#TheHouseinFataMorgana | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fatamorushortstorieseng · 2 years

Text

Entranced by her golden eyes and singing voice

―Until now, I had only just felt pity for her.

One year had passed since the day of that stormy revolt, and my life was almost completely back to normal. I was less prone to surveying the area, cautious of soldiers arriving, and was less likely to get paranoid that my regular pub has been set up.

However, there was only one thing that had not gone back as it was before.

A young girl I kept by my side after last year’s events.

Though even after all this time, the gap between us was still wide.

“You should stop already.”

I heard a low voice filled with a resignation and life-weariness that I couldn’t imagine coming from a girl of about ten years. Puzzled, I raised my eyebrows and asked her what she meant.

“This ointment… that you’re applying…”

“Huh? If you don’t speak more clearly, I can’t hear you.”

“You should stop applying that ointment. It’s a waste of money,” she said, looking down to hide her face.

A waste of money, huh. I wonder how many times she’d told me those words.

“If I thought it was a waste, I wouldn’t do it. Plus, hey, look at that. The wounds on your arms have gotten remarkably better, haven’t they? Your face will also be the same in no time. When that happens, you won’t need to hide it with this ugly hood anymore.”

She― Morgana had been abused by the lord. Her limbs had been cut by a knife, and her face festered in a disturbing way. When I took her to the brothel after slipping away from the revolt’s chaos, even the prostitutes who should be used to seeing strange things gasped at the oddness of her appearance. What on earth would push that guy to go so far as to inflict wounds like that on her…? I felt indignation and grief, but above all I was dumbfounded. The lord of this city was truly twisted for injuring so badly a little girl like that.

“…Even you should have realized it by now.”

“…Realized what?”

“My face… is beyond healing.”

For a moment, I found myself speechless. I didn’t think that her face couldn’t heal ― however, it was true that this ointment just wasn’t working. The cutting scars were healing, but her face’s inflammation didn’t change, as if her skin had always been like that. There was no amelioration but no deterioration either.

“Don’t say that. I’ll find a different ointment next time, and then―”

“It’s not… a scar.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not a scar. It’s not a disease either…”

…What was she talking about?

I patiently waited for her next words. Morgana’s heart was tightly closed, and she was always talking in a roundabout way like that. Still, she had started to open up a little. I had realized that the more I urged her to speak the less she’d be keen to do it, so I took the decision to hold myself back when this happened. To be frank, I have a short temper. So there are times I get irritated, but if I were to raise my voice we just wouldn’t be able to reach any kind of middle ground.

Morgana glanced up at me. Her eyes had a faint color, and it looked like it was turning from tawny to golden ― even more so during days like these where the sunlight was strong. Although she was just a normal girl, I’ve always felt like those eyes had something magical in them. But I didn’t hate that.

“The lord did not… hurt my face.”

“You say that, but if nothing had happened to it then it wouldn’t be such a―”

“Don’t touch me!”

…Without me noticing, I had tried to reach her face. My hand froze midway, floating in the air, and my eyebrows furrowed instinctively.

…What’s with that tone? I only did this because I was worried here, you know.

It’s already been a year since I’ve started taking care of her, so why did she still refuses to open up her heart a little more? No, wait… calm down, don’t get frustrated. I should know better than anyone that her circumstances are too special. Her trauma won’t heal after just a year, it’s just not enough. Maria said it too, didn’t she? “So plan on at least three years of ice-breaking if you wanna get through to her.”

I let out the sigh I’d been holding on, then turned my palms towards her to show her I was inoffensive.

“Morgana, I don’t mean you any harm. I’m not like the lord. I’m not going to do something like hurting you. Please understand that.”

“…”

“…So. What did you mean earlier?”

She glared at me like a threatening cat, then hung down her head again.

“I… was surely punished… Because my Father found me defiled… He was… angry that my… blood… was used for such feasts…”

“Huh? Hey, I couldn’t hear the last bit at all. Say it once more.”

“…”

“Silent treatment again, huh.”

Still, what was that about her father? Don’t tell me that Morgana was not only being abused by the lord, but by her father as well? Was her face’s scars from that time?

“Hey, where’s your father right now?”

If that was the case, I had to find her old man and have a few words with him.

“…”

“…Morgana.”

“…Over there.”

She slowly raised her arm to point at the heavens. I followed her fingertip, and my stare pierced through the blue sky.

“Did he die?”

“…”

“Hey, what does that mean?”

“…”

“You really are a weird kid.”

I let out a sigh, though I couldn’t help but smile a little as well.

This was the first time she had ever talked about her family. It felt like I could carry on the conversation in that direction.

“Hey, Morgana. You don’t have to go back to the lord and you don’t have to be scared of your father ever again. This is the slums, so of course poverty is going to be in the way, but even so there is a huge difference between now and how it was before for you, right?”

“…”

“So don’t be so stubborn. If you’re ever in trouble, you can go talk to the girls. Well, I don’t mind if you come talk to me either.”

“I don’t need to talk.”

“…I see.”

I gently grabbed her arm as the corners of her mouth turned down. Given she kept refusing I do her face, I was going to apply the ointment only starting from the arms today. It would be nice if one day all of her body could completely heal. I really wanted to see what her real face looked like. It was hard to imagine as it was now, but I’m sure that when she’ll be cured her golden eyes will glow even more. And then, when her wounds will be all healed, I’ll give her a new colorful outfit. Though no matter how I think about it, she’ll probably hate it. But well, I don’t think she’s ever been one to dress herself up in her life until now, so it should be fine to do it once in a while, right?

“…Say.”

“What?”

“What you’re humming…”

As she said this, I realized I had effectively been humming a song to myself.

It’s the type of melodies that you can hear all the time in places like pubs or brothels, so there shouldn’t be anything odd about me humming it now ― or so I thought.

…But somehow, I felt like I’d done something weirdly embarrassing. Just when I was about to say an excuse like ‘Sorry for having let you heard something awkward,’ she let out a small sigh.

“I quite like that song.”

“…”

What did she say right now? The same Morgana who always reject everything just told me she liked something?

“What is it?”

Perhaps I’d been staring at her for too long without realizing it, because her eyes took on a dubious shine as she faced me. Now I felt at a loss as to how to respond without suspiciously dodging the topic.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I absolutely love your song. The prostitutes sing it often too, right? So it just got stuck in my head.”

“I-Is that so.”

Hey, in that case why don’t you try singing it too?

If she did, maybe that depressed voice could brighten up a bit. If there’s one thing poor people and prostitutes alike never miss to do, it was singing. It was because they believe songs have life-changing powers.

My thoughts were circling in my head like that, however before I could say anything ― this suddenly started to flow in my ears.

“―”

In a very, very small voice, she started humming that song ― a melody that seemed to be on the verge of vanishing when the breeze blows, but even more limpid than anything I’d ever heard. Even the wind that shook the grass and the flowers stopped for her at that exact moment.

―What is this?

Even though she always, always only express herself in a low whisper.

Even though the only times I remember her speaking properly, it’s when she’s preaching God’s words about this or that in a detached voice.

Even though even when I apply the ointment, she never says a single word of thanks.

Even though she’s only ever emotionless.

Despite all of this…

You… this is…

It’s unfair.

This is just so―

“…”

I could do nothing but keep silent. Even I honestly, obediently felt like I didn’t want to interrupt her singing voice. Please, makes it so that this moment can keep on for a long time―

And so, even if it was out of character for me, I prayed.

◇◇◇

I opened my eyes with a burning sore throat. The bed’s canopy vaguely entered my field of vision, but as always it appeared as flabby and distorted. I barely managed to focus my attention, got off the bed and poured water directly into my throat from the flask.

I squeezed it a few times, and noticing the soft liquid rolling down my cheek, I roughly wiped it off. The sigh I spat out was tinged with heat.

I headed towards the window, and checked what time it was thanks to the moon’s position. In the end, it seemed I hadn’t even slept a little, and even if I relied on alcohol, my condition stayed awful.

“Morgana, I don’t mean you any harm. I’m not like the lord. I’m not going to do something like hurting you. Please understand that.”

In my dreams, my past self kept blaming me. Why had I not been able to stay like that? Where did I go wrong? Even though I had myself said I would never hurt her, in the end I was the one who made her fall into despair.

Illuminated by the moonlight, a church far away in the distance came into my view.

On the top floor of that watchtower was the girl I loved.

No, using ‘love’ was much too insulting now. I was not qualified to have those feelings anymore.

“On the day of the festival, without fail…”

I had a concealed dagger inside my pocket. It was originally meant for self-defense, but now I intended to hand it over to her. I just didn’t know how else to save her anymore, so all I could do was to give her this life.

I know.

It was a very shallow solution.

But even so, I was already―

I couldn’t do anything else.

After all, even doing something like apologizing―

―felt like a horrible thing to do…

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Jacopo Bearzatti #Morgana #Morgana FataMoru #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Novect #Keika Hanada #THE BOOK - Guide to the Cursed Mansion #House in Fata Morgana #THE BOOK #Entranced by her golden eyes and singing voice #TheHouseinFataMorgana #FataMoru Short Stories #Short Story #Hanada Keika #The House in Fata Morgana - The BOOK #Guidebook

39 notes · View notes

connan-l · 2 years

Text

More than a millennium - Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

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.

Michel asks Giselle to teach him something, which might or might not end up in disaster.

[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]

______________________________________________________________

Link on Archive of Our Own

______________________________________________________________

Notes: I really struggled to find something for them to cook together that would be appropriate for the 11th century. I wanted them to do a Savoie cake originally, given it's pretty old and still really popular in France nowadays (it’s similar to English/American's 'sponge/angel cake' apparently), but after some research it seems it was only created in the 14th century… So after looking around I only found Hidelgard of Bingen’s recipies (but she’s also a bit too recent for Michel and Giselle’s period) and… 'fairy fingers.' It’s called 'doigts de fées' in French and I’m not sure if it really exists in other countries? But yeah, that seemed to fit. Not that it matters much in the end but hey. It was a fun topic to research.

______________________________________________________________

She had been staring at him with her mouth wide open for at least three whole minutes now.

And three minutes was a long time when spent in silence with just another person gawking at you. She was aware Michel must felt very uncomfortable by now; but honestly, how else was she supposed to reply to this?

“Giselle?” He finally tried again. “Did you… hear me?”

She blinked, although still in a trance, then finally closed her mouth. Frowning, she looked on her right and left.

“I…” She started, then stopped. “What… Can you repeat what you just said to me again?”

“I, uh… I just asked you if you… I mean, if you didn’t mind… teaching me… how to cook.”

Giselle stared at him once more. Then she stood up, approached him, and put her hand on his forehead.

“G-Giselle? What—”

“It doesn’t seem like you have a fever,” she said, very seriously. “What’s going on? You can’t possibly have gotten a heatstroke, it’s winter!”

Michel groaned, pushing her hand away — and that’s funny, because it’s only then that she noticed there was a very discernible blush creeping on his cheeks, and the problem with having an abnormally pale skin is that blushes are very visible.

Still, was he actually blushing because of her? Oh, that was cute.

“I’m not sick! God, is what I asked really that odd?”

“Well, I mean…” Giselle took a step back, crossed her arms, and stared straight at him again. “Yes.”

Truthfully, she actually would be more apt to believe him if he told her he was some sort of supernatural creature or that he’d received a missive telling her she could return to the capital than this.

Michel and cooking just seemed to be stuck in the realm of impossible in her mind — an anomaly that would for sure create some sort of distortion in the universe if brought together.

“I’m not sure how to take that answer.”

“But I mean, why would you ask me that all of a sudden?”

“Well, it’s just…”

Michel looked away, as if not sure how to put his thoughts into words, and appearing… embarrassed?

Oh no. Why is he acting so adorable all of a sudden? What’s going on?

Giselle felt like she was missing a piece of the puzzle here. It had been almost six months now since she came back to the mansion and that they’d started getting along. Things had been going so well, sometimes she almost couldn’t believe it; still waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment.

But at other times… she felt so at ease in his presence, so content, that it was as if all of her problems and all the pain she’d experienced up until now stopped existing.

During those past months, she felt confident in saying she’d gathered a pretty good grasp of Michel as a person, had been able to slowly nibble away his facades and discover many different sides of him. Yet, it was still the first time she was seeing him like… that — and it certainly was the first time he’d ever dared to ask such a favor out of her.

“I… You’ve been… taking care of all the cooking and… of most of the chores since you’ve arrived,” Michel finally continued.

He was still unable to look at her in the eyes, focusing on the ground instead, and it was very destabilizing to Giselle. He acted as embarrassed as if he was about to confess his love or something, which would be really ridiculous.

“And… uh… well, you know, I’ve been thinking that… it wasn’t very fair to… let you do that on your own. We are two people living here now, after all… So… I want to learn a little and maybe… help you out… I suppose…”

The words took a lot of time to actually reach Giselle’s brain, and so she continued to stare at him in disbelief for a while. And when they ultimately did — she gasped, chuckled, then burst out laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” Michel exclaimed in an uncharacteristic fit of emotion, his cheeks now completely red. “I-I’m being serious here!”

“S-Sorry, sorry! It’s just…” She tried to restrain her giggles as best as she could, without much success. “What? Th-That’s it? Really? Oh god. Master, you’re incredible!”

“That… doesn’t feel much like a compliment.”

She shook her head, wiping away her tears. “No, no, I’m genuinely touched. It makes me happy that you’re concerned about the type of work I have to do and that you want to help! But… well, you know, I’m still your servant. So, it is my job. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”

He sighed. “Well, yes. But still, I’m not the one who employed you, and we are not really—”

Michel stopped there. His face was frozen in doubt, as if putting the rest into words would actively trigger… something. But Giselle could easily guess what he was about to say even without hearing it.

We are not really that much of a servant and master.

That was true. Even if Giselle was the one doing all the cooking and taking care of most of the chores — although Michel still helped with some of those like cleaning — and that she did call him ‘Master,’ that was pretty much were it stopped.

Most of time, they simply… acted like friends. And, to say the truth, that was how Giselle liked to think of Michel.

As her friend, more than her master.

She wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good thing, but at least it certainly wasn’t a bad one.

Still, she could understand Michel’s hesitation to actually put their relationship into words — there was something that felt not entirely… appropriate about the entire thing.

That was why she didn’t press him any further and simply continued on the topic at hand: “Well! If you really want to try learning cooking, then sure, we can do that. Cooking is really fun, you know? What do you want to try first? We’ll have to wait until next month for the ingredients if you want something in particular though…”

Michel paused, frowning. “I… don’t know, actually. I haven’t really thought much about it. Something simple to start with?”

“Hmm… Simple, huh? Then how about something sweet? Oh, I know! What about fairy fingers?”

“Fairy…?”

“Geez, you’ve never heard of it? Those are cookies! Mom used to make these all the time. When my sister and I were kids, she would tell us they were originally offered to fairies who ate children. To trick them, a woman from the village made cookies that looked like fingers and gave them to the fairies telling them those were real children’s fingers. She would leave them under the trees and…”

As she kept talking, her smile suddenly waned. Michel looked at her with a concerned gaze.

“Giselle?”

“Ah… Sorry. I was just thinking about my mom and sister back at home. You know…”

Giselle couldn’t tell if Michel really ‘knew,’ but he nodded with an understanding look regardless.

Cooking was, to her, inherently linked to her family — her mother had been a very talented cook and it was a primordial thing to her to teach her children how to handle the kitchen. Though her sister didn’t like cooking unlike Giselle, so in the end it had more been a privileged time only between her and mother, and to this day those were part of the memories she cherished the most.

Would she ever be able to cook like this with her mom again?

The thought brought on a pang of loneliness and sorrow, so she did her best to chase it away and instead smiled at Michel.

“Anyway! I think it’s definitely a good start for a beginner. We should try it!”

Michel stared at her quietly for a moment, probably still worried about her melancholic fit from earlier, then finally opened back his mouth tentatively.

“Well… it sounds nice, but the point in me learning was so that I could make proper meals, not just cookies—”

“You have to start somewhere, right? We can make more complicated things later. Plus, don’t think of it in such a practical way! You have to learn how to love cooking, not just cooking because you have to eat. Hmm, I think we already have flour and butter, but we’ll still need almonds, egg white, orange blossoms…”

She started enumerating all the ingredients needed out loud, already getting excited at the prospect — it would in fact be the first time she’d bake sweets here, as she’d only made relatively simple meals since she’d arrived at the mansion. Michel tried to protest again, but all of his arguments were in vain; now that he had put the idea into her head, there was no way she’d let it go. Thus it was decided they would put a message for the Bollinger main house next time to command the missing ingredients… Giselle nodded to herself, satisfied of her planning.

“All right.” She suddenly turned around towards Michel, a wide smile splitting her face. “Listen up, Master. I accept to teach you how to cook… but under one condition.”

The man arched an eyebrow, a clear suspicious — and a bit worried — glint shining in his eyes.

“Yes…?”

“I might usually be your servant, but right now, in this kitchen, I will be the master. You’ll have to follow every order I give you, without protesting. Got it?”

________________________________________________________________

“Very well, Master, now you have to mix the flour, almonds and the salt. Then we’ll add the butter in cubes, the eggs and orange blossom… Oh god, right, there’s the sugar too! I still can’t believe your family was able to get hold of sugar so easily. The Bollinger house is truly something else, huh…”

Giselle kept talking, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs cheerfully as Michel struggled with a large bowl he in front of him, agitating a wooden spatula inside it. He had tied his long, white hair in a messy bun — all on his own, as he’d specifically refused to let her touch his hair for some reason — and was wearing an improvised apron they’d made out of some unused sheet.

They’d only just started, but he was already very focused on his task; eyebrows knitted together, nose scrunched and eyes narrowed as he clumsily stirred the utensil in its recipient. Giselle watched him in the corner of her eyes, trying her best to not giggle.

She felt it would be mean to laugh at him when he was obviously trying his best and follow her instructions to the letter, but… she just couldn’t help how cute she found him like this. It felt like a sudden whole new Michel in front of her, one she knew nothing about, and it just was so thrilling and heartwarming all at the same time — discovering all kinds of new things like this, especially when it concerned him, always put her in a peculiar, happy and exhilarated type of mood she couldn’t get tired of.

It reminded her of all the fond memories she had spent cooking with her mother, but still with its own unique feel and experience to it.

Oddly enough, cooking like this with him didn’t make her miss her family as much as she’d originally expected. The first time she’d found herself in the mansion’s kitchen all by herself when she first arrived made her feel really depressed, but now it wasn’t the case anymore; maybe Michel’s presence was simply enough to soothe a little the loneliness in her heart left by her mother and sister.

“I’m… I’m not sure it works, Gi— I mean, Master.”

“It works, it works! Trust me, you just have to be patient. Keep on mixing it. You won’t be able to achieve anything in cooking if you’re impatient, Master.”

He sighted, and put down the bowl momentarily to wipe his forehead. Then he suddenly threw a curious look at her that Giselle couldn’t quite describe.

“What is it?” She asked.

“It’s just… You said before that in the kitchen you’ll be the master from now on, but you still haven’t called me Michel once. You only keep using ‘Master.’”

“Huh? O-Oh… Yes, that’s true…”

Truth be told, what she’d told him about ‘being the master in the kitchen’ had been mostly in jest; she hadn’t expected him to take it so seriously.

And… there was just a part of her who couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.

There was just something too… intimate, about it. It felt like if she were to call him ‘Michel’ now… it would be like admitting that their relationship went besides the normal servant-master dynamic they were supposed to have.

It would be like saying they were, genuinely, officially, friends.

Which wouldn’t be wrong or bad, but… that felt like a step she just couldn’t take right now.

So she decided to brush him off, smiling and shaking her head casually. “Well, it’s just hard to break the habit, you know. Plus, I was mostly joking! It’s kind of nice to be called a ‘master’ and all, but you can just keep on calling me Giselle if you want.”

She laughed, trying to quickly move on from the topic — but Michel didn’t seem to share her amusement. At the contrary, a strange frown crossed his face as he let out a soft ‘Oh,’ and it made Giselle pause.

Wait, was he… was he actually disappointed? Did he want her to call him Michel?

Was she overthinking stuff?

She shook her head, pushing away the thoughts. “A-Anyway, let’s keep on! We can’t spend the night on this.”

“R-Right…”

“You know, you actually need to hold the spatula better if you want to mix in a more effective way. Look, I’ll show you—” All while talking, she jumped off the counter and grabbed his wrist from behind. “If you bent your hand like that it’ll be better to move quickly.”

She instinctively let her fingers ran across Michel’s hands, her fingertips palpating his skin. It was kind of amazing how slender his hand and fingers were, like spider legs; she was almost sure she could feel the bones behind it. Even though she’d made sure to make him healthy, well-balanced meals for the past few months, he was still as meager as an emaciated sick man on his death bed. Maybe she should try to ask ingredients with more butterfat…

“See?” She added, raising her head towards him. “That way is much more—”

But the moment she saw his face, she stopped. Michel was looking at her with wide eyes, lips tight, and a very distinct, very red blush spread across his cheeks. It was even more visible than when he’d asked her for this cooking lesson a month ago.

She wasn’t sure what had caused this — well, sure, she was holding his hand and suddenly their faces were really close, but it was just a cooking lesson, nothing more! — however he looked so embarrassed that suddenly Giselle started to feel the same, pink flowing to her own cheeks.

Having the urge to hastily step aside from the awkward moment, she let go of his hand and almost jumped away from him — which also meant that in her hurry she’d completely forgot all about the flour sack she’d left on her side, and before she could comprehend what was happening her hand bumped into it; she lost balance, squeaked, and vaguely heard a worried ‘Giselle!’ before her vision turned upside down and she hit the floor.

The next thing she was able to distinguish was white. Pure white dust flying around the kitchen, falling all around her like thin snow. She would probably think of it as kind of pretty, if it weren’t for how much her bottom and head started hurting.

“Giselle! Giselle, are you all right?”

A pair of red eyes came over her field of view, as Michel sat down next to her and stared at her worriedly. Giselle raised a hand in an attempt to placate him.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m hurting a bit but it’s not a big deal—”

“You got hurt? Where?” He asked in a panicked voice.

“I’m fine, I said! Geez, no need to look like I’m dying—” She straightened up, making some more bits of flour fly around, and she almost sneezed.

Well. Somehow, it wasn’t surprising that their first cooking attempt together ended up like this.

“…I-If you say so, then that’s fine, but…”

Giselle arched an eyebrow and looked at Michel. He still looked a bit concerned about her, but more than that, there was… a bit of an odd expression on his face. Like he was trying very hard not to look at her, and—

“Wh-What is it?”

“No, nothing, it’s just…”

“What? You’re worrying me here!”

Michel seemed to hesitate a little. And then, to her utmost surprised, he actually… started to chuckle.

“Your hair—” he said in between two laughs. “—just look… very white, now.”

Giselle blinked, and then run a hand in her short hair — effectively, what she got out of it was a bunch of flour stuck on her hand; so much of it, in fact, that her entire palm was now completely white, as if she’d dived it into a paint bucket. She sighed in an exasperated, fond way.

“Oh well.” She looked up at him, then smirked. “Do I look good with white hair?”

“…Not at all, actually. You’re much better with dark one.”

“Geez, why do you always have to be so mean?! You know you have flour on your face, too!”

But even with her complaints she was smiling despite herself, and by instinct, she reached for his cheek and the tip of his nose, wiping the flour dwelling there with her thumb affectionately.

This time, Michel didn’t seem embarrassed at all; he just laughed some more. A new wave of warmth washed over Giselle — and in that instant, she found herself wishing she could make him laugh like that as often as possible.

They likely wouldn’t have enough flour anymore to make any more cooking — but it was okay.

Michel’s laugh had been more than worth it on its own, and they had all the time in the world to try again, after all.

13 notes · View notes

connandoods · 2 years

Photo

It’s that day of the year again 🌾⚔️

11 notes · View notes

kurus-vn-paradise · 4 years

Text

The House In Fata Morgana - Visual Novel ~ Read it, dammit!

I finally did it ♥ ♥ Uff, my feelings 😭💖😌... That was one long ride of ups and downs, this visual novel is quite something... It is so special... even to the grade, it left me thinking about things, I love this kinda stuff! I am sooo happy, I completed it and read it all till the very very end 😍 I love this VN, this VN is a masterpice! Not just the storytelling, which made me laugh and cry even harder & and both of it at the same time, no, but the art and music is amazing too. I 100% recommend it ♥

Steam: https://store.steampowered.com/app/303310/The_House_in_Fata_Morgana/

My VN page: facebook.com/KuruVnParadise

VNDB: https://vndb.org/v12402

#visualnovel #vn #thehouseinfatamorgana #fatamorgana #houseinfatamorgana #mystery #witchstory #lovestory #gothic #horror

2 notes · View notes

rainandcheese · 4 years

Text

🌾

#morgana #morgs #thehouseinfatamorgana

3 notes · View notes

shuubunni · 5 years

Photo

Morgana progress! Mock up on her outer layer is done! Just need to get the fabric now. Belt is a place holder. #thehouseinfatamorganacosplay #thehouseinfatamorgana #cosplay https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw0G5dNlT8F/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=j7nbrfogyb8s

#thehouseinfatamorganacosplay #thehouseinfatamorgana #cosplay

1 note · View note

afleetingfatamorgana · 1 year

Photo

#The House in Fata Morgana #Michel Bollinger #FataMoru #Light Novel #Door 5 #The Story that Leads to Your Origins #Moyataro #Official Art #Michel #Fata Morgana #Main Story #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Novect #House in Fata Morgana #Art #The House in Fata Morgana: The Story that Leads to Your Origins #Michel FataMoru #TheHouseinFataMorgana

133 notes · View notes

gischelweek · 1 year

Text

The prompts suggestions are now closed!

Thanks again to all who took the time to make suggestions!

Like last time, the 7 most popular ones will be kept! You can vote for the week’s 7 prompts here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1lB8-E_ba4Q7i0ZOJ_4XeMUCWkhS0XZruKnRkjudb2lk

And of course as a reminder, you are not obligated to use the prompts for the week if you don’t want to, or you can use the prompts from last year or even others that weren’t chosen here in the end.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Gischel #Gischel Week #GischelWeek #GischelWeek2023 #Fata Morgana #Gischel Week 2023 #MisheJize #Michel Bollinger #Giselle FataMoru #Fata #Fata Morgana no Yakata #House in Fata Morgana #Novect #TheHouseinFataMorgana #THiFM

12 notes · View notes

fata10thanni · 1 year

Text

Prompts Suggestions

Each day of the week will be door-themed, but they will also includes subprompts. If you have any suggestions about what these prompts will be, please submit them here:

https://curiouscat.live/fatamoruanni22

You will have up until Sunday (December 11) at the latest! So please don’t hesitate to share!

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Novect #Fandom #House in Fata Morgana #Fan week #Fata #TheHouseinFataMorgana #THiFM #Fanweek #Event

14 notes · View notes

aportesur · 4 years

Text

The House in Fata Morgana: Dreams of the Revenants Edition Arribará en Nintendo Switch

La versión remasterizada de #TheHouseinFataMorgana: Dreams of the Revenants Edition Arribará en #Nintendo #Switch, enterate de todo en AporteSur @NintendoArg @Novectacle_EN

Esta novela gráfica ya había sido lanzada para PlayStation 4 y PS Vita con un diseño completamente mejorado

La versión para Switch de The House in Fata Morgana: Dreams of the Reventants Edition está en proceso de desarrollo, y está “a punto de terminarse,” según la desarrolladora Novectacle.

La fecha de lanzamiento aun…

View On WordPress

#lanzamiento #nintendo #switch #The house in fata morgana

0 notes

fatamorushortstorieseng · 3 years

Text

About & Directory

This is a blog intended to post English fan translations of the short stories from The House in Fata Morgana, a visual novel by Novect.

FataMoru has a lot of short stories that have not yet gotten any English localization, some of which can be hard to obtain, and this was made with the intend to share a few of them with the non-Japanese fans.

These translations are completely unofficial. This has not been done for any monetary gain and is purely to give FataMoru fans who do not speak Japanese and would normally be unable to access them the opportunity to read them. Note that, as such, I am not a professional translator either ― my Japanese is actually fairly limited and English is not even my native language ― so please understand that those are only rough translations of the texts. So if anyone who master the language better than me wants to make some correction, they are welcome to contact me and do so.

These translations will be deleted the moment that any official English release becomes available, or if requested by the work's original copyright holders. Please do not redistribute these translations without authorisation, like reuploading onto other websites and blogging platforms.

And finally, if possible support financially the original authors by purchasing their works!

Credits goes all to Novect and Keika Hanada.

◇◇◇

Directory

These are six short stories that were released as limited physical prints with the Japanese PSVita version in 2017, which are now mostly inaccessible. They are all related to Reincarnation, the original game’s sequel set during the modern era, so it is better to have played it before reading them:

Tell me how to smile

Morgana makes some reflection on herself and her life.

The Path to Good Cooking

Michel decides to cook dinner for Giselle for once, with unexpected results.

Naturally

Mell and Nellie go shopping to the mall together.

My Girlfriend Makes a Mistake in Her Efforts

Pauline has the idea to get her boyfriend to play a video game in order to help him with his violent urges.

Girl Hunt Girl

Ceren visits Paris for the first time, and is saved by a stranger.

The Journey to Our Home

Jacopo, Maria and Morgana get into a dilemna at a hotel during their trip in Italy.

A short story related to Reincarnation that was published in a magazine in Japan after the Collected Edition’s release in 2017 (so warning for spoilers here too):

The Period Before She Met Him

Morgana’s life in the modern era before she met Jacopo again.

Two short story from the official FataMoru guidebook, THE BOOK - Guide to the Cursed Mansion. As THE BOOK was originally released in 2014, the first story was written before the sequel Reincarnation even if it takes place in the modern era, and as such is not related to it:

Joyeux Noël

Michel and Giselle spends Christmas together for the first time since their reunion in the modern era.

Entranced by her golden eyes and singing voice

A year after Jacopo saved Morgana from the lord, the two of them spends a moment together where he gets to hear her sings for the first time.

Two brief short stories that were released along with the first FataMoru CD drama in 2015, related to Door 1:

Color of Hers

The White-Haired Girl have some musings about her father and his paintings.

Melancholy Princess

The Maid, Mell and Nellie are in the rose garden, but Nellie seems unusually depressed.

◇◇◇

Edit: I will next try to translate either the two animate stories ‘Memorable’ and ‘Jubilee with flowers,’ or ‘Tír na nÓg,’ though as always no guarantees as to when I’ll publish them.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata Morgana #Novectacle #Fata Morgana no Yakata #TheHouseinFataMorgana #House in Fata Morgana #Translation #Keika Hanada #Hanada Keika #ファタモルガーナの館 #ファタモル #縹けいか #Text

155 notes · View notes

connan-l · 2 years

Text

More than a millennium - Day 4: At the beach

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.

Michel was perfectly fine enjoying his vacations at the sea by reading in his corner of the beach, but his wife has other plans for him.

[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]

______________________________________________________________

Link on Archive of Our Own

______________________________________________________________

Notes: This takes place post-canon and post-Reincarnation, but it makes no reference to it so you don’t really need to have read it to understand. (Though you probably do need to read Requiem & Assento dele if you want to know about Iméon lol).

Iméon makes a cameo here, but I have to precise before this surprise anyone that I refer to him with masculine pronouns in this fic. I don’t usually have much trans headcanons but Iméon is one of the few exceptions, because I admit that when I first read Assento dele I… just honestly thought he was a trans man, so I was surprised when the backstage went against it afterwards and said he identified as a woman. Especially after learning he IS canonically trans in Seventh Lair, and then given I’ve just finished that game not long ago I'm… now really kind of struggling to see him otherwise. Of course it still seems like he’s a woman in FataMoru canon so it’s fine if unlike me you don’t see it that way (and hey, I did write a Femslash February fic a year ago with Iméon in it so lol), but yeah when it comes to me now in my head Iméon is generally nonbinary trans masc haha.

Also, I wrote Iméon here with the idea that he remembers his past life and original meeting with Michel in the mansion, just like he does in that short story Tír na nÓg in the aftermath of Ending 5.

________________________________________________________________

“I will not.”

“Come on! Just a little bit! We don’t even have to go that far!”

“Absolutely not.”

“You already went to all the trouble to come here! You can make this last effort!”

“I said no.”

“Not even for me? To make your wife happy…?”

Giselle leaned towards him, her face only inches away from his and her big, shiny jade eyes looking straight into his own. He would dare to say her tone sounded a little suggestive and, admittedly, with the way her swimsuit’s cleavage was wide open and brushing against his torso, it did feel a little distracting.

Still, he ignored it. No amount of suggestive bikini would let him do what she wants.

“I’m sorry, but if my wife wants me to go swim in the sea, then she’ll have to find another partner.”

Giselle’s seductive expression dropped from her face, and instead she glared at him, puffing out her cheeks.

“But it’s only the three of us here! And Iméon already spent the morning swimming and is too tired, so I won’t find anyone else!”

Michel sighed, trying his best not to let himself give in just because of Giselle’s pleading and disappointed tone. Why did she have to sound like that when she was only talking about going to swim in the sea together? It wasn’t the end of the world for her to just have fun on her own.

Seeking help, he threw a desperate glance at his best friend who was laying on the sand under the parasol, typing on his laptop with one hand and licking an ice cream with the other — thanks to a pretty impressive technique, he had to admit, and Michel didn’t understand how he could do this without putting cream on every one of his keys — but the only response he got was a look from under his sunglasses that clearly meant ‘dude, don’t drag me into this.’

Well, fine. He had a thousands years of experience in how to deal with his wife, he didn’t need Iméon’s help anyway.

Probably.

“I don’t understand why you need someone to go swim with you anyway,” Michel argued back.

“Because it’s more fun that way! And I won’t just be swimming, we can play with a ball too!”

“…You realize that’s not a good argument to convince me to join you, right?”

Giselle let out an exasperated sigh, and then to his surprise, she finally stood up; her long side ponytail flying around as she crossed her arms and threw a last glare at him.

“All right! Then stay here like an old grouch with your stupid book all on your own, while I’m going to have the best time of our vacations!”

And with this, she started running towards the sea without waiting for an answer. Michel, indeed, just stayed there with his stupid book and his mouth agape — how could this woman act like a twelve-year-old when she was now twenty-six was truly beyond him — until he heard Iméon chuckles next to him.

“I don’t want to hear anything from you,” he said dryly to his orange-haired friend.

“I haven’t say anything.”

“You thought it very loudly.”

“Well, maybe.” Iméon lifted his eyes away from the computer’s screen and looked at Michel. “What I was thinking, actually, was that it’s really funny you’re okay with sacrificing your life, fighting a wicked witch and her murderers and breaking a thousands-years curse for this woman, but somehow going to swim with her in the sea is too much for you.”

Michel groaned, then put down the book on his towel. “I’ve already made more than enough effort by coming here. You know how much I hate the beach anyway.”

Well, maybe ‘hate’ was too strong of a word — but he certainly wasn’t fond of it. His parents never brought him there when he was a kid — except on some rare exceptions, they’ve never been big on going anywhere during vacations in general — and especially because of his albino condition going to a place where the point was to stay exposed to the sun for a long time was, to say the least, not ideal. Thanks to the modern era’s treatment his body was definitely better at handling sunlight, but it still could get troublesome if he stayed out there for a long period and could cause complications if he wasn’t careful. That was why, in the five years he and Giselle had been together, they’d only been in fairly close locations — except for that one time they went to Spain and Belgium and the two times at the mountains in the Pyrenees.

However, if Michel wasn’t someone who really liked to go anywhere for his days off, Giselle clearly wasn’t the same. Her family as well hadn’t been the kind to travel much, but she’d always really loved the sea, so she had wanted to go there for a while now; thus, this year, when Michel was able to obtain a rare full month out of work, he’d made sure to rent them a cozy place in Le Havre. They’d originally asked Morgana to come with them, but she’d refused, and in her stead Iméon accepted to stay with them only for two weeks.

Giselle had been extremely excited about the prospect of their first holidays at the beach, especially after such a long time of wanting to go there — and Michel had been happy to see her like that, he truly had.

Even so, that didn’t mean he had to comply to every single one of her demands — and going to play and swim in the sea was one thing he really didn’t feel like doing. He just couldn’t stand swimming as well as the immensity of the ocean, and the salt always itched at his skin; he didn’t seen why he couldn’t simply stay on the beach, reading under the shadow of the umbrella.

But according to Giselle it wasn’t fine, and Michel had the distinct feeling that Iméon was actually on her side for this one. Well, Iméon was, in fact, on Giselle’s side on most things — some loyal best friend he was.

“Precisely. If you’ve already made the effort of coming all the way here, then you might as well go all the way out and put at least one foot in the water.”

“Why are you so insistent on it? Did Giselle pay you?”

“I don’t need her to pay me! She’s much cuter than you so of course I’ll always agree with her on everything.”

Michel leveled a stern look at Iméon, who only winked and grinned back mischievously. It wasn’t unusual either for him to throw some playful, flirty comments at Giselle, which only seemed to amuses her. Obviously, he knew those were just meant in jest — and he half-suspected he and Giselle had formed some sort of pact behind his back to specifically get on his nerves about this — but that didn’t mean he still had to be fond of the perspective of someone else flirting with his spouse.

“It’s a vacation you prepared specifically for you wife,” Iméon continued. “I don’t see how going into the water would be such an extra chore for you. Honestly, I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on not swimming and playing around. Just let it go and have some fun for once, man.”

…Well… To say the truth, Michel wasn’t entirely sure either.

He didn’t like the sea. Wasn’t fond of the beach either. And well, he did have a pretty good reason for not wanting to swim — but it wasn’t like he was completely avert to the idea either.

He had no specific trauma related to the ocean, in this life or the former one. In fact, in the past he had never even seen the sea, as he’d never even been allowed to leave the Bollinger mansion’s grounds, or even his chambers’ grounds.

…Maybe that was partly where the issue laid.

The child he had been in the Middle Ages only knew of the ocean and the beach what he’d read in books — and, in one rare occasion, what Didier had been able to tell him after he’d come back from one of his trips. Stories narrated in broad letters what this vast blue expanse looked like without him being able to truly picture or grasp it.

The only time he’d been able to truly spectate the sea, he suddenly realized, had been during the Maid’s tale of the Second Door, when he’d been plunged directly into Pauline’s memories.

And while that peculiar story had been drenched in blood and tragedy and that just the thought of it sufficed to make him feel nauseous, but reminiscences of the grand blue water was ingrained in his brain — the only beautiful point of light of this miserable period.

He never would have thought at the time that he’d be able to go to the beach in presence of Giselle, to whom he was presently married to.

He’d gotten so used by now to their present life, even though that was still a miracle in more way than one; maybe he’d even grown too complacent in it.

Would his past self had the luxury to ponder whether or not he should comply to one of his wife’s demands he judged trivial? Wasn’t triviality specifically what they’d fought so hard to reach?

“I just…”

He didn’t know what he was about to say. But either way, Iméon didn’t let him try to figure it out as he suddenly rose up, taking the laptop under his arm and sliding his backpack on his shoulder.

“Well, whatever. I’ve had enough beach for today; and that’s a problem between you guys.” He glanced down at Michel from behind the sunglasses — and there was an odd shine in his green eyes that made Michel wonder if he’d been able to figure out what was going on through his head. “I’ll go back at the apartment now. We’re still going at the restaurant to eat mussels tonight, right? Of course I’ll let you pay, you know I’m always broke.”

And with this, Iméon waved at him and turned around. Michel was about to reply he could make an effort to at least pay for one thing —which he hadn’t so far even in the whole week they’d spent here — but then again, he and Giselle had been the ones to invite him.

He let out a sigh, then directed his eyes towards the ocean. The sun was starting to hit really hard and the heat made his head feel a little dizzy.

They had settled in a corner of the beach with very few people — it was mostly on them here, honestly — and as he looked ahead of him, he could distinguish Giselle’s silhouette in the sea far away, the water almost reaching her chest. She walked slowly through the boundless ocean, fighting the waves, then suddenly leaned down and dived into the surface. She rose up a few seconds later, and her ponytail suddenly went undone, her long black hair ending up cascading behind her back.

She looked ephemerally beautiful under the sunset, like some sort of mystical mermaid. And as he stared at her swimming in the ocean and disappearing through the waves, an odd feeling of uneasiness set in his stomach.

Whenever she would plunge under the depths, a vague feeling that she would never resurface again overwhelmed him. That she would simply vanish, aspired by the waves and the darkness of the ocean’s abyss.

A ridiculous fear, maybe — but he’d never been very good at trusting fate for not taking away his source of happiness, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it betrayed him again. This came accompanied with a childish sense of possessiveness, of not wanting letting anyone take her away from him, not matter if it was the sea or the sunset or the world itself.

But more than that, he felt a pang of guilt and pain in his chest at the sight of her lonely silhouette. Her long hair flying to the wind reminded him of a long braid, an old maid outfit and a pair of jade eyes without any trace of light in the closed walls of a ruined mansion.

Giselle’s silhouette should never looks lonely like this. Not ever — but certainly not because of a whimsical caprice of his.

Maybe Iméon was right on this one, after all.

He sighed, got rid of his shirt, and then ran through the beach; the sand felt warm and soft under his feet, as if it was welcoming him back to where he belonged.

“Giselle!”

He shouted her name as soon as his toes were washed over by the waves, and the young woman didn’t even got the time to turn around in surprise that Michel was right there, throwing his arms around her waist from behind.

He heard her gasp; felt her warm and wet skin under his hands; did his best to ignore the cold and salty sea grabbing his body. Giselle didn’t seem able to react for a while, until finally he released his grip on her and she turned around. She looked at him curiously, her long wet dark hair stuck to her face and shoulders. He then didn’t hesitate and leaned down to kiss her.

“M-Michel?” She finally exclaimed once they separated. “What—”

“Sorry. I… have a confession to make.”

Giselle tilted her head, her eyes growing even more confused by the minutes. Their faces were still only inches away from each other, but he looked away, embarrassed.

“I… don’t know how to swim.”

For an instant after that, Giselle stayed completely silent. There were no sounds besides the seagulls’ cries and maybe some children’s laughters far away — until he heard a snort, and when he dared to look at her she was actively giggling.

“For real?” She ultimately let out.

“For… real,” he admitted. “My parents never took me to the beach and I… well, I always skipped whenever we’d go to the pool at school, so…”

Giselle started laughing even harder, and Michel did his best to not snap something dry at her for it, because he kind of felt like he deserved it a little.

“You could’ve just said so!”

“Yeah… I guess I could have, but it’s… kind of embarrassing.”

“Sheesh! Of course not! A lot of adults don’t know how to swim either; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You know, it could be a good opportunity to learn. I’m sure Iméon would be okay to teach you as well—”

“Please don’t tell him. I-I mean… I’m not really interested in learning, and… I still don’t like the sea, you know.”

“But it’s important to know how to swim! You could need it one day and it could save your life. …And you say that, but then why did you come here into the sea in the end?”

He hesitated a little — then looked straight into her big green eyes, and decided to be honest.

“It felt like the sea was taking you away from me. And… I didn’t like seeing you all alone there. You… looked lonely.”

At first, she looked a little surprised; and then her face slowly softened, her eyes shining with affection in that way she used whenever she thought he’d said something cute or childish. Which it absolutely was in this case, to be fair.

She cupped his cheek, raising her body on her tiptoes, and kissed him gently. Her lips tasted of salt, but for some reason right now it didn’t bother him much.

“Well, that’s fine,” she declared. “You don’t need to learn right now. We can just play around in the sea without swimming.”

“I suppose… we can do that.”

He admittedly wasn’t that keen on doing this, but now that he was literally waist-deep into the ocean it wasn’t like he could refuse anymore. So he kissed her again; on the cheek, and then on the forehead, making Giselle giggles — before they retrieved a ball on the beach to go back and play around in the less deep area of the water.

And, to his shock, after a while he actually ended up having fun; overtly laughing whenever Giselle would threw the ball at him or managing to even beat her a few times — and they stayed there up until the sky started to get dark.

When they met back with Iméon at the restaurant tonight, his friend smiled widely at him, announcing proudly that he’d won the bet he’d made with Morgana that Michel would even end up going into the sea if his wife asked it.

And Giselle’s laughter and her hand in his and the fun of the afternoon still present in his mind was enough that this wasn’t even enough to annoy him in the slightest.

7 notes · View notes