154 Bad Inheritance

"I do not wish for it. Please. Mother. Mother, please see reason. I plead, with all my heart and soul. All that's good. All I have and more. Do not be so cruel to send me away. Please, Mother." cried a little girl.

One as fair as a hazy day that reflects off the horizon.

But it was not day. Not in this fog. Not in this night of shadows and gloom.

From what you could see in peeks, the child was light. As if she were a mirage. The sparkle of the sea and lakesides. Almost transparent. The kind that could oh so easily fade once you approach because you saw wrong. Saw nothing but a trick of light and the warped mind. A delicate image.

She was a lovely little girl, yes, but there was something.... dangerously weak to her.

Delicate in a way that rattles and creaks. Like a balance of bones. A big bag of them.

Wrong place for them to be.

Just like this was the wrong place for these two.

"There's no time, we must hurry." pulls the taller cloaked figure.

Dark and dirty as it may be, it does not hide the hushed voice of a beautiful woman. One can just tell. It was light. But stern. Already too far too tired.

"Please Mother, please no." the girl cried. Hair of golden cornsilk fell loose from the hood with her struggle.

"Stop. You will listen and do as I say. Please my child, quiet. We have no time." Finally, the mother's voice cracks.

As if the sternness were nothing more than a crumbling mask, but still held in place.

They pause only enough for the cloaked figure to lift up her daughter, despite the girl's age and size. Already reaching far past her mother's waist. The girl had long outgrown the age to be carried by any adult, let alone the slim weak-looking arms that peaked out. The arms of her mother..

Still, she bends to pick her girl up. Perhaps for the last time.

She wraps her daughter up tight. Hiding the little girl, from her hair to her face, even muffling her voice. Anything that could give them away.

"Mama please. Please. I won't cause any trouble. I'm good. I'm good. I'll be very very good." the child cries, sobbing through rough cloth and warm holds that gave little to no comfort at all. Not when she was crying to the point of choking.

"I know you are my baby. You are goodness itself. So very good. And that is why I must." the woman gripped tight, her whispers wet.

But her pace did not slow nor stop till she reached her destination, at the rendezvous point.

Damp stones of dark moss. Night fog has blown in from deeper out. With the splish splash of the harbor being the only sound. Most creatures were asleep.

The shadowy figures that meet up on this very night, do not.

"Mother. Don't do this. Mama, keep me. I'll be good, I won't make any trouble. Ever! Please. I can't- I really can't. I don't-" the girl hiccuped madly with her sobs. Unable to be heard or reasoned with.

"Forgive this useless Mama. Forgive me, in that I do this for your own good. You may hate me, you may even curse me, but you must keep alive."

"But brothers, Fath-"

"Your Father can't keep us safe!.... Forgive me. This is the best I can do for you. Just you. Just you need to make it, my dove."

"I can't, Mama I can't-"

No amount of crying was ever going to be enough. Nor would it change the fate of what goes on tonight.

"Yes, you can love. You're not me. You're better. Good girl, so much smarter, stronger, and all the better. You can and will be. Life isn't all in the books. We cannot predict it all. You will fly free and find your own way. The best way. You will stay safe. You will be fine." the woman finally breaks, sobbing and crying almost just as horribly. All muffled.

The silent night who might overhear this might be hard-pressed to wonder who those words were meant to comfort. The recipient? Or the speaker herself.

"Keep her safe. And take her far away from here." the woman warns, tone suddenly imposing.

"You could go as well, madam. More than could, more than welcome." The voices were indistinguishable from male or female, human or other.

"I will not flee. I will not leave. Not like this. Take my daughter and go. Quickly. I will have no mistakes." she orders, tears melting to reveal a core of sharp steel.

There are no more words exchanged. The deals were long made. It was just time to act them out.

The strangers with the boat, take the child, careful of her little mouth. Enough to muffle the screaming but not to harm. Otherwise, there would be unhappy clients on all sides. They were professionals.

But the child has a sudden burst of strength, for if she did not act now she may never have a trace again.

"Mama! Mama, please don't leave me. Mama?! Don't go, don't let them take me, dont- Mama please I need you! Mama!"

One last kiss. A hand that was once warm, slipped away.

"Be strong. Be better than me. I love you, my Odette."

"Mama, no! Please no! MAMA! Don't leave me! Mama!? MAMA!!! "

The scene should end there. The climax.

Even in the shadows, dewdrops of tears fall as the woman runs. She runs and does not dare to look back. The girl is taken into the ship, quieted by whatever mysterious means. The dock, they are quiet. Too quiet now. Before sailing away.

As if it never was there.

The woman runs and runs. Twists through curves of a city. Under an alley, a tunnel. Through a bar where a few lingering patrons still sing far past tipsy, but nowhere near the sun's hour.

She runs.

At an old belltower, she falls. Clumsy. Bedraggled. Heartbroken. She falls and cries, the cloak splitting up at the edges to reveal a cloth far richer than it appears.

Desperate came in many bold and cuts. Misery came in all. One size.

The hood falls and she sobs too miserably to pick it up.

The hood falls….and the face under it?

It....was my mother's.

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Who cries first? The one who awakened first? Or did we cry in our miserable sleep?

Who cries more?

Certainly not me.

So that must mean, I do not hurt more. That is fine. That is more than fine.

"Mama!!! WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH MAMA!!!!!"

There is a child wailing next to me. Loud and miserable in all the ways a nightmare can drive a child to cry. It sounds so loud and miserable, anything would take pity. No matter how annoyed they are. It's the sound of anguish beyond discomfort or any petty reasons why a child cries. It's the sound of fear and sadness purified.

It's just that....she is so young. So very small and young.

I saw in that dream, a girl I do not know. One who was much older than this. With apple cheeks, a head of delicate cornsilk for hair, and the eyes of a dead harbor's fog along the water. They haunt me.

Her cries were not nearly as loud nor bold as this child now. But there's something about her.

Her tears. Her cries. The utter desperation in them. The way they sound so guttered, a pipe unused to such a flow. Lungs and a voice that stays silent, still as the very walls. Until they creak. Creak and break with all the festered and flooded in pipes burst.

A good girl that just wasn't ever going to be good enough.

It makes me almost feel something. Those thoughts and feelings linger.

"WAAAHHHHH MAMA! PAPA! Mama, don't weave Lily! Waaaaaaaahhhh!" my sister cries, as children often due after nightmares,

Classic Lilyanne. Always thinking everything is about her.

It won't be long before someone comes for her. In comfort. In reassurance. After all, it was just a sad scary dream. Even if there's no way she can understand it. I hardly do myself.

My sister cries and I fail to dry her pitiful tears. Not when the fountain keeps gushing forth.

My sister cries and I can't help but be forced to wipe away the wetness that plagues my own eyes.

It's blurry like this. Everything is blurry. Even that dream. How could anyone make any sense of anything in that fog? Impossible to tell a thing. Even so, the tears are contagious. My eyes won't stop stinging.

My sister....really resembles our mother, huh?

I almost make myself laugh instead of cry. Both bitterly. But it doesn't matter either way.

Footsteps come from the next room. Down the hall and the right outside the lounge of the nursery. What should be safe and protected, servants stationed for our every whim and cry, only looks irritating the further I age.

"What is going on here?! Oh my my my such a fuss at this age?"

A maid or three rushes in, along with an increasingly incompetent person I don't care to bother with right now, and oddly my mood turns for the worse.

"Please ring and send a message to the master wing. My sister had a bad dream. I'll be taking her to her Mother now." I inform them, ignoring how hard it is to speak with my nose stuffed up.

Besides me, my sister cries impossibly loud, as if she had been beaten. As if she were still in pain. She cries all the tears I can't. Perhaps rightfully so.

I don't know this pain.

But I still see that little girl. That little rattle of cornsilk and bones.

I don't sympathize nor do I blame her. That innocent child caught up in all this.

I just think that it's a pity.

"Come on Lily, up up. Let's go find Mother." I ignore any reactions I get.

For the only one that matters is getting my twin to stop crying her head off, and ease the growing tension in mine.

It is not very surprising how I'm blocked. No one respects me here but my Abbey, who I spontaneously picked up myself. What is surprising is why now of all times, to stand up to me? In my way?

Is it because I've been rather relaxed and distracted by this seemingly peaceful life? That I've been too lenient?

I have, after all, been far too loud and demanding of a good little girl. Very much against the keep quiet and bother no one ways that Ms. Gerta instills. But just look where that got me?

Nothing but dead walls.

"That won't be necessary, young misses. Instead rather-" the supposedly well-meaning older woman speaks up.

The older I get, the more suspicious this person looks. But I really can't be bothered tonight. It's too early for this.

"Ms.Gerta and help. My sister, your mistress, is distraught. I am taking her to Mother. I will not repeat myself again." I look up, adjusting the weight of my balance with my twin sister clinging to my side.

"Your Lord Father and Lady Mother are resting at this late hour. You don't want to be a bad girl and disturb them?"

How annoying.

How annoying in that it actually worked against a little girl that didn't know any better. Who just wanted to be good and kept.

Silly girl, being good never gets one anywhere. Not where it actually matters.

"Because it is late, that she calls for and needs Mother. Do not get in my way, again." I walk forwards anyway, glaring against the stark, too bright light of the lantern.

"My young miss. You're not a baby anymore. It won't do to continue behaving so spoiled. A proper young lady would-"

"Either send word and respectfully unblock us or I leave my crying sister here while I jump from the window. Either way, you will be dealt with in the morning. The severity of it depends on you."

Well, that gets them to pale a bit.

As is my habit, the more my irritation rises, the eerily calmer I sound. Perhaps a bit creepy coming from a child as young as myself. It comes from too many years of playing professional, and a bit of blame to this body's poker-faced donor.

But really now, isn't this sort of behavior unacceptable?

If a child is crying and the other is insisting for their mother, instead of complying or at least a bit of consideration and comfort, they're acting more like prison wardens.

Very bad prison wardens if the way current maids A-C shiver from behind.

Hey now? If you've truly learned how to fear me, then can we get on with it?

"Unreasonable! What have they been teaching you? no, the eldest miss does not attend her lessons and needs much further on them it seems. To be threatening others at this young age. I can scarcely believe the young lady that your parents will weep about you becoming-"

Ah, there goes another lesson. One I have not had the honor of hearing much in this lifetime. Not with the way I escape everywhere or even scurry to a crazy adult for protection. I was wondering when Ms. Gerta would reinforce her iron wall of nagging proprietary on me. Just wasn't expecting it to be tonight.

I wasn't expecting to dream anything like that tonight either.

It's too early. Only one day off, from our birthday, but it came none the less. A dream about a past that was not mine. And it was indeed, a troubling sight.

"Out the window I go then. You've all made your very poor choice." I start to walk off, releasing the support that kept Lilyanne upright to turn right over.

That does not go well. With anyone.

"ROSA NO! DON'T WEAVE LILY TOO! WAHHH WAHHHH NO NO NO! NO MORE?! NO MORE LEAVING LILY!" Lilyanne drops to the floor crying. Her chubby little legs are even more unsteady than usual.

Now would be a good time to do your jobs, maids. But this timing also isn't bad either.

"Oh my babies! What is going on here?!"

From the hall, a woman with ringlets for hair rushes over with sleep still in her eyes. Her white nightgown scandalously slipping from her shoulder under a sheer shawl. For half a step, she trips, but rights herself up instantly again before falling into a position of all fours.

Silly, clumsy mother. Yet for some very off reason, the sight of her terrifies me.

It makes me fear. It makes this great cry want to rise out from inside. The fear tells me to start crying louder. To fling myself into her bosom and never let go. To beg her, futilely, again and again, to not let me go.

Just like Lily.

What a dream. What a prophecy. The feelings of it have clearly sunk into my psyche and affected me?

My mother looks down at us shocked. The maids all bowing, and with Ms. Gerta trying to explain.

But what is there to explain?

There are children crying and Mother scoops us up with no further questions or explanations.

I try not to make note of her hair. I don't need to memorize how her natural ringlets fell loose like manufactured chains. How in various lights of night or day, I can't quite describe the exact shade of brown, bronze, and booze. Or how her skin reminds me of peaches and milk, summertime embodied. Or how her scent changed daily with her perfume or products but always had the coying underlie of something fresh and dried in the sun. That she smells more like the sun than I can ever remember.

I try until I don't have to try.

I may call her Mother, but it's far from the truth. It's too terrifying. This woman.

This woman will abandon me. She already has.

In a similar fashion, in another time and circumstance, Lilyanne will abandon her own daughter.

How funny, how similar they are.

"What's all this?" she rocks, her arms oddly strong enough to keep lifting two growing children.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaah!!! Mama!!!" Lilyanne cries, followed by a babbling I can't make out, gushing out of her.

She sobs and cries out explanations in her simple little vision. Hiccups and sobs make the hard-to-understand events even more impossible to make out. Just that she's too terribly upset to speak.

"I was going to bring her to you, Mother. But the maids won't let us...they said we can't" I softly speak, aiming for her ear through the mess of her hair.

I say us in the plural, but more likely, it was just me.

If I had let Lilyanne go on screaming for, eventually the maids would have given in to request for the Lady of the house. Regardless of the hour, they could do that much at the very least.

This was a power display against me. I know the problem is mainly with me.

It would all be easier if I were a real harmless child. One that listened and didn't go sneaking out, pranking people, or setting them into mysterious series of cases that lead to more rumors and early retirements. But seeing how I've already failed that cover….

I can't really bother putting up too much of an act in my own personal sleeping quarters. It's just not comfortable.

Besides, who do people think they are?

Help that isn't really helping? Lower nobles with supposedly good references in who they know or which household they were born into? How dare they question, let alone mistreat me, the eldest young miss of this high born house? Are they begging for me to toy with their lives? Because that's what I'm hearing.

Ah, there goes my damn pride again. I really should work on that. But I feel it's even harder to do so as a young Rosalia?

It's my pride that both destroys me and keeps me in power.

Other people don't like it very much. But if I don't keep my pride….what do I get to keep?

"I would ask what is the meaning of this, but it is indeed late. Report to me after breakfast. Think well and keep it short. We're so very busy with the girls' birthday celebrations coming up." Mother does not inform them she will be taking us.

Why should she? After all, she's the boss?

She can do as she wills, and right now, her displeasure is held back with candied grace and smiles.

It prompts the shaky "Yes my lady!" from this rotation of maids. Even Ms. Gerta must bow and shut her mouth.

After all, it wouldn't do to argue with a Lady. Not after an order.

As it should be.

Wagging your neck and tail in front of those stronger than you. Cutting corners and stepping over those you think you can. Take all you can.

Ah, how troublesome.

I want to support others, I really do. Commoners no less. But not like this. Not when we have too many people like this in the world. This is a very nasty breed of arrogance I have no mercy on stomping out.

Mother does not bid them a good night as she steps out, but I do. From the tag along comforts of her arms. Lilyanne on one side, me on the other. I do not wave nor gloat, so much as I order reminders they'll surely not forget.

"Do look after my dolly tonight. Ponyo Annabelle Coralina gets awfully cranky when utterly ignored." I toodle loo.

Ok, I lie. I taunt a little bit.

The one good thing about that doll is that it seems to scare the maids just as much if not more so than it does me. For that, its menacingly innocent stitched smile looks much more pleasing tonight.

I bid it a goodnight, smiling to the fearful young maids. Told them that the consequences depended on them.

My sister blabbers on. Crying to Mother all her grievances in nonsense speak.

There's nothing more I can really contribute right now. There's a story that can't quite be told. Too many chapters missing in the tale of events.

There are two different tales. The one being told, by Lilyanne, and the one kept secret, by me. What would you like to hear? What would anyone prefer to hear? The beautiful misunderstood lie? Or the ugly inconvenient truth.

Just kidding. You don't get a choice. No one does.

You're only fed what you're told.

Just like a helpless child.

Like an overgrown child with her dolls, Mother takes us along the hall. From one wing to another. It's a terribly long walk it seems. From bedroom to bedroom. Even with the familiarity, it's more than a little scary to a child. Intimidating. This long twist of halls.

It's a long walk futile back to the nursery.

"And you Rosalia? Did you have a frightening dream as well? You're awfully quiet. " Mother asks, carrying us with no struggle.

"*hic* Just Lily! *hic hic* Mama no weave." her child cries.

There is a dry void where my voice should be. It feels familiar. I simply nod in agreement, unable to feel, unable to sympathize.

"Only Lily." I repeat, soft enough my throat doesn't itch.

Only she matters. Only she was in this dream, this vision. Only she gets to live.

Even if she suffers through it, she got to live.

It's a little unfair.

I don't know what I could have done? How I would have lived. Maybe as Rosalia, maybe as someone else. It's impossible.

But I think she would have liked to try. I think Rosalia would have liked the chance to find out herself what life could have been for her. She just….never did.

Only Lily.

"....There there, now." Mother rocks us.

Her attempt at comfort. Me along with it. I suppose it will do.

When she finally reaches the bedroom, Father looks up from where he reads in bed. A unimpressive stoic expression, raised slightly in inquiry.

"They had a bad dream…." Mother starts.

"It came early then." Father finishes, putting aside his late night work matters.

He fluffs up the blankets, setting up the already cleaned plush bed further. Something that sinks as much as it bounces. Luxury beyond our own. Which of course, is the case, it's their bed.

For some odd reason, I allow myself to be tucked in obediently. No fights or clamoring how I'm not a crybaby like Lilyanne. But it's just...easier in this life.

"I'll take her." Father holds his hands out.

For some odd reason, I feel myself reach for them

This man….will also discard me. But not like that. Not so cheaply. Not like my own.

He never did. Not till he disappeared, most likely died. Cold and unfeeling as he may be at times. I'm still of some value to him. I'm still worth something. Even after I fall. Even if only for my mind and the benefits that follow. He'll abandon me yes, but not like that.

Certainly….not like Mother.

"Rosalia?" Mother questions, as if surprised at the abrupt struggle in her arms.

I don't know what to say to that. I don't know if there is anything to say.

"Don't flail and fight so uselessly. There we go. That's my girl. That's my little tesoro. A bad dream was it?" Father takes me from her, regardless of any fight in me.

"No *hic*, only Lily." I complain, letting him bury me in his hold.

A lot cooler and more solid than Mother's. A little more comfort. A bit safer. Just a bit.

"Then you shall have to tell me all the terrible only Lilyanne things after you're well and rested. Come now. It's late. Do you wish to be up all night in tiresome frustration?" he chides me, reasoning through the unreasonable sobs threatening to choke me alive.

Too talented fingers on an oversized hand rub up and down my back. It makes me feel smaller than I really am. Always has.

"That's what you do with work…" the grievances will never end with him.

But it feels safe.

Like I can leave a piece of me. A very carefully well-selected part or so. Leave it to rest and walk away, knowing it's safe. Somewhat.

I don't trust men. Especially not useless ones. But I don't trust a lot of things.

I fall back asleep not trusting in anything. Just that there's a solid beat in my ear. The controlled tone of the metronome. Almost musical, and the blood that beats in my own calms to match.

I fall asleep to Father's heartbeat and the whispered worries above.

"...what…...distance…."

"...nonsense."

"...happen….or not...I…"

"...too early…"

"....it's late…"

"...love."

"....hates..."

I wake up before the sun even rises, like I used to. Twilight black filtering the room. Gentle breaths sleeping on the other side of a bed that should be too large.

There's a rustle of something, someone, leaving. Too far away.

A day too early it's still very much night. The work that never ends. Not with this man. All the wrong hours and all the wrong drives. Something that burns so much you can't sit still.

"...Don't... leave." a sleepy sticky little voice calls out and I taste the dryness in my own mouth.

A chuckle from the shadow in the darkness. Long lingering fingers prying my own from his person.

"Is that a birthday wish? It's a tad early to make one of those. Another day, love." he pats, retucking me in.

Despite all the warmth and comfort of a cozy filled bed, lumps of mochi soft meat dozing away in the peak hours before dawn, a midnight terror already holds me.

It's a fear I don't wish to make anymore sense or connections with.

"Don't go…" I mumble without any strength, nor any reason.

There's a tiredness that makes my head float and my gums swell. All still dizzying my senses. A child's body without enough sleep. Yet conscious of the crisp cold.

It's not something I'm unfamiliar with. Rising up with or right after Father. At least not something the original wasn't. Getting up was never easy but...but what was I going to say?

Don't go? Don't go without me?

"Good little girls stay in bed at this hour." states a voice, so dry and mellow, it's almost comforting how he never really changed.

No one has. They're all the same people as the last time, and it's only me. Only I'm the one who's strange. Who misunderstood.

It's just not fair if I'm the only one who has to fix it.

"I'm not very good at being good." I complain, wearily wiggling myself free.

It's cold and it's dark. A very miserable experience. But one I'm unfortunately a little too familiar with.

I'll take it.

I can't stay here anyways. Not with Mother and Lily. I can't.

"I've noticed….suit yourself."

Father makes no move to help me but neither does he stop me.

My limbs are very short. My legs laughably so when climbing down and following after the trace of his shadow in the start of the day. He could easily leave me behind, yet always stays somewhere I can catch up. It's preposterously obvious to me now.

Every bleak morning in another life, when I woke up too early to follow him to his study or the stables or beyond. When I had to shadow after his never-ending work before he left for even more work. He could have left me behind every time. He never helped me, I believe. But he never stopped or just left.

I'm always the one who leaves him first. Excused.

Rosalia and I are nothing but little fools. There's no one we can really trust. No place to rest our tired spinning heads. But if I must choose a lesser misery...let it be with him.

Someone who hasn't left me yet.

"Oh my? A very good morning to you my Lord, and to you young miss Rosalia." Alfonso's eerie presence is familiar, even if it's by my Father's side and not my own.

A wisp of steam. Something always clean. Always ready.

"Thank you. Perhaps another cup of something much weaker this morning." Father takes his morning tea straight, the scent of bergamot slowly waking me up.

"So it shall be done. Will our young miss require a maid on call to assist with her morning routine?" the perfectly pressed man asks.

I shake my head, denying the request but accepting a very milky diluted version of Father's drink in a cup too big for these hands. But I can drink it just fine on my own. Just as I can do anything else just fine.

"I don't like them," I admit, verbally for once.

"Oh, so you say?" Father slinks around his dressing room, all without a single light.

I can barely make him out by the clinks of his tea and the shuffle of cloth. Nothing sounded out of order. It was as if he had done this a thousand times before and could see perfectly in the dark.

"....I don't like or trust them. Not a single one. Not anymore." slow slips of warm milk working my mouth loose.

"...have you ever? What brings this on Rosalia?" Father steps out, supposedly suitably modest and straightened out.

"I just….don't like them…" I cannot say. Not yet.

Warm washing water. A brush of my hair. A slightly cozy overdress to my nighties. Alfonso does it all for me. It's all so natural to be served yet I rarely let some random maid touch me.

"Have they done something unbefitting to their station? Towards you? Any single one of them?" Father's voice raises like steam, another cup of tea being refilled.

"...No." I gulp.

One sip. Two. Half the cup gone and-

"Not yet. Not until they're given the chance."

I'm feeling oddly talkative and sip the rest of my milk loudly to signal the end of that. It won't do to be too careless.

Twilight black slowly turns to blue. Father walks me out after a morning clean-up. My short legs and short words have made him give up his patience and carry me entirely. The grounds to the stables solid, the air refreshingly cold and silent.

"Have you ever heard, my dear Chip, how much you resemble your honorable grandfather." Father speaks, his voice resounding in the nothingness of the morning air.

"...meh." I make a noncommittal noise as he packs me up on his horse, padding and all.

"So many questions. And when there are answers, you've left a few more in place." the man loads up himself.

"I didn't know there were any questions or answers. No one ever says anything that makes any sense." I grumble, getting comfortable in my forced seat.

"Rosalia. You give warnings but not enough reasons why. You act as if you know too much yet too little at the same time. You keep tight as a clam yet have your claws out to either cling or scratch. Whatever does go on in there?." my hair is ruffled as Father pulls a little hood over me.

A silent ride. Much like all the ones I've taken with him before, as any Rosalia. But it's not uncomfortable. Not for a long time now.

I don't even know if things were as uncomfortable as I imagined them before? The perceptions of then and now? So many changes, I'm no longer sure.

Things were never black and white with me. Just various shades of gray.

What was the abuse I faced as a child back then?

Why?

What was the fickle capricious heart I held? How much did it hold me back? How much did all those around me let me hold myself back?

I'm the one who is always left with more questions than answers.

So if the shady people around are stuck suffering with their own theories and thoughts, that's their problem. Suffer a bit, ok?

A big cleared empty field eventually greets me from where Father steers his steed, Gino.

Not the roads. Not the growing infrastructure of the most central station between roads and wagons. But quite literally a too empty field. One turned over by man and not nature.

A few posts of wood stacked or staked in oddly here and there. Half a platform already built in a very troop's like fashion. It's all coming together despite the nothingness.

"What's this? Another building site?" I look up to ask curiously.

What nonsense is this nerd working on now? Can he never take a break?

"This? This is going to be your birthday banquet this year. You and your sister." Father plays coy, nudging me and my line of sight to the entire field.

A giant field setting up for a not so modest festival.

"Huh!?" I feel half my jaw go loose.

"Just like you wanted and asked for, my dear. A big publicity event. Markets and stalls, rides and memories to ador. Open for all. Commoners and nobles alike. Open for longer than just a few days. We'll have to drag on all through a week." a sly smile starts turning on Father's face. A nerdy useless one!

"What?! When did I ask for that!?" I feel like pointing accusingly in my horsie seat belt, strapped to him.

"Why? Many times, usually as you roll about my drafting papers." he fake taps his cheek in thought.

"I-I-...."

I said those out loud?!

Oh no. Oh no!

There may have been times I messed around with Father's or Grampa's plans. Seeing what could be done or reasonably implemented. But they were just mumbles and brainstorms.

A festival or some sort of public morale and show was an option I played with mentally. A public relations event to pull favor into my hands. Perhaps for the future?

Just a plan in the maybe pile.

After all, everyone likes some fun and excitement? There's little entertainment out here and it's too easy to sway the simple people of this land. Just survival isn't enough. Living is harsh enough.

As Grampa always said, bread and circuses.

I just assumed I was the bread and Lilyanne was the circus? Oh nevermind, that wasn't the point, neither mine nor whatever that old crazy Grampa of mine was speaking nonsense about.

Just when however, was it misconstructed?!

"You're making our birthday dinner into a whole festival!?" I gape, finally seeing the platforms and foundations for what they were.

Wooden stalls sitting empty of various sizes. Some had roofs and others not so much. Pebble and gravel walkways. Stakes in the ground for tents. Bigger ones for god knows what.

"Yes, it is rather tiresome to entertain balls of dull networks. This is far more enjoyable for my little girls. Is it that much of a surprise? What an accomplishment." Father chuckles, a little too pleased with himself.

"How!?" I repeat my screams.

This definitely never happened in the last life. Never ever!?

A public festival?! This money drain! For some little kids' birthday? How outlandish?! How ridiculous?

Just crazy!

"Crazy perhaps, but just perfect for my girls." says the nerd in his usual restrained poker face glee.

His eyes tell me ideas are already spinning, since he's just as bad as the rest of the insanity he married into. Spin and spin. A day to day world of this ridiculous family who increasingly does as they please.

Guess we're just stuck with it.

Oh my...there's a lot to do?

No time to play relaxed birthday girl. Let's get to last-minute demanding everything to a passable standard. Plans a go!

"I want a large spinning basket swing, and a hot juice station, and a puppet show theater, and no bad music, and and-"

"Noted. However, your mother will be in charge of all that when it comes to your every wish and whim. You shall take it with her." pats the evil man in fake doting.

"....What? Say what?" I can feel myself turn to stone.

A stray morning bird caws in the distance. Caw caw caw.

"Yes. That's how the division of labor has been drawn. I handle the building and logistics. Your Mama fills and frills it up with you. Doesn't that sound fun?" Father answers, his voice timed and fading with the birds,

Something about his smile.

...Go back to your usual poker face. I don't like this. I don't like any possible misdeeds you're planning. Look even the crows are cawing ominous!

"But...we're...already here….you can just-" I start building up reasons for my case. A standard procedure when it comes to Father.

Though I may have been getting spoiled as of late.

The things I want turn out to be things he's nerdily glad to make. A crazy series of experiments, with plenty of trial and error. Father and Grampa tend to hoard and tinker with my draft ideas pretty easily. I haven't needed to argue for anything for a while. Or really at all.

That's why it's alarming.

Father...is denying me with a smile.

"Yes, I can. But is it not your Mama's job as well, to fulfill your requests?" He says slowly, sticky and shallow.

This man….has already figured me out. Again.

"Mnnnnn." I groan, unable to ever outwit or overpower that man I call Father. It's always been like that and it is certainly unfair.

"You know, the chop to my chip, that your dearest venerable most highly regarded mama thinks you dislike her. Always running away. Though perhaps a part of it is my fault, hmmm" he strokes at my head, much like I'm a prop teacup kitten.

What a threatening statement.

Allow me to translate: don't make Mother upset or else.

"It's not me…." I mumble out, huffing.

"Is it now?~" Father lugs my dead weight around, surveying the grounds.

I'm not the one having children and abandoning them around. Sheesh? But I hate to say I understand. As a child, I must be more adorable. More nice. More...whatever it is that Lilyanne does.

No one knows the future yet. It hasn't happened yet.

It can still change and it already has.

It's not fair and never has been. But for that little girl that's always been left behind, I would like to try.

"You will get a spending limit beyond even your own imagination…" the devil drawls, dealing without much subtly.

Now that gets my attention, perking me up back to life at him.

"Really? Certainly? Is that such the case, Father?!" for once I feel a sense of excitement at the pain of my own birthday.

"As high as you two can spend….so long as you behave well with your mama. You can do that while I'm so so so very busy here, can't you my gold draining little Rosalia?" Father taps at my little button nose.

I shake. I shiver. I fear. But I can't resist.

For money. For a lavish PR event beyond my dreams. For free advertisement. For all the frills and festivities! For money!!! Oh my one true end route love, money!

"I'll be good! I'll be very very good!" I nod vigorously.

"Will you now?" another tap at his freshly shaven face.

Deal with the devil. But the devil of a Father has money! Who cares! Sold!

The deal is sealed with a kiss, loud and smacking. Father looks so cheaply pleased but it's me that made off with the real deal.

After all, promises are not assured with villainesses. Ho ho ho~

Birthday party spending, let's go!

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Boring bonus.

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"Do you think….our daughter hates me?"

"Utterly nonsense my dear."

Maria sighed, despite all the comforts. A single chaste kiss from her rose colored love could usually have her mind spinning into a clear and blissful state. Much like comfortably settling into a pure soft as cloud bed at the end of a long tiresome day manually sorting beasts and goats.

But not tonight.

Curled away at the center between them were their two little angels. Or as Frederick had liked to call them "strange lumps of mammal meat that burst forth from eggs inside you".

She couldn't help but reminisce.

When they were first born all those years back, he called them Lump 1 and Lump 2 respectively.

Even though they had very proper names?

Spontaneous names of flowers, as is very fashionable now for young noblewomen to have.

Her daughters would be anything but unfashionable in society! Yes the garden belles of all the parties, teas and balls that they were all never excluded from. They'll never have to worry about fleas or cleaning the blood stains of their enemies or any of that nonsense. Good lovely proper flowers like little angels for girls.

But no, he called them Lump 1 and Lump 2, respectively.

It was partially her fault since she just could not decide on any names when they were in her belly.

When she was feeling particularly awful, moody in the most bewildering stage of craving blood, cheese or everything on top, he would terribly question:

"Is it Lump 1 or Lump 2?"

As if she could tell who was kicking what inside her?!

Mere mortals do not get to decide the blessing that they would have. The Gods and spirits of this world had deemed her be much….much...fatter than the average due with a child woman.

What a strange and emotional time.

It took many tears, and her own husband's broken ribs puncturing his lungs, before they were blessed with the knowledge they were to have twins.

What good gods and what a struggle they were. Eating for two? Three?

How does one measure up and compare the amount of waste those girls had her gorging and throwing them back up by morning? It was a miracle she hadn't burned herself mute in stomach acid or died of starvation.

Then there were the fevers. The chills. The heat flashes? The contradicting weakness in her limbs to the wild desire to chase her man down and howl over him at the moon. All these very unlady like things.

Mainly...it was the weakness.

Slowly it creeped, like the perils of a killing winter.

The bigger the children inside her got, the more and more drained of anything she felt.

It made her feel even worse than when she was a child herself, feverishly ill in a nest of fluffy leaves and static fuzz her worried papa had dug out and built for her.

Hot and cold. Heavy and light. Nothing made sense nor did she have the strength anymore to make sense of it.

It wasn't so bad….if she could just….sleep.

The worst part of it all was not her nor her pain. Enduring pain was nothing she wasn't trained for.

It when she had caught her most beloved darling, Father of her babies, calmly fretting in that way of his. Researching all the ways to terminate a middle stage pregnancy.

She had nearly called Gable on the scry, wanting to turn her beloved into a pretty little useless flower to crush. She wanted, in that moment, to break the other side of all his ribs. Break his heart like he did hers. This time on purpose! But she found….she didn't have the strength anymore?

The uncouth, revulsive for a woman, strength that her papa blessed her with and that she had long abhorred in her adult years…..was entirely gone?

It was such an unexpected shock that she fainted right then and there.

To think...someone like her could fall so weakly. It was almost like a dream come true.

Until it wasn't.

There were healers, midwives, invited professionals of all walks who said that her life could be at risk. That having these babies could very well kill her?

It was surreal.

It was a reality that many women faced, herself included.

"Well that settles it then." her husband had jumped past the edge of misunderstanding and made his own conclusion.

No children.

Just like he originally wanted.

She knows Frederick. She knows and understands who he is. Why he says, why he believes, such cruel things. She understood his strange thoughts, sincere worries, and subconscious fears. But…

"I'm having them." she had made her resolution long ago, longer than he knows.

"Love of my life, you've heard the risk. It's simply not worth your good health and life. Spare yourself the grief….if you really wish, we can sponsor wards or even try again and-"

"I'm not killing my babies." she held her growing tummy protectively.

"You wouldn't be killing them. They're not even alive yet. Just….two lump parasites feeding off your life force. No one would blame you. I would never blame...-" her love tried to comfort, as if that could make up for everything.

Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe she was always an easy crier. But everyone knew how a Ventrella couldn't stay or cry quiet.

It was just so...wrong.

"Maria... I'll always be here for you no matter-"

"I'm having them. I want them. I want my babies. I *want* them."

"Yes my love, I know. I know dearly that you-"

"I'm not my mother! I want them. I actually want them...I'm not her...I want them..I want to keep them.." She sobbed, sobbed and sobbed till she couldn't breathe.

She cried for a lot of things. Another broken tea cup. That papa had ruined another of her things and plans. The loss that she didn't know. The little lives inside, crying to stay alive.

Maria had always been an easy crier, and her husband, her beloved twisted thorn-covered rose-petalled darling, loved her enough to give her the world if she so cried for it. So he relented.

He took on her pain. More than his fair share. Whenever he could. Held her hand and took it all. Everything that he could.

That day came and went by so fast.

"It's alright if it's just one. One is enough. If only one lives to please you. It's fine if they both don't make it…. just stay with me." he had tried to compromise, begging at her frail numbed hand clenched in his.

But you can't play deals with the gods. Not with all the money, nor power in the world. No one could.

Give. Take. Bless. Destroy.

There was no fighting it, not really.

But the children, the girls, the lumpy lumps of the most precious little creatures had come into the world safely. The both of them, and she was given the chance to see it all.

Given, their birth had practically put her in such an extreme case of bedrest for two year. Two whole years!? But it was a small price to pay to finally have her babies.

Two lovely little daughters.

How could anyone ever give them up?

…Maria never blamed nor resented the woman who gave birth to her. Rather, she was grateful. Eternally grateful that whoever she was, or what the situation was….she let them go.

She let her go into her papa's arms and safely go. Gave them the rest of their lives together.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Especially in her loneliest of days. Wondering why.

"She didn't want you....and you deserve better. You deserve the world, baby girl." her papa would wipe away the tears.

His thick hands were warm and comfortingly rough in how they brush through the mess of her hair. Her earliest memories were of him and those hands, carrying her across the various different colored skies.

She didn't have a mama. The woman that should have been mama didn't want her.

But Papa would carry her all over the world with his own two hands. And that was more than any child could have asked for.

He wasn't always a very good papa. With the chopping off her hard grown locks in flea season where other girls brushed them beautifully long. Or wake her up in the middle of odd hours to mush a sled party, survive a scream inducing fall from a cliff nest, or outrun nature in a dusty and cow filled tornado across. Lots of things like that. Or moving them far far far southeast across oceans to tropical jungles when her noble friends were going to fancy academies. It was a very sad time, even if Gable went with them that year.

And a very very mean way to surprise her when they returned to their new grandly rebuilt villa home, just a few fields from the ever growing troops.

It was beautiful in all the strangest ways. So oddly perfect.

She was more than perfectly suited to remain right here when creating and raising her own family. Even if she lost her papa's inheritance of her powers forever.

It might have been for the best? She could have been a real lady that way?

But it broke her men's hearts to see her so frail. It was better to stay healthy and live a long life with them over anything else. Long and happy.

While her strength did come back after a few short blessed years, along with papa's strange exercise regimes bursting through her windows and atriums, it was only getting increasingly tiring to keep up. In a way that had nothing to do with punching or powering through.

Her daughters.

Their sickly second "Lump 2" was as lovely as dreams….and so very...demanding as any reality with children.

Lilyanne clung, cried, and cried some more when she didn't get her way. Which was usually either an eternal hug or some convenient little chunk of cheese. Her youngest adored attention in any form, and needed the comforts of physical touch at any and all hours. Especially when she was feeling unwell. It was adorable though it was easy to feel too sweatily warm with what Frederick called "a barnacle as sticky as molten and dried cheese. "

She would punish him for calling his daughter a barnacle, plucked chicken, and tub of evolving mold but there was no punishment fitting enough. They were all created and called with love.

At the very least, it was far better than all the nicknames her own papa had cursed her existence with while growing up.

If "Lump 2" was a concern, then the strong headed healthy firstborn "Lump 1" was surprisingly trumping all that and more. Far beyond any dream or nightmare.

Perhaps due to Rosalia's good health, smart little head, strong independent nature, and a great hunger for…..anything and everything….her not even 4 years old little girl had nearly gotten herself killed...so many times already!

She just would not stay still!

But of course, if her Rosalia was too quiet and still, a mother would worry.

It's best to give children their space, she had heard. It was even better, no expected, for certain noble children. Best not to motheringly coddle them nor interfere with their studies so many other ladies and aids had advised. Even the head maid of the children's wing, who came with many recommendations from many noble houses.

But was that really the right thing? She didn't know.

"I was raised in near utter isolation until I was a survivable age to be considered a citizen with legal rights. Turned out well enough. Now, personally, I would prefer it if my own birth giver and nag kept, oh approximately…" her husband had explained and shown her a map, then drawn a very very very long red line of distance away.

That was a shame. It would increase the shipping time to send her noble Mother-in-law gifts of piety and love!

But the main point was….Maria was never a very good or refined noblewoman. Perhaps here, she too would fail. Badly.

How could she keep away from her babies who were so cute and needy!?!

It was not just clingy Lilyanne, both her little flowers would not survive without the sunshine of love-soaked attention. Rosalia had cried so pitifully for the first time those short few years back, that it made Maria relive her own tears.

She may fumble and flail as a proper fine noblewoman in many ways, including this, but it will just have to do. Her babies were too much like her. They needed to feel loved and wanted.

Only...there are moments. Increasing moments.

Right now her daughters slept in peace. Their tears dried and their little bare feet tucked in warm in their sheets. But before this…

...There was the fear and concern of their dreams. Her papa spoke vaguely of her daughters' potential powers, their visions. When that happens, Maria knows there are worse moments yet to come.

These dreams they see, prophecies or warnings...they would explain so much.

The girls must have saw something….very frightening and upsetting. They must have.

Her brave little Rosalia denied with her darling's stiff little face and that's what made it all the more telling. Her tiny baby girl. Acting as if she was already a hardened warrior standing on the field. Stoic. Weary. Yet unwilling to worry the weaker people around her.

Her Rosa stiffly denied it, and if she didn't pick up her baby, her Rosa seemed to deny everything. Even her mother's touch. As if she hated it.

But when her little candle-lit eyes came across Frederick in bed, Rosalia couldn't seem to hold it in anymore. Life sprung back in her tired soft body, ice melted and a little girl squirmed and cried out silently for her papa to comfort her.

Her eldest little girl...didn't want her. Not if she could help it.

The way Rosalia often huffed, ignored her or even ran away from her. Always freezing and avoiding her mama. Yet go running with a kitten on catnip vigor to yell at her grampapa or demand something from her papa. The way Rosalia clung to her father's side of the bed, inching further and further away from her.

"Don't fret it, my love." her darling kissed her forehead, soothing the physical lines of worry at the very least.

"She feels as if she's in a hurry to leave me, as soon as she can. She never comes for me for anything, even when I see her staring around a corner. She stays stiff as a board around me but melts so wonderfully for you and her toys. She's keeping things from me. Both her and papa....as if they're a whole world away. Darling….I think and know our Rosalia to very much dislike me." she felt like crawling into a dark corner.

Quickly. Before mushrooms of utmost sadness grew everywhere on the bed sheets, again.

"Maria, love and splendor, tender core of my heart, even if all that's true it's not the entirety of the truth in what you see. Give it some time with her. Trust me. Trust yourself. Let me help you." his sweet nothings were never really nothing.

"Besides…Chip is more fond of me rather than any other living person. It is a tiresome and bold responsibility as her Father." darling spoke quite solemnly.

Maria nodded since it was quite true, how could anyone not love and adore her terribly handsome darling to the point of throwing all sense out the window. Perhaps Rosalia was too much like her in that aspect. They did have some rather frighteningly similar tastes. She would certainly drop everything for the chance to run into her lover's wonderful arms. That partially explained things tonight.

"I'll be having a talk with the nursery wing maids tomorrow. Don't think I don't notice how Rosalia terrifies them. But there must be a reason for that….I saw some of that tonight...How odd. But more importantly, I fear. It comes early, my love. The dreams papa so warned of, once a year on their birth."

"Is it really early Maria? How are we mortal to record and conclude the flow of the years. Why there's a study that suspects our years have something of a leap if we properly count it all to-"

"Oh nevermind that! Darling! Why do you think our babies can't rely to tell us their fears and nightmares? Rosalia only tells bits and pieces to Papa and…."

"Is it because your honorable Gable is there to coax and intervene with Father's mysterious methods?" Frederick rationalized and finished his wife's trailing thoughts.

There are things that Rosalia knows. Things she doesn't feel safe telling to them, but to her grandfather. There were reasons for that. There was certainly no forcing her, not without some backlash.

Though he comforted her, Frederick didn't deny his wife's fear.

Their daughter sometimes looked at them, her parents, her family, as if they weren't to be trusted. As if she's made a grave mistake with them all before. As if she feared making any more mistakes by getting close, ever again.

It hurt. But it was reasonable. Better than nothing.

No one said pain nor love made any sense.

"Give her that time and space to spill it out to them, since she trusts them. As do you. Then another industrial case of my brandy, invited and drained. I do believe your honored Gable will drink it all out of spite. But I'll have something for you, love. We'll grow something better than what we had, love. We already have."

He pulls her hair out the way for her comfort, pulls the blankets over her shoulder, and presses gentle promises on each of his girls.

"It's late. Rest well, my major star and heart." he holds his wife's hand across the expanse of pillows and drooling children.

"I love you." she sniffs, clutching it. Mouth gummy, brain made forever dumb, and chest always overflowing when it came to this.

"Early day ahead with these two, rest." he effortlessly made her heart swell, even with his snoozing Lump 1 and Lump 2's restless legs smacking between them.

"I love you." she whispers dumbly, always losing their game of beauty and art.

"As I almost hate how much I love you. Now. Shhhhh."

Lilyanne rolls over, nearly crushing her sleeping sister.

Their Lump 2 sniffed up and around until she found her father's outstretched hand. Unconsciously, their baby grasped at it, stealing it away from her mother's, all to…..suck his thumb.

A displeased, grumpy even in her sleep, Lump 1 kicked and rolled the other way. Switching places as she avoided her sister's butt. Like a kitten, she petted and pawed, made her way in between her mother's chest, and stayed in there with a comfortable sigh.

It was almost hateful how lovely all this was.

That was more than any overgrown child turned parent could ask for.

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