Dinner Party (Part 1)

"We're having guests?!"

In shock, my hands slam the table.

It would be much more imposing of an act if I wasn't so small or sitting on a stack of pillows to raise my height. Such a silly image, it isn't too out of place when my mother giggles at me.

"Party, party, party!" my sister raves.

She nearly knocks the little table over in her excitement. If it was our grand dining table or even the balcony patio, that wouldn't be an issue. But apparently, we're not just having an intimate easy-going meal for Mother and daughters in the parlor.

The main dining room is being prepared for guests tonight. Guests?!

You can't possibly mean that terrible awful no-good child-sized version of a wannabe knight? No way? Absolutely not. This cannot be!

"Now calm down my girls. Yes Rosalia, we're having guests. No Lilyanne, it is not that sort of party but a dinner party. It's much smaller and a different sort of fun. Now I expect you two to be on your best behavior when we host guests, no matter who they are." Mother addresses us in turns.

"But Mother!?" I gawk, looking much like a fool.

Yet, I cannot for the life of me think of how to explain to her just how terrible this idea is. Does she not remember what that kid did to me?! That idiot in chubby kiddy farting form? In my house?! Ugh, as if?!

Rage and indignation flood my veins, clogging up all functions of reasonable speech. At the moment, I can only make displeased sounds and energetic though vague hand gestures. How frustrating.

Even more frustrating is when Lilyanne mimes my motions in her seat, looking very comical. Funny, but not very helpful in my case.

"Mother!!!"

I give up trying to explain anything and settle for screaming at my mommy to just fix things.

Is it going to work? Of course not. It is simply worth a desperate cry to show just how displeased I am.

I hate that guy! Not as much as I hate my own fiancé but a girl is allowed to loathe many people. There are levels of loathing, hated flavors of the unfortunate day, and seasonal selections. So many it's practically impossible to categorize them all. But the guy who held me down in violent condemnation, more than willing to forcibly escort me to my death?

Yes, that is a permanent membership to the HATE FOREVER club. Hate hate hate, just wait till I'm old enough to get my real revenge.

"There there my darling Rosalia. Mama knows how horrid that nasty boy was to you. There there. I'm not telling you to forget all about it and befriend him instantly. His papa Constantine, and his papa before, they are our long-time family friends. For their sakes, it would be very rude to not have them over for at least a meal…"

No! She does not know!

Talk about rude? Where were the family relations when that sack of meat held me down and condemned me to a fate worse than death, in public, to enemies none of us could have ever imagined? Where was it when he condemned me as a witch to die?!

But words fail to express the horrors I lived through or well didn't. Nor is this a topic I'm willing to tell Mother. I haven't even told Grampa yet!

Oh, I should do that soon.

I'm not so sure what use there is telling Grampa these petty details, but maybe the reincarnation therapy is good for me? Though there's also the risk of new physical exercises. I shiver in what counter-training Grampa would think up to torture me with.

"Rosalia? Oh, my little baby, I know you're upset but will you try for tonight's dinner? For the sake of your uncle and our neighbors? One ill-raised wretched awful no good bully of a boy isn't going to stop you. Mama and your Grampapa already have them arranged the hardest of work in the stables! That should rough them up a bit. Oh but there really is work to be done, Constantine isn't just here for tea and to play with our goats."

Mother is misunderstanding something again, not sure what. That's fine though, it could be much worse of a misunderstanding knowing her.

"But Mother, I can't play nice and get along with THAT!" my hand waves, gesturing angrily to reference a terrible child. Separate yet the same as the horrible man in my memory.

At least in this life's iteration, he really made himself unique… with violent farts. Farts!

To think that 'good-hearted' and 'courtly' Gregorious Doukas would be so blatantly attacking me at this age. Already?! And so vulgarly stinky too!

Some things were just meant to be…. meant to be hated.

Things also won't look good in the near future for the sheer fact according to history, that kid will become 'friends' with my longstanding enemy…The Stupid Prince!

How much more obvious can it get?

Birds of a stupid awful feather flock together. Then they should all die together! Bwahahahaha!!!

"Mama? We're letting the bad meanie farticus butt over for dinner?" Lilyanne questions and interrupts my impromptu evil laughter, finally getting the full picture.

Why yes, Lilyanne. We are having one of big sister's future murderers over for dinner. What should we serve them?

"No my Lilyanne, not quite. We're having their familia over for dinner. Invitations can be regarded like that so as not to offend individuals. Oh, you'll learn later I suppose. We'll be having their Papa and his children. Do you remember Uncle Constantine and his presents?" Mother turns to address Lilyanne while keeping me in her arms as if I'm some flight risk worth the concern.

While Lilyanne slowly nods, Mother rubs my back as if to question us both. Sometimes she pats me with a gentle murmuring under her breath. It sounds vague like "Oh, don't choke again while spontaneously laughing dear."

I can only sigh. Oh, boring 'reasoning' and responsibilities.

"Of course, Mother. I won't get in the way of family relations or work…. House Doukas is not so small to be implicated because of their youngest, Greg-fart-something. Our families have many connections with each other through social, land agreements, and with allied military forces. Grampa is friends with their Grandfather, who is a great general and naval commander on at least three seas. Branched to our Great Goat from the main familia Doukai in the Pre-Hellenic Republic and post-ancient Antonian territories from across the mighty Mar Ionio over two centuries ago. Located to the South-East of our goat hoof blessed territory towards the coastline filled horn, their territory is referred to as Magna Graecia and the population ranges from-..." I groan out, reciting information like a memorized manual.

"zzzZzz Snort ack Rosa, wha- what. I'm awake! Lily ish awake!" my sister chokes on her own snore.

As always, anything pertaining to lessons makes her nearly instantly swoon or pass out.

How rude.

Oh please, watch how well my sister can keep up when gossip and social drama are involved in the future. Then her memory is terrifyingly better than mine on any day. It's quite disturbing.

"Oh my, my Rosalia is such a smart girl and has learned so much already! It's almost scary… Truly you take after your darling Papa!!!" Mother nuzzles me, blissfully ignorant of the future. Good for her.

What did she say though? I'm almost scary? Oh please.

It's indeed scary how her violent face rubbing is the exact same rough way Grampa does it, only her smooth face and soft skin are much more pleasant than his occasionally prickly unclean shave. My skin doesn't need such high-level exfoliation yet!

"Lily too!" my sister cries out, crawling over the table for her share of affection, unable to be left out in anything.

"Why of course you too Lilyanne! Just in different ways. So many things I was unable to do at your ages…we'll just.. work on your lessons more." Mother scoops and nuzzles her up, prompting Lilyanne to giggle back happily.

Luckily, my sister is easy to please. Too easy. Sometimes I fear that you could propose to her with a piece of cheese and she'd follow you.

That is a headache for a future date, for today we deal with this current headache.

A formal dinner party. With that awful little knight in attendance. Whoopee, misery.

At the very least, this will not be among the greatest grievances I shall suffer. Spring is coming, and I fear a visit to the midway lands' big capital cities will be coming up soon, with or without my Father.

"My Lady." a senior maid calls out by the door

Surely a line more of them stand behind her, all ready to clean up and drag Mother to the rest of her duties. .

"Oh right. All finished darlings? A bit more? Yes yes, there is much to do today. So many last-minute details. Our guests will arrive by 5 pm tonight so I expect you girls, to stay good, clean, polite, and ready for dinner. Mama will order lots of yummy things for you!" our Mother stuffs some last morsels of food into our mouths, making us resemble chipmunks more than children.

"I cow wo pway wib Abboiw? An being rowlls?"

"Rosalia, chew and swallow properly first or you shall choke again! Yes, you may play in your little clubroom with Abbey for a bit. Lilyanne, no more snacks in your pockets. Especially cheese, I will not have you smelling like spoiled feet milk." Mother scolds back and forth, her loose curls flying with each head turn.

It's very difficult to chew, let alone talk like this. Somehow though, Mother still manages to understand even when we don't say anything but say reach our hands out for more cheese. The power of Mothers, even bad ones, is amazing.

That or maybe I managed to train Mother somewhat in this lifetime? An unthinkable miracle to any extent. Regardless, my mouth is so pathetically full it's a little hard to even breathe.

So when I wiggle my short arms, flapping desperately, Mother feeds me a bit of milk while I'm still on her lap.

"I carried you two for nine months in my tummy, every single second for all those days, how could I not know what you're like?" she says.

A vague and unscientific claim, with no true medical sources aka lies! But I am too lazy to argue with Mother about how the scientific process works, or how pregnancy does not equal good motherhood. Even cows give birth! Also, I am busy drinking down this milk without choking. Ack. Slowly Mother! Too slow now. More!

Being a child is such a choking hazard at any given moment.

"Chu chu wu." Lilyanne makes a fishie face.

She copies my movements with such exaggeration. Her arms flail while her full cheeks pucker as her little lips suck air, also demanding a drink. A greedy baby cow. How pathetic. Thank goodness that despite being identical twins, we look nothing alike.

When we're both full and no longer choking, Mother releases us to the floor for our temporary freedom. Till dinner time that is.

"Oh young misses." a whole new separate line of maids await, coming in from behind the door.

The majority of them are younger than the usual entourage that serves my Mother's parlor. Naturally, their discipline isn't as good.

Somehow though, they stand as if they were of a much higher rank. Some fine special occasion dresses are on display today. Very bright and colorful. How special? It's not easy to pack and afford so much to working daughters, even in homes of lower nobility. Why it's an eye glaring parade of colors, extra pale-faced youths, and the slight smell of burnt hair wafting from all these dressed-up shameless girls. As if they have shot up to become ladies in waiting in some clown court palace.

Or you know, some young dumb girls getting pruned and puffed up for a party.

Our dinner party tonight…. where we're having guests. Guests that include a noble Lord and his of-age son and heir. One who is probably still single at this point.

Oh, the schemes and dreams of so many maidens and idiots alike.

The new rotation nursery maids A-B-C-D-E are just too obvious. It's pathetic if it's to the point even I figure it out.

"Party dresses?! Lily too! Where are Rosa's and Lily's party dresses!?" Lilyanne gasps and points at her personal maids, turning them into orders.

No one gets to be prettier or shinier than Lilyanne at parties, no one.

That was the case then and it seems it will be the case now. We can't scrub something so fundamental from her personality, her idiotic vanity. So glad to know I can't butterfly effect mess up everything.

"Worry not my Lilyanne, Mama has already picked out both your party dresses. But oh my, why are those young maids all so dressed up. So early too? Oh, youth. Madolina, why don't you and the others ever do anything so fun?! Loosen some veils and hair, and add a little - or a lot- of sparkle. *sniff cough* Spray some perfume?...."

That wasn't a compliment. Definitely not.

On the other side of things, Mother's usual maids not only keep silent but continue to work.

One even opens a window to wave out the burning hair smell while another not so subtly sprays holy herbed water to neutralize things. The contrast of their normal business as usual formality then creates a rather embarrassing contrast.

If even the direct maids of the Lady of the House have not taken the superfluous time to doll themselves up, where are these immature and newbie younger maids getting the audacity?

"Thank you Vedette." Mother accepts a delicately carved fan, opening it immediately.

Though the tension in the room has been steadily rising, there is an instant turn with the mere fold of a fan. I nearly can't hold myself back from gasping.

The fan! Yes, it is the villainess noble lady fan move!

Ahem, I mean...in societal terms, a subtle display and communication. It half obscures the face in a displeased flutter. The lowering of the eyes yet not directly looking, while whispering off the side maid. The judgment to come?

Yes, this is the kind of drama I've been waiting my entire short noble life for!

Sadly there is no popcorn, but there is also sadly no actual face slapping. Reality is never as fun.

The door opens again, and the merry matronly parade leader has arrived late. A proper bow with her full skirts, no faults to her manners, yet turning the tides again with graceful repentance.

"My lady. Forgive my tardiness, I was busy arranging the new lessons for the young misses. How wonderful yet regretful the flow of time is. The young ladies are already such lovely young maidens, no longer just those precious babes crying to be fed. How well you have loved and raised them." Ms. Gerta both excuses herself and flatters my Mother.

My sister's infamous vanity must come from somewhere, at least part of it. Mother appears soothed and pleased at the later half of Ms. Gerta's words. When in reality, it is an underhanded comment about how fat we have gotten.

Ok, not really. I'll do a proper job translating now.

Someone has to before Mother gets swept away in this foolery, and Lilyanne is too small to help. Don't just look at how stupid my sister and her harem were. When it comes to other women, Lilyanne can read their micro schemes' intentions in an analysis that makes me want to pass out in headaches. Sadly, this is another thing she just is far too superior on.

But I can handle this level till she grows up.

"Mama? New lessons? But I already have a lot of homework from Father? Just because Father went on a little business trip, I have to change? What about Lilyanne? She was just learning how to be more obedient on cue. Will we be forced to part from his care? Yours? Mommy, are we too big to be loved anymore?!" I throw myself back on my Mother's lap.

To deal with Mother, only the most shameless route is possible. Look cute and pitiful!

It worked for Lilyanne an entire lifetime, and it has been proven to work on me in this one. My overbearing noble character of strength, honor, and prestige can only be regained when I'm no longer so adorable.

This is my beginner stage great shield… my own pathetic cuteness!

"Gasp! Lessons? With no Papa and Mama?! No love?...*hic* Waah..aAAAAaaaah! Lily doesn't wanna be big anymore!!! Stay wittle with Papa and Mama forever!!! Mommy, don't leave Lily and Rosa! Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!" screams the baby of the family.

Luckily, though she doesn't quite understand, Lilyanne is very empathetic and likes copying my actions. If I cry to Mother, certainly she does too, catching on quick.

"Oh of course not. No, don't cry my little loves. You get so much puffier when you cry..." Mother quickly takes away our freedom again, scooping us both up in her arms to rock and bounce.

That's right, it's the rare comeback of the double cry! Beware of the power of twins crying their heads off. A two-for-one headache.

I'm merely faking it though, just like when we were babies.

Just like then, it's very effective on Mother and the maids covering up their ears. Still got it.

"You do not deny it! You wish to send us away and wash your hands of us? Leaving us to others! Practically to boarding school! Lily, Mother doesn't love us anymore!!!" I incite, wailing pitifully.

"WAAAAAAHHHH!!! WaH WAH HIC WAAAAH!!!!!! MOTHER WHYYYY!!! Mama *hic* MAMA DOESN'T WUV US WITHOUT PAPA!?!!! We shall be abandoned like burdensome stepchildren in bedtime stories!?! NOOOOOO!!!!! LILY AND ROSA DON'T WANT TO BE EATEN AND LEAVE CHEESECRUMB TRAILS! PAPA COME BACK!!!" Lilyanne makes her own tearful accusations.

What? When did we become Hansel and Gretel?

You know though, other than that last part, it's not an unreasonable line of thought.

As much as Mother spoils Lilyanne, and occasionally me when I'm cute and pouty, we both know who her real favorite is. Her gross husband.

Once she fought with Lilyanne, a mere child, for who got to hug and hold Father's dirty shirt. Another time, picked me up off his office desk, handed me to Alfonso, and locked the door with a disturbing smile. More than once, we caught her hugging and kissing the wall where a family portrait hangs his painted face.

The shameful woman continues to shush and rock us, denying it all in a panic.

"There will be no such further talk of their lessons till the darling Father of my children returns! There there oh don't cry so bitterly. Oh my cuties, don't sob so. Mama would never! Bring the cold gel! Bring the the- yesh, thank you, Isnada " Mother orders, then turns quickly to stuff a pack of said cold gel to Lilyanne's wailing red face.

Such a difference in service quality from the maids.

While Ms. Gerta is stiff of face at this display, she bows gracefully with a nod and flowery words. The young maids behind her greatly fall behind with shock in this situation.

Meanwhile, one of Mother's maids already has out the "First Cry" kit and supplies. Two are tsking in judgment while writing and ringing orders. Another three are gloved up with delicate instruments, carefully removing freshly sprouted mushrooms from the furniture nearby....oooh the delicate yellow and gold ones. I haven't seen those since my teenage days.

Ahem, darn magical fungal infection. We really need to do something about that long-term problem.

Before I can turn to observe my own bedroom maids, and their 'boss' any further, a pack of cold gel is slapped over my face. Shockingly cool and slimy, it blinds me with the force of my mother's hands.

"There there don't cry, babies. Don't cry. You'll make Mama cry and we can't have that messing up my makeup."

I nearly roll my cooling eyes to the back of my head at my Mother's vanity. But as a grown woman inside, can I blame her? We can't be having puffy eyes ruining our looks now.

"....My Lady, if I could advise…" that familiar matronly voice comes up again.

'My young lady, if I could advise….'

That very same voice echos back at me from the recess of blurred memory. Footage gone grainy and aged like a home video on a player that no longer runs. Lost in storage for no one knows how long.

It's not a flashback. Not again. I won't let it catch me so off guard again.

But in pieces and parts, those fragmented scenes of memory play.

Me. Me. Me. I don't like to be so vain. It reminds me of my sister, or worse. But it's me, all these various reflections of me on broken glass. Yet not. Angry. Crying. Locked away. So many moments long forgotten in the blur of it. So easy to just condense them into a ball of one awful childhood I'd rather stuff in a truck and lock away. Something to never look upon again.

An innocent little girl who had yet to sin.

A pathetic weakling who couldn't control a thing.

Same thing is it not?

Shameful and pathetic versions of 'me'.

Am I getting crueler? Crueler to myself, that little girl. I wasn't like this before, watching Rosalia. Watching that sad tragedy. Am I?

Each ugly little reflection looks up, even in the most minuscule manner. Their greedy eyes glint like counterfeit coins, dilating like a starving street cat at the scent of blood. No matter their situation or scene. Calm, upset, wretched, fresh in ribbons or bruises, every single one of them responds.

'My young lady, if I could advise….'

There's no evidence. Nothing I could see. What is there to see?

A connection, no matter how faint, was linking them all. A little nudge, a tug on a far away string. Who is the puppet and who is the master?

The ugly little girl with the most bitter face and bitter tears bites down on her bottom lip and moves to that tune.

I scream.

"Oh no! Rosalia, Mama was only joking, my babies are the prettiest even when they cry. Oh, but what has made you so upset? Mama and Papa won't do anything you don't like. Shhhh Shhhh…. Is this a show? What is everyone standing around for? Do you all not have anything better to do?"

The cool gel pack slips from my eyes to the present. My reality.

There is no other little girl beside me and my sister, wiggling in our Mother's lap. The maids bowed low to the floor, every status of them, even the working mushroom cleaners.

Somehow my scream broke through, prompting Mother to hold us even tighter.

It's a little too tight when she snaps at the maids. Her blaming glare strikes like an earthquake. Over to our bedroom maids in particular as the epicenter. For everything really was fine until they came along, no crying children or such.

When Mother is upset, her face looks a lot like Lilyanne's.

At least that's how I always remembered it.

They have this unique quality that made it look as if everything had unjustly wronged their delicate constitution and thus deserved to be greatly punished. Their pitiful large blinking eyes make everyone around them weak and desperate to avenge them. An exact copy, or so I had always remembered.

But my mother is alive and present in front of me.

There is no superimposing my little sister's idealized image to fill in the missing gaps of memory. It's confusing, even more so than it is oddly comforting.

They're alike, but they're not. Iron and rust seem to stab through the air with the living woman. My mother's eyes are darker than in my old memory, darker than my sister's. So is her skin, warmer in sunlight, peaches, and kisses. Her pout is fuller, plumper. The posture is firm, and I belatedly realize, not as graceful nor as lazily beautiful. Her foundations something forged stronger.

Grampa. She's a lot more like Grampa than my memory gives her credit for. There is a contradicting softness and strength.

She's just as petty as I remember though.

"Madolina, I do believe I've been distracted and inadequate in my duties. As my Rosalia said, my darling husband is gone just for a bit. Yet our house servants aren't properly arranged? The fault is on me. They must be very bored! Please do see to rectifying this by allocating greatly increased duties for the nursery wing, with extra focus on the new girls." Mother orders.

Her own senior maids bow and ring to deliver the written instructions. I will not blink at how fast that was done. Or that someone was writing it all down in the background. Some of her frightening maids are still there scribbling away.

I ignore the ones sampling away mushrooms even harder.

"In fact, it would do them good to review those lessons you arranged for my daughters first. Don't you agree, Gerta? We can't fall behind on educating the daughters of other households to coddle my own. What will others say?! They should start oh say, effective immediately. No need for breaks, they were so bored all morning." Mother adds in with a smile, mood instantly lighter.

There we go, that's Lilyanne's sweet and evil smile. Yep. Mother and daughter indeed. How scary.

Is it even possible to survive in this family for however many more years?

"There's just so much work to be done. See to it they understand today what it takes to host a proper dinner party with full conflicting household staff." Mother speaks up before any opposition voices itself as if they would dare.

My young bedroom maids' faces don't look very good, but there's nothing they can do at such orders. They can only hold back their tears and look toward Ms. Gerta, mechanically following her lead.

"...Of course my Lady, how kind and gracious of you to include their education of the highest caliber. I shall ensure they will not be shamed with-"

"These packs are getting warm and my girls are fidgeting awfully. How about a bath? Come on my darlings, let's get you all clean and pretty! I was going to get you ready later but we're so snotty and messy now." Mother interrupts.

She entirely ignores the world, let alone the maid, and carries on doing her own thing. As if we were still baby-sized sacks of weight, Mother carries Lilyanne and me in each arm, up and away.

Her own personal maids are quick to follow. Out of sight and out of mind. From the sounds of a door opening and locking, I presume the others have been kicked out, straight to a workload of suffering.

I sure hope so.

I've always been quite petty and vindictive of my bedroom maids. I even justify it in the bitter fact that in another time, when I wasn't so mature or informed, they would be bullying me in the most disrespectful manner. Neglect, clear favoritism, losing or misplacing my things, starvation, all sorts of horrid and petty little tricks. Things that I should have been screaming out and whipping the disrespect out of them.

If it had not been for such…." advice".

How terribly suspicious.

I don't want to jump to conclusions. More than that, I don't want to admit I was ever wrong.

Who wants to admit they were ever mentally weak or stupid enough to be manipulated? I don't like making 'wrong' moves, in anything. Ever. The original Rosalia sure didn't either, even if she was a very foolish little girl who liked to play it big. That pride of hers was her very undoing.

But like before, I can't hate her. I can't blame her.

The world was already too cruel to her, and she was no better to herself. The least I can do now, carrying her burdensome life….is be a little kinder to her heart. The very one that beats my blood in my chest.

How flimsy and unreliable of a person I am. I already settled and agreed to live well for her, as her. I mean, I don't really have any other choice. But here I am still getting overwhelmed by her struggles, as well as my own. The past and present jumbling my straightforward life plan with her emotions made mine.

How disgusting.

"Mother?" I make up my mind to act. Not just overthink and brood, but do.

Mother has since placed my sister and me down on a cool marble counter, ready to clean off our snotty clothes and faces. Lilyanne is still sniffing, looking a little uncuter than usual with her red nose and eyes, but still very pitiful and adorable. At my call, she turns over to me with an inquisitive hum. Two different faces, small and big.

Reality stands in front of me now, in the present.

I cheat with the past, I use it to my advantage. The facts aren't wrong but sometimes, my own perspective is.

I'll admit that much. I admit that silly little girl wanted this, this woman's fawning eyes looking towards her. Straight at her and no one else. Not Father, not Lilyanne, not even Grampa, Just her.

In order to be a bit kinder to that child, to myself now, I'll admit it a bit more.

"Mother, can I move out of the nursery?" I ask, holding back from biting my own lip.

"Oh my, Rosalia sweetie? What brings this on?" Mother asks in apparent surprise, a trace of doubt and worried suspicion rising behind her big brown eyes.

I almost laugh when she bites down her own lip, stopping a mumble about to form. Just a little.

"I just want to," I answer a tad coyly.

It's too troublesome to explain.

My past and the future that has yet to happen. The wrongs I faced and the theories I have yet to prove. I let my own petty emotions take control for too long and blur my rationale. After all, I'm not just a dumb little girl, even if I admit to my moments.

Let's kick it up a bit. I'm getting a bit bored with playing so small scale. My revenge isn't something so minor?

Apprehensive, Mother gets my attention again by taking my little face in her hands, prompting me to look at her. But I continue to play coy, averting my gaze. With great effort, all my acting skills possible in this little body, I summon the face

The face of Lilyanne!

Wronged! Pitiful! So helplessly loveable, that no one can resist going to war for yet too noble to tattle bluntly and be saved. Save me, my shameless bullshit cries with just a flutter and rub of my eyes.

"Mother? Can't I? I don't even do more than sleep in the nursery. I'm not Lilyanne, so I can't even stay there during the day when they- oh mmpf." I pretend to cover my mouth as if I had let out a secret I wasn't meant to say.

A gasp of scandal seems to echo in the bathroom. Followed by a smaller copycat gasp from my little sister, mimicking after Mother.

"Rosalia? Rosalia dear look at me. Whatever do you mean? Why is my bold and intelligent little girl hiding her pretty little face away?" Mother asks directly.

Because I'm lying out my ass and childish cuteness. Ahem. The act isn't entirely a lie. I'm taking source inspiration from the original's treatment at the hands of her own maids.

Even in this life, it's not as if those young bedroom maids have entirely changed their tune. I'm just never around, for when I am, the obvious signs of blatant neglect start to show up again. Entirely different from my Abbey, who is clumsy yes but earnest and loyal. Abbey is an unrelated basis of how a normal maid would serve their young mistress, is it not?

So why are the current nursery maids so undisciplined, regardless of which rotation of A B Cs? No matter how 'difficult' of a child I am, shouldn't they show more effort and respect while under my household?

Where are they getting the nerve?

It's time to investigate this matter more in-depth. I don't expect to uncover and clean it all out at once, but steps must be made while I still have the position to do so.

"I-I…I just want to…Mother *hic* Mommy can't I sleep closer to you? I feel so much safer than in the nursery wing. Pwease mama pleeeease. If that's no good, I can even stay in your shoe closet. I won't take up much space." my bottom lip quivers in exaggeration.

I dare not fake any more tears, so I pretend to hold them back, which should make me appear even more miserably wretched. Such a thing should distress my mother beyond any straight-out tattling.

Contrary to my own popular theory and opinion, the birth giver isn't entirely unintelligent. I know, shocking right?

Sowing the seeds of discord isn't anything difficult with the valid amount of evidence I have stored. I just can't be too obvious or let it be traced back to me. I'll be having a hard enough time precisely a year from now without this.

But I've gotten spoiled on the good life as the true and rightfully pampered young miss. It would be a shame if the quality of my little life went down just because I was too stupid and ill-prepared to handle some maids. Worse off, to be blinded by my own biases to let their ringleader get away scot-free.

Just like what happened the last time…

I could beat myself up about my own stupidity in overseeing such issues, and that's exactly what I do right now. If nothing but to illicit a naturally depressed and pained expression. With my whole body, I cower in front of Mother, turning into a sad little ball. The most pitiful and adorable creature to arose her protective nature.

"Mother, you always scold me for running away but…how can I stay…I'm not like Lilyanne…" I sniff, trailing off.

Now, this should be the part where Mother goes 'why whatever do you mean?' in worried tears. She's missing her cue by dumbly blinking at me, but I will gracefully fill in the rest of the scene. Sheesh, I really do have to do all the work around here.

Well, maybe my little sister is a bit of help.

"Lilyanne!" I call out, as if suddenly weak and in need.

"Rosa!!!" she calls back, always ready for a hug.

"Lilyanne, who to the maids play with and care for?" the improvised script starts.

"LILY!"

"Who do they serve and listen to more?"

"LILY!"

"Who do they think is the prettiest, sweetest most perfect girl ever?"

"LILY!"

"Who do they love and pamper more, if at all?"

"LILY! ME! Yaaaaay!"

Is Mother getting the point yet? Am I giving her too much credit in comprehension? Is perhaps every semi fiber of a brain cell in Lilyanne's head really from Father after all?

"Who do they brush, cloth, and near worship to the fingernail every day while brushing me aside in fear and vile apprehension!?" I drive on, ready to hammer in the final nail

"PONYO ANNABELLE CORALINE!...Did I get the full name right? Right?" Lilyanne responds.

If I wasn't already sitting on this counter, I think I would fall over. Apparently, my sister thinks this is a comedy act, by naming the scary doll that decorates our bedroom.

I can't let myself fall into her overwhelming pace. It would result in the loss and discredit of everything. At the same time, Lilyanne Ventrella is no easy opponent, even as a dumb little child. But what wise military advice does Grampa always say?

'Bread and circuses!' goes my inner imaginary chibi Grampa, but I smack it away with my palm. No not that line!...

''Not my circus, not my monkeys.' No! Not that one either.

'When you can't beat them, set up a giant gift horse and wait in ambush.' Hmmm, close enough for the kooky old man.

I was looking for 'If you can't beat them, join them' but close enough to play along.

"...It's… true! Oh to think that they even treat my dolly better than I. Mother- ahem Mama! I am so miserable and frightened. I can no longer bear it in silence. Boo hoo you cannot say a thing, Mama. I do not wish to bring trouble and invoke their wrath any further on my defenseless little self booo hoo boo….hoo? "

Mother is exactly responding, so I can't tell how convincing I am or what the reaction is. Which is quite odd when I'm sure I've been appealing to her using the 'Mother' specific plans and points of weakness. But I've been wrong before and I could be wrong again. Look at how many times my "Father" labeled plans blew up in my face! One would think by magical memories, it would be much easier to manipulate and wrap some young parents, but no. No, of course not.

Clearly the moral of this story is that I will never understand parents, ugh.

Come on lady, birth giver, Mother, mommy dearest of squish squish brain derp, money bags to my regular allowance, give me something here. I'm about to walk into some even more uncomfortable years of being isolated, deprived, and outright abused by my own assigned bedroom maids.

At this point, the Lilyanne face is most certainly failing. I could only keep it up for so long before twitching in annoyance.

To be fair to me, this topic in itself is very annoying. Since no matter how dumb and stupid I was as a child, I was still a child. One that should have been protected by those in charge.

Yet still, my Mother makes no action. In fact, I think she's been hanging out with Father too much, given how still her face has turned.

Right. My bad. This wasn't a bet I should have been making in the first place. My mother, pfft. Cosimo always told me I was a bad gambler.

"...Oh you're making that face again. Rosalia, dear, we'll talk more about this when your Papa returns. He always gets more truth out of you than what you're willing to tell." Mother sighs heavily.

I feel my nose sour, for I am the one who wants to sigh. But my nose gets pinched clean by my Mother with a wet cloth before she works on undressing me forcefully.

"You're my daughter, Rosalia. Who would be able to mistreat or harm my darling girls? Who would dare?!"

You, I think.

Not say out loud of course. There is a wet towel scrubbing off my face at this moment.

"It's impossible. Certainly so. Nothing but the best for my babies. It's why I even hired the best…"

There will be no need to get pretty for any parties when I don't have skin or facial features. Ow ow gentler, Mother ack. I can't regrow a nose.

My sister knocks her face into mine, also trying to get the same attention. Once again changing the pace of things.

"Mama! If Rosa's sleeping in your closet, can Lily sleep in Papa's? Oh oh oh both! We're gonna take turns together! " Lilyanne nods in satisfaction as if amazed by her own supposedly brilliant thoughts.

So brilliant I freeze.

Father's wardrobe and closet. Why have I never messed in there? A fine plan. I should go utterly wreck it now that's he's gone.

"No one is sleeping in any closets?! Oh my dears, of course, you will continue to sleep in Mama's bed, especially when you don't feel well and comfortable…" Mother trails off.

Typical. Once Lilyanne speaks up, she basically gets everything. I should be used to this but unlike my mature common sense, my mood sinks even more.

"...This talk is far from over, and you can tell me anything but don't think I don't know what you're trying to do Rosalia. I know you're very upset, and there will be an investigation, but so far there's no good reason to give every other young nursery maid a crippling fungal infection," she says sternly.

Curses! How did Mother figure out that was me!?! Ahem…I mean…

"...The only thing I wonder is how you even do it."

I stare up at Mother in shock, and just barely prevent myself from shouting out 'Innocent until proven guilty!'. That would only incriminate me even more. Instead, I must play it safe.

"You're looking away suspiciously again, Rosalia. Rosa? Oh, Rosa dear?~ Oh, now we're remaining silent? Very well. For your Father, we will await his return to decide on how to proceed. Until then, you'll be firmly tucked into my bed, and there will be surprise closet renovations. How's that? "

I suppose it will do for now, and shrug to show neither approval nor disapproval.

With that, bath time goes by uneventfully.

Mother has enough work to do if there are guests coming for dinner, so I make no further fuss to distract her. My original goal of planting some ideas in her head still worked, so I'm oddly satisfied. Especially with Mother's appropriate punishment towards the maids earlier, which she issued even before my prompting.

That's how the lady of a house should act upon seeing that earlier sight. If my mother didn't take first place already in my heart as the scariest clown, which thankfully is no longer fashionable, I'd be afraid to describe it as a neat little parade of maid clowns.

Now that's a horror concept.

Still, I must laugh at such silly juvenile actions. What were they imagining would happen?

Would an eligible bachelor among our family guests, upon arrival at our humble home, suddenly stop and stare at one of the random maids? As if so suddenly taken by her charm, wit, and irresistible beauty? A romantic tale of rags to riches?! Such imaginations.

I swear there's already a bad novel like that if not many. We have some in our family's library, especially one author. On another day I'll take a look again to research if I have a money market in bad storytelling.

As a child, the most important thing to do is to stay out of trouble when one's parents are busy. So that's exactly what Lilyanne and I do. After our baths, we obediently roll around in safe areas.

Even when I make a quick trip to my soap rooms to check in on Abbey, Lilyanne holds either my hand or clothes, happily following along.

"Hi hi! Hewo Abbey, hello soap, hello Amar's Homewrecker!"

…I don't think Lilyanne quite understands what that word means.

Fearfully I look over at the newest employee that I earned at the cost of too many of my own tears, the hidden boss of all maids. Cass does not look pleased, but she practically never is. Luckily, she is confused enough at the marvel that is Lilyanne to not take offense at the child.

"I deeply apologize for my baby sister. She is…special. Ahem. Anyways! How are you getting settled? Comfortable? Did Alfonso settle your room to your liking? Has Abbey given you an adequate tour? Clothing? That skirt suits you! I'm babbling aren't I?"

Cass squints in something not as frightening as a glare, but I get the message clearly enough. Back to cowering. The gap in servant quality is too extreme in this house. Human Resources has it rough.

Abbey however is more than willing to answer all my questions in her place.

"Oh yes! My y-young miss. Th-the room arranged is lovely a-and private! Miss. Cass was kind enough to let me aid her! But I-I've been unable to giv-ve a full tour of the villa wit-th my abilities, especially with preparation for th-the dinner party." Abbey states with regret visible on her face.

"Party party party!" Lilyanne interrupts at the magic word.

I cough again to tug her into behaving but she's just so excited. At least no one but the soap rooms sees her shame.

"That's fine, the villa is a big place." I comfort Abbey since I never expected her to get to all of it. Besides, I have the feeling that Cass has already seen more of the villa than Abbey has, especially underground.

"What a…interesting system of service you have here." Cass finally graces us with her voice, controlled with the not-so-slight hint of judgment.

I wasn't merely flattering when I said the dark skirt suits her. My side quest goal is to get Cass in a full black and white maid costume. She'll suit it in a much different charm than my Abbey. Cool scary maid!

We must start slow, in parts and pieces, with the excuse of localizing her. Like a workplace uniform? While she doesn't exactly look full and healthy, her dark circles and overall countenance does seem better. I'm glad. Cass must actually be sleeping now, I hope.

"We have many interesting and annoying things indeed. Pardon, but you will have to be more specific for me to get it?" I look up in question at her.

Abbey's head goes back and forth between us, even through the silence, until Cass raises a dark brow, unimpressed but mildly amused.

"Perhaps young and eager Abbey will clarify, but on another day and time. The young misses should return to their Mother and prepare for dinner." Cass says knowingly.

Normally I would insist to know more, but Cass is kind of like a strict teacher. What she says goes, and for good reason.

A part of me feels this is a bit familiar, but like I'm being fed a taste of my own medicine. Kind of like the hints I used earlier on my own Mother. But for what?

Hmmm…not being the smartest person in the room is a strange and annoying feeling indeed.

Oh well. Everything can be taken care of with proper time. We really do have a dinner party to get to. So Lilyanne and I curtsy our goodbyes to return back to our mother's side.

When we can't find her, we just wait in her parlor and get pampered dressed up by her maids. Eventually a frizzy and tired Mother rushes in for her own dress-up touch-up. Right as she does so, the loud blow of a familiar horn rings out across the villa.

Grandpa's back, and he's brought the guests with him.

Well then ladies, let's get pretty and get this show on the road!

----------------------

"It has been a while."

A busy street, filled with bright colors. As if the sun wasn't bright enough. Peddlers and hawkers, screaming their wares and conducting their businesses, lined every spot one could imagine. To take a step was risking stepping on someone or their things. It was just that full of a marketplace.

Lively would be a more positive way to put it. Filthy, cheap, and overcrowded was all too accurate.

It was hardly the place to recognize someone, let alone stop and chat. But the local housewives do it all the time. Why not them?

Colorful cloth fluttered in the streets. A rich assortment of textures and sorts. It was almost dazzling amidst the dust and lushness. A rush-hour of tawny brown feet and darker sandals.

It is a particularly humble set of sandals, walking up as slow as a tortoise, that stands out amidst the hustle and bustle.

He steps slow, steady, irritatingly leisurely. On a road like this, it was practically begging to be run over. No one ever interrupts his path though, no one ever dares to touch. Like a large fish swimming in the sea, slicing through the water.

The edges of his robes drag in certain parts, a sun-beaten overlap of worn browns and orange. Such a humble robe stands out glaringly in this field of colors, rich and poor alike.

If that wasn't enough, the length of his grey beard, the sheer lines on his face, and the particular shine of his well-shaven head were beyond enough to have the people parting in reverence.

A holy man.

Each step was unhurried. Time and peace interflowed. Nowhere to be, nothing worth the rush. Finally, his stretched-out journey stops in front of a narrow streetside shop. A common tea house, right dab in the middle of a messy market. Eerily silent and peaceful.

Particularly he stood in front of a cloaked patron, sipping his drink behind the ledge of a small decorative barrier of privacy.

"Approximately 10 years." the man leisurely responds from his seat, not even looking up to acknowledge the holy man.

"Has it been so long? Yet so short. Time washes ashore to distant places in the blink of an eye."

The people in the street rush by. The world. It all flows uncontrollably. It was never meant to be captured or controlled. Mortals had no such grasps

A breath.

A step that takes an eternity.

"I'll be taking my leave as soon as the ships are loaded. There's nothing more for me here." he spins the cup slowly, small as a shot.

"Nothing at all?"

A step. A half. Slower than time should be.

"Perhaps something shiny and tasty for my wife. You know how women are with shopping." he contemplated again as if wondering if he truly bought enough.

She might be upset more than usual. Perhaps it would be better to buy more, just in case.

"Not personally, no. But I've certainly heard." the old man gave a small chuckle, his head bowing, dipping his long beard closer to the ground.

"My…how inconsiderate of me. Speaking of women to a monk."

"It is due to a woman, that's you're even here."

"...Unfortunately, that is the case."

Speed. Silence. It was as if a magic curtain, a flimsy veil, separated two entirely different worlds. That was just it though, how fragile it was.

How delicate and fragile everything in life worked.

"That spirited and troubled little girl…had become a mother after all." the old monk made a sound between a hum and a tut, tone nostalgic in the flow of a long life blinking away.

"She was a big girl that got impregnated, couldn't get rid of her demons, and lost her life in the process. It was a failed mission with collateral damage beyond anyone's expectations. …Following that, it is our responsibility then, however inadequate, to tie up the loose ends."

"You're not drinking that right?"

"..."

In a blink, maybe less, the old man is seated across the table without any prompting. A strange form in his gnarled dark fingers held up. He was ordering.

A silent bell rings from somewhere behind the shop. Two nervous figures clattered out with a new order, replacing not just the tea but practically the entire table. A platter of sticky sweets plated itself center, to which the old man delighted in. He shooed the servers away with a 'that's better, sort of air.

"Happens all the time. They see a fresh ghost-faced foreigner like you and serve all the bad stuff. Tis a great shame. We have very good tea! Now I remember when she first brought you here to play, you were much smaller, burned brighter, and even more brazen then, about to be mule wagoned away to the cursed den of mango lizards, ah." he munched with relish, two fingers sticky with pastry.

"...I do not recall. Nor does this seem to be a matter of business." the cloaked hood dropped lower. If any facial features were to be seen in the shade of shadows, there would hardly be any movement. Perhaps a twitch of a perpetual frown.

"You've already come all this way. It is not an easy trip. Have some tea with an aging elderly man! Here try this one, now." he poured.

"... "

"What's the rush? I promise, no den of mango lizards this time, you're too big for such things anyway. They like them tender. How is your eldest brother? I haven't seen him since Macau. Does he still gamble? He should not. Not very good at it. He still owes me 38 goats!"

Silence could be pleasant, but it could also be awkward. The veil fluttered, and nothing could be heard but the one-sided slurp of tea time.

"...I'll…be sure to remind him of such tabs when I return. If there is nothing of relevance, I would best be on my way." The cloaked man sighed, hand held to his forehead to ease the shame.

Old tired family shame he thought he was already rid of. Cut off. Apparently not.

"Of course, I am not so unreasonable to expect you to pay off another person's debts, even in goats. But it's been years! Remind him harder. Now on to your 'business', so harsh. Why do I not sense little pair of dancing feet around you? Where is the child?" his companion gestured, waving his arms at the end.

"..Surely he should enter the front entrance properly, no?" the stranger answered straightforwardly.

The old man tutted again in response to that, this time much more judgemental. Something that had the opposite effect than what was intended, for the other man seemed to finally allow himself to enjoy something. Perhaps at the suffering of others.

His spine straightened as he leaned back relaxedly. A cloak couldn't hide the full length of long strong limbs, taller than the average, and a particular sort of bearing. Not a speck of dust was to be found in his person, an odd thing in a busy place beyond the veil. It was an underestimation to guess this was not a common man.

A mysterious sort of smile appeared in the shadows.

"Look on the bright side, if he dies on the way up the mountain, then he isn't worth raising in the first place. A bit of a loss investment on my end, but better early than later."

Such reasoning. It made perfect sense.

"Who is the father?" the old monk solemnly asked.

It was so sudden of a change, the other man paused. His fully gloved hands tapped, finally picking up the offered cup.

"That, you don't need to know. Besides, we can't be fully sure ourselves. A great mystery with a large gap in time and accounts." he held out the full little cup in mocking peace.

It was a different style and design than the last, and he took the time to admire it more so than this very conversation.

It was now the old monk's turn to be silent. A slight glower of wrinkled dark eyes, rimmed red in age, framed with the long wisps of white.

"All you need to know about that child is that he's terrible of character, riskier than a bet on a weighted coin, and worst of all….he has his mother's tongue." That was offered to break this haze of silence.

"Doesn't sound like her power is the only thing he's got." the old man's stern countenance broke, spilling a laugh into his tea. Offering accepted.

"Regardless, he needs to learn how to shut up. Speak. And if possible, sing. We don't know what's the full extent, how much he's like her. But if he has even half her voice, you'll make more a profit than our humble donation. Truly. The ideal circumstance."

Spoken like a merchant of the devil. Every deal made sweet to the ear. As if you're really going to walk away with all the winnings.

"This is why we do not gamble with you." the old monk sighed, shaking his head.

They drink. There isn't much to say that both don't already know, despite how they play the game. Each to their own thoughts, pulling apart two directions. The past. The future. They stumble at the crossroads of the present.

Regrets won't mean a thing if you do not apply them. Burning salve to a wound. Medicine in the blood, pumping through every vein.

An old man watches the past in his cup. Sorrow and all its meanings dispersed in the fragrant steam. Memories settle like leaves in the liquid, suspended till their time. Settled, like the eternal storm of the dust of the outside, eventually, it would all fall.

A young man looks towards the future. The sea. The straight bay toward the rest of his life.

Home.

There is work to do. There is a home to get back to. No time left to linger and waste. He has people waiting, and he won't leave them behind to die. Not his wife. Not his children.

He won't.

He won't be like her.

He was going back home to his family, and nothing was going to be worth distracting him. Nothing would take him away. Nor force his hand to throw it all away.

It's that implication of evidence that leaves the bitterest of aftertastes when he thinks about it.

"How much…how much does the boy know?" the monk finally sighs.

He sounded weary. As if he were standing at a long crossroad, a path that wasn't easy to see what would come next. A burden about to be passed onto his back.

"As much as she let him remember. Nothing. She sang that to him sometime before she died. Wiped his mind. It's a variable unknown how much damage was done to a child that young, if anything is even salvageable. At times when he's on the verge of remembering something useful, you'll see it. Her influence shut him down. Don't dig too hard too soon. Never mention his father. Never."

Before the old man could even start to ask, he placed a small object on the table between them. A little box, ornate on the outside and even more puzzling at the core. Locked with no key.

It's slow. The time it takes for the old monk to reach out for it. He holds it gingerly, dusty fingers tracing the grooves as if reading a letter. They linger on the lock, the layers of them.

"...She must have loved him. To go this far…" the old man has nothing but sighs.

"It doesn't matter." the cloaked man stated to stand up, ending this meeting once and for all.

The movement, the wind, it blew with a rustling chime. A trace of a fair face made its way to the light, draped in wisps of raven black.

A stranger most would say.

A beautiful stranger. Another life, another death, passing by the busy market by the sea. Here today, gone tomorrow. No connections left to lead.

It was better this way.

"It matters. Nothing is too small to matter. She must have trusted you, trusted that it would one day reach you. All of it. How funny, how life works." aged hands curled up on the little box.

Then, a magic trick. Now you see, now you don't. The box disappeared by the next time he opened his hands. Hopefully somewhere hidden, safe.

The old monk looked up with a smile but his reluctant companion was not impressed.

"She shouldn't have gambled. Certainly not on me. Regarding that…do as you wish. I have no further business here, never did." he scowled, turning to leave.

Slow and steady, wins the race.

There is no wind, no blur, but somehow the old figure stood right in front of him. His dust and honey hands reached up high, patting the smooth face behind the hood. As if he were a boy more than the full-grown man that he was.

How the wave of time passes.

"For yourself too, your daughters. Congratulations."

Two orchard flowers tucked themselves behind Frederick's ears. A very novel look. They twitched with an itch. He had to take a controlled breath in order to not just rip them out and inspect warily, as if they were cursed ticking time bombs that would crawl into deadly bugs or some sort. But the flowers stayed true, an identical pair that must have bloomed and were picked fresh this morning.

With that exchange, he walked away. No intentions of turning back.

It would be better if he never had to step foot here again.

It would be better to bury this matter entirely. The child too. It would have been better if everything was lost in the sane.

"Teach her son better than you did her," he said as he left, silently placing the flowers in his pocket.

Funny how he never told the old monk. No one ever did.

"Black hair doesn't suit you as much as you think. Perhaps bald?" the old man yells back jovially.

Frederick never turned back, but if he did, there would be no one left standing there. Not even a leaf.

He exited the veil, hood pulled up again over his dyed hair, and twisted the cuff links to blur his appearance. The streets blurred with him. The noise. The dust. The colors. It was all back and rushing by faster than any midday marketplace had the right to be. The same pace it was every busy day.

He walked quickly. Out of the street, the market, the shantying and dangerous mess of the ports.

"My lord."

His servants who were intermingled among the locals awaited him. A bit rushed and sloppy, but it couldn't be helped in this environment. This heat.

The massive ship floated right ahead of his eyes, still loading. That wouldn't do.

"Wrap everything up twice fold. Send the second team after me by mid-moon tonight. My girls are expecting me and I'm late already. "

"...Yes, my lord."

When he boarded up the massive vessel, the sight of an emerald bay leading out the seemingly unending road of the sea greeted him. A roar of western wind blew, blowing half the men unsteady. His hood and hair whipped in the violent wind.

If he closed his eyes, if he let it wash over him, he could say it sounded like his dear wife calling him home for dinner. The crashing sea below sounded like her following laughter. The following laps of waves, his daughters giggling right behind her.

He couldn't keep them waiting after all.

He was going home.