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fata10thanni · 1 year

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The House in Fata Morgana 10th Anniversary Week

🦋 Hello! A fanweek to celebrate Novect’s visual novel The House in Fata Morgana’s 10th year anniversary will be taking place from December 31 to January 9! 🦋

Each of the first 8 days of the week will have for themes the 8 doors of the main game, and the last 2 days will correspond to A Requiem for Innocence and Reincarnation. There will also be subprompts for each day that you are free to follow or not.

This event is open to all fans of FataMoru. You can join by posting any content (fanart, fanfic, memes, videos, edits, etc.) on Twitter or Tumblr following the prompt/s on a specific day.

To boost your content, tag us on both sites and use the hashtag #Fata10thAnni.

Supporting creators is also participation! Please help them by liking, rebloging, and/or commenting if you want.

🦋 Rules and Guidelines

1. Please respect each other. Do not engage in fights or fan discourse/drama. Homophobia, transphobia, slurs, racism, and any other form of disrespect/hate towards other participants is NOT allowed.

2. Anyone can post any form of content (art, fic, memes, video edits, etc.) as they want so long as it corresponds to the prompts assigned to the days.

3. To participate, use the hashtag #Fata10thAnni and tag us @fata10thanni when posting your entries.

4. For NSFW entries, please tag them as #NSFWfata10thanni and tag @fata10thanni. Putting your images or previews under the spoiler option is recommended. -- Please indicate that you are 18+ in your bio if you want to post any NSFW content. Any minor engaging with NSFW contents as either creator or enjoyer will be blocked. If possible, use privatter, poipiku, or any other 3rd-party viewer for NSFW. Ao3 is also accepted. Remember to use proper tags and warnings for your posts. If we have not promoted your submission within a day of posting it, kindly message us on Twitter or Tumblr depending on your preferred site.

🦋 On Content

1. Creators are given three prompts each day to follow. One is the main prompt of the day which must always be followed, and the other two are sub-prompts which you can include one of or both alongside the main prompt.

2. Shipping fics are allowed, as long as properly labeled and tagged.

3. Your entries must be your own work. Plagiarism isn't condoned and you will be blocked if we discover that you have plagiarized or reposted someone else's content without their permission.

4. Old works are allowed if they fit the prompts.

5. Late submissions will still be accepted one month after the event has ended, as long as they are properly tagged. (January 10 - February 10)

🦋 Here is the carrd for more informations as well as the curiouscat for any questions

Please don’t hesitate to participate!

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata Morgana #Michel Bollinger #Novect #Fata Morgana no Yakata #House in Fata Morgana #Fandom #Fan week #Fata #Event #Visual Novel #VN #Fanweek #Gischel #TheHouseinFataMorgana #THiFM #FataMorgana

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fatamorushortstorieseng · 2 years

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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

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connan-l · 1 year

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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.

________________________________________________________________

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.”

______________________________________________________________

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.”

______________________________________________________________

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.

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