Close the door after you

I don't think it would be too far off to say Father feels guilty

Bad, guilty, some sense of shame for something. It could be anything, really.

We're a very shameful family in reality, unlike our noble position. Or our reputation? I'm not quite sure what our reputation really is among anyone who has ever actually met my family, especially Grampa. It's a terrible revelation I'm slowly discovering over the years.

There's a reason why doors exist, to be closed.

Too many things to hide.

Amazing what an adult perspective can understand when crammed into the eyeballs of a child. To be fair, there were plenty of things I had learned growing up without them. Things I had to.

Like how my father obviously wasn't a good person.

Not all that surprising really. No one is. If they claim they are, insist on it, then they're worse than parasitic trash.

I don't know the definition of 'good'. I don't think I'm capable of it, no matter who I am.

I'm not a person like Lilyanne.

Besides, look how that turned out. in anarchy and utter misery. I'm possibly the only one who knows though. Of course, I'm right. Maybe you won't see it right away but I tend to be right.

When I say "I", I speak in place of the original host of course. It's just so bothersome confusing thinking of us separately sometimes. Especially when her memories or emotions are very much still here.

Far worse than having some ghost remind you of its grievances. I can't make heads or tales of what that girl wants. Ever. She's just as confusing as me most days, and that's saying something.

For example, I do not have many memories of my father holding "her".

If I really rack my brain into that pit of burning lava, I only get vague recollections with some self-inflicted headache pain. My own headaches. Feels like I fell off a speeding beast horse or something.

Oh well, it's hard to remember my own early childhood memories. Let alone someone else's. Let's give it up for now.

My point on this topic is how guilty Father must be feeling. For he is not only raining on the kiddy gifts, children playthings, and snacks on us, but he's being VERY STICKY.

Has he finally realized what a failure of a man, father, and human being he is?

Most likely not.

But he's spending a lot of time with me as of late. By "a lot" I mean, all the time. Every waking second. Possibly more. I can't even go off to the troops or any bread baking experiments with him. That's if I'm finally excused from my quota of homework. Which is a lot piled up, might I complain.

It's a very stark contrast going from the relative freedom with my grampa, and all my young minions, to nothing but parents!

Father is very sticky lately, like a magnet.

"Now we drop it. Fascinating how it stays in place like that." said man plays with those magnets, quite literally.

While I'm very glad he's having fun with those, or that magnets even exist here, there are some more pressing matters at hand. Problems I can only tackle in pieces and parts, for my own lack of ability and to maintain sanity.

"Father, please release me from the confines of your clothing. I am growing too large for this." I wiggle about.

"Nonsense. Try again when you can perhaps be seated at the dinner table without any extra aid. Or perhaps when your height reaches to my thigh, at the very least." Father pays little mind to me, other than a condescending stroke of my little head.

See, I'm quite literally stuck to him.

When problem number one is finally settled, and I'm unbuttoned from my father's odd choice of warm prisons, I can move on slowly down the list.

"Thank you. Now. Why is Mother sleeping on the floor over there?!" I yell at the nerd who only continues on with making rocks float, attract, and repel.

For one of the wealthiest women on the southern continent, she sure has terrible tastes in napping spots.

To where I point, a part of my snoozing mother may be seen under Father's desk. Most noticeably her butt. Of course, Mother is even stickier, but that's usually to her 'darling' husband.

It's very disappointing for a child to see past the ideal roles of their parent, and see who they really are. Lilyanne cried for 33 whole minutes when Mother answered it was Father, and not her, that was Mother's favorite.

A mortifying answer for a child to hear, but very fair.

"....She finds it cozy. As do you Chippy." Father does not deserve love, he is too nerdy.

"I'm almost 4 years old, Father. Mother is at the very least 26!? It's beyond improper." I indicate to my noble mother.

One who is sleeping under a desk! With her butt sticking out?! Is she Lilyanne!?

How in the world?

"And when or where did you go about learning your mother's exact numerical age? Hmm? Have we ever stated that?" Father hums nonchalantly.

"Ahem," I cough a bit. "I asked around and did the math. Likewise, you're nearing old age yourself, Father. The average man across certain tax records dies on average at age 31.2." I twist reason.

"Fascinating indeed. Why the .2? However, I don't think your mother will be very pleased if I fall over and leave her any time soon." Father takes the mild distraction, countering with his own.

"I would think it very wasteful of you to do so, yes. Not with all your money. Do take care of yourself more, Father." I agree, his death will be very inconvenient for us all.

I have pinched around while I was confined in the usual spot, and I don't like what I feel. More so, I don't like that I don't feel.

No extra fat or muscle under that solid press.

I'm just so used to the fullness of Grampa's pectorals that the lack of my father's feels like empty space. Solid, but lacking. Don't even get me started on the trim of his waist.

Yes, it's bigger than mine, but my current body is not a very good indicator of size.

Even Gable contains a softness that cannot be compared. Oh to squish and feel. Like a comfy sofa. An ideal godly sofa!

Ahem.

Of course, it's an unfair standard for anyone to keep up with my Grampa. Crazy old man he may be, he is the standard for what constitutes a hero. His physique reflects that, and despite his advanced age, I can't find a difference between him now and how he looks in most of his prime meat definition statues.

Grampa is very healthy, perhaps too healthy.

If the average man dies at age 31.2 years, not considering how my grandfather is an abnormality, not Gable's heaven blessed countenance, factoring in Father's money and a more privileged lifestyle...

"Father, death and old age are inevitable but one can take steps to improve quality and length of life. I shall work on a more nutritious menu to keep you well through the winter." I readjust myself comfortably on his lap.

Not the ideal sofa of a man, but he will do for keeping one's posture straight. At least the foundation is not too shabby. When I pat up the warm solid wall of his chest, over the layers of his fine clothes, I can feel that it's a healthy body.

While I can't fairly judge just how strong my father is, at least he won't be taken too lightly.

I shall be kind, as well as productive, in trying to keep this entire family strong and alive. Just focusing on Lilyanne is too limited. The first priority yes, but far too limited.

Life without the parentals was really too hectic.

I didn't do it all on my own. No one can suddenly take on all the duties of not just a lord, but a lady, of a household as large as mine. No one expects it even. But I did it all the same.

It would have been too dangerous otherwise.

Two little girls left on their own. Orphaned in a great position of wealth and power. We made for attractive prey.

Weak. Vulnerable. Easy for the taking.

If I didn't step up when I did, bare my fangs, and viciously fight for my claims, who knows how many losses we would have suffered? What powers and rights of mine would have been risked? Been stripped off?

The world is not so kind to wait for one to grow up, before pouncing.

I knew what many nobles saw me as. A mere child, a little doll, that sat upon the seat of the acting lord. What consequences would a small and insignificant little girl make?

I had my name, what my parents left undone to me, the shield that was my grampa. Absent and mysterious as he was. The times he was there to enforce his will, to establish my own power, was too far and in between. His word wasn't taken seriously anyways. Not with certain factions of nobles. The infamous hero was after all, not one of them. The crazy old fool that let his granddaughter keep hold the position of acting lord, and heir, as if it were a sweet or a toy to be played with.

They watched waiting for me to fall, waiting for an opening to facilitate it.

No one ever took me seriously. No matter what status nor faction. Not unless I made them. Sometimes violently.

I even had the leverage of my own cursed engagement, to another powerful country's royal. That was useful, admittedly, during those times.

But it wasn't enough power, since it wasn't my own. Of course it wasn't. I still died after all.

"What's the matter now, my Chip, my chop, little bothersome dear? Do these not amuse you, I thought they would." asks my father's voice, as drowsy as an equal mix of wine and honey, bitingly strong under the thick smooth flow.

Elegant fingers make small circles at my temples, as if giving me a playful massage. His fingertips are too large, poking on my little head. It feels more funny than anything soothing.

"I'm thinking." I wish to wave him off.

Those adult hands still play with my face as if I were a fun toy to annoy. From making my eyes in weird shapes or pinching my little nose until I can't breathe. The fiend is truly working on distracting me from my very important thoughts.

Regardless he is someone I can't ignore.

I can't afford to keep taking things so easily. There are certain life flag events for Rosalia to prepare for, far in advance, for the future.

This man, and Mother's 'death' is one of the most major ones.

It's a typical story.

Parents go missing, parents die, the kids are left behind suffer. Immensely. Nothing new there. But it's a very stark reality for anyone in that situation.

I want this wicked man to live.

I need him, and my far too simply pure Mother, to live in order to better secure my life in this world.

The longer the better. The less the burden on me.

I'm selfish like that.

If it's still unavoidable. If life still takes them from this world... then I also need to be ready for that as well.

Thick honey wine in a voice speaks again, brushing wisps of soothing gunpowder smoke and roasted grains around me.

"About what then, oh my little Chip? You're bunched up denser than a marzipan confection in a nut hard shell. Untaken by any subject in front of you, short of your mother and her selection of siesta spots. Then there's your unusually morbid trail of thought today. Whatever is stirring and baking in there, my tart little sweet. " Father's long fingers continue to spin and twirl through the locks of my hair.

It is, and continues to be, more than a little distracting.

"I am thinking about what to do if you die. Or, at the best, mysteriously disappear. Leaving Lily and I orphaned to the beasts that compose society. Don't bother me too much as I plan this out. It requires a lot of thinking."

The magnets clatter. The fingers playing through my hair suddenly stop. I cannot explain why I feel a sense of displeasure at that.

It's really disturbing and I can take no distractions right now. A contingency plan is very important! Perhaps that head massage really was effective at facilitating thought.

"Continue patting or whatever it was you were doing to my head!" I authorize the action.

The odd massage, with an ever-familiar scent, restarts as I continue to dwell.

There's just so much to do and see through! Gaining control. Regaining the momentum, keeping power and property. Ugh just so much to do. That's the work of a whole organization.

I'd rather go back to playing with rice in the kitchens.

"Have you come across any conclusions, or worthwhile bubbles of thought? Hmmmm? About what to do after my untimely death?~" asks Father, when I clearly stated not to be disturbed.

"I'm still working on it." I wave off the annoyance. "But that is not an excuse to stop the massage. Keep going!"

"Would you not simply…run off with all my left behind money, rolling and laughing as you please." he continues, but not without teasing me first.

"It's not that easy!" I cry out.

Father is most certainly making fun of me. How I wish it were that easy!

Wait for all the old people to die. Make off with a good portion of that money. Be untraceable! Then live in wonder luxury for the rest of my natural life. What a beautiful dream!

"You are certainly thinking very hard about the course of my supposed untimely death. I see. I shall have to greatly revise your mother and my wills...." my father's voice trails off, annoying me from my thoughts once more.

What part of do not disturb me does he not understand? I'm trying to plan how to take over all his powers, estates, political leftover mess while retaining all his wealth, property, and money!

I feel myself freeze up in Father's 'doting' hands.

As doting as a horse about to be steered and reigned in, very very suddenly.

Ah, I messed up again. Should not have said any of that in the first place.

How has my Father not locked me up in a torture dungeon for baby witches yet?

"So my dear, have you come up with how you will best make off with my money and power yet? In the case I mysteriously die? It won't be very fun or free, I can assure you that. " Father taps at my nose.

For some odd reason, he points and indicates to my snoozing mother. Or at least the desk that contains my mother. Down there. Somewhere.

I shall continue judging Mother at a later time. Now. How do I get out of explaining this one?

"Oh ho ho...I was just…..musing. Please do not take my rudeness seriously, my honorable Lord Father." I wince, hearing myself stutter.

Goosebumps rise from my exposed neck. Right where Father brushes against mine, with the soft bare skin of his hands. A rarely exposed treat when he wears those leather gloves so often.

So easy to keep clean with them on. So easy to hide some crimes.

"Oh no, not at all. I am glad to play along with your wonderful games of make-believe. Do let me hear, Rosalia my dear, on what you should encounter should I die tomorrow. I would sincerely hope it does not include a plot to murder me for money. It's not so easy~"

This is why I'm not imprisoned in the baby witch trial yet. My father is even worse of a villain than I could ever dream to be.

Should I be shaking more in fear?

No. For that might just amuse him more, and I refuse to give him that win!

"Or as you say, mysteriously disappear and presumed dead, in say about 6 or 7 years from now? " Father continues, trailing off with a blooming smile.

Somewhere Mother snoozes peacefully at this winter siesta hour, unaware of how even a dropped pin could sound out in the silence that has overtaken this room. The frozen silence that has stolen my breath and dropped my tongue to the pits below my stomach.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no no no, this cannot be happening.

Of course it's not happening. I am probably overthinking it. There's no way Father knows. It's all just….a very big coincidence...

"Go on, Rosalia. What would you do if your mother and I mysteriously disappeared, say sometime after your 10th birthday? Leaving you and your frail younger sister to the 'beasts of society'? Where your honorable but albeit very irresponsible and forgetful grandfather, who must have surely had his reasons, failed to keep you two in a safe structure. Why, what a terrible thing to consider. But consider it we may, for it is a productive simulation of events, self-awareness, as well as preparedness. Do tell me how it goes as you contemplate." the wine pours, to the point where you can almost hear humor under his tone.

Send. Help.

A meteor. A tornado. A crazy old grandpa. Something please come and save me from this predicament.

How does Father know? When did he know? Is the next decade of my fragile little life even secure anymore? Obviously not.

I'm so dead.

"Lily too! Yaaaaay!"

I'm saved!

In comes the heroine, climbing through the open window that Father left graciously open to let her play. The weather permitting, as the winter chill is extremely mild compared to anywhere it actually snows. In fact, a filter of white sunlight, partly clouded, shines down to halo my savior.

The hilarious stack of climbing instruments layered around to make her path easier resemble that of an obstacle course. Her tiny feet clamoring and climbing down.

"Lilyanne!" I cry out.

"Rosa!" she screams out in glee, running up to me faster.

It's as if we have not seen each other in 20 days rather than 20 minutes. These tense dangerous 20 minutes as I was led into a horrid trap by that fiend! All while she ignorantly rolled around some grass and bushes in the courtyard.

But this isn't the time to forsake my golden halo. My savior, I must cling to for dear life!

"Liiiiyyyanne!!!" I cry out again, begging to free me.

Or at least switch with me from this imprisoned position. Otherwise what good is having an identical twin if she can't be tortured in my place?

"Rooooossa!!!" she reaches cutely, unaware of my true thoughts or pains.

"Back to join the rest of us, my cherub? My my my what a collection of stains you have accumulated. Of course, you too, my little Lily love." that prison warden of a fiend easily reaches down to pick her up.

Now we are both imprisoned on Father's lap.

Lilyanne, you fool. You were supposed to switch out with me. Be my distraction, my sacrifice, as I escaped to safety. Now I shall perish in front of your stupid innocent eyes. I hope you're happy now.

"Yaaaaaay! Lily play and papa and everyonse still play heresies and yaaaay!" the idiotic heroine does not answer to my thoughts, thankfully, but to my father.

"Of course we're still here, my little tub of butter. Where else would we be? Unless your sister ran off into the mouth of trouble again. " Father ponders quite seriously.

Insults aside, is he perhaps distracted?

Am I safe?

Of course not?!

How did he know that great coincidence of events anyways? Was it Grampa?! Drunk Grampa? The mafia torture techniques?! Grampa!?! When was I revealed?! How long has he known!? Am I going to be tortured and dissected as an alien specimen?!

When will I be taken away to the underground research facility to die!?

Ahhhhhh!

In order not to scream out loud, I can only implode by screaming internally while numbing my face to all shows of emotions or natural reactions.

It is a useful habit for any and all professionals.

"Silly Rosa! Papa, Rosa maky funny face just like papa does but it funny on Rosa. It goes-" Lilyanne smiles. Then makes me scream for real.

Her expression is terrifying!!?!

Not in the blank unimpressed stare of a normally cute toddler, but that it's Lilyanne doing it?!

It lasts no more than two seconds before she breaks back to her dazed vision of flowers and sparkles. But it's more than enough to have me back up into Father's torso. Screaming at this twilight zone turn of events.

What is even going on?!

Father takes my shivering moment of weakness to restuff me back in the coat, lest I get away. Patting me in fake comfort.

"Ah, yes. Your older sister does have that habit of copying me in too many regards. Don't you go starting yourself, my petite provolone. " he tells her.

"Lily too. " she wiggles her way into my spot.

Take it. Take it and take me out of here.

I don't even know what's going in anymore. This family is all wrong from the way it's supposed to be from my memories. But reality breathes in front of me. Every member is in fact, far worse than I recall.

Grampa is crazier.

Mama is scarier.

Father is….well....let's not put words to it.

Then there's no telling how Lilyanne is developing?! Is this little puppy-like fool better or worse than how she was before?! It's like her entire genre is changing?!

Am I even going to survive till the baptism event at this rate?

"Of course, my cuddly caprino. You as well. So long as you both behave and don't fight each other. " Father consoles his favorite.

"Uh huh! No fightie Rosa to da death until we bigger and stronger, says Grampapa. Den Gabgab smack smack Grampapa and Lily had really yummy milkies! But Lily no do that at all. Just beat up ish enough says big bruder. Punch punch poo! When Rosa goes and be a meanie butt. But Lily loves Rosa lots, even when she's a meanie butt. Big butt." she babbles along happily, cuddling away whatever cold tingles at her cheeks.

"Oh my. Isn't that wonderful then? That no matter what happens, I can trust you two to look out for each other through it all. Preferably not in a battle to the death. Your Mama and Papa would appreciate that very much." Father lightly smiles down.

I stay silent. Not just because it's the safest option. But because I really don't know what to say to that.

Because that's precisely what did not happen.

I died.

And my sister caused it.

Perhaps not directly. But battle me she did. In the ways of society, in the game she doesn't even play. Or know how to.

I battled to my death, miserably.

This is what happens when you leave two children, on the cusp of puberty, alone like that. With all that power. That responsibility. That ignorance.

I was not good. I'm too much like Papa.

But I don't think Lilyanne was very good either. Disobeying me so blatantly. Siding with others. Falsely trying to fool me with flowerful white lies. Going behind my back constantly. Setting me up for every stumble and fall. For the ultimate ruin.

For making my life up till that point such a pathetic failure. As her….something. Something that was apparently nowhere near as important as some decent-looking young men. Some shitty suitors, including my own crap fiance.

That hurt for a lot longer of a time than just dying in one night. It hurt…very much longer.

I think it wasn't fair. Still isn't.

"Uh huh!" that cute little girl cheers, eliciting another smile from Father's normally stoic face.

A true one, that blossoms rose and plum under melting snow.

How could any barely grown bachelor, any charming nights, and generous suitors compare to the face of this biological father of ours? It was never a fight in the first place, not even against the beauty of our infamous cousin and our paternal family. How could Lily seem to forget so easily for a mere bunch of pebbles and rock? How was Lily always the favored blessed one when she's so….I digress.

It really….is not fair.

Do you ever feel as if the world is against you? It's just that some people are meant to lose? I don't know why or how it works. Maybe to prop the winners up?

I certainly wasn't one of them.

"You know. Don't you? Grandpa told you." I finally allow myself to speak up.

Vague and more than a little lost.

I think between us, he knows more than enough already.

"Why, Chip to my Cheese, you will have to be more specific. For your honorable grandfather tells me quite a bit of things. In fact, I struggle to mentally keep up with half of what he says. " Father artfully dodges.

I am clearly not his match. Not as I am now, and certainly not who I was. Never was.

Panic and fear aside, it's unlikely I'll soon be tortured, killed by mysterious means, and covered up in the dungeons.

I have Grampa to be my vouch and shield. Crazy as the old man is, he was and is the ultimate identity to safely hide behind in this world. Even his shadow was too powerful and imposing. If and when you could manage to catch on to the edges of his irresponsible back, of course.

I won't be killed just yet. I'm still protected under this family's cape and cloak for now.

Until I mess up too much.

Until I'm no longer useful.

Until the world starts turning its back on me, and I have no way of chasing. Not even if I wanted to.

I was too small. Too weak. Too incapable of keeping up in the world of adults. All so much older, but not all that wiser.

I played their games and won too much. How preposterous. That they couldn't win over a mere orphaned child.

A greenhouse flower for the taking, root and all. Only one child in their way of so much. Lilyanne. The power. The money. Everything she represented and more. I won where I should not, and I kept doing it. Year after year.

So they changed the rules, so I couldn't win anymore.

Finally, their plots and schemes, piled high, worked.

I died.

I just don't know if it was ever followed up on.

Was there justice? Was anyone blamed or punished for me? For anything?

I don't know. I can hope. I can fantasize. I can even mope. But I really don't know.

There were so many of them. Who can hold the blame when everyone and their sister cast a stone. Their silent judgemental gazes have condemned me to death for as long as I can remember.

I know my sister goes on to grandly marry the prince, my betrothed. Probably in a poofy dress and a stupid big party like she always spouted how it goes. I know she gets that fairytale life, that burden, that was supposed to shackle me. I know she does not get to keep winning.

But it does not make me feel any better. Not at all. I wish I didn't always have to be right. I wish the world wasn't as bad as I know it to be.

Contrary to any sense of sadism, that is most likely genetic, I don't take pleasure in the downfall and utter destruction of everything. I don't like the world that took all the winnings. That ultimately killed Lilyanne, as it did me.

"Heehee, funny facey Rosa." giggles the silly smaller, and even more innocent version of that girl.

She hugs me impossibly close. Sticky and practically the same size. Strangely too familiar, with a trace of discomfort that can only be my own. Cuddled as close as she likes, as if we were back to being one inside the womb.

Speaking of wombs, I don't think it's too much to assume the birth giver will protect me for a given amount of time.

Infanticide? Probably not. Mother won't like it.

Even if she'll forget about me soon. Currently, I'm still too cute.

Before they lose interest in me, before I lose my safety, I'll save up and invest my own way. Until then, as scarily uncertain as things are in this house, this is really the best place to be.

Even if Father is a nosy villain.

"I would sincerely hope I do not mysteriously perish before my time. In something as pathetic as a 'carriage accident' no less. Perhaps an ambush? A trap? A magical sinkhole in the ground that takes us far far away. Now that I can believe." Father ruminates, rubbing the harsh reality ,that he knows, into my face.

"....then….go make….better carriages…" I only choke out a response when his silent stare stretches, just as eerily as his overwhelming doting smile.

I might die from that alone.

"Better carriages. Better roads. Better boarders. Yes, a lot of possible better things all around. From storage to production, discoveries, and innovation. But to what extent? Oh, if only we could see, or get more information, on what happens after the fact." Father's arms are stronger than they look, tightening in on me.

"...ah….if only…" I cannot control the minute shivers.

Silence is the best policy.

The more I speak the more I make a fool of myself, not to mention the danger. But this pressure. This man, this two-faced professional mobster, the fiend that fooled even me. Ah, I am no match for Father and he's not even being serious yet.

Oh sick gods above, what sort of messed up criminal household is this? Send help. Help!

"Papa and mama go play wit no Lily and Rosa again? Bad mama an papa! Bad bad bad. Little bit ok! Bad bad when long time like last time. Rosa say bad bad!"

My sister scolds, understanding the wrong things. As if Father and Mother were merely dropping down into another dungeon discovery raid or business trip. Leaving my toddler sister and I to play farm children with our crazed escapee grampa in the vineyards for the summer.

If only it was that simple and easy.

If only Grampa actually raised and took care of us properly….shitty old man.

"It couldn't have been helped, little loves. We didn't expect that dungeon and there we were. Your mother and I were certainly busy cleaning that up. But we did it as well and soon as we could to get back to you." Father lies.

He lies as he presses pecks down on Lilyanne's soft tresses. Lies when it's my turn to be kissed and lied to. Lies, lies, and more lies.

He never came back. In that life, he never came back for us. For me.

I hate useless men the most. But this kind comes as a close second.

"Getting quiet again, now that your younger sister is around?" the man teases.

I don't respond. Not when he already knows too much, and not when silence really is the best policy.

It's because I tend to fall back when it comes to Lilyanne. Something my parents have long noticed if our playtimes are to be believed. Unless someone directly speaks to me on anything, I don't get in the way with Lilyanne here.

After all, why fight for anything against the heroine?

"Rosa not quiet. Big sister go 'bwa bwa do you hear me Lily?! Bwa bwa blah listen to me oh ho ho ho' lots and meanie pants to me lots. Papa silly." she rubs her face against my blank one, sticking her little tongue out.

If I didn't know better, if I didn't know the impossible, I would wonder if she meant this life, or the last one. The original one. How things should have been.

I should hate her for everything she's done. In every way that she's sabotaged me. Knowingly or not. I should despise her. Pray for her death. A very painful death. One that could match the one I met in life.

But I can't.

That is my problem, this strange unreasonable heart.

"Am I now? Yes. Adults must seem very silly indeed, for we are so. So lost in our knowledge of what we know, we cease to consider what we don't. We're very arrogant creatures. If you would be so kind my little loves. Once in a while, remind us of that. Or any other nugget of wisdom. We'll do our best not to waste them." he replies.

It's all childish talk. His tone is light and far too easy. It's like a lullaby played on one of his instruments. A pretty sound that doesn't mean much of anything. Sticky.

"If you would be so kind... One day." played those hands. Running through my still too short hair, down the sensitive base of my skull.

"Okay dokey papa! Lily smarties and tells you every day!" speaks a girl out of innocence.

That's how these sorts of songs are supposed to be played. With sweet notes and perfect precision beyond memorization. Natural. Effortless. She was always so wonderful in everything and anything like it was effortless.

Like any other day, like every single day, I don't interfere when it comes to her.

I can't.

The things that I try to change are tangible. Health. Food. The things needed for growth. I work on what I can, with the resources I'm afforded. I don't chase bad investments. Nor silly hopes and dreams that will run dry in the coming years. The not too distant future.

One day, Lilyanne will disappoint me again. In some stupid way of hers, she will hurt me again.

That's only because I let her. Because this unreasonable heart of mine still cares.

It would be a lot easier if I didn't.

Despite my smiles and plays, it's best to keep everyone and everything at a certain distance. It's the most productive way to survive. I'm tired of letting things hurt me. The world is going to do that plenty enough I suspect.

"Rosalia, can you do that?" a tender finger brushes against the soft on my cheek.

"Do what, Lord Father?" I respond, only when spoken to.

A wisp of worry escapes pale petals on alabaster through a sigh. But Father is not the kind to worry, so I don't dare to make any more impressions.

Thin lashes, eyes so hazel they're gold, the face of a beautiful curse. Full of deception, full of faults and charms. An achingly familiar gaze, though I don't know from where. His brows wrinkle, and like the fickle breeze, it's gone. He rests the strength of his temple down. It must not be a comfortable position for his back, but lean over he does so to nuzzle his young with unseen affection.

"Remind me. Sometimes. You don't always need to speak up...just be here to remind me." his breath sounds muffled.

It feels like the touch of warm tea on a miserable morning, laced with the edge of wine-induced pain from the night before. It feels not like the balm of something healing, but what's simplistically necessary good for you, even if you can't see the results yet.

Slow drips of an I.V. into your arm, veins.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

What am I remembering here?

Something intangible.

Something useless.

Don't I hate useless men the most?

"I'm busy." the phone answers.

"You're not busy doing anything important." I hardly remember answering.

Only when spoken to. Only when I'm called first. I don't go out counting on useless contacts, useless endeavors. I'm tired enough.

"Don't speak to me like that." the phone screen dims.

She can imagine the fumes, both literal and figurative. A hot anger underlaid with a base of despair. It burned like cheap cigarettes.

"Useless." she laughs mockingly, only feeling safe enough to do so from the unknown distance across a digital phone line.

"Don't. You disrespectful piece of-"

"Telling me how I should speak. Not answering questions clearly. You're the one coming to me for money. Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Straight to the point was often a difficult pill to swallow, but bitter and quick to spit out.

Glad for it. The sooner the better. She likes to imagine him wincing, but it shows little when the voice on the phone comes back steady at steam. A tea kettle long overboiled.

"You've become like hot air. Arrogant. Snobby. You-"

"You're asking me to just pull out how much money?! You. A grown man. Asking his kid, who is still a student mind you, to pay his taxes, fees. dll this and that. For his- and - do you not see what's wrong with that?! Do you?!"

"If not for you! Your ma', your brother! Your brother is sick and you don't do shit! You unfilial little- it would not be like that. This! You think I want this! Huh?! Where did you learn to speak with such a foul mouth?! From your time outside?! From your dirty ma'! You-"

"Don't talk about her like that, not after what you did. Talk about being dirty. Every day living with-"

"Where do you get off-"

No one can get a real word in. Not like that. Not that they were even capable of hearing each other through their own shallow breathing.

*slam*

Before she knew it, the phone was ripped out of her hands by another. The device promptly turned off.

Rage and discomfort still burned in the pit of her stomach. Something beyond her that made her limbs tremble like a newborn fawn on ice. They felt as cold as it too, drained of all warm blood.

"What the hell!?" she lashed out, angry and snarling.

First instinct, too much. She felt like vomiting. Felt like punching someone's light out. Felt like running a mile and curling into a ball at the same time.

"What the fucking hell?! Are you a goddamn stupid idiot!? What are you doing, numbskull?! I was talking on the phone?! I still have shit to -" she started, fire already spewing.

"You don't have to listen." whispered the fool that dared.

A fool that met fire with nothing to offer but himself. As calming as looking up at the gentle peering moon. The dark night sky, full void in between stars.

Getting mad at him would be as useless as shouting at the sky itself.

It would only make her feel more frustrated.

Useless.

She hates being useless more than anything. Even others. She may rather rot and die if it ever came to that.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come at you like that, but I did anyway. Fuck. Shit. What are you even doing out here? " her tongue twisted, fumbling over itself.

It's one thing to be angry at the world. Even towards oneself. But it's another to let anyone see her like this. Let alone be the brunt of it.

She wouldn't wish herself on anyone. It was too much to handle.

Maybe that's why it was easier to keep away. Keep a distance that could never be crossed. Not if he knew what was good for him. Not if Meng could help it.

"You don't have to put up with it. Him. Not when he's like that and you're….just not like that. You can walk away for the moment, ok? You can just...do what's best for you. And….don't cry." he started out strong, only to falter.

"Are you blind too? When was I crying? Who said I was crying." she sneered angrily.

"Sorry. Don't cry. Please don't cry."

"Shut up! I'm not crying!? These are angry sweats, ahhhhh I'm so frustrated!"

The phone rings angrily once more, a welcome distraction from the pressure in her temple. The terribly uncomfortable rush of pressure under the skin and something gross and dripping from her face, despite how much one rubs them away.

He doesn't stop her when she dives after it. Hesitate maybe, as if he could stop her just because he wants to. More from hurting herself than anything else. But he can't. No one can.

That's the way life works.

"Don't worry about Heng Fei's matters. I already handled it. All paid. Focus on yourself first before making shit excuses." she answers, not even bothering to look at the caller she knows is on the other side. Doesn't give any time.

"How-"

*click*

It was that simple. Admittedly, it felt a little good. How contradicting. Like relishing in the chaos of breaking things just for the violent sake of it.

"See. All done! Not crying either." she sniffs again messily, rubbing her arm violently across her nose.

"...Ok." he sighed, ignoring the show that all was well.

He must have ignored it in order to dare reach for that smartphone again. More importantly the hand, the girl gripping in.

It's with a gentle touch, and she drops it like it was burning to the touch. Far too heavy to hold despite the slim handheld size.

"I'm fine." she lies, controlling how her hands shook with a quick wave.

"...ok." both his voice and her hands feel too cool.

"Really!" she insists, anger and frustration bleeding away through the cracks.

"Ok. I know. You will be fine. But right now? Or all the times before? Of course, you're not fine, Meng."

"It's not fair." she laughs, one last hurrah of smoke, steam and hellfire. "It's just not fair!?! He only calls me when he wants something or when it's about Heng Fei?! Seriously? Did we not go over this already!? What was court for huh? It's no wonder I can't stand his bullshit anymore!? Any of them? Can't they be decent adults? Am I made of blood money?! Aren't both Heng Fei and I both his shitty mistakes? Huh!?!! Why why why? It's not fair, shit it's not fair. Why is he sick, why did he get sick? Why did this have to happen now? Why can't anything ever go right for me?! Is it because I'm a selfish bitch that's mad jealous at everything and everyone all the damn time!? Even you? Even Heng Fei!? Shit is it because he's a boy because that means jack shit. It's not saving him from dying from whatever the fuck this is and shit shit fucking damn it to hell shit!!!"

More than a few things go crashing. If they broke, shattered or not was no matter to her. Not right now. The more the better really. The more things she can ruin the better. That's her true nature after all.

When the heat of the rage finally cools into steam, when lava hits air and sea, when reality hits you long enough...what is left?

It's easier to stay mad. To stay distanced. To lie to yourself. Instead of looking upon the mask of anger, to see that her real face was grief all along.

Seemingly boundless grief.

What terribly useless creatures humans tend to be, capable of storing so much of it. As a person, she was already ruined from a long time ago anyways.

What's left can only be the wreck of a natural disaster. Something no one should get near. Not if they want to live.

"You should go home. Don't mind this, I'll clean it up. By tomorrow afternoon, I'll have everything handled and back together again. Sorry you had to see that fuck… Sorry. Go home and don't worry about it. I'm sorry." she lingers only on fumes. Ready to either crash or do something even more stupid.

She hopes it doesn't become her father's cheap cigarettes. She's a little tired of burning from the inside out only to fall to ash.

So she sits down. Sits down with grief. Because sometimes, you really can't do anything but accept it. It's better than wasting all your strength fighting anger's smoke. It's better than lying to yourself to death.

There's a sniff and a sigh. They sound like entirely different people.

Around the ball she's curled herself up in, a very rude person dares to clean up the mess around her. Idiot. Who knows how many sharp things there were around. He could get hurt that way.

"I said go home, JJ. Close the door after you. I'm going to be fine so don't you dare pity me or-" short limbs tense and ready for a fight.

No matter how drained she felt. How drop dead exhausted she's been these last few years. A tiredness that no night's sleep could heal, because far from enough time had passed.

The only thing that helped balm the soreness was money. More money, more power. Wasn't everything solved by good old money?

Right, time to make more money. That would show everyone. Even if she only succeeded out of hot white spite.

She needed money and not useless kindness. That's the lie she tells herself, sobbing the moment she's pulled into an awkward embrace on the floor. Huddled into an almost safe island in this wreck.

Why did no one ever listen to her?

"There there. You did well. So scarily well. Don't do it again you troublesome girl….but you did well. You're going to be ok, because you said so. So you're going to do it, in your own way. In time. Stick around to see it, ok? Stay with me." awfully comforting arms patted at her shoulders.

Around her back. All over her.

It felt a little good. Even if it was all terrible. It felt a little good to be held.

As if for this one moment only, it was ok to not be ok. That it was ok to curl up and be so small. Oddly at tired peace. It was alright to rest here, and face the storm the next day small as she was.

Just when did she get so small?

Sniff.

"Dear, why is it that for being inside all day, you're the one with the sniffles?" pressure pinches at my little nose.

A hanky is forced up to my face, relentless until I blow. Humiliating and infantilizing, as this body's Lord Father wiggles my nose uncomfortably.

How distracting, again.

"I don't have the sniffles" my nose is still pinched through the hanky, turning my voice depressingly squid-like.

"Rosalia," he commands.

That's right. I'm Rosalia now and have been for quite some time.

It doesn't bother me anymore. That's the lie I repeat until it becomes the truth. I still hate useless men especially, among many other things. Life isn't fair. No one is a good person. Not really. In the rare case, they do exist, then they shouldn't be around someone like me.

Or this family?

It's too much trouble coming!

"Rosalia." my nose is cruelly pinched again.

Once again, I blow. Being treated worse than a helpless child. I can't easily recall being so insulted in all my life.

Or maybe I can, and I would just prefer not to remember for my own sanity's sake.

"No fair, Lily too!" my little sister wiggles her cute pink button nose up at the filthy hanky in Father's hand.

Something that he thankfully refuses her. Choosing rather to roll and toss away the embroidered glorified but ultimately dirty cloth. God forbid we deny Lilyanne anything her little heart desires. We have a long way to go. Do that and you might as well risk your life.

No time to brood or be in any strange moods. Each and every day I live must be in preparation to be this cute little girl's antagonistic foil. Of course, I'll happily serve Lilyanne and all my haters my head.

Yeah right. Like I'll take it lying down. I may not hate Lilyanne deep down at the heart of the original Rosalia, but I can hate just about everything else!

Starting with this fiend.

"This is far too much sticky, and you are now tainted in my filth. Best to be rid of it. Do release me at your earliest convenience. For I have many things to be done, regardless of personal assistants." I state, lifting my head gracefully and ignoring the itch of my nose.

"Bwah bwah blah. See papa?" Lilyanne continues to make odd sounds with the biggest hole on her face.

Lovely hands for men wipe themselves clean with a warm towel, already prepared. They're far paler and more elegantly refined than my unconscious memory. Alabaster skin with a tint of blue veins underneath the muscle and sinew. Fingernails always clean, almost as if perfectly polished in embalming fluid. Hands that don't know hard labor. Of struggle in dust. But they're not delicate, far from it. There are scars even the magic of money can't heal.

Competence comes at a price.

"I see. At my earliest convenience is it?"

A graceful smile. A professional actor's face. An almost doting tone, sweetened with honey and milk, for the children.

Father never smiled much, from what I can remember. Not near the end. Certainly not at me.

His tender smiles are reserved for closed doors. Where warm fires are lit and the cushions are soft even against your bare feet. They're gazing upon Mother's beautiful tired face. For receiving all of Lilyanne's art, babbles of 'how was your day' or 'look what I made' nonsense. Coddling. Cuddling. Everything good and soft.

They even turn sharp at something involving money, the dark schemes beyond the curtains of mother's parlor.

They're not for me.

I'm only to be fed lies. On the wrong side of the closed door. Daring to peek in, only to wound myself more by knowing the difference between us.

Knowledge is a double-edged sword. One I never failed to cut myself on in some capacity. That's how pathetic I was. Still am.

A handkerchief or two on his person is nothing. Nothing much compared to the sleeves of schemes and hidden weapons. As a married gentleman though, it would be safe and fair to carry around the work of his beloved wife. Mother's vivid embroidery was nothing to scoff at. The work of a true unparalleled lady alright. It was quite jarring then, to see them occasionally replaced with a much clumsier but more delicate hand of details.

The hideous first drafts of my dear sister's handsewn handkerchiefs for her precious papa. Like you gave a child a needlepoint crayon and let it go wonky in a line. Nowhere near decent.

Yet he smiled so softly to receive them.

Even before she bloomed, even before perfection could grow and mature, she was their most beloved girl. Like they just knew. Lilyanne could do no wrong. Lilyanne could do anything she liked at her pace, with only praise waiting for her. Lilyanne can have everything.

I'm tired of being mad about it. I'm tired of fighting.

So I won't.

Not in this life. Rosalia would understand. Because right under the surface of all her hot rage, building and bubbling up from the pressure, she shares the same face as I do. The face of grief. It's why it's too ironically fitting that I received her life at the end of mine.

I won't fight against the heroine, not anymore. I won't covet what's hers. What was never mine.

"Rosa, little imp little chip, I am unfortunately a very busy man, and my earliest convenience will be too far ahead for you to count. " her handsome papa says to me.

"I may count a decent number, years beyond the average lifespan included." I school my expression steady. A semi mirror of this man's usual blank face towards me, judgement sure but hidden.

"Well, my next opening to release any of you is still far above the next 31.2 years. " he jokes badly, tightening his hold into a cage as he resumes playing with the magnets.

I roll my eyes. What a villain. It's a good thing he's not really my father. Ugh, imagine the villainess I would be if that were the case.

The poles react, pushing, pulling even dare I say charging. Lilyanne ooh and plays with Father's fingers. Father scolds her when she nearly chokes on trying to swallow a magnet. I play along with scribbles, writings, and occasionally piping into their nonsense.

I won't fall for this. For what I can't have.

But I'm really far too tired to fight, even myself. For now, on this island of time, it's going to be ok. As for the faith in myself, well I've always been selfish and arrogant for a reason. My plans will go well because I'll smartly and stubbornly make it so.

Don't ask how I know that. I just do.

"Not the goats?! No more missing goat cases!!! They're just goats!!! Oh owie, my head." screams the desk in the corner. The desk that goes flying a few feet from the delicate ladylike monster that emerges from underneath.

Looks like Mother is awake, and my prison sentence is shortened drastically.

Father rushes to fuss after a bump on my crybaby Mother's head. Mother still looks mostly asleep as she cries about nightmares, goats, and work matters. Most likely all the same thing. Somewhere Grampa is probably causing more problems for everyone down the line. Lilyanne has just stuck another magnet in her mouth, zapping it with a freak surge of vibration and light.

It's a very crazy family behind closed doors indeed.

I'm glad to say, I have nothing to do with it.

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