156 Pretty please, with a cherry on top.

The party does not start, till I walk in.

Or well, carried in. My legs are very short and the grounds are very large.

Like any festival though, it's already bustling! Even before the official start.

It is both a good and a bad thing how much undeveloped open land we have. Lots of space. Lots of emptiness. A real countryside for explosions to go off and terrible military runs to ravage through.

Ahem, I mean...fresh air and no overcrowding.

Usually, that's the case.

Today, however, is even more crowded than expected. Locals, merchants, travelers and more. With half the troops a little too gung-ho excited about working for extra pay or playtime. Even with the shuttle wagons running at extra capacity, just the outside 'parking lot' for people's personal wagons and animals is concerningly large.

Will there be....enough outhouses?

As one of the 'special' girls of the day, I shouldn't have to worry about that. Or anything really. But that's only if I was the real beloved princess of the party.

No matter how easy it is to fall for the distractions and pampering, I can not forget my true objectives.

Long-term survival!

Up till this point, every birthday ball has been an elbow-rubbing, wine and dine, impress them with our wealth kind of event for all the boring adults. Obviously, my sister and I are far too young to enjoy any of such things. Everyone knows parties for babies aren't for the babies.

I admit I was expecting things to switch up. Perhaps a play date inviting more children of nobility.

I did not expect to already be organizing this kind of circus.

My dream Public Relations event!

It's been a long and slow process to prostrate myself in a loveable light to as many influential faces as possible. Cute but not so much so it seems fake. Bold but not so much so it's annoying. The adorable Rosalia Therese Ventrella. A very normal and innocent child! In a very prosperous house that you all have been indebted to. Either by our care, reforms, or the free bread and circus you're all eating.

How dare you say anything against me in the future?

Well, it's impossible to stop the sway of the masses. Especially in such a superstitious world. It's already pretty good if I can make them hesitate even for a short amount of time. This will gain me a few more years of peace before I plan out my steps further. Whatever that will be.

Another year before public condemnation.

It's all a bit blurry. Like how most memories are, especially when you're young. Certain gaps and details missing. Certain things that I saw but didn't understand then. That's the way it is with looking back.

But I don't think Rosalia had ever been to anything like this?

A large festival that's this strange and grand. Right dab in the center of it. If she was, she would be sitting aside where the private spaces are up high. Those reserved not just for nobles but even those who can afford it. As much a VIP stand as it was a pretty golden cage.

But here I am surrounded. Almost as if I were really a part of the scene. This.

I almost wish I weren't.

There are rides taller than should be possible, some death traps. Stalls and booths with various shady games and items for sale. Ribbons and pretties decorating every pole and corner. So many things to see and amuse. But no one is bothered, not right now. Not even the booth owners.

Instead, they're all lined up to watch.

I sit on the ship of fools.

A tall decorated boat on wheels. It rides ever so slowly over the brick roads that make up the foundations of our Central Station. Which is really just a large hanger flanked by a few administration buildings and many more wagon stops. Since prior to my wagon bus revolution, it was a large supply and distribution checkpoint of the troops. More building's structure added over time.

A parade leads the way. One that can neither be called small nor large, even by my modern standards.

The festive mess is not so bad sounding with the mingles and cheers of the people's enthusiasm. Performers spin, breathe fire, play with shadows and throw all sorts of sparkly party tricks. The music and excitement make everyone's hearts beat in tune.

At this time of year, there is music and color! So much so.

"Hewo! Hewwo! Heeeeewoooo!!!" the little birthday girl runs back and forth on either side of the boat.

Her sticky hands wave in great excitement. Sometimes she would run to smack Grampa's calves with her head. Or up to where Mother gracefully sits in place, those little hands reaching for a bit of ribbon and flowers to throw into the crowds.

At this parade high height, they flutter colorfully in the air. Making her appear almost like a stunning little pixie. Zipping back and forth with magic. You would be blessed to catch even a glimpse of her.

All little girls and their mothers sigh, dreaming of sitting up there themselves. Dressed in pretty clothes, cute as a fairy princess, loved by all. Lilyanne is just too blessed and she doesn't even know it.

Where am I in this?

Why... trapped and strapped bored out of my mind of course. This parade ride is snail-paced!?

"Oh dear, Rosalia, are you feeling motion sick again? We're already going as slowly and gently as possible. Oh, but it can't be helped. Hang on just a bit longer my dear." says the poofy pretty prison warden on my left.

"Is the seat very much uncomfortable? Hmmm. Should I hold Chip to rest?" sparkles the concerned prison warden on my right.

"Let me do it, you know she prefers my lap when she's unwell. Hold the flowers and confetti dear." Mother makes to motion.

"Have the 'ship' hurry up then." Father snaps his orders.

"Faster we go!" Grandpa pulls the funny levers at his steering wheel.

With a few strange clanking giant hamster wheel sounds underneath the floorboards, and a strange Lukas like sound going "Aye aye!", we really do clumsily speed up. So much so Lilyanne trips with a plop at Grampa's feet.

Before I can even protest, I'm sitting uncomfortably up a bit higher on this circus parade float, in view of a screaming crowd of thousands, all on my mother's lap.

There is no room for shame when you're only 4 years old.

I am not actually unwell but I do not refute the ready excuse to not smile on command. Like a little fool on display. How troublesome.

That's not to say I'm not doing my best at crafting my public image. Rather I play demure and coy. Cuddling up between the Lord and Lady, sitting pretty even when Mother moves me up into her hold. Sometimes I even give a bashful little wave before burying myself back into Mother's hug.

Aren't I just...so innocently adorable?!!!

Behold! Look at me, everyone. So shy and cute. I couldn't even harm a gross bug. How could I possibly be a curse of bad times? Even if I was, look at this. Look at how favored I am! Well not me exactly, but I'm part of this set. Observe and behold! How much do you love my crazy grampa or my sprite little sister? Remember this sight, hold it deep into your memory and... praise me more!

Joking, I'm joking. Please don't mob and root for my untimely death later on.

Pretty please? I'll even put a yummy cherry on top?

"Yes, my dear girl. You're doing so wonderfully holding it in. The ride will stop soon and right after the ribbon-cutting, we'll get you a yummy cake with a pretty sweet pickled cherry. Right on top!" Mother baby talks.

Oh well, as long as I get some good cake after this.

The ribbon-cutting at the end of the parade goes just as well as it could have. All perfectly according to plan. The plan being that every single member of my family is all too shiny to look at directly. Ow ow ow, what the-,

More importantly, all goes well since no one died, arrested or stabbed anyone.

With Grampa cleaned up maybe 3% more than usual, he makes a dashing heroic figure with more vigor than a band of youths. Anything could be a weapon in his absurdly strong hands, even a flimsy carton of milk. Let alone a sharp oversized pair of scissors.

My sister and I make a show of holding the scissors supported by Grampa. One of us on each side.

Snip goes the giant cheap ribbon under our combined efforts.

All we did was cut some cloth but the crowds cheered so hard it reverberated, even through the open air. I can't blame them though.

Behind the scenes, as if working in clockwork at the signal, lights start to shine all around us. From the streetlights and heat lamps, to the blurry glow between ice slides and play castles. Flames of various sizes and warmth flash and flicker.

It's a warming magical sight.

With this little ceremony, the festival is officially declared open.

I want to say that then we rushed out to have a wonderfully perfect, amazing oh so fun day. But children are fickle creatures.

For one the parade float breaks down, thankfully after it's been parked and no longer needed. Out opens the clown car of not magical air but gasping employees and a wild Lukas still spinning on a disabled human hamster wheel.

"How do I get out of this thing?!" he angrily goes even faster in failing to break free from the enclosure.

Loose and out into the road.

"Whoops. That wasn't supposed to happen." Grampa holds the trap door irresponsibly open.

"No fair! Lily first!" my sister steams up, running after the Lukas wheel to be first to enjoy the festival.

Luckily, they're both intercepted and caught by Mother, giant hamster wheel ball and all. Safe from the crowds. Somehow though, I get the feeling the people were far more endangered than those two kids.

We then got exactly one promised snack and two very supervised baby rides before the call of nap time was too much. The excitement is all catching up with my small sister.

Luckily, there are a lot of rest stops built. Anything from a few public benches to the VIP lounge tents for those who value their privacy and can afford to part with their coins. Along with more than a few other choices in between.

Open to everyone, rich and poor, means quite a bit of options. Not bad nerds.

"Lily nap here now." my tired little sister doesn't quite make it the nearest tent though. Opting for the comfortable bed of cold dirt floor.

"Lilyanne, no! Not here! It's filthy, Oh." Mother fusses over her little lady.

"I have her. There now, my sack of curds. Let's not roll to sleep in the middle of the road like a common worm, begging to be pecked and eaten." Father picks up her limp little butt.

"Lily...*snore* sweep here now. Night night now." a sleepy Lilyanne ignores them both.

Luckily I am not as uncontrollably active as my younger sister. By not wasting so near as much energy throughout the day, I still have a lot to keep going. Even if I do appreciate my tea breaks.

"How about over there?" I point and tug.

Up above the large hanger roof protects a series of stalls. All lined up to sell some very specifically must be kept warm things.

"Food!" Lukas jumps at the mixed mingling scents.

Even if one couldn't see it, you could easily follow your nose. The offerings in the hanger for sale are far more luxurious than what's generously passed out from my house. Sorry porridge.

Thus the hanger area is already a few steps above the general populace. With its own seatings and rest areas for those who can afford it. A very reasonable middle ground to enjoy the atmosphere without suffering in squalor.

"It's a bacon." Lukas clamors.

"That's a grilled sausage, Lukas." I deadpan back.

"That's a bigger bacon!" He screams nearby.

"It's a porchetta sandwich." I answer, failing to see the bacon vision.

"I want to eat it all." He declares.

"Same"

For once, we agree.

With hungry eyes, we look back for an adult to buy it for us. But Mother and Father are already being led away to a VIP balcony. Leaving Grampa to put his hands up in the air.

"I don't carry any money." Grandpa uselessly shows his open hands.

Absolutely useless of a man!

"Lukas. Stealing is bad. But if we pry off the valuable buttons on his clothes we could possibly exchange them for…." I start to plan.

Luckily for Grampa, more than a few stall keepers have eyes and brains. Recognizing if not me, then my infamous Grampa.

"My great Lord. What an honor it would be for you to sample my humble food."

"F-for our host family. We are not worthy to serve."

"TAKE THIS GOOSE PLEASE. PLEASE. I'M SORRY. MERCY!?!"

I had wanted to walk around and browse some more. But once some brave souls start offering, they all do. In no time at all, we're surrounded by people offering ready dishes to me, my Grampa, and even Lukas.

The decorated roast goose is certainly the largest of the unexpected free foods. At that size, it's rather unnecessary. But the shopkeeper fearfully kept insisting, dropping it, and himself, at Lukas's little feet.

"What did you do to that poor man?" I whisper to him as we follow Grampa, lugging the free feast up the stairs to the rest of my family.

But is it really free? After all the costs we put in? Is it really?

"I dunno. Be too awesome!?" Lukas shrugs, biting into a sausage treat.

"Don't worry about it! Ahahahah!" Grampa laughs a bit too loudly, even for him.

The VIP seats that didn't exist some hours ago have been magically set up for our family's eating and viewing pleasure. Even though I'm not really sure why Lukas is here too. My minions sure are sticky creatures.

At least Mother is happy. One more suffering little mochi to be her dress-up doll.

"Big angry flying bacon!" Lukas presents the bird to the table.

"Oh my. I remember the days when people would not stop offering me geese, begging for mercy." Mother pokes at her food.

Father inhales, looking as if he were about to say something. But a pat and overly loud glance from Grampa makes him decide otherwise.

Weird adults aside, it's very delicious though. The crispy glazed skin and well-soaked rye stuffing is particularly flavorful. It's so yummy, I had to be quick to sneak a pretty portion in my purse before the shounen characters at the table ate it all.

I'm going to save it for Gable! Next, I see him of course. It seems like the kind of thing he would like.

Since I have the lightest appetite, I finish first and request to look around. Plenty of energy and curiosity ready to go. I am after all eager to judge and criticize how badly a festival in this world is, even if it was planned out with my Father as the head.

"But your nap, darling. Don't overdo it!" Mother calls out for me.

Silly woman. I am not Lilyanne.

But I assure her I will be fine by taking the nerd. Father more than willing to carry me off a little tour. As close and far as his long legs will carry me. Like that, I can survey more and not be tired at all!

"If she suddenly falls asleep, at the very least it won't be on the dirt floor." Father adjusts me in his arms.

"Oh…" Mother starts, starting to fuss.

Between the sleeping baby girl in her lap, the yapping primary hyperactive schooler asking questions between stuffing his face, and the useless old man, she has her hands full. It can't hurt to release the nerd and I out for a bit.

"Hurry Father." I urge him to go faster.

"What's the rush Chippy dear?" he asks me amusedly, taking his sweet time with every step.

"To beat Lilyanne's naptime. Hurry, there is much to see before she awakens and drags us down to her baby playtime." I explain most patiently to my one-man ride.

Along the way, too many people drop and bow at his passing. Even if they were carrying heavy things. It's expected but not exactly comfortable of an experience. Not when it happens all the damn time.

It takes too much effort to maneuver past them all!

"Father. Activate the thing." I prompt him.

Since I lack the right words or names for certain things, I tap in my tiny wrists instead. Indicating for him to do the very same.

With a bemused glance, he holds up his own wrists. The subtle metal cuff links surrounding the gems, pinned in place. Even if I focused, I wouldn't be able to see or sense any magic on them.

Not until Father turns them just the right amount. Similar to adjusting a manual clock face.

Then it's like the small world changed.

Just the space around us. All the air distorted, hazy like the view of blurry decorative glass. That's how the world will see us passing by. Another face in the crowds. The cloud of consciousness.

Just like the item itself, it's a very subtle and useless magic. Aren't tools wonderful?

"Careful not to deactivate them on me at just the wrong moment, my dear." Father teases, balancing me in his arms.

He makes it sound as if I go reverse zapping magic out of everything left and right. How rude.

But well, this body of mine could be the very reason why I could never get the spare cuffs in his office to work properly. Back then I always thought it was because I couldn't figure out his darn exact spinning codes.

While I am now aware of my condition, it's not exactly easy to turn off or turn on. I don't even know if I can do that.

For now, I am simply careful not to directly touch any magical devices. Including Father's cuff links. That's one precaution.

Another is to not purposefully dismantle any funny things I may see or feel in the air.

This haze that follows us isn't unpleasant. I could easily ignore it. But just the same, I could sneeze wrong and blow it away. At least partially. It would come back in time. But like a common sneeze and sniffle, I feel as if I could clear it just a bit.

Control is a lifelong process learned the hard way I fear.

It's not too troublesome to sit comfortably still and pretty in Father's arms though. Soon I hardly notice it in the ooing and awwing discussion of the little tour Father takes me on.

More importantly the review of how everything works.

"The ropes spin on tension. When finally released, it goes counterclockwise to the screams of terror and delight of all riders. I do not advise using ropes of inferior twist count or quality. If it snaps…." Father holds me up high to watch another death trap carnival ride.

It resembles a giant blender more than it does a safe good carnival ride. Despite the lack of electricity or building materials, it somehow looks even more fearsome. The risk of injury or even death is so much closer.

Yet people still line up to fill the death blender. It spins them slowly before releasing like a winding top.

Plenty of more rides shoddily fill the space. All technically manual.

The magic of this world doesn't necessarily power everything as much as it helps in the construction and upkeep. Such as the lights that glow in the street lanterns. Or the ice towers, twirling up high with frosted slides. They may have been 'mysteriously' constructed with magic but the use is common and simple. Sit and go. Easy to use. Easy to not think about. Very fun.

But for weirdos like us, the fun part was building it up as we go.

"You're a bit small for that one. And that one. And that one. Definitely that one. But how about the butterfly swings?" Father carries me from one attraction to another, each certainly looking deadlier and deadlier.

Right till we get to what is essentially the baby carnival ride.

The baskets have been painted and affixed with various "wings" and those dreadful giant ribbons that I have no idea how much Mother spent on. They colorfully make the ride look extra appealing though, especially to small children.

How cute they would be if we had something of a photo booth set up. But alas, technology is far from that money maker. I'm stuck just charging for premium rides and the nice market booths that I had Abbey lottery off a few of my skincare products.

Like that it will trickle into the market quicker without losing any of its mysterious value. My convenient public relations event is perfectly controlled for that.

"No need for a ride, Father. I'm not so easily amused myself. Riding a horse is more exciting than that. Besides, daylight is burning. Onwards!" I turn down his most recent offer.

It's far more interesting to me to see the fair from Father's viewpoint. A playset built up with all sorts of stations and centers. The format of it all. Dizzying in an organized mess. Like the rides, the floor plan spirals. Getting into each layer and swirl would take far more fascinating time to get into. Time that's quickly wasting away.

It's a good thing this festival will take place for more than a few days. It would be a shame if it was too short. Unable to be really enjoyed in the exciting rush.

In the colorful spin of it all, there's one attraction that catches my curiosity enough to ask to stop at.

"What's that?" I point for Father to look over.

Bright lights flashing, an almost luxurious amount of pebble-sized light stones swirling on the large sign. Adults and children alike crowd around the booth, creating quite a loud clamor. Even through the noise, there is the oh so satisfying clanging sound of small valuable metal coins.

"Throw one. Win more! Try your luck!" shouts an operator with a small horn.

The closest crowd lines around, rummaging their pockets to throw coins. Actual shiny metal money. They toss and throw at a device as if it were a wishing fountain with a high turnover. A fountain of money.

"What are they doing?" I am almost aghast at how easily people throw their money.

Sure, it's mainly the cheapest coins. But it sure stands out. A small riverbed of broken coppers and prize redeemable tokens, glittering under the light.

A cranky operator turns the mechanical lever. Slowly, ever so slowly, it rakes over the coins. Occasionally pushing some over the edge. Whoever stands at the turn claims the winnings in glee or tired resignation.

You would think a sane person would take their money and run. But no, that's not always the case. Some people continue to throw money, their winnings even, back at the game. Aiming or just blind trying to cause an avalanche of coins to drop.

"A game. A gamble and a scam. But by all means a public game." Father doesn't look to be as impressed by the janky stall as I thought he would be.

It's a novelty to me in this world but I suppose given my Father's background, it's nothing new. Even in another cheaper form.

He may be a Ventrella now but for most of his life thus far he was a Bicchieri. His birth family has run some legal and not-so-legal operations for generations. There are casinos as part of their immense long-standing wealth.

Heavens know how frustrating it was for me, as Rosalia, to watch people just throw money at my cousin Philippe. For seemingly no reason! Oh, the terrifying power of gambling, bets, and addiction. Oh, the envy I felt. From the common parlor to the luxury casino yachts cruising down the border riveras.

That was good money not going to me!

Curses. Damn rich people.

It's odd how some things are considered legal gambling, while others aren't. Big playhouses, horse racing, all that and more. Then there are things like this seemingly innocent carnival booth game. That's not seen as gambling at all.

But with all gambling plays, the house should win and profit most in the end.

It's a shame my house Ventrella doesn't own any of such easy moneymakers of our own. Grandpa and his resources are stretched out enough. Besides, it doesn't go with our heroic military family bases.

What if we set up a provincial lottery though? Hmmmm? Start out in the troops?

While I'm contemplating and crying about the money I'm not making in the betting trade, a new challenger takes the place of the previous money tossing loser. One significantly shorter and fairer.

Looking neither rich nor poor. A little girl in a faded rosewood pink dress. More than twice but not thrice my age. No jewels, her only accessory a dark braided headband protects short russet locks, making her look very cute despite her unfortunate coloring. A sweet healthy blush, where cherry chapped lips that turn white where she bites it in concentration.

This girl...is oddly familiar? But not? How to say it?

"Well now...." Father stays in place, watching along with me.

The girl pulls off her fur tufted leather mittens, stretching out long pretty fingers. Like many, she tries to aim her throws. Two heavy full copper coins skip like stones in the hands of an experienced child. But ultimately they just settle without disturbing much. A few halves and partials sprinkling down the winning bucket through below. Heavier than the coins, it's a big loss of profits.

"Awww too bad pretty little missy. Remember, coins only, no rocks." the main man hosting the booth laughs, pleasantly surprised a child was throwing full-sized coins.

"...This is my last coin." the little girl looks crestfallen, rubbing and holding up the last bit of her money.

Without that grim look of concentration, she's quite a delicate-looking beauty. There's a bit of travel-weary wear and tear on her, a scattering of unhealed skin damage across her pretty face ruining an otherwise doll-like figure. The skin of her exposed wrist was so fair and translucent, you could see the faint blue vein underneath.

"Win or lose! Up to you! Believe and test your luck!" the announcer bellows, jolly from a day of good winnings. More to surely come.

The kid snorts but holds up the lost coin, kissing it curtly.

"Luck? Sure. I'll bet on it. "

Maybe it's because I'm a bit too far and have too overactive of an imagination, but when she finally throws it with all her strength, the blue veins jumping, it's as if sparks of popping fireworks go off. Tiny lines of electric currents bouncing weaker across the money lines. Silent and invisible to everyone.

The coin skips. Bounces. Cling clack clang.

At that very moment, the cranky crank operator gets a sudden cramp.

"Ow ow OW!" he knocks and spins the handle too hard in throwing his spasming hand off.

It starts a chain reaction of speeding up the mechanical rakes, sprinkling down more winnings like leaves in fall. The losses evening out as the money piles.

"Hey! What are you doing!" the jolly booth owner quickly loses his patience.

He turns to his back man operator, trying to grab on and stop the handle. Only to fumble, knock himself in the side painfully with the lever, and spill a comedic amount of the booth game's money down.

The crowd goes wild. Absolutely maniac in screaming at the money going into the winner's bucket.

"Not a bad bet. I'll be taking this now." the little girl puts back on her mittens.

From her pockets, she pulls out some potato sacks and pours the trough of money into them. Her little arms lift them up easily with slightly abnormal strength. Something not too uncommon in this world.

"Wait, that doesn't count-" the booth operator shouts out, grimacing.

Only to stub his toe painfully, hopping about in howling pain. I can't help but to wince in sympathy, along with the crowd.

We have very cute commoners. Though money is dropping and spilling everywhere, they hold off from jumping into the disaster. That or it's probably just not worth it. Maybe if those coppers were gold, it would be a different story.

The unexpected winner however makes off with the potato sacks of coins, jingling merrily. A strangely uncute little girl. I'm not just talking about that unsightly hair.

Seriously? Red on pink? Maybe her mother dressed her? Gosh the only person ridiculous enough to rock that kind of combo, or even had the hair color to do so, were my ridiculously 'fashionable' cousins. The miscreant Philippe or the eldest daughter of my uncle Dominic.

Wait.

No. No way.

It's missing a lot of the excess fabrics and decorations but that certainly is cousin Dorabella's dress. Definitely her color scheme. The hot pink of her expensive favorite dye in her youth has faded into a muted tone but enough of the details are there.

How did I not notice before?

Well, I can't be perfect, ok? I've never even officially met my elder cousin in this timeline yet. Me being a baby doesn't count.

But that can't be her, even in childish youth. The age could pass about right but cousin Dorabella resembles her pure blue blood mother too much. She was never so...how to put this politely?

Dainty? Light? Reasonably fashionable? Ratioed?

Oh, nevermind that. Just who is that mysteriously shady girl?!

"Curious? What sharp eyes my little Chippy has. Shall we?" Father reads my mind, gentlemanly offering to follow.

"Onwards! Follow that money." I urge him, not even questioning his own motivations.

I've already lost sight of her in the mess but my Father's long legs quickly catch up. Knowing just when and where to cut corners and meet right up ahead at the trajectory.

Smartly, the child dips and dives, even taking out a coarse cloth shawl to cover herself up. But it's too late. Sherlock Rosalia is hot on the chase.

Finally, the child runs up to a set of benches, a little public theater made of planks and haystacks. There, an audience of all ages enjoys something of a shadow play puppet show. The smallest of children right in front, while their amused and tired parents sit back. Resting their feet under the warm heat lamps.

A real child might get distracted but not me. Not right now.

We enter in the near back, Father taking a casual seat on a haystack where we can observe the whole grounds.

The little girl cockily drops the potato sacks in front of a resting woman, cloaked completely in drab shapeless brown. In contrast to the coarse cloth, a fair hand that's never seen farm or housework comes to rub affectionately at the child's hair. Hardly even noticing the sacks of money except to lightly scold.

"Not again. Did you forget what I told you earlier?" The woman sighs in a bit of worry, still fully spoiling her child in a loving tone.

"I don't bet anyone would recognize me like this." The brat complains with a deadpan, kicking up her feet and sitting very improperly for a lady.

"Hush now. Try not to draw even further attention to yourself. Did you have a good time my darling? Making your candy allowance."

"...Just a bit. How are you feeling, Mother?" The girl holds her mother's arm, snuggling to her stomach.

"Very pleased to have such an adorable daughter now~."

"...."

It's a very normal family scene. A little embarrassing, a little cringy, very much not my business. But why? Why does something feel so suspiciously off?

Off. Something feels off.

I feel off. Like I'm in a waking dream. One where I can move my limbs quite right. Without my noticing, they've not only become limp but feel…..hollow?

Against any sense or control, my body relaxes. My shoulders rise and fall. The scream of shock in my throat silent, stuffed in straw and cotton.

The shadow puppets play on stage. Left. Right. Up. Down. I feel the same urge. As if I want to hold my arms out and dance. But it doesn't work that way. Rust and scabs creak my movements as I try to break free from this.

What….what is this? What's happening to me?! Father?! Father help?!!

"I've got you, Rosalia. Nothing will happen to you. Don't be afraid, my girl. Focus." A wave of calm envelopes me when Father takes a hold of me again.

Unnaturally so.

It laps like the ocean, vast and natural. My vision swims in the cool feeling that replaces my panic. As if looking at the seaside, sunlight shimmering in the distance.

"What do you feel from the surface of your skin to the pinpoint joints between your bones? What's causing this and where? Don't fight so much as find it. Do what you do best with trivial magic." Father speaks calmly, even if his sudden strong grip on my tightens. Someone else might even think he's worried.

For once in this lifetime, I'm afraid I've fully been taken a hold of by someone or something's magic spell. Just that knowledge alone helps to stabilize my mental state. It's just a shitty spell or technique out there.

But how? Isn't this body supposed to be now void of magic? Why am I still affected?

Focusing on Father's words, his warmth, and the shimmering light that doesn't even exist, I try. I try to dispel what's taken a hold of me.

But it's no use.

I'm nothing without Lilyanne except a hole. A pitiful black hole. But right now, the hole feels like a tiny vacuum in a very big room. A pinprick pop of air too slowly hissing out of a balloon.

What's even going on here?!

"I've got you, Rosalia. I'm right here. It's alright if you can't shake it off. It appears my little girl has her limits after all. I've got you." Father holds and rocks me, much like a child with a tantrum.

The oddly soothing rush coming at me from all sides, as if to envelope me from the strange magic I can't break free from.

I hiccup, finding it impossible to speak.

When has this ever happened to Rosalia Ventrella? When?! This is so unfair. I came out to have a good time and am literally being attacked right now.

" ….as for the uninvited pest, if you dare try to scare or trick my daughter again I'll have you liquefied from inside out and shipped in a wine bottle back to the old bat." Father says dully.

The shadow show in front warps and grows. A finale of sorts that's impossible for puppets to perform. Fireworks bloom, the dark shadows streaming and sparking. A little girl, so very small.

A shadow of me.

It's a shadow of me.

I feel my arms raising, nails telling it where to go and the shadow girl waves back in perfect time. Orchestrating the finale of flowers and fire up and above the screen. The scenery captivated the audience. All eyes on the front display.

A crash. A crescendo. The shadows explode and I'm cut fully free from the strings of control.

"Happy Birthday to my cute little niece! Oh she's gotten so big since I last saw! Congratulations!"

What?

Red strikes my vision. Red hair so bloody it can't be natural. Red lipsticks that cost more than a man's life. Red shiny shoes sparkling in so much red, I wonder if you click your heels together in those you might summon a tornado and teleport home.

The red witch of the screen wants a hug apparently. Slipping past the screen party to spotlight down to me.

"Stay away from my daughter you conniving doxy." Father holds me very much away.

"Oh don't be like that Freddy. It's a party! Your party. Your cute little daughters' party. Oh... definitely yours, no paternity test needed alright. Thank goodness she has more of Maria to her face." the scary lady drops the shadows and puppets in her glitz and glamour.

"Interesting how I received no reports of your arrival. Or any plans of coming whatsoever." Father's tone begins to drop in honeyed irritation.

"It's a surprise! You're no fun when you know I'm coming. Guards here. Escorts there. Chaste old nuns to dampen my fun everywhere. And I don't mean the holy water you insist on them throwing at me. Aren't we a little too old for such jokes?" she bends and pokes at my father repeatedly.

"...Auntie Valentia?" I test my tongue, sure it's working again.

A woman so red, she can only be my paternal aunt and Father's big sister. Valentia Pipa Bicchieri.

She's a very strange but popular woman. Despite being widowed multiple times already, and having a very disturbing collection of toys, puppets, and dolls, she still has suitors waiting for the cull. Even if she weren't a direct Bicchieri, she could live well for the rest of her life off the inheritances from all her dead husbands. If by some ridiculous reason she runs out, she could always marry again. Infamous in a way I'm not sure is bad or good. Probably bad.

At my call she gasps, holding her silken handkerchief in mock tears.

"Oh, she remembers me! Just so formally. Oh, you DO talk about me to the children, all this time. Bacchy you silly scoundrel you~ I knew you always loved me dearest." my aunt holds out her hands, as if expecting Father to just hand me over.

"No. But I see I should start. I should teach them to run and call security at the very hint of you."

Father is not a very good host when it comes to his own relations. But it is a bit amusing to see him break his cool.

"Greetings to our humble home, Aunt Valentia. May your journey not have been too hard on you." I get up to curtsey, shaking my stiff limbs from the effects.

Rosalia the original may not have fully figured it out but I certainly have. This paternal aunt of ours is not only a lively black sheep of the Bicchieris, she's a voodoo puppet doll witch of a magic-user.

That would explain her odd hobbies and all her 'children'. The dolls. Ugh.

It's a bit fearful what she's done to me, what she's capable of. But I can't show fear here. This is my PR event and I intend to brainwash everyone with fun, food, and my cuteness. At the very least, disarm them from my and my future.

"Oh, your lisp at attempting to speak is just so precious! How loveable. Call me auntie Pipa! Frederick, I can almost see why you decided to have living breathing children." one Bicchieri aunt has already fallen for my baby charms.

"Back. Back to whence den of drudgery and filth from where you once you came." Father shoos off his own sister.

"Father. Is aunt Val-"

"Pipa!" she interrupts, insisting on that old nickname.

Valentia is for her mother and husbands to call out, she had always said.

"...Is aunt Pipa the one who made me all funny like that? Is it magic?" I ask, half playing dumb. Like it could have been anyone else.

I think I recall quite a few times our old aunt 'helped' Lilyanne or such at balls. For better or worse. Maybe slam into a few harem boys? But those are old issues that are better off not thinking about. Only prevented.

"We'll talk about it later, Rosalia." Father is stern with me in front of others, his eyes watching over everything I don't even perceive.

"Why yes! Very perspective, why she's smarter than her cute mother already. Maybe that's it, Maria's blood. Otherwise Freddy, what are you training her with?! I haven't had to struggle to make someone my doll like that in ages. Let alone so young. Ow, oh my finger joints will feel that in the morning." my aunt winces, putting on a show.

Much like a lion plays fights with their cubs. Kitten teeth do nothing against their strong hides, yet they roar as if in pain.

I tried to avoid it this time. I actually tried to actively cancel out that magic gripping me. It was then I saw how vastly I was overpowered against. My skill. a single tiny eraser tip in a very large inked-out room. Outmatched by far.

I see.

So there is a clear limit to what I can cancel out. Father noticed it too. It was surely always suspected in my mind. After all, my sister has her limits to zap out. But now it's certainly proven.

Even with knowledge of my magic, or lack of magic, I can so easily be overpowered.

As expected. Oh well, better up my training and surround myself with fat powerful minions in the future. I wasn't ever going to OP hero cheat my life anyways.

"Awwww. Don't be upset~ It's your birthday party! And what a fun one too. Here now, come to auntie Pipa. Do you want goodies? Money? Candy? Money?" she calls to me, bending down to wave her hand.

"Valentia. My daughter is not a pet you can just-.... Rosalia, where are you going?" Father continues to keep a very strong hold on my little waist. Especially when my little legs start moving towards the money.

Very sorry about that, Father. I must have been controlled again. Yes, controlled by sweet sweet money.

"Yes. Come to the treats." she pats a potato sack of jingling coins.

Wait? Isn't that from the girl we followed before?

Looking over to the mostly distracted crowd, the little girl cowers behind her mother. Like a hissing cat, she holds over one remaining sack of copper coin winnings. As if afraid of that one also being stolen.

The cloaked woman looks up at us with a gentle smile, the air slightly warped. I see her fair face, the fall of silken dark hair, that beauty mark, one hand over her growing stomach. My mind finally connects the dots.

Cosimo?

That uncute hissing money-scamming little girl is Cosimo all along?!

Wait no, let's not use my mother's thought process. Cosimo is most definitely a boy, for I have seen him naked.

Cosimo is a crossdressing boy?!

Hey, is there any way I can get a portrait commissioned? Since cameras aren't a thing. I would like to record this for future blackmail, ahem, I mean prosperity sake. When Cosimo becomes a big bad banking giant rolling in money, I would like to look back on this.

"A prosperous day to you and your beautiful family, Lord Ventrella." his mother bows in greeting, smile sly on her painted lips.

"Isabel." Father acknowledges his eldest brother's mistress, unsurprised.

"Is the Lord of lands Bicchieri aware of your 'surprise' trip here?" he raises formally.

"Freddy, don't be such a lung-spasming moldy downer at your own hosted party. Of course, Dom knows. I left a dancing puppet note as I whisked them away in romantic secrecy. If he doesn't, he'll figure it out eventually." Aunt Pipa waves off.

"Whatever purpose you have….this is not the place." Father taps at his wrist cuffs, the little metal spins, and spins.

His own codes, they alert his orders silently to the guards that have always been following us.

"We're here for the party! Of course, this is the right place." The former black sheep of the Biccheris does what she wants.

I say former because the current crown goes to my Father. Who skipped rebellious black sheep status to jump into the black hole that was marrying over to my Mother. So thus, he has no place to complain.

Fully aware of that, and aunt Pipa's personality, he merely sighs and pulls out a few special slips of Troop's credit slips and an iron card-shaped token.

"Where are you staying? Is it out of tracks and sight? If it's inadequate, call upon my people, if not for your absurd self then for Isabel and ….the..child. Does my brother know you have been feathering up his son?" He hands his gleeful sister the extra money and VIP pass.

"Oh fun. It's a very good 'disguise'. He likes it and the travelling freedom that comes with it! Don't you Comiso?" Aunt Pipa coos, counting the exclusive cash.

From the short distance away, Cosimo silently fights a blush and hiss. Pink radiating off his entire head as he swallows down the teasing. A 10-year-old boy forced to practice his self-control in unimaginable ways.

"My cosmos is wonderfully good and lovely no matter what he wears. Of course, we are pleased for your help and hospitality." Isabel answers for him, patting his hand in patience.

Hidden mistress or not, she's not to be taken lightly either. As a successful cortigiana onesta in public, she's the equivalent of an A-list celebrity here. The things she must have done to get there, and keep that position, are unimaginable.

I look back and forth between all the adults, watching their reactions carefully.

It would be a bit inconvenient if my encounter with Isabel and Cosimo months ago was revealed here. I don't want Father to get the wrong idea of my level of meddling. Or rather, I don't want Father to get any ideas at all.

He's scary and overbearing enough.

Luckily, this isn't a good time and date for any further discussions. Like why Isabel has snuck her way with Cosimo here in the first place. Especially in her delicate condition. Traveling in public tends not to be a kind experience to pregnant women.

"Lord Bicchieri and I have decided long ago not to infringe upon each other's business nor territories. It is a fragile peace. In house Ventrella, I will always be at a disadvantage against such a long-standing power." Father doesn't so much warn them as much as reminds them,

It's not that he and his birth family are bitterly feuding. Unless you count ignoring the nagging letters from his mother. Or trying to avoid any family meeting ever. But there really does need to be a clear separation of family lines.

For everyone's sake.

There's a reason why Father no longer has a hand in the work he used to do. What he grew up and trained with. Why he steers clear of any business overlaps with his past.

His name changed, as did his family values and loyalties. All his children will take the name Ventrella. There will be no confusion or misunderstandings for anyone. Especially between a long-standing upper noble family and the relatively new explosive one, with my Grampa as founder.

My home is much further away from the hustle and bustle of many large cities, and that really is for the best. Few will bother us out here. Not like they do in the midways lands or up north.

Whatever past Father has left behind, doesn't follow him here.

At least not usually.

"Business smidgeness droll dole. You hardly lightened up. I'm here to really enjoy the festival! And I've taken my much cuter nephew with me. Can't we let loose and have some fun?" Aunt Pipa calls forth for said nephew.

The invisible sparks are back, but only centered around Cosimo's sitting legs. Occasionally focuses on little strings of stars. But the boy doesn't move, a stubborn pout on his red face. A grim grit of his teeth.

I realize then, that subtle pulse of sparks are his own. An immature magic humming in the veins, under the skin, fighting off whatever puppet control our red aunt is playing with.

It makes me sigh how much I missed in the last lifetime.

When Father and all the Bicchieris, even Philippe, claim no marvelous abilities or blessings of magic, just know it's all a cover-up. Everything is a cover-up for their shady crimes.

Oh well, money speaks first. I hope I can profit big off them this time. Safely of course.

"It would be polite to say hello. Especially to the birthday girl." Cosimo's mother advises him, holding his gripped hand as he concentrates against Aunt Pipa's fearsome teasing.

"I'll do it on my own." he shakes off the faint sparks only I can see.

When he stands again, standing stiff and as tall as his youth allows, I can almost see a trace of the dangerous man he'll become.

But not today. Far from that. Today, he's just a young boy crammed into his half-sister's hand-me-down dress, scamming carnival games and seeking comforts from his mother. This appearance of his looking cuter and cuter to my eyes.

"Greetings to our blessed encounter, and Happy Birthday to the young miss of the land." he bows stiffly, part shy and part unsure.

Yep, definitely just a brat. With his own shares of troubles and little pleasures. Nowhere big yet.

Let's get along well, my adorable moneymaker!

"Hewo big 'sister'~! Thank you so very much!" I smile happily, not faked at all.

The child manages to control the minute shivers but not the cute look of shameful disgust behind his cool hazel eyes, flecked with blue. The reaction amuses even my Father. I can somehow tell from the way he holds me.

"Papa! I'm tired now. Time for nap nap. Let's bring pwetty big sister and everybody back to mama~" I say, overly cheerful.

Instantly, he stiffens. Cutting off the peaceful feel good link that seemed to have been left open. His own abilities, let alone the full extent, are still very much a mystery to me. Only getting deeper. But I don't need any magic to tell he is not pleased with my instigation.

"It is very much time for a busy young lady to retire." his tone gravely warns me.

There is nothing left for me to do but to cower into my usual spot inside his waistcoat. But for the act, I shall cuddle and play coquettish.

"But Rosa wants her prewsents. Surely auntie and everybody brought pwesents for Lily and Rosa!" I make those imploringly wide innocent eyes.

"Why of course! I must see and thank the great Misses. For not only hosting such a grand festival but for taking such good care of our spoiled little Freddy all this time. Fears aside, I'm so glad to see you've adapted finely all this time." Aunt Pipa plays along, already set to greedily stick to Father's back.

Much like the annoying leech he looks at her like even through the expressionless poker face. It is the look reserved for true siblings.

"Come on papa! Go now to mama, and remember big sister. Rosa gonna cry if I don't see big sister when I wake up! We're gonna have sooooo much fun." I stick myself as best I can.

"Good little girls should sleep well now. Don't miss your nap my lovely Rosa." Father chuckled darkly, made all the worse by his expressionless face.

I wanted to net and ensure Cosimo follows along more than this. But when one of Father's usual pets at my curls comes in full contact with the back of my skull, it's like an instant button of consciousness has been slammed.

There is no fade. No sleepiness.

I'm out.

If there is a hilariously bad family reunion that took place, involving my Mother especially, it's not one that I'm around to see.

But I do awake to Mother's laughter, soft and slowly aware I'm on her lap. There is the familiar splash of my household fountains. The clinking sets of tea and silver. The once too brash festival now sounds too far away. Instead, both delicate and crass womanly giggles surround me.

It appears I've slept longer than I've ever anticipated. Especially since I didn't plan on actually napping at all. That's never happened before!

Not the whole suddenly falling asleep thing. That's fine. I'm in my prime nap needing years. Georgie and Abbey have more than enough shameful accounts of finding me asleep where I shouldn't be. But that's not the case here.

I've always joked Father had more robotic functions than should be normal, including falling asleep. But not me! I'm human? I think?

I haven't been converted to undead vampire villainess yet right? My genre hasn't changed?

What did Father do to me to make me completely fall unconscious like that?! It's terrible! And convenient. But terrible! That's certainly never happened before?

"Oh my, is my stubborn little Rosa finally up. This is what happens when you don't take your naps properly on time." Mother sits me up when she feels me stirring.

"She's just adorable! Is her favorite word still, 'No'?"

What greets me is a tea break from a corner hell.

My terrifyingly wealthy black widow aunt Pipa, giggling at me at one side. One of the top female celebrities across the southern lands in the other, smiling in all her glory now that she's not keeping hidden.

This is a dangerous position to be in. I should go.

"It can't be helped. Children like to be with other children. Don't make too much trouble now Rosalia!" Mother calls after me, scrambling to escape after excusing myself.

How rude.

It's my own house and I'm only 4. How much trouble can I make?

Rather, I'm more concerned about what happened to cousin Cosimo. I'm already highly surprised that 'aunt' Isabel is here in my villa, as my mother's guest for tea. Sure, I tried to steer it in that direction but I didn't know it would work. Now, what about Cosimo? My future money laying golden goose!

Don't tell me Lilyanne has already snatched him?

While the original Lilyanne and Cosimo didn't have all that close of a relationship, it's impossible to predict or tell anything for certain now. The timeline has been messed up in ways I never could have imagined.

Besides, who can resist the natural cuteness of a heroine?

I must find them quickly.

But first….the little girl's room. Gotta go. Gotta freshen up.

On my way to and fro, various employees still pass by with work more or less. Their greetings to me are joyful and in good cheer. Some even report to me where my Georgie has gone or notes that Abbey has left for me. All very good, but not exactly what I need.

When inquired on where my little sister or new bigger 'sister' has gone, no one can quite say. Coldly sweat perhaps but can't say for sure.

Oh, such troublesome children.

Giggling. Childish giggling.

I look over to where I think I heard the sound, only to get another fright.

"Ponyo Annabelle Coraline? Why does this thing always scare the pants off of me at the oddest moments?!" I grumble as I pick up the doll that Lilyanne likes carrying around and tossing about.

More helpful than any of the servants still present though, Ponyo's presence unexpectedly leads me to not only my sister, but all the kids. Really, all of them.

Beyond the window to another courtyard, the children's choir softly practice under the musical instruction of Mr. Orfeo. The old man is much kinder and softer to the little human instruments. Unlike the parade of the day, this sounds sleepy and wonderful. The sweet voices clumsily harmonize in tune.

At the center my little sister wiggles her butt back and forth, singing along. Just her presence standing out, if not for her small age and funny dance.

"And again, rising. Breathe from your bellies!" Mr. Orfeo instructs them.

A scream comes out rather than a song. Lukas is easy to identify with his overly loud voice. One that scares away quite a few of the local kids like frightened birds. As they scatter further, I can see a disgustingly familiar head of red.

Cosimo curls by a bench nearby, a little unwilling to be here. The grim pout of his lips firmly closed. Set to not play along at all. To anyone else though, he simply looks like a shy girl in her sensitive age.

In a way, each and every one of them stands out in this group of kids. Not really quite fitting in. Cosimo sitting away, uncomfortable in his own skin, or dress. Lukas shining too bright, too loud, that he scares the others away.

Even Lilyanne at the front and center, like she always is. Like a star. Set apart.

Being a kid….really isn't easy huh?

I sigh. Satisfied in locating all the targets but not really interested in joining myself. Looking at the situation now, I might be placed center with Lilyanne. Some birthday girls' duet concerts. I'm sure Mother has already gushed about those enough the whole villa and half the troops know about my performing monkey shame.

Besides, it looks tiresome with all those children.

They're very cute, don't get me wrong. I like kids. It's just….too hard pretending to be one. Adults are oddly much easier to fool. But children? Children just know there's something not quite right with you.

As the original, Rosalia couldn't approach those so far below her status so easily. Nor did she have any interest in it. What would they even talk about?

It's a situation that wasn't comfortable for anyone. Especially the frightened local children.

Lilyanne was at least popular, even if it was in the idol way rather than real friendships. Rosalia was just scary.

In that same way, some things just don't change.

When I can't help but to sigh in thought, it coincides with another.

I turn to the sigher down the corridor, similarly looking through another one of the open windows. His messy bird nest head sticks out very much so against our trimmed perennial plants and white worn carved columns. Like a little ashen Cinderella not at the ball. Amar sighs very silently, one cheek puffed out just a bit.

Sneakily, I tiptoe around. Aiming to catch the usual little troll off guard. As revenge for all the jump scares I've suffered.

"Boo!" I pop out, nearly throwing Ponyo in the action.

"Hi Rosa." Amar deflates that one cheek in a little sigh, not even turning around.

Booooo! No fun. Be more terrified or worshipful of me.

How anti-climatic. Surprising him is no fun at all. Though most likely it's due to my own lacking mission impossible skills.

"What are you doing?" I give up, crawling over to the window seat.

"Watching." the minion says very boringly.

"I can see that. Why don't you go down to play? Hiding from Cass?" I slightly shiver from just mentioning that maid.

"No? Just a little. I'm just watching….and listening."

Individually, each voice doesn't stand out. But when they harmonize under the careful instructing lesson, it sounds quite nice. Even Lukas is somewhat drowned out, his volume making this lively and energetic. Meanwhile, the infamously angelic voice of my little sister hasn't developed yet. But this Lilyanne sounds very fresh and cute. Her youth and lisp adorably prominent above the choir.

A children's choir in winter.

It's a charming closing note to each night of the festival. Fitting for the occasion. Heartwarming to all. Very undeniably cute.

"Do you want to join them?" I tease a little.

The boy is usually quiet, but there's something even quieter and sadder to it today.

"Not really." Amar tilts his head to me, dumb eyes a little blank and dazed.

Ah, he's extra brain damage today. Running on near-empty possibly.

I'm used to overthinking. I have no choice in my survival. Especially after the scary family encounters I had today. A lot of information to process and digest for later. So it's probably nothing but me overthinking again about this one.

"Do you?" he asks me back, following up lightly.

"No. I'm the birthday girl. I shouldn't be lifting even a finger. Everyone should be singing for me and my praises." I shake my head and poke him, as if it would make my point stick.

"Oh. Ok." he says, a little absent-mindedly. Even more so than usual.

There's a lot that could be said.

I could ask Amar about his day. If he's been to the main festival or eaten yet. What the babysitters are up to if he's seen them. I could point out my secret cousin in a dress over there. Or complain about the scary tension between Father and his side of the family. About how messy it could possibly be, like a bad reality show about rich people. Breaking in with the Bicchieris.

I could even talk about Lukas and the strange phenomenon of local stall keepers breaking down to offer him geese.

But I don't.

His silent sighs today are just too strange?

"La la luuuuu~ La la luuuuuuuu!~" my sister and the choir finished.

"Oi! No sneaking! Sissy says we gotta keep good care of you!"

Lukas ruins that lovely ambiance by heroically guard dogging my cousin. Cosimo apparently counted the very seconds he could make his escape from here. In any other situation, he would get away with it. But not here, not with Lukas hot stuck to his….skirts.

It's very effective.

"Why aren't you down there playing with Lukas? You're usually two peas in a pod making a ruckus." I return to questioning Amar.

He seems to think about it for a second, but again I might be overestimating him. All I get is a sleepy look and a "...." of a slow shrug.

So I pull his ear.

"Ah. Ow ow ow. Rosa ow. Ow." he whines.

There we go. A proper reaction.

"You're being weird today. Well weirder than usual." I release him for questioning.

"Am I? I don't know...ah, I thought the singing was nice? So I listened. Not all of them, but some of it was really nice." Slowly but surely, the wheels to that little brain start working. Cognitive thought into proper sentences, as he blinks away some of that sleepiness.

It was a lullaby they just finished practicing. One of my own in fact.

"Yeah. They are," I try not to boast and toot my own horn.

I have excellent taste in what I've chosen to copyright steal and reuse into this world. Songs included. They just need to be modified a bit here and there to fit. Made culturally appropriate and understandable. A few modern songs turned into something extra safe and cute for this choir concert. Throw in some different songs each day to switch it up.

"The music is a little nice, sometimes." Amar snickers down to Mr. Orfeo, now instructing various kids one on one.

"Sometimes. When it's not an awful clown parade." I agree with a nod.

"Lukas is best." Amar says, humor returning to him.

"Lukas is the loudest. Or should I say the 'most awesomest!'." I quote the other child, even imitiating his tone and face at the end.

"That's what makes him best!" decides the child, ever-supportive even without Lukas to soak up all the praise.

"You should join in and try it too. That would be fun and cute."

I can imagine now. A singing dancing pair of minions, perfectly wrapped up in a gift ribbon to offer to the great monster Mother. It could save my butt in many instances where their usual cuteness somehow isn't enough.

Yes, their training should upgrade into sacrificial entertainment. I should start on that.

"Can't."

My imagination bubble pops at Amar's curt answer. Short and far from clear enough for me to understand anything.

"What? Why can't? Why you are going can't? " my hands itch to grab on, lest he decides to suddenly run away again. He's very good at that.

"Ummm..." he thinks about it, sweating as my hands twitch closer to a mochi soft earlobe. "...I shouldn't? Mama says….Mama used to say that I shouldn't."

A small hand goes to sheepishly cover his mouth. Cheeks getting a bit warm. It reminds me of not long ago when his missing teeth gaps were so prominent, he wouldn't open up for anyone. How shy and cute. He's embarrassed?!

Oh ho ho ho~

"Ho ho ho, you must have been quite awful. Don't worry. We have a term for people like you....tone deaf! But don't worry, with my expert clown-free help, and your mother-stealing cuteness, we'll have you chirping with the rest of the flock in no time." I laugh, patting him on the back.

His green eyes shift back and forth in concern, standing out more in the stark of winter. Even a winter covered in ribbons. So it's quite easy to catch that little stubborn spark in them. A spark that has nothing to do with magic, but is very good in a child nonetheless.

"It will be fun. Just look at Lukas. Hmmm, I'll even join you all for a few pieces." I grin, patting him a bit lighter in comfort and convincing.

His hands fall to reveal a silly matching grin.

"Just a little then." he whispers in equal parts shy and mischievous. As if he was off to play some tricks or do something bad again.

"Sheesh, don't worry about it. I may not look like it at my young and cute age. But I am....a genius! Not half bad at music. In my hands, I can make anything a sellable hit." I reveal just a bit of my true potential.

Slowly, because I have the time, the money, and even this strange kind of family, I'm going to sell this world right into my greedy little hands.

Just kidding. Kidding. Oh ho ho!

Please let me live? Pretty please?

I'll even throw a cherry on top.

"Ah, I saw and smelled really yummy-looking cherry custard cups in the kitchens. Are those for your party?" Amar tilts his head, making it easier for me to pat.

Gasp. There were tea treats I missed out on in my escape earlier. Super VIP tea treats!

Onwards minion! To the kitchens for sweets!

"OI! Amar! Rosa! NO SNEAKING WITHOUT ME! ARE YOU GETTING FOODS?! I LIKE FOODS! Do you like food, funny tall not Rosa red bro? Of course, you do! OI, NO RUNNY WITHOUT ME! GUYS!? " a very loud voice ruins our cover.

Instantly, dozens of little pairs of eyes look at us, my greedy sister included.

"Lily...TOO!" she starts the war cry, lungs stronger than ever at the tender age of 4.

Run!

Run minion run. Run and take me with you! Hurry! We must get to the sweets first, then lockdown security. Don't let Lily and such take it from me. Go go go!

Years from now, I'm not going to really remember how the first night of this festival ended.

How and when I fell asleep in someone's arms. Or the conflicting emotions or intentions of all the people, adults especially, around me. I won't know what they talked about or what joys and worries they held. I don't know and I'm not going to know.

What I will remember is screaming while being carried like a potato sack. Chased by a swarm of choir children hungry for sweets. Warm faced Amar with a rough headstart while Lukas soon outraces us all, dead weight that is a shocked dead Cosimo included. All for a brutal huffing fight for tart and cream, sweet and sour treats.

It was just a little fun. Just a little.