146 Love is a cage?

It is not every day that I wake up in a cage.

But when I do, I can easily process, eliminate, and blame one of two people. Either my grandfather or my father. One of those.

That or I've been kidnapped for real and am doomed. Doomed I say!

"Leeeeeet me out!" I squeeze and scramble about the cage. Trying to find the door to this thing.

Come on, I had to get in here somehow? Where's the way out? Is this a cage?! I've been literally imprisoned in a giant cage!

It's not even a proper prisoner cage, it's far more detailed. There's netting?! A thick metal grid to make a fence, with even more soft netting inside.

"Wheeeeeeeeeee~" my sister rolls about the piles of colorful cushion and other child stimulating fun.

It's like a children's playpen on steroids in here. Pillows. Blankets. Stuffies. I even notice a heated warmth radiating from somewhere underneath. Making the cage deceptively warm and cozy. The available walls are padded like a hyperactive insane asylum, only attached with more terrible contraptions. Ropes and cloth ladders for climbing. Tiny tea tables. A low chalkboard. Things I don't want to identify. Nothing but soft surfaces

"Lilyanne, this is serious! We must escape!" I manage to squeeze my arms through the holes.

Just my arms though, not the rest of me.

"Where. Does. This. OPEN?!" I can't help but scream.

No locks. No mechanism. Not a single trap door. It's like a ship in a bottle mystery?! How did I get in here in the first place?

My sister is rolling around doing absolutely nothing to help me!

This has the scent of Father's handiwork all over it. Don't ask how or why I know. I just do.

"Smells like mama and papa! Rosa?" Lilyanne rubs herself on the various cushions and blankets. Possibly belonging to the parentals.

Hey....is she a dog? What the hell?

A very useless one too. In fact, she seems quite comfortable. Barefoot and helpless in her little nightgown and pumpkin bloomers, flashing me with every roll.

I continue to climb, higher and higher up over and around the cage. The netting makes it almost too easy to do so. Even if I fall, there are layers of cushioning everywhere. But there has to be a mechanism or entry path somewhere.

"Aaaaaah!!!!!" I scream in frustration, climbing up to the ceiling. Crawling about.

"Oooooh." Lilyanne cheers me on, waving upside down.

No, wait it's me that's upside down. Even the ceiling is covered in soft nets and such materials. Eventually, though, I've found it. A hole in the hard to access the ceiling. Narrow, but more than enough space for me to get through.

I drop down. Really drop.

Then slide back out to the cushions on the floor with my sister. Right through the hidden slide and all.

What. The. Hell!?

What is this contraption?! This trap of trickery? Was it made on purpose?!

"Well now, you girls are up earlier than expected." a wall opens up behind the netting.

A wall of soft velvet curtains, letting in the unfiltered light of early day. Shadowed only by a single tall figure.

A man as beautiful as a brilliantly blooming summer rose smiles down upon me. The hottest of fires burned white and deceptively clean. A being of dark that should not walk in the light yet stands there like divinity feigning mortality.

I fear him so.

His sunlight eyes crinkle at the sight of us, innocent prey awaiting the pot, the boil, for his consumption. The soft line of his blushing lips curves up, the fondest of gaze. It causes Lilyanne to go absolutely gaga.

"Papa! Good morning Papa!"

"What is the meaning of this, Father?!"

I pull back my own sister, not allowing her any nearer to that fiend. Despite the netted cage that separates us, he's a danger for all mankind. Especially to little girlkind.

"How did my girls sleep? Do you like your new play place?" Father ignores me completely, smiling at his favorite little angel.

"Yaaaay so softies!" Lilyanne cheers with a downy blanket.

"Despicable. " I block the line of sight between them. Glaring up at the fiend who dares take us from our morning bed and into this prison of all things.

I don't even have my trusty purse with me. Helpless. I've been helplessly grabbed and thrown in a new place with no way out. Do you know how scary that is?!

"Hmm my, you girls have hardly moved. Why don't you explore some more?" Father pulls the velvet thick curtains, hanging them up.

Light clearly shows it to be an office room on the other side. One of his many, though not his most personal one. A desk, shelves, and even a courtyard window. In the corner, I even see my usual school desk of doom.

Ah, this room.

"Okay, Papa!" Lilyanne waves like a good girl, crawling up to plop herself around the cage. A child sent on a scavenger hunt for fun times.

One day, she is going to be kidnapped for real, and helpless to do anything about it! Ahhh, what a useless little heroine!

I should follow my own words.

"...Lord Father, I apologize for my earlier outburst. Tis' early, and I have not yet composed myself properly. May I ask, what is your purpose for this? " I give a small, simplified courtesy in my pajamas, staying wary.

It wouldn't do to upset any kidnapper, let alone this villain. I haven't had much experience in being kidnapped, but it's bound to happen again. Right?

Rosalia survival tactics, start!

Father, however, regards me with a glint in his eyes, and that very same deceptively sly smile.

"My own precarious darling of a brat. To think your comprehension only reaches this level. What else, my dear, but for my own amusement?" he chuckles.

Evil. Hate him. He just called me simple and stupid. Yet he's not wrong, for I can't find the exit to this thing!

"Pray, my honorable and oh so graciously free, Lord Father, may I be released from this...space?" I bow my head low once again.

Anyone of my size would look quite ridiculous in my place, yes, but there are rules and manners to follow. A certain level I must showcase, not to impress my horrifyingly strict father figure, but to reach the bare minimum of his approval.

I, as a young lady, do not appreciate nor deserve this.

"Hmm, perhaps in due time, my little Chippy dear. You haven't even given it a try yet. Nor have you seen the exercise wheel in your new room." father points out, still handsomely smiling away.

The... what now?

"Whhhheeeeeee! " my own little sister, the delicate sweetheart of countless men and women, runs on all fours.

I stay rooted, twitching at the sight. Lilyanne clamors about in a human child-sized hamster wheel that's attached to the wall. It goes round and round, a pinwheel of dizzying colors. The pinwheel bets faster and faster, forcing her to give up her clumsy puppy run to plop over. By the force of momentum, it takes her spinning round and round, over and upside down.

"Lilyanne!" I scream in horror.

"Wah ahahaha soooooo dizzy! Ahahaha!" she falls out, upside down to flash me with her fat diaper like bloomers.

With her arms and legs uselessly limp, she splays out like a starfish. Rainbow hamster wheels spin in place of her eyes and terrifying toddler insanity in her laugh.

"Lilyanne, get a hold of yourself! Lilyanne, are you hurt anywhere? Your head, did you hit your head?! You're already so stupid, we can't afford to rattle that up anymore?! Lilyanne! No! Nooooooo!" I curse the heavens and fates, holding my sister's fat head limp in my arms.

I lose her. Once again, I lose her...to the hamster wheel.

"Wheeeee! Again! Again!" she waddles back to it dizzily.

"Lilyanne no, you mustn't. Your head?!"

"Spinnies so fun!"

I am left with no choice but to knock her down with a pillow. Then sit on her for good measure. Oh how difficult, it is to do things by hand. I miss having the secret guards under my control.

"How could you? To your own daughter?!" I press all my weight on a silently muffled Lilyanne, all to calm her, before turning to address the villain responsible for this mess.

Only to find him already behind his desk working on the freshly placed neverending pile of papers and scrolls. Completely ignoring me, again.

Grrr, just how in the world did any woman agree to marry a man as frustrating and as insensitive as that!?

"Daaaaarrrrling, where did you go~ Daaaaaaarling, how could you leave me like that?~ Daaarrrling. *sniff sniff* Darling? "

....Speak of the devil.

My own mother sleepily crawls through the courtyard. Looking all at once, drunk, hungover, and very pathetic. With her eyes closed, and her winter chemise already slipping over her shoulders.

Oooookay, time to hide. Under the pillows, I go! Quiet now Lily.

Lilyanne?

How did she fall asleep like that? I just sat on her a little bit? Surely, I'm not that heavy?! Lilyanne? Are you even breathing?

Noooooo Lilyanne! Your brain!!! Your already oxygen-deprived developing brain!

Oh but there's no time to seek medical aid. I must hide!

Like a bloodhound, Mother sniffs the air around the garden courtyard. She changes directions to climb up and over the open window way. Her feet scandalously bare in her climb. Ankles. Toes.

Oh, the shame and mortification of someone's noble wife and mother revealing herself like this?! What if someone, anyone, sees!?

Luckily, she trips. Hiding her shame from the world outside. Only showing her not so graceful form rolling to smack the bottom of the desk.

"Owie." she cries weakly.

Mother...just why are you like this?

"Frrreeeeeeeed?" she rolls over, curly hair a voluminous mess and eyes still sleepily closed.

Without even getting up, her hand clumsily reaches up to tap about the top of the desk. Then, reaching into her own chemise to pull out....confetti. Confetti of ribbons and flower petals apparently.

Where did that come from?

"Tada!" mother giggles, successfully decorating father's desk of paperwork.

"Yes, how wonderful," he says, still scribbling away as soon as he finishes one small stack. Smoothly transitioning to the next. Even with the colorful confetti littering the way.

"So meeeeean, love me moooore you fool." mother pouts, swaying on the floor to cling on to his leg. Where she dozes off a bit, resting her cheek with just a hint of a snore.

How convincing.

When his free hand reaches down to pat her head, she gives an awful sigh and squeal. Rubbing her sleep messy face back and forth. A 'kyaa kyaa' sound muffled only by her own sleepy rubbing. Little pink bubbles and floating hearts seemingly appear out of nowhere.

Nevermind my previous statement. Both my parents are equally awful people. They obviously deserve each other.

I don't think anyone else would be able to survive.

Mother hasn't even noticed the playpen cage taking up the room. Nor her own daughters in it! Instead, she's too busy slowly crawling up Father's leg.

How rude. Scandalous, but nonetheless rude.

Ahem, still...A young and healthy married couple is bound to have their moments. Certain...needs. Even without her hair done, any makeup or proper lady's manner of dress and jewels, Mother easily crawls up like the most depraved of house courtesans. The boldness of my mother is unmatched!

Rather than seductive though, she more resembles a sorry big white worm.

Winter chemises aren't very sexy or revealing, thank the gods for that small mercy. Instead, mother flaps her oversized sleeves uselessly. Like an oversized chicken trying to fly.

Please note that as magical as this world is, chickens still can't fly.

Pigs perhaps, a certain species of them, but not a chicken.

Without a word, Father still continues working despite the very obvious distraction. He does however scoot his chair back to give mother access room to climb and cuddle happily into his lap. As she settles, seemingly ready to doze back asleep once comfortable, father dips and tips her whole head back.

I gasp into a pillow, hiding a shriek of impropriety. But thankfully, for my eyes were still unwillingly peeking, it was nothing inappropriate. Nothing like, dare I say it, ....affection.

Holding her far back but steady, he pulls out a small glass vial from seemingly nowhere. As if he had already had it in his hand. It gets a direct one way trip to Mother's mouth, unfortunately much like a bottle to a baby. When he pinches her nose, it goes down with a messy and displeased gurgle on her part. More chicken flapping with her flailing sleeves. A green tinge to her puffed up cheeks, indicating utter disgust.

Ah, anti-hangover potions. Bleck.

The stronger and more effective, all the more bitter the liquid.

I think Mother is dying in grossness. Her taste buds, and thus soul, is dying.

"Marvelous. Now wash it down, my love." father hands her limp choking form, an already prepared glass of water.

At least I think it's water. His cruel hand finally releasing her nostrils. Allowing her to breathe once it's all down.

"What are you doing?! ...What was I doing?" mother blearily looks back and forth.

"Have a sweet, my sweet. There that's right. You were so well behaved in taking your medicine and was just about to sleep a bit more before breakfast comes to you. " he pets at her hair, stuffing a dried apricot into her mouth.

How rude. Father had snacks this whole time, and he didn't even leave any in the cage? Where is my breakfast?! Where is....is that bowl of fruits and nuts over there? A nut tart? Ooooh.

Don't mind or notice me, gross couple, I'm just...shuffling...over.

"Mmmpf oh. Oh nappy...mmmm darling.... Oh, a desk? Oh, I love desks!" Mother was just about to fall asleep, but like a drunk easily distractible puppy dog, starts messing things up by smacking the wooden thing.

"Hmmm...it will take you a bit longer to sober up, yes. " Father muses, hanging on to the madwoman he calls wife.

"I haven't had a desk in soooooooo long! Daaaaarling, why? Daaaarling~"

What does Mother mean? She has plenty of desks! Though they are very tiny delicate ladies' desks. Oh but it's clear she's been drinking the night before. Actually, it's more likely she kept drinking past the morning hours if her bubbly state is anything to be believed.

You can never believe drunk or hangover people.

"I miss desk. " Mother sways despite Father's grip on her waist. It appears she is attempting to climb it, and Father quickly moves any fragile stack of papers out the way.

"Perhaps not today, my love. How about a quick nap?" he weans her off the idea.

"Is it because I'm getting FAT??!" Mother responds ridiculously.

"...I assure you, my love, the answer is: No. " Father comforts to the best of his abilities.

But of course, that falls short.

"Oh boohoo! The ladies at tea warned me about all men losing interest with age. I've long peaked! I'm not a fresh spring chicken anymore! I'm old! Old and undesirable!" she flaps about. Upsetting the balance Father tries so hard to maintain.

I would like to beg to differ. She very much resembles a sort of chicken. I'm just not sure what kind.

Also excuse you! I was about that age! How dare you call me old, 26 is not old!

"Calm down, Maria. My love, those petty gossips you shall forget about soon enough. As well as....this" father pats her on the back soothingly, holding her down with a tad more force.

"FAT! I didn't mean for them to grow anymore! But after the girls were born, they just.....oh boohoo hoo!!! I'm so fat and old!!!" she rambles off, clutching herself in the chest inappropriately all while she sobs.

Ah, that's where Lilyanne's water fountain comes from.

Father sighs, comforting her with physical attention and tired promises of no, that is not the case. Even as mother flails about, even smothering him.

"You don't want me anymore! I know it! Well, good luck returning me. And by that I mean you never will! I burned the marriage papers!!!" she cries almost drunkenly.

Or just plain drunkenly.

"...Maria...you....have done what exactly?" Father finally gives her the satisfaction of his utter confusion.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. No records and no receipts. Now we're stuck forever and ever and evers, my rosen darling, AND YOU CAN'T GET RID OF ME!!! Oh ho ho~ and.... Ooooooo I do like hazelnuts in tarts. Are those tarts? With... Wait. No. I'M FAT!!!"

"...Perhaps you need another dose, here now Maria. Drink this for me won't you, my love?"

Down the hatch goes another sobering potion. Though not easily. But when father promises a kiss, mother obliges with a close eyed fishy face. Giving him ample time, and the opportunity to pour down another hidden bottle from the drawers.

You know, perhaps this cage isn't so bad. If it keeps me away from that. That and there are tarts in here!

From the disgustingness, Mother plops over on the desk with a thud.

"So...mean...darling. " her scrunched up face sobs.

I agree. Why haven't we as a civilization made better tasting high-quality potions?! Hangover and healing potions are disgusting! An absolute torture I would say.

"Rosalia's right darling, it tastes so bad. Oh boo hoo hoo.....oh, " Mother cries.

See even Mother agrees with me...oh.

Apparently, that is also the same time my mother wide-eyed notices my existence in this very room. Much to Father's facepalm.

"A cage, darling? A cage?! How could you be so cruel?!" she flaps and smacks at him with her sleeves.

Yes! Yes get back at the fiend for the insult that is my imprisonment. Teach him a lesson about-

"I love soft cages!!! How could you darling, oh boo hooo hooo. Is it because I'm too OLD AND FAT NOW?!" Mother sobs, doing a terrible job of beating anyone up with merely her oversized sleeves. For my father sits there taking it with a blank face, scooting and locking away any done files.

With one press of the button though, a small part of the cage...opens?

How does that even work?! Hey hey nerd, explain to me the stupid mechanisms on this thing?!

It's an incredibly small square. Perhaps just enough for Lilyanne and I to get through at the same time.

*zoom*

Oh my, what a breeze? In here? So strong too? It blew all these cushions in my face.

The cage door slides close with the sound of multiple locks. By the time I can even wrangle myself out of the blankets and cushions to see again, it's too late. The netting is once again sealed, seemingly flawless against the wall. Father sighs with relief, patting the bars before settling to make order once again.

On the ground, my own mother still drunkenly rolls around, in perfect bliss. Going "kyaa kyaa wheeeeee a cage! Smells like darling! Oh there are tarts in here?!".

I think I need to be adopted into a new family. As of 3 or so years ago. Someone, help. Get me out of here!

"Oh and babies! I love cute babies! Sure would like to make one someday... " Mother attacks me with exactly one hug, one snuggle, and then falling down like an elephant finally hit with enough tranquilizer guns.

In her arms, I repeat out loud.

"Get. Me. Out of here!!!" I scream.

"waaah Mama and Rosa!" Lilyanne blearily awakens and cuddles into the trap.

"Ah, finally. As things should be. " Father beams from his desk.

Everything was perfectly cleaned up and aligned for work once again. How efficient.

"Father! Let me out!!!" I fight and fail to even remove myself from the impossible grip that consists of my mother's oddly iron hard grip.

Like those of a seat belt handle, fastening me to the fluffiest of cushioned back seats. I suppose then, I should be grateful for not facing the wrong way into Mother's unfashionably bountiful chest. Otherwise, it's another oxygen-deprived forced nap.

Is Mother concerned about her weight? In this society?!

Well, I suppose unrealistic beauty standards will always be a thing.

While her childbearing hips are ideal, her too full bosom is less so. Unlike what I'm used to, it's not a glamorous hourglass and certainly not a supermodel thin that's the most desirable figure. Instead, it's more of a full bottom pear shape? While small on top and at the waist? If that's the standard then my mother's is a few centuries too ahead of the trend.

It's always a head-scratching formula for the ideal body shape? Fashion is a strange thing in any world or time period. It also changes so easily too!

Pray, tell me, how is a woman supposed to keep up with it all! We can't!

Still, it wasn't too unreasonable to simply wear the right clothes. Out in fashionable society, Mother can easily bind her own chest in the proper undergarments or whatever dress is in fashion. A modest covering to accentuate all of a woman's wealth and charms.

One stupid little girl messed it up in the not too far off future.

Lilyanne.

Those monsters. When she walked. Ran. Oh, don't even get me started about how bad it was when she went down any set of stairs!

How? How did such a frail sickly girl grow like that? Was it all the goat milk? DNA? That's no excuse when our own mother could wear her clothes properly!

Underwear. Smocks. Frock. Petticoats. Even pretty shawls and coverings. How hard is it to wear proper clothes?!

But noooooooo. Lilyanne the scandalous little heroine would cause fashion disaster after disaster in her 'comfortable' little one or two-layered thin house dresses. Since she's 'not used' to wearing so many tedious layers or undergarments. That mother blessed figure of hers going around bouncing in two globs of FAT and SCANDAL.

The boing...oh the boing boing. Like pudding buckets gone wild. Two steamed buns stuffed down a shirt. The potential for disaster, not only made known once, nor twice, but too many times. So many that the hormonal young bachelors that made up the fanboys went wild to defend my sister's every improper appearance and action.

What dangerous things. Forever starting the change of fashion in high society. Cuts of dresses with cleavage, push-ups, too few layers even in the middle of winter! Oh, the shame.

I can feel my blood pressure rise with just the thought.

"Rosa?" my sister confusedly rubs her cheeks at me.

The confusion squishes and condenses as I pat her fat but flat baby torso in a horrified reassurance she is still a child. A good and proper cute child.

There's nothing wrong with improving fashion, preferable really. But not that, anything but the hell raised by my dumb and beautiful little sister in her natural state.

So...much....work to do.

Maybe this pet cage of Father's is a good thing!

Yes, I can see it being incredibly useful for the future! Where the hell was this in the past life? I want one installed in every other room that Lilyanne frequents. With extra locks. It can even come with the stupid exercise wheel.

Not bad thinking, Father.

Now just let me out of here. Right after I somehow get Mother to stop using me as a teddy bear. Release me, I say.

It, of course, does not work. I am forced to spend the rest of my lazy and unproductive morning locked down in this cell. Trapped by multiple traps and barriers, including the most vicious of a guard dog. Aka my own sleeping mother.

An immeasurable amount of time passed, as things tend to be on lazy days.

Father scribbles and measures away, comfortable in our locked up presence. The slight sound of his pen tip across paper is oddly soothing.

Meanwhile, Mother sleeps like a fairytale, her body recovering in all the ways necessary. I would complain about what's wrong with her, an already married woman and mother, to drink so much she ends up in this state by morning. Shouldn't she be looking out more for her health or appearance?! But alas I am one of the last people to complain.

Drinking is just so good. Especially with snacks.

I suppose it's already a good thing that Mother's health is far better than the last time. That she may enjoy a few more glasses of wine. Such behavior and consequences would be unthinkable if it was the frail Mother of before.

A healthy Mother to keep control of the estate, as the lady of a house should. A lovely and healthy wife to keep her whipped husband rooted, running even, homebound at any and all times. Someone to personally take care of....Lilyanne.

In the life this body had led before, I wonder what sort of bond that mother and daughter pair had. Both were so often taken ill. They must have spent a lot of time together.

No. Of course, they did.

Seemingly attached at each other's bedsides. The parlor rooms shut up to keep out the chill. The greenhouse flowers framing their perfect little world. Two delicate beauties, mother and daughter, waving gracefully from their balcony view. Something I only knew the bottom of. Standing outside viewing in.

I wonder then, what they talked about all that time. What they did.

Admitting my curiosity is no fault of my own. Especially as I am now. I can do it without the guilt, the inexplicable burden, that Rosalia carried.

Was it time well spent? Were they happy in ways I could not have imagined?

I was too busy. Always too busy. If not from my own schedule then my own self imposed training and study. Anything and everything to be better. To be acknowledged.

It was all for naught though.

I remember the first inklings of that realization.

Evidence that it should have been hopeless. A stupid little girl. Blind in hope and innocence. Even a villainess must once be a stupid little girl.

"That's to be expected." Father's smooth voice cut.

Like the slice of the bloody juicy steak on the porcelain plate. Fine cutlery clinking. Too many forks. Not enough knives to tear away this memory for good.

What was being said? Where was I even sitting? Across? Yes...that's right.

The ends of the table feel very far from the perspective of a little girl. It might have stretched out across the room. A cold wind further expands that empty space between us.

Sugar strained my throat. The sweet juice burned as I swallowed down thickly.

"It's....very dull anyways. Boring. "

I speak the words I can't control. A memory already played out, changeless. A stitch that has already been sewn and embroidered in the tapestry of time.

I have no control here, I never did.

"Mama! Papa! Lily wants to try that too." the little girl by the side of the table fussed. So much so her cutlery rattled and the napkin fell from her lap.

Improper.

If I were to ever act in such a way, my etiquette lessons would be tripled immediately. Worse yet, that imposing overlooking gaze of my father's would turn into something of...disappointment. I couldn't. I would never.

"No, you don't." I say curtly. Drowning out any background noise in my own head, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to hear any comforts for her.

Not Mother's fussing or Father's reassurance. I wanted none of it.

If I couldn't have it, then at the very least, I didn't want to see it. It didn't want to know any more. That space in between.

"Look here Lilyanne, aren't big sister's hands very ugly?" I pull off a glove with a forced head bow and a too-wide smile to my face.

Riding. Taming. Training. Lessons. Hours of writing, scribing, and copying. Chemical experiments and accidents. Twists of reigns. Falls and scrapes. The grip of a sword or a bow in my hands. Worked leather and laces. Hidden blades.

A true lady must be ready for anything.

"Lily wants to ride big fat birdos and all sorts of things with Grampapa too!" she still complains, even in the face of my bruises.

"It's not just riding. It's very annoying work. Lilyanne, in fact, I'm jealous of you. Your hands are...so pretty. How nice it must be not to be pulled outside with Grandfather or anything of the messy sort. You can stay warm and cozy with Mother and all your pretty things? Isn't that grand?" I coax, making the mistake of revealing too much.

I overstepped. I dared to take time and space where I was not invited. Welcomed. My mistake. My bad.

"Horrid. How absolutely horrid." Mother drops her knife and fork, weak appetite already lost.

"Rosalia. " Father reprimands immediately, acting at the slightest hint of Mother's displeasure.

I freeze a moment too long, and Father gets it in the low threat of Mother's quiet call.

"Darling?"

"I have been discourteous during a meal. I beg pardon. Please. Father. Mother. May I have permission to excuse myself and reflect on my wrong? " I immediately put back on my glove. The decorated fawnskin, soft and comforting, hiding my flaws.

"You may go. " Father allows.

Perhaps relieved to be rid of me.

Of course, it's a rare and happy dinner where the entire family could sit up and get together. I shouldn't have done something so rude such as talking about myself. It was only a test. Even something as simple as 'how was your day' is a pretext.

Talking about the outside makes Lilyanne upset.

An upset and complaining Lilyanne tires out our mother. Who for all her comforts and gifts, cannot sate all the wants a little girl must-have. To play and see the world. Unaware of all the horrors, of how bruises and scrapes must feel.

To her, the dry blood that cracked on my fingertips was as novel and pretty as a strange new flower.

A tired and worried Mother, then of course, upsets Father. The man that devotes himself to his wife, if anything.

I messed up, again.

I am not to upset Lilyanne.

Everything could have been avoided if only I did not upset feeble little Lilyanne. And I upset her by talking about myself. Another fail.

It's a very tiresome life, no matter how luxurious. To constantly be watching one's every move and decision. As a noble, even the smallest of my decisions ripples across multitudes of people. From my servants, the workers, the community living outside my walls, and the world beyond. It is not arrogance or an exaggeration when one is in my position of power.

A tiny rock, a mere pebble, can be a force when thrown into a pond.

It's even worse, in my opinion, to be the irresponsible one. Unknowing, unaware, and seemingly blameless. The one that hurts others without fail, doing whatever one wants. With no repercussions despite the trouble and damage, they cause.

More than anything, I don't want to be that person. That fool.

I curtsy low, ankles crossed in all the right places. Carefully, properly, I step backward to respectfully exit.

I cannot do so quickly enough. When I cross the closed doors of the dining room, I can still hear them.

Like a fool, I still stay. Back pressed to that door I closed myself. Listening to everything.

"Darling, how could you? Was it papa? Oh, he knows he's not to take any of the girls onto any unbefitting outings! It isn't lady-like! How could you let him?"

"It would be in everyone's interest if Rosalia learns how to handle and ride multiple types of mounts. Not solely well-bred horses."

"Well, where would she ever need that? Flightless birds, you know how much they peck?! Did you not see what they did to her hands? "

"How lacking would the daughter of Ventrella be if we raised her like a carved doll. Strength does not come from softness."

"She is weak. Darling, she is weak and we-"

"My young miss." the door clicks fully.

The hall would be dark if not for the lantern held by the head butler's gloved hand. There is a little girl that does not cry, because she is not a cry baby. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt at all. If she keeps telling herself that, it will come true.

The pain in her fingertips, the tired muscles and blooming bruises could almost easily be numbed. All a trick of the mind. A silent meditation of sorts. Work. Numb. Rest. Work again the next day like new.

But it didn't seem to work very well with this strange sensation inside her chest.

How inconvenient.

"Alfonso. Please prepare my study table in the library. I seemed to have recalled a lot of unfinished material left piled up. Grandfather's outings tend to be very distracting." I straighten my back, walking back to my quarters to change from the child's dinner gown into something more relaxed for the rest of the evening.

"But, my young miss, you have yet to finish your dinner. " the old butler reminds me.

"...I'm not hungry. For once. Grampa forced me to shoot, roast, and eat some very strange things today. Said I needed to train my stomach. I'm not sure if they were all edible? Things to note down though." she continues walking.

Small steps so silent that don't echo despite the emptiness of the wide hall.

In the day, the youngest miss Lilyanne's giggles could be heard running down these very halls. Ribbons and twirls of her playthings. Life and joy blooming forth.

At night, it is only the eldest young miss that ominously walks these halls. Sometimes loaded with books and papers. Sometimes still in riding boots or the dirtied shirt fit for a serf, soaked in her own blood and sweat. Sometimes without even a light. It was practice.

For what is better not to be stated in polite company.

"Dessert then? Today's menu includes a tart, from freshly gathered and roasted nuts. " the wise old man offered.

For all little girls, this one especially seemed to have a separate stomach for sweets.

"I suppose a bit of something to go with tea will be acceptable. " she let out a dainty cough, a mere imitation of something she had seen from somewhere.

"Of course, young miss Rosalia. "

"Alfonso?'

"Yes, my young miss. "

"What does it mean to be stronger?"

"...This servant cannot say, my young lady. For there are many definitions, and many forms that question or answer can take. "

The hall stretches. The walk even longer if one takes the proper steps, as a dignified lady should. A detour through the courtyards. Fresh air, though cold. It helps the numb.

"Obviously, I can't splinter a tree into bits of firewood. As does Grampa. Ah. What monstrous strength...where did that bloodline ability go...."

Wisely, the old butler does not make a peep to that.

"Even if I was born male, it appears I would lack that strength. I'm not anywhere near as smart nor quick to process as my father. As a female, I don't have Mother's grace or poise. I can't stay calm. I look like this, but I really can't stay calm at all. I can't do anything right."

Suppose a child hits a tree. Nothing would happen at all.

They might even get a few splinters and hurt themselves. Suppose then, she hits it again. And again. Over and over. Tired arms and tense fists turn to rough swinging kicks.

"What am I supposed to do? Be a lady? Be stronger? Be weaker? Be smarter? Play more properly. Everything is lacking. Everything I do is lacking!? It's all a contradiction?! Chicken shit! Shit shit shit! Stupid giant chicken chocoboboboo whatever bird! What do I look like!? I'll make you into a breaded fillet and eat you with your own children, with relish! Stupid Lilyanne! With her pretty soft hands and thin pretty curls that never sees sunlight. Do you think it's fun!? Do you think I'm just leaving bed every day to play around and have fun!? Oh, I'll have fun alright, right as you all eat chicken shit!"

Of course, with all the efforts of a normal child, the tree does not turn to firewood or even fall. It does, however, take on a very dented and ugly shape at every constant point of impact. Scrapped bark, exposed and splintering with every hit.

"Chicken. Shit!" the little girl huffs and puffs, looking nothing like the little lady she was raised to be.

Her own carefully ribboned and tucked braids nearly loose from the activity and natural curls. Released anger contouring her cute little face into something as ugly as herself inside.

"Ahem. It appears, Alfonso, that my grampa has caused a bit of trouble in Mother's courtyard. This poor tree was a victim, luckily it's still standing. Tis but a scratch for him. Do be sure to tell the gardeners to see to it. " she finally turns, composing herself with a mild rosy blush.

A face like her father's, not so much in the features but in how almost naturally it quickly fell back into place. Blank and unassuming. As if she had nothing to do with it, accusing even the next available person.

"Perhaps a pack of...chickens...was let loose upon this one poor tree. How fortunate they avoided the rest of the garden on their way. " Alfonso nodded slowly.

"A far too strange coincidence indeed. I see." the little girl knocks her own fist in her hand, finally seeing the big picture.

How silly of her to lose sight of it in her emotions. Feelings were such a bothersome and pesky thing.

About 17 minutes of the peaceful twinkling night sky and a childish, muffled, rageful screaming had the garden courtyard looking more thoroughly rampaged through. As if a violently wild pack of something with very small feet and could jump decently far had paraded through.

"A shame. Those chickens. Grampa should do something about them. Tsk tsk." young Rosalia walked away, scraping her dainty shoes of any evidence.

"...I believe, my young miss, that the honorable Lady of the house will have a bit more to drink tonight."

"If that's what it takes to set up the scene believably. Then, I thank you, my dear Alfonso. For comforting my honorable mother about the fate of one of her courtyards. I've changed my mind about the study just yet. I am suddenly in need of a hot refreshing bath. "

"Right away, my young miss Rosalia. "

"By the way, Alfonso, has a new fitting etiquette teacher been found yet? " she asks, feeling lighter and refreshed already, even without the bath.

"....I believe, my young miss, that after the rumors of the severance of the last three, the search is taking as long as expected," he informs to her satisfaction.

Rosalia nodded. The rumors were annoying but useful to an extent. Information was power, as was fear. Something a girl as weak as herself had no choice but to rely on.

"Oh my. It appears that my skill level and understanding are just so high. Oho~ It can't be helped. The search for someone who can actually school me, the eldest miss of the Ventrellas. Surely, everyone knows?" she laughed lightly, manners already memorized for a girl twice her age.

But society and the rules were always changing. Fashions came and went. It really was very bothersome to keep up, let alone waste time and money of paying someone to tell her how?

"Of course, my young miss. " the butler followed and bowed.

"...Even Father?"

One statement. Two words. Countless of questions in between.

"Of course, my young miss. "

Only one answer.

"...what was I expecting. Well, that's a matter for another day. Shame about that old music teacher though. Pray tell me, Alfonso. Can she move her hands again yet?" the young girl brushed it off.

She had more important things to do than worry over every action, and non-action from the Lord Father of hers. She would get nothing done that way, and it would be an endless cycle of uselessness.

Of a pain she can't will away.

"Last I've been reported with, no. Not yet my young miss." the old butler stated, snapping open the already prepared dressing and bathing rooms.

The warm scented steam wafted, and the little girl sighed.

"Truly a shame. Do send her another get well gift, as manners dictate. Courtesy of me, her latest and last student. The same as last time, another silver finger. To replace the ones she lost. " she states concernedly, playing with her gloves.

Bends of fingers and flesh, mocking. If not for the glint in her eyes, far too much like her father's, it could have been seen as a nervous but innocent gesture. A sweet smile, laced with cruelty just underneath.

A little girl with her own means and conclusions. Not yet ten years old.

As expected.

"Of course, young miss Rosalia. Tea and tarts shall be ready at your leisure after your bath. "

"Thank you. "

Tea and tarts. Hmmm.

Her stomach rumbled. No?

My stomach is rumbling.

I gasp and wake up, instantly much smaller and younger. Still grasped in the heat of mother's arms like a stuffed animal.

"Tea and tarts~" my mother drools in her sleep, rolling over and taking me along with her.

No no no I do not like this ride! Get me out!

"Yaaay Rosa no zzzz zzzzz nap nap no mores. Fun Rosa?" my baby sister clamors from where she's making a mess of the little chalkboard.

"No Lilyanne, it is not fun! How long have I been, no, why did I fall asleep? Get me out of here?!"

In that manner, with my sister running back and forth from the little snack corner of the cage, we slowly gather oil. Just enough to oil mother's arms so I can wiggle out and replace the empty space with a pillow. It takes a while and is quite messy, but success!

Now I am free!

Except for this cage thing. I need out.

That dream of mine was a bit unsettling. It makes me restless in ways I don't fully understand. But so does a lot of Rosalia's specific memories.

It was already a very sad life. Why remember it any more than is necessary? Those superfluous details.

Wait.

Pain. Numb. Pain and numb? That. That!

"Father! Let me out, I have something to discuss with you!" I slam and press myself against the side closest to his desk.

"Yes my dear, I can hear you quite well from here. ``The nerd smiles, not once looking up from the case file number who knows, who cares.

"Father, it is quite important. " I climb, looking, pressing and looking for any way to magically unlock this thing.

It is to no avail though, and of course, a man as well prepared as Father has figured out my odd habit of undoing magic locks.

I may have been abusing that as of late since I've become aware of it. Just a bit. Oho~

Ahem I mean. How was I supposed to know certain things or areas are off-limits!? Even my own employee dorms and housing?

I just wanted to see what the construction and remodeling were like. How people who aren't me live. My modern sense of building standards approves.

Even Barabara's and Nikola's little new townhouse is safe and adorable! But only one bed?! Ohoho! Such a cute love nest~

Ah...is this punishment then? I thought Georgie was just exaggerating about tattling on me.

"Father!" I yell, resorting to that shameless weapon.

With one press of a button though, a door slides open against one of the well-disguised padded walls of the cage. It does not lead out, clearly. But it is instead a toilet and small bathroom.

When and how did he get this thing installed?

"That's not what I meant," I start to complain, but nature does call.

"I'll be back!" I warn him, just before I slam the door to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, relieved and a bit more cleaned up, I'm back to banging on the cage.

As frustrating as it is, I must marvel at the construction. Such a sturdy and seemingly escape-proof thing. I want to see if I can put the minions in here to test this out.

"You cold, cruel fiend of a father. I have things better spoken of in absolute privacy. With at least a level of respect and no-" I hit the cage in between us.

"Oho...ho ho...sexy fiend...." mother, unfortunately, snores in hearing range.

I will just...pretend, I didn't hear that.

"Smexy!" Lilyanne parrots, not understanding a thing but repeating every bad influence ever.

Oh chicken shit.

"Father, it's a very bad idea to leave us here with mother. See. Lilyanne is learning bad things already.

As I finally make a decent argument, putting dear sweet Lilyanne's innocent mind at risk, Father finally beeps the button that somehow undoes the seamless doorway to this cage.

Freedom at last!

*click*

Huh?

"I suppose an exercise wheel does not replicate sunlight nor air that children should have. I should install a sunroof of sorts. Hmm. But for now, you two may stretch about in the courtyard. I understand also, how my Rosalia needs her booklets. The tables are hardly enough for Lilyanne to draw on.'' Father has somehow instantly appeared from his seat to click Lilyanne's toddler leash into place.

A smart idea for a girl as troublesome as this.

The problem is the thing on my ankle.

Isn't this the ankle leash I modified myself? What the hell?! Ahhhhhh! Thief! Plagiarism! My design, my own idea, used against me!

"Yaaaay. Can Lily go pick flowers?" my sister asks, as well trained as she can get.

"Only by the low grass, don't make your mother and the gardeners cry by destroying their hard work." Father gives her a little hug and pat on her gleeful head.

"Yaaaaay! Thankies Papa!" Lilyanne hugs and smooches him, skipping out shamelessly.

This happens all in the span of time I am still pulling at the stupid ankle leash. How was this thing even made?!

I know it's escapable. I've even seen a brain-damaged brat do it. But how?! Arrrg!

"Didn't you have something you wanted to speak to me about, Rosalia?" Father finally turns to me. His other hellspawn, in her own right, prancing off to pick pretty flowers and roll around in some grass or something.

"...I did. But I also want you to know that I sincerely hate you Father. " I cry, tugging at the leash.

So mean. What had an innocent girl like Rosalia done to deserve all the unfair treatment she was given. That's why, on her behalf, I will never take her painful life lessons for granted.

For me though, what have I done to deserve this?!

A leash!? Am I a prisoner in need of an ankle monitor?! Why I've never!

...Okay there was one time, but I was young, dumb, and in extenuating circumstances that caused great misunderstandings in public. Our drunken charges and records were cleared! Mostly. I'm pretty sure they were?

But I mean right now, as little Rosalia!

What have I done to deserve this already unfair level of treatment! What is this discrimination bias?!

"There there, it can't be helped," Father pats me on the back, already settling me on his lap as he scoots back to work on his desk.

My vocal cries silenced with a few dried snacks that his long fingers stuff into my mouth.

This feels terrifyingly familiar. I sincerely hope Father isn't thinking I am as terrible to deal with as a hungover Mother. It brings me even more mortification if he regards us as some sort of similar creature.

But more importantly, before I get distracted if my father manages to avoid the topic again, I need to attack.

"I believe I have a partial grasp of numbing pain! If I experience an injury of sorts, then I can somewhat fool myself into thinking it doesn't hurt. Which isn't normal at all! Say smashed fingers, small flesh wounds, and even sore muscles. But that's not as effective as turning it off. It's also very mentally taxing since I must refocus on not feeling and that is certainly unnatural. But that's as much as I can naturally figure out on my own so-"

"...You've...done...what exactly, my dear?" Father's smile turns brilliantly blinding.

Uh oh. That's his too professional smile. Too good looking. The one he makes when he's very inconvenienced or dare I say it, angry.

"...I've...made...my own conclusions...naturally. " I attempt to figure out where I misspoke in my haste. It must have been in a lot of places.

"How is that? How were those conclusions made, hmm my perilous little daughter? ``Father repeats, a smile nearly twitching behind the shiny sparkle.

They say animals only show their teeth in threat. So thus I can only assume death is waiting around the corner for me. My little oversized per body ratio head working overtime to ensure my survival against the villain I call Father.

"...From...grampa? "

Safe! Law of the Ventrella family. Anything and everything can be reasonably explained and blamed on grampa!

Please buy it, Father.

Before he can get another word out, or threaten me, a crash and rumble of things sound out from the playpen cage side of the room.

"Mmmm, where am I, and what was I doing? Darling? Oh a new cage?! Ohohoho my love you shouldn't have! You know I'm already all yours to love~ Ohohohoho!!!"

Silently, I look up to Father's suddenly blank, and possibly very mortified, expression. Likewise, I can understand his feelings of shame. Though surely not to his extent. For he married that. Mother that is.

Between both of us, we shall just pretend we never heard that.

"We shall speak of this later, Rosalia. But there will be no more self-testing. None. Do you hear and understand me?" he says, voice suddenly sharp as it is cold.

It makes goosebumps rise down from the curve of my neck and down my spine. Pooling something dreadfully anxious in my belly, tingling fear to the tip of my fingers. Something scarily too familiar.

Not me.

This anxiety isn't mine. It belongs to Rosalia. That tone with Father's voice. That old dream, the collected memories. It made this body have this reaction.

"I didn't self-test anything, ever. It even wasn't my fault-"

"Rosalia. Any injury is to be treated and reported to me, immediately. Do you understand?"

A meticulous and careful man with little to no room for errors. A reasonable man, despite all his cruelty. He has his plans and motivations for everything.

Even my abuse by those lowly servants and tutors. Everything.

"...Yes Father, this one understands. " I lie, nodding my heavy head low.

I just took a morning nap, yet somehow, it feels like I already need another. How annoying. This fragile, and confusing, little life of mine is truly very annoying.

I'd rather be hungover in a modern jail cell again. At least being a drunken public disturbance is actually my fault. Something I can see, sign off, and face. As were any rowdy terrible accomplices in crime. Or any snickering brat helping with bail.

Even dealing with my own 'loving' parents is easier than this. Messed up and tense yes, but surprisingly easier. At least, in comparison to this.

Right now, these two people seem to think they still care about Rosalia. Perhaps due to her young age. In their own way, they try to care.

I'm not blind enough not to notice that.

But neither am I stupid enough to believe in it. It's just because she's so small right now. Or that I'm slowly proving my worth in usefulness. That's why they're occasionally soft or even familiar to me.

It won't last.

It's a problem either way. When this strange kindness will end, how far can it stretch? So I need to work hard to prove my usefulness, but not in the way Rosalia did. Not anywhere so sincerely, not ever. Not again.

Just long enough to grow up and get away.

It will all be better when I can finally get away, standing on my own two feet. Isn't that what life taught me? Being on my own. Relying on myself. Cutting my ties, even if I loved them, was the healthiest thing I could do for myself. Like a toxic infection, out of my own flesh. The best thing I've ever done for myself was to leave.

It would have been smarter to never look back. To not care about them. But I did.

Look where that got me. Nothing but more pain and headaches. J.J. was right, watching it all. I was better off not caring. But easier said than done.

"No, no you don't understand. " Father tips my head, breaking me out of my own thoughts.

Wrong place, wrong time, for such ruminating I see.

"You don't understand a thing, and that's why it's dangerous. No more making your own conclusions from partial pieces and running away with them. It's dangerous, especially for us. Do you understand, Rosalia?"

"Yes, Father." I say once again, only this time more convincingly.

I'm only three years old, soon to be four. Of course, I must act a bit more simply, easily, to reassure these adults. I must not show unease, nor doubt.

Father looks down at me with a strange expression, unreadable if not for the experience I've gained over two lifetimes.

He still doubts me. Of course, he does.

"We'll speak of this another day. No more, Rosalia. No more smiling like your sister and then turning around to defy me. There will be repercussions whether you understand or not. "

Oooompf. Harsh much? That's not even a doubt! He just assumed I would...well, he's not wrong. But how did he already figure me out?!

I've been far too careless and activated too many of this nerd's mental alerts. Oh woe is me.

"Ahem, an honored guest is calling. " a knocking comes from the doorway, our head butler and Father's private all in one secretary politely making his presence known.

It gives us, at least, the precious few seconds to compose ourselves. All before a holy, but confused, deep voice rings out. Like the call of an angel, sounding out the horn for the end of all times.

"...Is that a cage?!" Gable most certainly does twitch, no smile in sight.

It is not with rudeness, but a blessed grace that he storms his way in past Alfonso.

"...After all these years. What is wrong with you?" Gable turns to me and my captor.

Such cold piercing eyes. No element of nature could compare! Oh my little heart, it can't take it! What horror, what slow-burning hatred simmered into something like charcoal but so alluring! It's a never before felt sort of doki doki going on inside me.

"Gabbie dear!" mother runs and slams herself into the cage. It vibrates with a horrifying echo as if threatening to break.

But of course, it doesn't. No matter how much my mother, still a bit dazedly with sleep and alcohol, pries at it, the thing just doesn't give.

"Ohohoho what an amusing thing?! Gabbie just look how much my darling loves me!~ Kyaaa! Oh ho ho....this will hold me good. But Gabbie....he doesn't actually love me enough....for he won't make another cute baby with me...oh boo hoo...boo hoo hoo!"

She must still be under too much influence of something, too out of her mind to be saying all this out loud. In front of Gable no less.

Horrified, the three of us look awkwardly in between each other. As if all agreeing we simply never heard anything. My father and Gable especially, for they share a few strange silent glares. My father quickly miming his own head being shot off before gesturing to a confused Mother playing with the netting and bars.

"I see....and do not blame you...this time. " Gable sigh, trying to ease the tension in his own temples.

"Honorable Father-in-law tested out the strength and durability of the material himself. " Father adds on.

"That's...wonderful. "Gable sinks into his hands like this would all go away if he kept his eyes closed.

"It can, perhaps, hold up to a zone three glacier temperature. '' Father really sells it. For reasons I didn't realize were even a thing.

Gable takes a long minute to compose himself as if very tempted to demand a model installed right this very day. Strongly willing himself against it.

"A sturdy exercise wheel, to tire them, can easily be attached and hooked up to any power able device. My youngest has already tested it to various success. There's even an unreachable compartment for cheese or treats. "

"....Three." Gable holds out those exact digits on his fingers.

"It shall take some time, honorable sire, but yes. Doable. " Father nods to the order.

Sold! Three cage models and human hamster wheels sold! The winner is...

Wait. What is even going on here?!

"Ron is...supervising a certain charge of mine. It's that time of year, where that child is allowed one chaotic wish of this 'birthday party'. I am here to request permission to invite the children to play." Gable tries very hard not to look at the cage, where Mother is happily waving.

She is still trying to get attention.

"By all means, honorable sire. Please. Do take care and consideration of my girls, this troubling one especially. Chippy is my fault, it appears.'' Father holds me up, patting me against his chest.

"Oh no fair darling! The ladies at tea were right! They do all go for younger women eventually!" the still drunk person we all agreed to ignore cries.

"You've...had it hard, Frederick. " Gable must admit to my father.

"Yes. But it can't be helped. " Father pets my head, not unlike a scene in a certain mobster movie.

With a whistle, my father has Lilyanne running over and up to him at the desk. She drops the offerings of pulled up flowers, dirt and roots still attached to them, right at his feet.

"Tada!" Lilyanne cheers.

"Yes. How lovely. " Father agrees, picking her up along with me.

With an embarrassing kiss on our heads, he hands over the leashes to the only responsible adult unit we've ever had apparently. With a snap of his fingers, he has Alfonso ready with not only my purse but two overnight bags packed for my sister and me.

"Say goodbye to your mama now," Father states, before fully handing us over for the surprisingly approved trip.

"Bye bye Mama!" Lilyanne cutely blows kissy faces.

"Will Mother even remember this later on?!" I question.

"Rosalia, " my father warns.

"... I bid you a good day and adieu, Mother dearest. "

With that, and a few 'kyaaa so cute, we should make babies that cute' my sister and I are off. Free from the cage, for now at least, and off to party.

I forgot in all the messy flow of time. Winter is right at the corner, practically in our faces. That only means one thing.

Lukas's birthday!

A lovely excuse as any. Let's go!