161 Warning Sign

Exertion.

Cold air.

The hard pound of clean dirt, chalk lines. The not-too-harsh sun beat down, slowly warming the earth of its freezing chill. It's the mark of good clear weather despite the gloomy wind of winter.

Overall it's a lovely day today to punish Father.

That is if he was even here!

A business trip? A sudden business trip?! More like a trip down bullshit lane! Now of all times? What sort of excuse is this?

Where is that villain so I can give him a beating?!

Thus, for now, my frustrations can only be expressed in the pain of my little limbs and lungs. Running through the tortures of strength training and kiddy obstacle courses at the troops.

Huff huff let's go!

Buff baby, tough baby, gonna be a badass little girl! Let's make those smacks more effective. Something to actually cower under!

"My pumpkin's gotten so HEALTHY! Oh, I'm so proud! We can increase the difficulty of the obstacles." Grampa switches between embarrassing me and giving orders to torture me in the stands.

Why are there actual stands outside my kiddy obstacle course?

Before people would stand around and coo, yes. But now, there are real barriers and viewing benches? Layers of them? Is there even a splash zone if the different colored first row benches mean something? Why?

How official. It feels very exploiting.

"I don't know if that's a good idea." Uncle Geoff stands with his arms crossed, mildly concerned.

It's been a long time. I have not personally seen him up close for a while, thankfully he doesn't look suddenly much older from stress or anything. At least not yet.

"You don't think my RosieposieWOEsies can do it!?" Grampa quickly turns to him, gasping in offense.

Grandpa's quivering chest and shoulders puffing up to make himself even bigger, glaring up with his unconvincing teary cow eyes. Old uncle Geoff squints down at him and leans away instinctively. Lest my Grampa starts crying crazy on him.

I wonder how many decades it takes to get that used to someone like Grampa.

"Rosalia is doing wonderful, I have no doubts about her youthful hops, drops, and rolls anywhere. It's the….obstacle course…. and the troop members I'm worried about….using the course after hours…." Uncle Geoff admits.

"Roll Rosa! Roll! Dodge!" Grampa shouts out, changing topics far too quickly.

I was distracted just enough by their talks, that the swinging sandbag dummies got me. Smack right into my face.

Owie, my nose.

That's what I get for eavesdropping while running the obstacle course. Ow ow ow.

"Ohhhhhhhhh! Awwww!" The surprisingly large but subdued morning crowd reacts to my failure.

The majority of them look as lively as one can be after a night of drinking, revelry, and such nonsense. As if they're barely blinking alive, some even showing the tell tall traces of a hangover. The steam of their hot soups, fried doughnuts, and thick scary mystery protein shakes makes me feel like cheap entertainment.

What else can you do with the grandchild of the great crazy boss? Make her a spectacle!

Good thing these stands are already here with a perfect view. ...Hey wait ….

"Me too! My turn, my turn!" Lilyanne calls from her place at the start, ready to tag in. The starting point and rest area were oddly renovated and improved.

I sigh and roll-out, too busy nursing my little nose as Grampa pats his hands for me to head over to his part of the stands.

What choice do I have? Defeat is defeat. At least honey 'globi' doughnuts await to comfort me. Keep the fish paste flavored ones away from me.

I hop up, grimacing as Grampa's hand feeds me from his lap as if they were grapes.

"I said no fish paste one's, Grampa! Mmmmmpf."

Salt is rubbed into the wounds, external and internal. Salty-salty fishy tastes, swimming into my guts.

Right now, Lukas is probably somewhere with Gable, being fed a nice morning meal or tugged along on whatever errands and lessons. Lily is running her turn on the obstacle course, face still a bit sticky from the pastries she's been munching on with the other troopers. Even I'm not doing too bad myself, still the young miss of this place. Still safe under the protection of those who rule.

Father is out on a 'business trip'. Mother is still seeing off guests and cleaning up the afterward of our birthday festival. Grampa is up to general nonsense, again, rolling around the troops finally but more like some senile old man walking his little pet dogs rather than the Lord of anything.

It's an almost lazy day out for everyone.

Except Amar and Georgie. Wherever they are.

Some place safe enough, or so I'm told. That's dubious when considering what Grampa, or even this world, considers safe 'enough'. Emphasis on the just enough part.

"Otherwise there would be no point," Grampa had explained.

Then followed up how it might be unexpected, but it wasn't too bad for my Georgie to be an accidental stowaway. Something about a free exotic training trip and what doesn't kill you usually makes you stronger, short of maiming, traumatizing and disabling you for life. Thanks, Grampa.

Grrrr, stupid magical fantasy power trip world.

It's somewhere that I haven't been to obviously. Very far, and where I can't get to easily. So I can't just demand them back. Not very effectively at least. Father's 'business' trip better be the same place on this issue or else. I don't take well to magically disappeared and or dead minions and assistants.

What a headache. Time to chew my depression into silence.

"Go go go puffball! Don't make the same mistakes as your sister, ooooh ouch. But first, you gotta get there! Oh, another hit!" Grampa cheers and comments on Lilyanne's performance run.

We watch as her fat little limbs go. Occasionally, Grampa feeds me a honey glob or a peeled orange slice, then continues his side conversation with uncle Geoff.

They're just boring old man talks now that I'm sitting here. Dungeon updates, soldiers training, preparation for this year's spring hunt, and something about tavern troubles and sales?

Does Grampa probably run a hidden speakeasy tavern somewhere around here? Possibly.

With some stupid numbers to note them off as well, since there's a Third Thirsty goat up north of the vineyard farmlands.

Hmmm though I didn't bother to notice much earlier, especially on my first three runs and fails, there are some new features on there. I just attributed those add-ons or repairs to Grampa. An obstacle course with constantly changing features, good and bad.

But that seems not to be the case?

Are others using my tiny obstacle course too? The way uncle Geoff was talking made it sound like that.

I mean, it's not like I'm so greedy as to ban other people. I just didn't think or realize it was being used by anyone else. Because why would it be? It's so childishly little?

What would any full-grown military-trained adult do on a brightly colored children's themed playground obstacle course?

You know what, never mind. Let's not question humanity too much.

Life is much easier when we don't question or even care. Too many minuscule and stressful thoughts. Though in Lilyanne's case, I don't know how many thoughts are even in that pretty little head of hers.

It's not like anything bothers her. Not then and certainly not now.

It's not like her minion and personal assistant were poofed out of the country.

The whole damn country. That much I managed to get out of Grampa, not that I managed to intake much in my own messed up sobs. An embarrassing moment of my second life, yes. But I'm pretty sure my entire childhood is supposed to be an embarrassment, one that will be covered over with my villainess reputation once I am of a more intimidating age.

Nothing like a workout to run your thoughts out! I admit I feel a bit less pent up and stressed now.

For now at least.

It may be near impossible to do so, but let's not stress myself out so much already. I have a lot more troubles waiting for me as I grow up.

It's compartmentalizing!

Sorry minions. Please stay well, safe, and thoroughly brainwashed as mine till I can order you all back. Everyone, work hard. I'll be sure to get revenge later, especially when that villain gets back. I still have so much to do here.

Like, focus on the main bad story of my life.

"OWIE!" the future heroine goes flying like a ping pong ball, smacked by multiple swinging dummies in the obstacle course.

Left, right, round and round she goes. That can't be good… But to see the future holy maiden and idol of this world so beaten by mere crash dummies. Oh, how that soothes some primitive and very violent piece of my brain.

Another part of me is oddly proud that her body is strong enough to take such a beating and more. How fat and chubby her little limbs are. A full dumpling of good eating, well raised, and not sickly at all. Oh, what a long way we have come.

Focus on the main story. Focus on Lilyanne, your routes, and all your possible bad ends. How to avoid them.

This is your key to survival, Rosalia. The path to a good safe life.

Not some random side quests that I inadvertently made for myself.

Nothing changes just because I got too comfortable and attached to some useless mob characters.

It has nothing to do with personal feelings. Me relying on, or even befriending anyone.

These people were unrelated to Rosalia Therese Ventrella. A lot of people in my current life are. So it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

Ahhhhrrrg! Who am I kidding!?

I'm so mad, no amount of self reasoning or doughnuts can soothe me! Let me at that villain! Bring me to Father and all responsible parties at once!

"Ronald? Is uh….is your finger....is she drawing blood?" the older man by my Grampa's side tentatively asks in worry.

"Oh, this? This is fiiiiiine, really light compared to my baby girl at this age! What healthy teeth she has!" Grampa waves his free hand. The one that was feeding me wiggles in my mouth.

Huh, I was wondering why I tasted blood. I thought that was just me. Bleck!

I start spitting and crying silently for something to get this nasty out of my mouth since I'm not anywhere near angry enough to be biting anyone to death yet. Especially not Grampa, despite being a man cow, he doesn't taste like beef. Ew ew ew.

"Not used to the taste of fresh warm blood yet? Oh well, kids are more finicky now. Here here pumpkin, drink this out." Grampa holds a very vinegary-smelling cup to my face.

"You can't feed her wine?!" Uncle Geoff yells.

"It's so diluted, practically posca at this point! But if you insist. Hmm, the kitchens gotta have some Kykeon ready. That might work." Grampa swishes but reluctantly puts down the vinegared drink before I vomit all over him.

"WATER!? Water will do!? Anything but what you're asking for?!" Uncle Geoff screams at him from behind.

"It's never too early to start their hero training, she could use some more protein to her diet." Grampa ruminates.

"No!?!!!"

And so I am safely confiscated from my very own Grampa. Stuffed with a little orange and patted on my back to go hit the water fountain or something.

Thank you, uncle Geoff.

I'm not ready to suffer through Grampa's mysterious 'hero' protein drinks again. Please no, not again. One lifetime is enough to know 'never again'. If anything is a reminder to stay a good and out of sight, out-of-mind little girl, it's the threat of Grampa's troop sanctioned "hero" recipes, like kykeon. No no no.

I'm too weak and pathetic right, I can only scurry away for my own life.

So no matter how upset I am at anyone or anything, I have nothing to blame but my own weakness. In both this life and the last one...

The weak don't get to choose how they die. They don't get a say in anything.

I may look like a brooding little child in my short walk to a public fountain. I may look terribly out of place, but I can't help it. How can I stop the thoughts even if I can numb the feelings? As expected, I'm still too lacking in every way.

I expect I was making a sour sort of face, far from intimidating.

I expect that my mood brought about a terrible gloom, my own little rain cloud that hazes over the sun in dark grays and foggy white.

I even account of any trooper watching me in awws and coos of how adorable my pathetic little mochi figure is.

I in no way would have ever expected what would come next.

"Aha! Halt! Halt, you criminal!"

In a shout that could almost rival Lukas, maybe on a bad day, I hear some overly energetic child shout somewhere off in the distance. But you never really know who or what is passing through the troops, so I shrug it off. No one I know and certainly not any of my business.

Until an ass came flying at me.

It was not very large, and I only had a split second to register it before my world went painfully dirt floor dark, but it was certainly an ass.

OOOMPF?!

And it smells awful!!!?!!

"Running away!? Your terror stops here you criminal! I will stop you and bring JUSTICE back to da world!!!"

A great weight pressed onto me, getting unnaturally heavier at each second. At first, it merely knocked me down, crushing me from the impact of butt to my head. Then through great discomfort of everything, there's the conscious force of something or someone quite literally pinning me down across various points of my body. Back, neck, legs.

Most importantly, it smells just AWFUL!? ACK!

The physical pain is practically nothing compared to my other experiences but this stench…I can't! How do I turn off my nose? My disgust? Oh dear lord, what is this putrid gas bomb? It's even worse than that time Lily had a stomach ache over too much cheese?

Heeeeeelp!!! Grampa!! Help, something is farting on me!!!

"Stop struggling and accept your defeat! Take this! And this!"

No matter what physical attacks fall on me, nothing seems to get through the smell?! The horror of the ripping gas. It's that terrible disgusting smell, of sulfur and the warnings of the most awful shit, that has me desperately clawing my way to freedom.

It's desperate, it's dirty, it's violent, but I must get away!

"Graaa-!" I start to wiggle out, turning to push or claw.

Anything to get some leverage on whoever was idiotic enough to attack me like this. Me?!

Fine. Fine! It's go time! I was in a bad mood already and this is my go-ahead sign

"Hey wait, criminals can't do that!? OW?! OW!?! This is cheating!" my young attacker screeches as I go smacking and straight for anyone's weak points.

Their pants.

A suicidal plan. But there is no plan. Just me fighting with everything I got. If that means ripping down some pants and clawing through the tender flesh underneath, then I will!

There is no honor in a true fight.

But fighting is never as cool or easy as anyone makes it look. Not counting how squishy and tiny on a playground we must look. The pain is real, as any child who's been in a fight knows. As soon as I get about half of me out of this bad wrestle, my body is once again quickly pinned, twisted or bent. Painfully.

Despite how flexible my small body is, I end up with my arms feeling like they're being dislocated behind my back. That fat condensed weight pressing against them, growing with gravity and strain. As if my arms will break first, then my spine. The sheer power and brute force overwhelm me, even if I grit my teeth and nonexistent magic to do something. Anything.

A large enough limb knocks the left side of my face firmly back into the dirt. I can grittily taste it and a fresh wave of blood, my own this time.

"You can't escape JUSTICE! You-you evil!" the kid screams, with lack of anything better to insult me with, cries of unexpected tears and grievances in his voice.

I could care less, especially when he grinds my head into the ground, scratching up my cheek. His strength, and age, obviously beyond my own. It's much worse than whatever damage I managed to get on him. From the side I can see, I glare up.

A pinhead of a brat.

Head near bald, shaved by worried parents. A rough boy with an ugly missing tooth. The shadows of this compromising angle make his already unclear face look like a toad, a menacing farting toad, croaking down at me.

It means nothing to me, other than looking upon the face of who I'm killing next. I don't know this face, this idiot. But I know I'm going to pay this back, very very generously.

This is not a pleasant position for either of us. Something about my glare, my expression irks him to finally make another move. Keeping careful in fully keeping me trapped with his stupid strength, he unpins a part of his cloak. His intent to throw it over me was like wrapping a body.

But that's not what caught my attention, what actually mattered.

In the scattered sunlight, a ray caught on the metal pin. It shined itself clearly. The shape, the insignia. Something I finally recognized.

A family insignia. House Doukas.

A prominent name even across the seas. A fellow respected military family, with prestige and merit going back generations, producing heroes of war and legends across the continent and beyond. An ally of the courts and our land.

But that's not what matters right now.

Not to me. It doesn't matter how much honor and prestige a family has gathered in the past. Or what merits or work the adult members are known for now. It's the one in front of me, pressing me down to the ground.

Unrecognizable in his youth, except for the disgust sneered in his face.

"Don't look at me, witch."

Gregorios Doukas. The more famous and favored second son. The brave. The mighty. The so-called defender of the weak and innocent. A handsome knight in shining armor.

The bastard that held me down the night I died.

Me.

Rosalia Ventrella. A noble lady at a ball, amidst many others, that men like him supposedly are supposed to protect and serve. One that was foolishly too defenseless and careless.

Shadows where they don't belong. Day to night. Everything is too big, too distorted, too wrong.

It's not real. It can't be. It's not. It's not. It's not!

"Accept it already. Your crimes. It's disgusting to mock the innocent. "

Crippling strength, bending my arms behind my back. I'd be lucky if they didn't break, a blooming bruise of a mark was sure to be left. A sharp throb in the back of my neck where I was sorely rough handled. The overbearing pressure above me, all around me.

My knees clattered even through the layers of my fine dress. Silks and soft fabric are no match for the gravity of a forceful drop on marble floors. But the mere physical pain was nothing compared to this insult.

How dare he? How dare they all?

But my words would fall on deaf ears so I bite them back with blood.

They're not worthy of even my breath, let alone my curses. But their thoughts, their judgments, their sentences on me were already set in stone. I could always feel it from the distance in how they judged me. Their pathetic gatherings and whispers are like a pack of rats swarming. How could I not? When they now loomed over me in such a frenzy, in madness, greedy for a bite. Ready to swallow me whole and to the bones.

Their beady eyes and gaudy shadows blurred in a ring of horror. But there was one that was most obviously pressing, quite literally.

After all, he was the one forcing me down to my end.

"Don't look at me, witch." I got in response to even trying to move my head.

A sneer, a warning?

What did it matter? I said nothing but just a look from me brings such fear and disgust. I can't imagine the reactions my bloody smile would incite. From the violent shivers that shook behind me, through his rough hold to imprison… I would suspect it to be fear.

"A witch? You dare to hold down a lady, one of standing that outranks your very own, for this play? This mockery of a witch's trial? What would the public say about the brave and honorable Sir Gregorios? What would your father do?" her voice shudders out, suppressing the anger and fear that bleeds out of her.

It's eerily calm. There is no wind to break through the suffocation in the air. The grand overlooking clocktower ticks on in this fairytale night.

"Silence! You... are no lady. Your spells and trickery have no use here!" his voice booms.

As if this were a battlefield as if this was truly a fair fight.

Maybe it was to one.

The one who would ultimately lose tonight. Not a social battle or a political move, nothing so small. Not anymore.

It's like walking into a bad theater play. The genre was tragedy.

I'm watching a doomed show, living it.

They surrounded me. They used their force on me. Ultimately, unknown at the time, they would kill me.

What....was I supposed to think? To feel?

Nothing maybe?

I wish I could say that?

I wish I was as strong or wise as those before me. Who could keep calm and think my way out? Or even just a tad bit luckier. But there wasn't any of that. I wasn't as smart or powerful as my father or grandfather, nor was I anywhere near as beloved as my mother or sister.

And that's why I died.

I died because I was me.

How unfair. How stupid and unfair.

What was I supposed to do? If you knew you were going to hurt, that it was all just a doomed path of hurt, what would you do? Cry?

I think, not so deep down in me, that's really all that I wanted to do. How useless of me, right?

The great and terrifying villainess Rosalia Ventrella, broken down and crying in her very last moments?

Well….we couldn't have that.

Screams and indignation ripped through the night. The panicked voices of high and mighty noblemen scrambling like common chickens was really something. It's a shame that I couldn't hear it more over the deafening bang I set off.

Like a desperate animal driven into a corner, I had nothing to lose. Whatever magical items and weapons I had hidden in my arsenal were set off. After all, that's what it was for. A lady like me really couldn't be too prepared and I was right.

"How dare you-" groaned the brute, taken by the surprise attack.

It took a lot of force to blow him off of me, something that I couldn't avoid unscathed. But it was enough, just enough I could escape free.

I really should have just run right there and then without looking back. But I was already doomed to die that night, not that I knew it then. The climax is still building, my end not quite snuffed out.

"Oh? Turning it back on me? Let's see, I am no lady? Then you…are no knight!" I kick dirty, knocking him low.

With our positions reversed, I stomp my whole body weight on him with a strength I wasn't sure I possessed. On his face, his joints, the very weakest point of man. All bets were off.

It was self-defense I reasoned. As the other noblemen running away from the smokey flare were hardly any threats compared to this one. I was merely incapacitating him for my escape.

The sparks of something on his person catching on fire from the earlier attack were a happy coincidence.

In a life and death crisis though, there was no time. After quickly making sure not to stomp out the fire in my wake, I had to go.

I had to run.

But where do you run in the final chapter of your life?

The dark showing continues on, this bad play. This pain. Even if one tries to numb it all, the effects of the body are apparent. Slow and clumsy, adrenaline was the only thing keeping all this moving. I'm going to die and I don't even know it.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

I can't stop watching how I'm going to die. I can't feel it. I don't want to feel it!

Why won't it stop?!!

"Whatcha doing?!"

Just as abruptly as the first time, last time, I don't know when- pain seers through my nose. As if I had hit my face against a brick wall full speed. Whiplash was making everything topsy turvy. My wounds ached and nothing made sense.

Stop.

I was stopped.

A wall of a man, taller than any of the pathetic noblemen chasing after me. A mere goon. A wall that blocked my way.

I didn't even look at him. I just got away, I had to.

I didn't-

So why do I see eyes of blank grey, ridiculously large like the reflection of scattered skies? A wide expanse of nothing and everything.

I never looked up, I had never said a thing. Not to them. Not till I died. Slit throat, with the life of me bleeding out. I shouldn't have spoken.

As if speaking up would have helped anything. As if it could have saved a damned soul like mine. Nothing would help, that's not how life goes for people like me. Nothing and no one, no matter how much I screamed.

So why does my voice find me now?

Pathetic aren't I?

But I wanted to live too. I want to live!

"H-ha-....help...stop standing there….you...idiot….and...HELP ME?!!!"

"Okay dokey!"

The scene does not fade but transforms. As if there had been cracks throughout the sky, filtered blue and sunlight bursting through. The shadows burn and morph.

My body, myself, burns like a curse. I am not me, I am not her, but I am.

The wall moves faster than any force or gale my pursuers or even my horrid fiancé could produce. Caught by such a monster would surely spell my doom as if I wasn't dead anyway.

But the monsters and my pursuers suddenly look oddly….small?

"AHHHHHH OW AH LET ME GO?!!!"

"Whatcha doing to my sidekick huh?! Pick on someone your own size!!!"

Even before I can right myself up or wipe the blood off my nose, I get the free show that is Lukas. The thick-headed child has picked up my torturer by the back of his cloak and is currently waving him around like laundry. By laundry, I mean as in a very dirty rug or bedding to be beaten. Up and down the little knight goes, smacked from the floor back up to the air, rinse and repeat.

I don't think I would ever trust Lukas with any kind of laundry, at any age, but in this case, it's not so bad.

Another scream, a horror of a high-pitched war cry really, runs at us with all the force of a 4-year old girl. Quite deadly I must say, now that I actually am one.

From wherever my little sister was running her obstacle course, she has also arrived on to the scene. Her little lung outbreaking my eardrums even over Lukas's shouts.

"You MEANIE! No touchie my Rosa! Mean mean stinky no good baddie!" She joins in on the beat down.

Her little fists and kicks are raining down on the increasingly beat-up form. Eventually, Lukas gives up with waving the tiny version of Gregorios around to just throw him there for an easier time attacking. It is then a double smackdown.

What is this wetness building up in my eyes? Why...it must be….tears OF PRIDE!?

Oh how far we have come. After these troublesome too long years of hard work, I have trained not only my impossible grade minion but the idiot that is my little sister!

Sure it looks like I trained them into literal attack dogs, but such progress! It really can't be compared to how we started. Go go go! Go on my pets, defend me! Revenge! Redeem my honor!!!

First, we start with beating up this tiny shitty self-righteous knight, then….the world!

Bwahahaha! Yes! Yessssss face slap him! In the face guys, not the ass! That's why it's called face-slap?

Though it is a very painful-looking mochi ass. Fat and white, but taking on the heat of a well-roasted mean wrapped in bacon. Especially the oddly uniform claw marks standing out in bright raspberry red. For a moment, I wonder who made those?

Excuse me, I'm not in the greatest shape myself, but at least I left my mark in this fight. Even if it did turn into a 3 on 1.

Very fair in my book. Especially on a brute like that. I suffered worse because of him, far far worse.

It's a shame that these childish little hits are the only damage I can inflict on him at this time. It's not even me doing most of the damage? That should help me get away with more later on, right?

"Smack smack slap! Slappy slap!" Lilyanne announces her attacks out loud. They help cover up the pathetic yelps coming out of aged down Gregsomething.

"Noooooo Stinky, punches are better." Lukas demonstrates badly, bringing his fist down someone's butt like a hammer.

"Lily is Lily, Not Stinky! And I can do it better! Big Bruder dumb-dumb don't know how to slappy slap, teehee" Lilyanne copies the motion with even more exaggerated movement.

"I can do both way way AWESOME WAYS better than you!?! See! Watch!"

Neither child will go down as the inferior…anything. It's quite amusing to watch. Especially when it means more pain on whoever gets to be the punching bag of their latest contest.

"What is even going on here?!" calls out a voice that's not childishly squeaky.

Are the adults here?

How interesting that they're so behind some mere kids. Even Lilyanne got to the scene faster? But then again it's usually kids that sniff out and get involved where all the trouble is.

Absolute danger magnets.

Which is about the sort of expression I see from the panicked young man running over. He looks hardly any older than most of my babysitters if he is even out of his teen years. What matters is that same annoying shine of the Doukas family insignia on his person, pinning a simple but elegant travel cloak in place.

"Guys, guys break it up, trouble is coming! I repeat an adult is coming!" I hiss, acting as a lookout.

I may want to pound this bully into the ground, give him a punishment far more fitting after how he contributed to my death, but now is not the time. I can't be causing scandals and getting in trouble for our side having bullied a visiting noble child. It does not look good on our part, 3 on 1.

You know other than the fact that two of us are much smaller little girls and that I, a very beaten up looking child, am one of those. Hopefully, it gets us some leniency. If anything, I can always cry pitifully in front of Grampa? That should do something? Right?

There are no answers or time to dwell on any other plan. The enemy is upon us.

I brace myself for battle, in the most effective fight I can take up at this time.

"Sniff, *hic* waaaaah waaaaah~ Ouchies!"

That's right. Crying like a little girl pushed on the floor. Because I am one! It's fair game! Use your strengths to your advantage.

Pity me! I'm too cute to be this filthy and smelly! Nothing is my fault!

Damn, this is harder than it looks though. Do you know how difficult it is to cry cutely and not just start bawling like an insane water fountain? Say what you will about Lilyanne's devastating tears but she is not a pretty crier. I can't even imagine how ugly it would look on me. Thus I must cover my face with my hands in an exaggerated and very upsetting cry.

My ears pick up the low curses upon the names of both local and faraway gods. The enemy has taken the bait! Even if he's one of the Doukas's family men, he can't deny the tears and injuries on a little girl!

Especially when I dramatically reveal my horrible background. Then there shall indeed be real panic.

How dare someone, anyone, harm a Ventrella on these grounds? I'll use every petty reason and excuse I can think of to ensure Gregorios Doukas suffers and suffers greatly. His whole family even. For what he's done, for all of them I'll make everyone pay so many times more than they did to me.

This anger, this sort of hopelessly lost feeling….just makes it so much easier to make a convincing cry. The pain from my injuries also helps. I'll live, but it's not pleasant.

It's all an act, even if I get too into it. Crying my built-up frustrations out. It's a very convenient excuse.

"Hey there…it's alright, it's alright now. Don't worry. I'm gonna make some of the pain go away. Is that alright? I'm gonna come down …and uh- I'm going to do a magic trick? Yes, that's it? Don't be scared. Look." the young man fumbles around in front of me.

Contrary to expectations, he did not arrive to rescue the young master of house Doukas first. It is both foolish of him for showing such lousy loyalty to his household, but wise from a damage control standpoint.

Instead, he clumsily holds his hands out, like a man surrendering to the tears of a little girl, while approaching me as if I were a small animal about to bite, flee, or both.

The way he says everything out loud is a bit ridiculous, but I suppose helpful for a small child to understand what's going on.

Peeking through my dirty fingers and tears, I see a weak colorless glow coming out of those held-up hands.

A magic trick, he said?

In that case, I hold my breath willfully and let the magic flow over me without interruptions. No void, no magical drain, like I was closer to a normal child. Or maybe a puffed-up balloon from how I filled myself up with oxygen. I find it helps a bit with not bothering other people's magic on me. No way to actually be sure but I'm learning as I go here.

Faintly, that colorless glow takes on two or perhaps even three colors at the edges of his hands. As if they were tricks of the light, a glint of refraction, then the light glimmers and fades.

The sand and dirt on my clothes and hair fell off with a strange force, affected by neither wind nor water. The blood in my mouth, while not gone, felt much lighter. The same could be said about my injuries. Nothing but childish scrapes, cuts, and some bruises I will see in a few hours.

They're not gone, but it feels better. Lighter. As if a portion of those injuries were erased over with a cleaning magic marker. I certainly felt a lot cleaner?

Dust and cuts once littered on my fighting hands have disappeared. Something I can't help but notice given how I've been holding them right over my eyes.

I stare in wonder at this magic. How can it be healing but at the same time not really? Especially since usually healers don't necessarily have instant cleaning spells. It's just not quite how the magic of this world works. It's not exactly rare and strong but…I can't quite make out what kind it is?

"Mikhael!!! Ow?! You bad big brother, help me already! I'm telling -ow owww OW?!!" the one responsible for this entire mess cries out.

It seems that the entire time, neither Lukas nor Lilyanne gave up on one-upping each other. Each of them continues to attack, making their clumsy moves more and more elaborate. Even if their original intentions had been to nobly defend me, it has quickly devolved into a petty and violent slapping contest.

Not that I am against that in any way. Anything to cause that blasphemous shining knight of the Doukas house has any more pain.

But what did he say? Brother?

I look up then, perhaps for the first time, to get a good look at the infamous prodigal son. The elder brother that Gregorios always seemed to live in the shadow of, the one he supposedly could never beat yet had to fight for his life to even be considered in the fight of who would be heir. There was a reason why the second son was the more famous of the two, and it wasn't just in the company they kept.

Mikhael Doukas.

The firstborn heir who left his noble household and birthright position….for a woman! A foreign older woman! Or so the rumors went.

You never know with rumors, just how far or close to the truth they are.

Oh ho ho ho! Oh my!~ This is the first time I've ever seen him up close! The oh-so gossiped about Mikhael Doukas, who had long left the noble social scene by the time I had come of age to mingle for myself.

He's rather tame and mild-looking for such a scandalous person. I expected someone a bit more romantic or idiotic. Like one of those characters in Mother's bad novels, dropping everything to chase after the illusion of true love.

But alas, what I see here is no romantic figure or anyone much resembling the grown knight of my nightmares.

I'm still reeling from how different the second Doukas son looks like as a child compared to last I saw him, to the admittedly good-looking but brutish man I remember. Lukas, despite his injuries and scars, was instantly recognizable to me, both as a child and as an adult.

Gregorios, however, must have had a hell of a puberty.

The nobleman I remember had a body of iron, functional for actual daily training and battle. That strong masculine face, that many ladies would find pleasing, must have been something he had grown into. Since now it's just a very funky-looking kid with a misshapen head. As an adult though, they were stern judgemental eyes, not those big crying things. An even more judgemental pout to his already large mouth is about the same, even if it was more attractive on his adult form. Hardly any of that handsomeness can be seen now, except maybe that big mouth part and some very recognizably short eyebrows. Like two fuzzy target marks begging to be shot at,

Mikhael is admittedly not as outrightly handsome nor masculine as the man his younger brother grew into. But I'm finding that to be far more agreeable.

Instead, there is a smaller and kinder-looking youth, one with a wry smile and hardly older than my Georgie.

Shaved close but for the top of his head were locks of curls in a common, but not unpleasant, shade of brown. Dark as walnut liquor in one of my Father's pretty drinking glasses. Despite his lighter creamier skin, there were a few touches more of drunken sunlight to his coloring than his troublesome brother's. His smooth cheeks were full and fat like childhood had not fully left him yet rather than any lacking on his part. Even features, with a rather well-defined nose and thinner more noticeably lacking eyebrows, almost like a northern fashionable woman.

Also, he's still on his knees, fussing over me like an idiotic pre-school teacher.

Oh, the contrast of expectations and reality. This is why we can't fall under the illusion of rumors too much, no matter how fun they are.

First Mikhael checks me over, asking if anything hurts somewhere or if I knew where my parents were. Then he panics in a fluster to lure the others away from continuing to beat Greg-what's his so ugly face- into juice pulp.

It is very successful since the much older boy has sweet-looking biscuits on him. Darn it.

Hook, line, and sinker, my attack dogs are as agreeable and pleasant as puppies with the new treats. Increased resistance training for my sister and minions is obviously needed.

"You're awful Mikhael! A criminal! An accordion to criminals!!! I'm *hic* telling! I'm telling mama and father and we're gonna lock you up too!!!" little Gregorios cries, ugly face growing ever the more ugly in his swollen tears.

"....An…accomplice. It's called an accomplice. Come now, hold still." the older sibling tries to lift and help the brat. His hands held out to begin the faint glow of magic once again.

"No! Get away, you bad accordion! You took the bad guys' side!" the younger knocks away those hands, stubborn in his pain and suffering.

That's when my memory and knowledge finally catches up to me. If he's the older son of that family…then his abilities should be-, but alas it's not just my thoughts but the rest of the adults that catch up.

"Looks like the kids didn't need us to make any introductions after all." comes Uncle Geoff's voice.

"....Oh no." responds another.

Oh no indeed, for it's time to pull out my acting chops. That cleaning spell did nothing for my tear stains let alone the worst of my injuries.

One grieved little young miss coming right up.

"Graaaaaaaaammmmpaaaaa!!! Waaaaah Grampa hewp!!! Help me!"

No, no it is not Lilyanne you see here running up so tearfully to the approaching adults. I regret to inform you that the pathetic crying figure tattling as fast as her little legs can muster….is me.

Let's….let's not keep this shameful moment too serious. Or remember it at all. Ok?

"Grampa, Grampa, HELP! Some horrible no good ruffian ATTACKED me! It was awful, Grampa! I was pinned down on the ground, ground up, chewed out, and even farted all over!" I ran straight to that familiar figure.

Heroic and always seemingly larger than life, Grampa might as well be a mountain that I can only try to cling to, but most importantly of all….that's the boss of this place? How dare anyone attack me, me! The granddaughter of the great boss!

Suffer I say! Suffer as I spread the news out of your untimely doom!

"Gasp! Pumpkin!" Grampa responds in an urgency I'm not used to from him.

It's all a bad act as we run towards each other. I'm sure he's actually laughing at me on the inside.

But to the world around us, we might as well be going in dramatic slow motion. A grown muscular man and his grandchild that can hardly reach anyone's knees. Hands out in a mutual run into each other's arms. How touching.

"Grampa!!!" I cry. Fakely I must add.

His body hits the ground with a cloud of dust as he bends down low, arms open to receive me head-on with a hug and shake.

"Rosalia!?! A fight Rosalia, but did you win!?!?!"

"..."

My Grampa is indeed a useless man.

I think I can see some of the adults fall over in reaction. As for me, it's taking all my facial control to keep a straight face and not break character in yelling out what is wrong with him.

"Rosa. Rosalia. Look at me. Did you win or lose?" Grampa crouches ridiculously low to look me in the eye.

"I was surprise attacked by a bigger older boy to the point of a nosebleed. He sat on me." I hold back a twitch.

"And did you flip the situation to counter your opponent and give him the beating of his life!? Did you tear into flesh and soul to leave lasting scars of terror, printing down your dominance and superior will to fight?!!" he bellows.

"..."

I think my reaction is quite fair.

"Rosalia!?!"

"...I left some scratches on his butt?"

"Ok. Ok, we start somewhere." Grampa sighs in relief.

Why did I even bother acting cute with this man? Why?

Next time, I should just rip out someone's vital organs and present them to him as a war trophy. That he might actually like and approve of enthusiastically, finally reacting in a way I can predict. Unlike this.

"I am injured here Grampa. Stop shaking me! I look better right now but I was in a really miserable state before Lukas and Lilyanne came along to rip him off me. And there's that big brother guy over there too, he helped I suppose. At least, I no longer have sand and blood in my mouth, bleh. He used a cleaning or some other spell but the wounds are very much still there. That brat did it. On our family grounds too!? I'm feeling very attacked right now. Look at my mangled cheek Grampa! What if it leaves a scar!?" I turn my head cutely for his inspection.

Neither such cuteness nor my sad pitiful pain reaches him. Why, the shaking gets even worse?

Does Grampa not care that my noble little face is injured? Most likely. He's such a muscle-bound idiot better on the war fronts and wild woods of nowhere. A face full of scars would be very cool and impressive to him.

But that's no good for me. I don't want the pain!?! And just because I'm no Lilyanne or future belle of the ball doesn't mean I deserve this?

"Do you not believe me? I'm too little to suffer like this. Here, here, look, this will definitely bruise. And that! It could have been a lot worse. Also my cheek?! Ow, it still stings, definitely an open wound. Grampa, seek justice for me for once! Grampa?"

The crazy old man seems to get an even darker complexion when he doesn't even look at me. The violent shaking in his sweaty arms intensified.

From such an oddity, I look around to see the other adults in not too dissimilar states, if not frozen in a look of utter fear. Uncle Geoff is the only one I can't read since his face is well attached to his palm.

"Mama!" Lilyanne comes toddling behind me, with Lukas with her.

"Look sissy, we got snacks for beating up the baldie that was all beating up Rosa. They're crunchy!" Lukas shows off the remaining sweets in his hands.

It is then that the cold sweat and fearful shaking become my very own.

Mother?

Like my disgusting Father often describes, she comes like the rising and setting sun. Looming just beyond the horizon.

In this case, the horizon is just behind the very still mountain that is Grampa. Where I did not previously see her until it was too late. It is indeed far too late to shut my mouth and run, too late to even play dead.

"Oh my! My little Rosalia?~ What has happened here my little lady?!" the widely smiling face of my mother looms.

She envelops both Grampa and I in her shadow, her reach, her doomed judgment.

My only thoughts now…..is shit. Yep, I'm doomed.

Dainty hands pluck me up out of Grampa's frozen hold faster than I can blink. A sharp sting of my mother's disgusting wet finger slid over my painful cheek. The very unnecessary clean-up of an embarrassing mother. Only there really are more than a couple of scratches on my face. It's more than just mere disgust that hits me.

I can't hold my breath or expression in time, as a yelping hiss like that of a puppy dog fills the tense air.

"Oh no, papa! Who could have done this to my baby? What if it leaves a scar on her delicate face!? Oh papa, what shall be done?!!" Mother's voice rises with every sentence, the shrillness of it piercing everyone's brains in fear.

This would be a very bad time to speak up.

"Mama! No worry, Lily smack smack smash da bad meanie there who hurt Rosa. He hurt my Rosa a lots and made her cry really really bad. So Lily smack and Lukas smack and Lily slap more!" my younger sister shows off, digging graves.

Someones' grave. Maybe mine. Oh no. Oh boy.

Mother hates it when I act out! Especially in such a way unfit for a maiden lady! Ahhhhh I'm dead. I'm so dead. I'm going to be grounded forever for getting into a fight!

A fight that I didn't even win, I must now admit with some depression on Grampa's questions.

This new year is not starting very well.

"My dear sweet little lamb. You did what now?! Violence?! Oh, but it was to defend your poor sister. While I can't condone such vile acts, what has led my tender soft young babies to resort to violence? Who, then?" her grip on me tightens.

"That one!? Did I get it right? I bet it did! I don't know what was going on but it was all whoosh whoosh and that ball there dropped on Rosa really fast from behind. And Cap says we can't attack from behind like that unless we hunting down a piggy to kill! Then Rosa was all bad at fighting and could only scratch and cry. We gotta work on that." Lukas points over to the culprit with his finger.

Thank you, Lukas. But you're not helping!

There is no need for Mother to make any more demands or accusations, as all the men from the visiting party have knelt in her presence. One, in particular, dares to run up to drop right practically at her feet. As if ready to start groveling for forgiveness.

It's very comical given how big this man is.

"Rise, Constantine. You are no servant of mine. Nor does this answer a thing. We may have played together as children but I fail to see the playfulness in our own children. Why do I find my child in such a sorry state around yours!?" Mother demands coldly.

Rise he does, a thick bulk of a man. To me, all adults are very tall. This one in particular is cut from a similar heroic physique but even bigger and buffer than my Grampa or uncle Geoff. Holy moly.

Unlike those two though, the man is much younger. A comparatively young man who looks to be only in his 30s, strong and in physical prime. Broad shoulders, masculine features, soulful eyes under somehow still stern little eyebrows.

So that's where the kids get it from. Yep. That's Lord Doukas alright.

"It is unfortunate that our happy greetings after so long must turn into apologies." he bows once more formally as he stands. Graceful and noble-like.

Right before whipping around and turning on the big angry dad mode.

"Gregorios!!! What is the meaning of this!?" he bonks the kid back into ugly tears.

"Dad, no! His brains???" cries the older brother jumping in too late to cradle that cranium of delicate cargo.

Something I relate to far too well. If anyone threatened my younger sister's barely functioning, hardly growing, brain cells count, I too would be terrified.

I wouldn't worry too much about Greg-something though. Since I doubt there are any brains in there to even damage. The 2nd son of house Doukas that I remember was not exactly known for his intellect and strategy. Unless you count bashing things head on to the ground as a strategy.

The memory of it leaves a burning taste in my mouth that no amount of magic can wash away.

But I am not on a cold floor, willing away the pain around me. I'm not dead, dying, or being condemned.

Up here, at least for now, I am safe from all that in my mother's arms. Even if she's an unreliable woman that will abandon me given the chance, the choice, for now, it is alright. For now, this warmth that radiates off her body is still in my grasp. The violence and power of her position are also mine to use.

"Mother…I really don't know anything. When I was walking back, that bully attacked me out of nowhere. He was too big and strong for me….I'm sorry I could do anything and got hurt. I'm sorry." I try to relax in her hold, but can only cling on weakly.

My voice turned milky sweet without me even fully conscious of it. The whimper of my own set of tears broke out.

While I don't know where they come from, I don't waste this well of tears. When I blink up, I make sure to make it as pitiful and loveable as possible. Anything that can still stir the sympathy and heartstrings of this weak woman I call mother.

"I am taking my children to the infirmary! I would have done so already if I were not waiting for an explanation. Do you intend to keep my poor injured children waiting?!" the words that come out of my mother's mouth sound very harsh.

But the fact that it's that way to protect and side with me, even for this little bit of time, feels a bit tender and sweet. Like I was anything worth protecting.

But more importantly, yes! Slay them! Punish them and make them cower in fear, Mother! Show them our power! Stomp on them! Especially that ugly little boy with stupid eyebrows. Don't fall for the mochi, Mother! We must blacklist and make that hypocritical knight-to-be suffer in any and every way!

Unfortunately, my mother does not suddenly start breathing fire or stomp around like Godzilla on our enemies.

For one that is impossible, only a childish flight of fantasy. Two, the entire family is not our enemy in the same way I hold grudges on anyone who harmed me or will continue to harm me in this life. As nice as it would be, I cannot go smiting everyone I dislike just yet.

"Mikhael, step aside. I know and trust you to clarify things for me later but Gregorios! Answer the gracious Lady Ventrella, right now! Why did you do such a horrible thing!? To our hosts? To a young lady so much smaller than you!!?" Lord Doukas has his younger son in a grip from the back of his head, forcing a bow in front of Mother while dangling Greg's short feet.

The pinhead wails even harder, looking ever the more rude and unsightly. If we're judging on cuteness, I can practically see my mother's 'love' meter dropping down to the negatives! Oh goodie!

"Gregorios! Answer at once before your punishment increases thricefold for this insult to our friends." his father warns sternly, voice dropping low.

"I didn't do anything wrong!?! BWAAAAA!!! Criminal! I caught the criminal! Bwaaaaa waaaah!!!" snot drips down both his nostrils as he wails, proclaiming his innocence.

Bah. I can't believe how even more Gregorios he is as a child. Ever so self-righteous and morally superior.

More importantly, why am I still being called a criminal here!? I didn't even do anything yet? My title as the cursed Dusk hasn't even been announced yet, let alone the villainess reputation I am sure to build up. Who does he think he's going around calling a criminal?!

Maybe if we were talking about my Father?

"Explain yourself!?!" Lord Doukas shakes his younger supposedly favored son. Supposedly.

Like a wallflower, the elder teen brother merely sighs in the background as chaos and tears continue to spew. The child choked on his repetitive cries sounds as if he were the one who was wronged instead of the other way around. In his eyes, he was the one unfairly attacked, and the grievances overflowed to the point he hasn't stopped crying once.

"Gregorios. What's that you were going to show me? In your pocket. Does it have anything to do with this?" Mikhael speaks slow and soft, as if around a dangerous stupid animal. Which is exactly what I think this is like.

Lord Doukas takes the hint and pulls out the yellow parchment rolled up in the kid's pocket. Unfurling it, he takes a good look, grimaces, then looks even closer. As if searching a map futilely for where his young son's IQ may have gone.

When he turns the sheet around to present the so-called evidence, I feel more questions than answers.

Is that…is that a wanted poster? Of me?!!

"Rosa's picture! Mama, Lily wants one like that too!" Lilyanne pulls and points excitedly.

There on the yellowed waxy parchment paper, the same kind we use to post public bullitions or even job postings for the troops is a 'Warning' poster of some sort. It's that very word for the title, big and bold in stamped blocky letters. What's most important and confusing however is the contents.

My pictures.

One with my short curls cutely framing my chubby little face. The other is in a little hat, hair fully tucked as if I were badly disguised. They looked to be lovingly sketched in detail and then etched on a blurrier method of stamped reproduction. Much like a portrait or a mugshot, however, you look at it.

Warning: Rosalia T. Ventrella. Beware of the eldest young miss. Tends to sneak and speak out. Do not underestimate. Do not harm. Feeding is ok. If seen without verified adult supervision, please report to the nearest station. Repeat: DO NOT HARM. Courtesy: The Thirsty Goats

"....."

I'm not sure what to make of this. I'm not even sure this is happening.

"No fair! I only get a line with my name on lists! How come Rosa gets a whole poster!?" Lukas also awes over the elaborate signage.

Lilyanne agrees back with a series of nods and grunts. They then both announce how they want such a thing too. It would be almost comedic if this wasn't so, oh what's the word….CRAZY!??

"Crim-*hic* I caught the little bad guy!!! Why is everyone mean and mad at me?" the other kid continues to cry under his Father's glare.

"Greg…did you think that was a 'wanted' poster? As in the kind for actual bounties and warning of ranked criminals… is that it?" Mikhael tries speaking as calmly as possible, delicate and careful of blowing any more fuses.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!! I did I did! I caught 'em! Even I can catch bad guys!?! Why are you beating me!? Lock 'em up! Lock 'em all up and throw away the keys! Especially her! Waaaaaah AHHH my butt hurts!!!" little Greg cries, facial body fluids flinging my way with his accusing finger.

"And you deserve it!? Attacking a younger child? Didn't you pass your last reading lesson!? Where did you get such ideas? Did you climb and steal that from the tavern board? " Lord Doukas pulls him back.

"What do boring lessons have to do with anything!? I caught that criminal in the picture!!!" the kid keeps crying, his stamina and stubbornness are strong if nothing else.

The entire troops on their side deflate in the anti-climatic reveal, and the full weight of the responsibility on their shoulders.

I see.

I don't fully understand. That's impossible given this family. But I see enough to piece together what's going on. As well as jogging my own memories of the last time I snuck out to any place, especially bars, in the 'Thirsty Goats' establishments. Shame. Cringe. A touch of bittersweet sentiments, for those involved that night we 'saved' Georgie.

Feels so long ago? Even though it was merely a few months.

To think my actions would warrant me getting a warning poster made in my image. I didn't cause that much trouble? My not-so-happy Father and all that happened afterward, however, is a different story.

More importantly, I see what I should do next.

To the just as horrible and dangerous other half of that true criminal of a father, I turn up my teary cries. I need to make sure to really milk this.

"Mama? Am I bad? I didn't do anything? I don't know why this is happening? Mommy, I'm so scared. Why is this happening? Don't throw me away! Mama…." I nuzzle with sweet sobs.

It is neither contrary nor according to plan when Mother hugs me tight. Warm and protective. I never know what to expect with this family. It's too tiring when they throw my plans off course. I have to account for that more, not expecting anything.

It will be too tiring when they all ultimately leave me. Whether I like it or not.

"Mama…" my whimpers spill out of me convincingly, as if I were genuinely a scarred and hurt little girl.

In response, Mother plays right into my trap.

For now, it's a kind of scheme that still works. She cradles me gently with diabetically sweet whispers. The softness of her flesh and dress is something I sink into easily as she walks away. Even sweeter are the threatening promises of justice and good fair punishment for everyone.

It might be my imagination or some more chaos going on this fine day at the troops, but it sounds like thunder and lightning striking in the background.

Somewhere in the distance that we leave behind, my Grampa screams.

"Maria!? Baby girl!?! Please calm down! I promise everything and then some! Buttercupper, my big loaf of fresh warm bread and butter. Please! Papa is begging you to calm down juuuuuust a bit. "

It's probably nothing. But it's the least he can do as a bad grandfather to clean up whatever mess or strained relations there are. We can't just throw them all in jail, but it would be a start with that "criminal".

Still, Gregorios is not technically wrong.

I am a criminal. The very worst kind you can imagine. I just haven't done anything worth crying and screaming about yet. I certainly haven't shown my hand, now when I'm still so small and still growing. Just wait. Greg. Erik. Anyone and everyone who ever took part in crossing me.

I may have gotten distracted growing up. I may have taken on more responsibilities than I can handle. But I haven't forgotten. I certainly won't be letting go, let alone live a peaceful life. Not anytime soon.

"You show them, sissy! That was so cool when that tree fell out of nowhere and landed rrrrright behind them without anyone touching anything and bam boom-"

"Mama! I want a poster like Rosa too! Mama, my smack smack hand hurts now. "

"And KABBOOOOM sizzle sizzle like bacon. Oh, bacon. Is it second breakfast time yet?! I dropped all my globis down when it was go time"

"Rosa, don't be sad owie no more. Mama lock dem all up and throw away the keys!"

"Oi Stinky, don't just say what that loser just said. Where are we gonna lock all of them anyway?"

"Lily don't know? Cheese dungeon."

"Ewww then they will eat all your cheese?! I'd never leave bad guys with my foods."

With Lilyanne's gasp of horror, she runs and jumps to cling by my mother's side. Her little legs are working well to keep up. Mother reaches one hand down for her to happily grab. Just one arm was enough to readjust and hold me to her bosom. Her body heat radiates comfortably against mine in our walk back. Sometimes, like this, it's not so bad being carried so tight.

When I stay silent for longer than she deems fit, her chin and hair nuzzle down at my un-injured cheek. As if to just check.

Lukas skips just a bit ahead to talk and talk, spinning around backward at times as he does so. Talking about their heroics in 'rescuing' and taking revenge for me. About what's for that second breakfast and what Gable was last doing. About what he wants to do when all his friends are back… About anything and everything, for his little mouth really can go on. Sometimes Lilyanne pipes up to add or argue, and Mother giggles or asks for more of their tales.

A peaceful protected life…may not be in my future. But for kids like them, it might be ok to make a little allowance.

Just a little.