seem to have any trace of bad faith in her words.

"So what could bring you here, Lord Bollinger?"

"That's, um..." Yet again, Georges looked at Clémence for some assistance on how to answer, but the woman seemed utterly determined to not helping him out at all.

"I was... I just wanted... to know a bit more about... one of the maids that worked for us some years ago..."

Finally, Margot's smile slipped away from her face and a more complicated expression formed in its stead.

"About Giselle...?"

Her face was painful to look at. She didn't seem... sad, per se. More like wistful. Nostalgic. But something in her green eyes was just hard to watch — it was the eyes of someone who had an old, horrible wound that had just been slowly reopened.

The eyes of a parent who had lost their child and tried to come to term with it, he realized.

This made Georges suddenly think about his boys. About Sév who loved animals so much and spent most of his time riding his favorite horse. About his little Dieudonné whose pale blue eyes shined like jewels whenever his dad would teach him about a new painting technique.

What if, one day… one of them were to get snatched away from him? If one of them were to die, or to just… disappear, like this young woman Giselle? To just vanish without any explanation?

The pain he felt at the idea was indescribable. If something like that were to truly happen, he didn’t think he'd be able to bear it. He loved his kids way too much — the simple fact of imagining them hurt was a sickening thought to him.

Never on earth would he be able to understand the awful way his parents had treated Michel.

Of course he didn’t understand it before either, but now that he was a parent himself, it was even less comprehensible. Yes, there were times where his kids could be annoying brats or act like true little demons, but even then Georges never had the impulse to do anything to cause them pain. How come someone could even imagine wanting to hurt their own child — want to kill them — was beyond him.

And he didn’t think anything could change that. Even if one of his sons were to suddenly tell him he wasn’t a boy, or that they were to do something truly atrocious like murder a person. He just couldn’t imagine stop loving them.

(Though, then again… he did hurt both of his brothers, even though he had never meant to…)

And yet, this was something that had happened to this woman. Seven years ago, her child had been snatched away from her without she had a say in the matter, and she didn't even know what had happened to her. If she was even still alive or dead. The more he looked at her, the more he felt an overwhelming guilt opress him, and the more he felt angry at his father. At himself, too, for never even having heard or dared to learn about this whole ordeal concerning that maid.

Margot's face was hard to look at for all sorts of reasons — but on the other hand, she didn't seem to have any troubles looking at him, as she kept on staring straight into his eyes with an odd persistence — as if she was trying to see something in there Georges didn't know existed. After some time, though, she turned around towards her daughter and smiled gently at her.

"Clémence, honey," she said in a sweet voice. "Could you please give us some moments alone? I'd like to talk a little with Lord Bollinger."

"What?" Clémence almost screamed, her eyes as wide as saucers. "Why would you talk to him?"

"Well, he said he wanted to learn more about Gigi, so I want to tell him about her," her mother answered innocently.

"Mom! He is from the Bollinger family!"

"I am aware."

"And you— you...!"

Georges thought for a minute Clémence was going to punch a wall in frustration — but instead, she just stomped her feet on the floor.

"Sure! Why not! Go talk to the asshole rich boy, whatever!" She yelled, before going inside her house and slamming the door behind her.

"Um," Georges muttered, uncomfortable. "I, uh..."

Margot turned toward Georges and smiled again. "I promise you she is not always like that. Usually she is a very sweet and bright lady, but she tends to get a bit defensive when her sister is concerned."

"I... I see..."

"Now, Lord Bollinger... Would you mind taking a little walk with me?"

Margot extended her hand towards Georges, all while smiling lovingly. Despite feeling a bit awkward and guilty, he still accepted it and offered her his arm.

________________________________________________________________

"Over here."

While elegantly holding his arm, Margot walked in a slow, tranquil pace, her steps soft but firm, and she brought Georges a few streets away from her house. They arrived at a large, clear square, where a small fountain flowed in the middle. It was a pretty ordinary, modest spot, and yet there was a kind of charming, cozy aura to it.

"I used to bring the girls here often when they were children," Margot continued. "I would sat on this bench, and watch them play around the fountain. They always ended up completely soaked at the end of the day!" She laughed softly. "And oh dear, there was even that one time where Clém completely pushed her sister into the basin. Gigi sulked and didn't talk to her for two weeks. It sure was something."

Georges didn't know what to say as the older woman reminisced the past, so he just silently listened to her. She went to sit on the bench she was talking about, and he imitated her.

"Tell me, Lord Bollinger..."

"You can just call me Georges," he instantly told her. He had never liked formality, even less being called "Lord."

Margot smiled. "All right then, Georges. Tell me... Do you have children?"

"Ah... yes, I do. I have two sons. Though... they're soon gonna be grown adults in very little time."

"Is that so... I've always thought being a parent was such a strange experience," Margot mused. "It makes your world suddenly revolve all around these tiny human beings. It's wonderful, but at the same time it can give you so much worry..."

Georges could absolutely relate to this. Becoming a father hadn't really changed his personality per say, but it had certainly shifted his entire life... For a moment, Margot stayed quiet, her gaze fixated on the small fountain. It seemed as if she was lost in her memories, when her daughters were still only young children, he supposed.

"When Hugues... my husband died, at first it was as if the entire world had died with him."

Her voice was suddenly at lot softer. She was almost whispering, but thankfully there was no other noise around and they were the only two people here, so Georges had no problem hearing her.

"My parents died when I was a teenager, and Hugues didn't have any family either, so after he passed away, there was only me. It's funny how when he was by my side, I had almost no anxiety at all as a mother, but as soon as I was left alone, it didn't feel like I'd be able to be a parent anymore. These girls were so young — only six and three years old — so how was I supposed to raise them on my own? How could I feed them and give them a roof over their heads? How could I protect these little girls against this world? It didn't seem feasible. But..."

She took a deep breath. "But then, I still remember it so vividly — that day Hugues died, I turned around and looked at them, and they were both here, standing and holding hands and watching me, and then I understood I wasn't actually alone. I was all they had now too, so I couldn't fail them. I had to manage something, somehow. So I worked as hard as I could, just so they could have a future. So they could live the life they wanted as best as they could."

Her gaze fell on her knees. Georges could only imagined how hard it must have been for a single mother to raise her two daughters alone. As someone who had been born into a rich and noble family and had been blessed his entire life, her situation seemed so far away from his own.

"But at some point, you know, these little girls started to grow up... and I had to realize and accept that it is impossible for me to protect them against everything. That I had to let go of them. This is something every parent have to do, right? It is normal. But even so..."

She swallowed. "Even so, it kills me to know I wasn't able to protect my own child. When I realized I would never see Giselle again... I felt like I had to go through what I lived with Hugues' death once more, but a lot worse. Because this time... it was this person I had raised on my own, that depended so much on me, that I had failed. It is so painful to come to term with the fact... that I wasn't able... to give her that happy life I so wanted her to have..."

Georges looked away, towards the fountain — which was a lot less harder to contemplate than the bereaved woman next to him. He couldn't do or say anything to console her, after all. He never even met the child she had lost. Didn't even knew about her until...

Suddenly, the letter Michel had sent to their mother just before his mansion was raided by the knigts came back to his mind. The last letter his brother had written. Georges still remembered the kind serenity that had emanated from it. Michel's writing had seemed as if... he was at peace with himself. A bit anxious, maybe. But nonetheless determined, sure of his own self, hopeful about his future. Of course, Georges hadn't been able to see him in person so he couldn't really confirm it, but while reading his words... he felt it was the first time he had felt his brother as open and comfortable with himself. And the principal change for that was probably...

The woman he loved he mentioned in the letter. Georges was only making assumptions here, of course; he couldn't assert all of this with certainty — hell, he couldn't even assert that the woman his brother mentioned loving was Giselle. But... it was what made the more sense, and what his heart was telling him too.

He looked over at Margot once again. She was still staring at the fountain, her eyes unfocused. He thought... that if her daughter had truly been Michel's lover before his death... then that it was something that he should tell her. Michel and everything surrounding him had become a taboo no one should mention in his house, and Aimée certainly wouldn't approve of him talking about it. He could still remember the stern talk she had given him when he had started talking to his sons about their late uncles in her presence. But Margot deserved to know — and honestly, at this very moment, he considered this older woman as a lot more important than his wife.

"Margot," he called her softly. "I need to confess something to you."

The woman raised her head and looked at him curiously. "Yes?"

"I... I had a brother," he began. "Heh, heh, well, I had two, actually. An older brother, and a little brother a lot younger than me. We were... kinda close, the three of us." His throat felt tight — but he still forced the words out of his mouth. "But, um... my little bro — Michel, his name was Michel — he was, uh... a bit special. Our parents didn't like that, and so because of this, when he was sixteen, we had to... send him away in a mansion."

Margot looked at him intently. She probably wondered why he was telling her all of this, and Georges couldn't really blame her for being perplexed.

"He lived here in exile for... about ten years," Georges continued.

"For ten years? All alone?" Margot inquired, a manifest concern in her voice.

"Yes," Georges admitted. "Well, that was, until seven years ago... when your daughter, Giselle, was also sent there."

"Ah... I see..." Margot brought a hand to her mouth. "So she had been sent to a mansion... They always refused to tell us where she was..."

"They... lived about a year together in that mansion. And... after our father's death, Michel sent us a letter... saying he wished to come back home. And that he..." Georges looked straight into Margot's eyes. "That he wanted to go home with his lover... a woman he had fell in love with."

Margot gasped upon hearing this, and her eyes widened. "Oh dear... You don't mean..."

"He never mentioned the woman's name, but... I do believe he was talking about your daughter, yes..." He stopped for a moment, hesitating, and after remebering the letter he finally added:

"And I do believe... he loved her dearly."

Maybe it was a bit presumptuous to say this as he had never seen the two of them with his own two eyes... but it was just his gut feeling. Margot didn't reply anything, she just stared at him with wide astonished eyes... and as much as he dreaded this, Georges choose to continue talking.

"However... like I said, Michel was... a bit different. Our mother considered him to be... an hindrance... so instead of accepting their return at the capital, they... we..."

Georges paused a moment, then took a deep breath.

"It was decided to send knights at the mansion to execute Michel."

This admission of the truth still hurts, even after all these years. Georges didn't think it'll ever stop hurting. He could be on his deathbed and still feel his heart ache whenever thinking about this.

Of course, he left Michel's gender issues out of the picture — he felt it would be rude to his brother to talk about it without his permission, and it wasn't a very important detail to mention in this very moment. He also choose to left out Dee's involvement in this — how he had actually been the one to kill Michel — for the same reason.

"I don't know... what happened to Giselle after that," Georges admitted. "According to... the knights who were there, they didn't find any women in the mansion... So maybe she escaped... but it seems more likely that she's also..."

He couldn't bring himself to end his sentence. Margot stayed a moment in silence. Georges wondered if maybe he shouldn't have said that after all, that maybe he had made her pain only worse...

Until he heard a soft laugh.

"Oh... Oh my, I see! So even in this situation... she still managed to find love..." She laughed again, but this time he heard a small hiccup at the same time. "Thank goodness!"

Georges felt lost. He was expecting her to be devastated at those news, but... instead, she seemed... relieved.

"Thank goodness...?" He repeated.

"I always..." Margot sniffled, some tears shining in the corner of her wrinkled eyes. "I always worried about what must've happened to Giselle after she was sent away from the Bollinger house... Wondering if she spent the rest of her life in pain... if she was being mistreated in some way... if she died all alone and miserable..."

She looked up at Georges. Despite the tears in her eyes, she was smiling.

"But you just told me she had a lover, right? If she was able to fall in love with someone, then that mean that even if she went through some hardships... she was still able to find joy. She was still able to find peace and be happy. This is..."

Margot closed her eyes, and brought her hands to her chest.

"This is a lot more than I could've asked for..."

Georges could sort of understand why she reacted this way. It must've indeed be a relief to learn that at least her daughter had been in love and happy at some point. But still, to him... something about this felt off. He didn't comprehend how she could still see all of this in such a positive light. He didn't comprehend why she seemed to have such a good time talking with him... despite him having indirectly caused so much damage to her and her family.

“I… don’t understand,” Georges admitted. “Are you not... angry at me? I just told you that Giselle... had likely been killed because of our family problems... and I am… I mean, I am from the Bollinger household…”

I am one of the people who took your daughter away from you, is what he didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

Margot looked at him and smiled sadly. There was a natural, genuine kindness in her eyes, something so gentle that it could melt his heart.

He felt like crying.

“I do not have the energy to be angry anymore,” she simply answered. “Clém is angry; this is how she copes. I don’t know if one day she’ll stop being angry. But to me, anger would accomplish nothing. I am still hurt, of course. I am still so sorry about what happened to Giselle... and about what happened to your brother, too... I still miss my little girl every day. But…”

She stood up, and looked over at the fountain. As if drawn to her, Georges did the same unconsciously.

"Instead of being angry or mournful, I just want to spend the rest of my days thinking that at least my children had a happy life. And what you just told me about Giselle... that was what I'd hoped hearing for the last seven years."

Margot once again turned towards him... and tenderly, she cupped his cheek in her hand; her smile wide and fond.

"So thank you."

Georges was pretty sure he was going to cry now; but for some odd reason, no tears actually came. He didn't know what kind of expression he had at this moment, but Margot stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down into a hug.

So he gently returned her embrace in silence.

________________________________________________________________

When he came back home at the Bollinger house, it was late in the afternoon. The sky was just as gray as it had been when he had left; yet there was still no rain. After their weird awkward hug, Georges had escorted Margot back to her home. The woman kept talking about her girls, and she also asked some questions about Michel — Georges assumed she was very curious about what kind of man her youngest child had fallen in love with.

He got another glare from Clémence before leaving, but they didn't exchange any words. She was still very clearly defensive towards him, though Georges didn't blame her at all. He supposed Margot was going to relate to her what he had just told her, and he hoped this would at least bring her some closure. The old woman also insisted for him to come back visit them sometimes. Georges didn't know if he would — but a part of him had already decided he'd try to help them out a bit by giving them some money. He was pretty sure Clémence was going to refuse any money coming from the Bollingers, but he still felt the need to do something for them, or at least try to.

Upon entering his house, he was greeted by a few servants, but saw no traces of his wife or his sons. He had no idea where Aimée could be at this hour, but his kids were probably in their rooms — or at least Dieudonné was. And sure enough, the boy was there, crouched down on the floor with a myriad of colorful paint cans all around him.

"Oh, Dad! Welcome back!"

As soon as he saw his father, Dieudonné smiled and run up to him.

"Where were you?" The teenager continued. "You suddenly disappeared without telling anyone. I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you!"

Georges grinned and ruffled his boy's hair. "Sorry about that, buddy. I'm fine, I was just out in town. Are you alone here? Where's Sév?"

"With Mother. As usual," Dieudonné said, shrugging.

"I see..."

It was pretty normal for Sév to rotated around his mother lately, so it wasn't surprising at all. But for some reason, this time that worried Georges a bit — though he quickly dismissed these thoughts.

His mind was full of way too many things to concern himself about this for now. He couldn't stop thinking about his brothers, about his parents, about all the mistakes he had made, about this maid he had never met and who he didn't even know the appearance of, about Clémence's bitter glare and Margot's sad, gentle words.

"Dad? Are you okay?"

Dieudonné softly tugged at his sleeve, tilting his head curiously. Georges looked at him. The tiny human being he had raised himself.

And then, just like Margot had done earlier, he wrapped his arms around his kid and hugged him tightly.

"Wow! Hey, what are you doing, Dad?"

The boy seemed startled at first, and tried to get himself out of the embrace. Dieudonné wasn't as repulsed by physical affection as Sév was, but he still was very much a teenage boy and thus was often embarrassed when Georges did things like that. However, he stopped struggling when he noticed his father's shoulders were shaking slightly.

"Dad...? Are you... Are you crying?"

Georges didn't answer anything — instead he just burried his head further in his son's neck. The tears that had threatened to roll during the entire afternoon finally escaped him now. His thoughts went to Michel. To Dee. To the two women he had just met today.

Then an odd thought crossed his mind. What would have happened if, back then, he had learned his mother's intention to kill Michel and had managed to stop Dee? If Michel had came back home with Giselle like intended?

He could have met her in person, he thought. Michel could have met his nephews. He could have married the woman he loved. That meant Georges could have met Clémence and Margot in actual happy circumstances. All of them could have been a family.

Or maybe things wouldn't have gone as well as this. Maybe there would have been other obstacles on the way.

But Georges would never knew, because his brother had died in that mansion and couldn't come back to life. Because his stupid mistakes had also indirectly caused the pain of an entire other family. Because there was no way to go back in time and fix this, because there was even no way for him to just apologize.

Because he had no other choice than to bear the weight of his own sins for the rest of his life.

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